"Well, I never!" cried Gevrol, a little disconcerted. But he soon
recovered from his embarrassment, and added: "He must have forgotten
them; that often happens. I have known an assassin, who, after
accomplishing the murder, became so utterly bewildered as to depart
without remembering to take the plunder, for which he had committed the
crime. Our man became excited perhaps, or was interrupted. Some one may
have knocked at the door. What makes me more willing to think so is,
that the scamp did not leave the candle burning. You see he took the
trouble to put it out."

"Pooh!" said Lecoq. "That proves nothing. He is probably an economical
and careful man."

The investigations of the two agents were continued all over the house;
but their most minute researches resulted in discovering absolutely
nothing; not one piece of evidence to convict; not the faintest
indication which might serve as a point of departure. Even the dead
woman's papers, if she possessed any, had disappeared. Not a letter, not
a scrap of paper even, to be met with. From time to time Gevrol stopped
to swear or grumble. "Oh! it is cleverly done! It is a tiptop piece of
work! The scoundrel is a cool hand!"

"Well, what do you make of it?" at length demanded the investigating
magistrate.

"It is a drawn game monsieur," replied Gevrol. "We are baffled for the
present. The miscreant has taken his measures with great precaution;
but I will catch him. Before night, I shall have a dozen men in pursuit.
Besides, he is sure to fall into our hands. He has carried off the plate
and the jewels. He is lost!"

"Despite all that," said M. Daburon, "we are no further advanced than we
were this morning!"

"Well!" growled Gevrol. "A man can only do what he can!"

"Ah!" murmured Lecoq in a low tone, perfectly audible, however, "why is
not old Tirauclair here?"

"What could he do more than we have done?" retorted Gevrol, directing a
furious glance at his subordinate. Lecoq bowed his head and was silent,
inwardly delighted at having wounded his chief.

"Who is old Tirauclair?" asked M. Daburon. "It seems to me that I have
heard the name, but I can't remember where."

"He is an extraordinary man!" exclaimed Lecoq. "He was formerly a clerk
at the Mont de Piete," added Gevrol; "but he is now a rich old fellow,
whose real name is Tabaret. He goes in for playing the detective by way
of amusement."

"And to augment his revenues," insinuated the commissary.

"He?" cri