“Wait a moment,” said the prisoner, extending his arm as if to clutch at a still vague inspiration—­“wait a moment.  When I arrived in Paris I had with me a trunk containing my clothes.  The linen is all marked with the first letter of my name, and besides some ordinary coats and trousers, there were a couple of costumes I used to wear when I appeared in public.”

“Well, what have you done with all these things?”

“When I arrived in Paris, I took the trunk to a hotel, close by the Northern Railway Station—­”

“Go on.  Tell us the name of this hotel,” said M. Segmuller, perceiving that the prisoner had stopped short, evidently embarrassed.

“That’s just what I’m trying to recollect.  I’ve forgotten it.  But I haven’t forgotten the house.  I fancy I can see it now; and, if some one would only take me to the neighborhood, I should certainly recognize it.  The people at the hotel would know me, and, besides, my trunk would prove the truth of what I’ve told you.”

On hearing this statement, Lecoq mentally resolved to make a tour of investigation through the various hotels surrounding the Gare du Nord.

“Very well,” retorted the magistrate.  “Perhaps we will do as you request.  Now, there are two questions I desire to ask.  If you arrived in Paris at four o’clock in the afternoon, how did it happen that by midnight of the same day you had discovered the Poivriere, which is merely frequented by suspicious characters, and is situated in such a lonely spot that it would be impossible to find it at night-time, if one were not familiar with the surrounding localities?  In the second place, how does it happen, if you possess such clothing as you describe, that you are so poorly dressed?”

The prisoner smiled at these questions.  “I can easily explain that,” he replied.  “One’s clothes are soon spoiled when one travels third-class, so on leaving Leipsic I put on the worst things I had.  When I arrived here, and felt my feet on the pavements of Paris, I went literally wild with delight.  I acted like a fool.  I had some money in my pocket—­it was Shrove Sunday—­and my only thought was to make a night of it.  I did not think of changing my clothes.  As I had formerly been in the habit of amusing myself round about the Barriere d’Italie, I hastened there and entered a wine-shop.  While I was eating a morsel, two men came in and began talking about spending the night at a ball at the Rainbow.  I asked them to take me with them; they agreed, I paid their bills, and we started.  But soon after our arrival there these young men left me and joined the dancers.  It was not long before I grew weary of merely looking on.  Rather disappointed, I left the inn, and being foolish enough not to ask my way, I wandered on till I lost myself, while traversing a tract of unoccupied land.  I was about to go back, when I saw a light in the distance.  I walked straight toward it, and reached that cursed hovel.”