And yet, fate so willed it that the doorkeeper’s message and his urgent appeal that Lecoq should not loiter on the way, produced the most unfortunate results.  Believing that M. Segmuller was anxiously waiting for him, Lecoq saw nothing wrong in opening the door of the magistrate’s room without previously knocking; and being anxious to justify his absence, he yielded, moreover, to the impulse that led him to push forward the poor woman whose testimony might prove so decisive.  When he saw, however, that the magistrate was not alone, and when he recognized Polyte Chupin—­the original of the photograph—­in the man M. Segmuller was examining, his stupefaction became intense.  He instantly perceived his mistake and understood its consequences.

There was only one thing to be done.  He must prevent any exchange of words between the two.  Accordingly, springing toward Toinon and seizing her roughly by the arm, he ordered her to leave the room at once.  But the poor creature was quite overcome, and trembled like a leaf.  Her eyes were fixed upon her unworthy husband, and the happiness she felt at seeing him again shone plainly in her anxious gaze.  Just for one second; and then she caught his withering glance and heard his words of menace.  Terror-stricken, she staggered back, and then Lecoq seized her around the waist, and, lifting her with his strong arms, carried her out into the passage.  The whole scene had been so brief that M. Segmuller was still forming the order for Toinon to be removed from the room, when he found the door closed again, and himself and Goguet alone with Polyte.

“Ah, ah!” thought the smiling clerk, in a flutter of delight, “this is something new.”  But as these little diversions never made him forget his duties, he leaned toward the magistrate and asked:  “Shall I take down the last words the witness uttered?”

“Certainly,” replied M. Segmuller, “and word for word, if you please.”

He paused; the door opened again, this time to admit the magistrate’s messenger, who timidly, and with a rather guilty air, handed his master a note, and then withdrew.  This note, scribbled in pencil by Lecoq on a leaf torn from his memorandum book, gave the magistrate the name of the woman who had just entered his room, and recapitulated briefly but clearly the information obtained in the Rue de la Butte-aux-Cailles.

“That young fellow thinks of everything!” murmured M. Segmuller.  The meaning of the scene that had just occurred was now explained to him.  He understood everything.

He bitterly regretted this unfortunate meeting; at the same time casting the blame on his own impatience and lack of caution, which, as soon as the messenger had started in search of Lecoq, had induced him to summon Polyte Chupin.  Although he could not conceal from himself the enormous influence this seemingly trivial incident might have, still he would not allow himself to be cast down, but prepared to resume his examination of Polyte Chupin in hopes of yet obtaining the information he desired.