t by which his valet could gain ten sous. He
neither smokes, drinks, nor plays; in fact, he is a saint. He is worth
millions, and lives as respectably and quietly as a grocer. He is
devoted to his wife, adores his children, is lavishly hospitable, and
seldom goes into society."

"Then his wife is young?"

"She must be about fifty."

Mme. Alexandre reflected a minute, then asked:

"Did you inquire about the other members of the family?"

"Certainly. The younger son is in the army. The elder son, Lucien, lives
with his parents, and is as proper as a young lady; so good, indeed,
that he is stupid."

"And what about the niece?"

"Evariste could tell me nothing about her."

Mme. Alexandre shrugged her fat shoulders.

"If you have discovered nothing, it is because there is nothing to be
discovered. Still, do you know what I would do, if I were you?"

"Tell me."

"I would consult with M. Lecoq."

Fanferlot jumped up as if he had been shot.

"Now, that's pretty advice! Do you want me to lose my place? M. Lecoq
does not suspect that I have anything to do with the case, except to
obey his orders."

"Nobody told you to let him know you were investigating it on your own
account. You can consult him with an air of indifference, as if you were
not at all interested; and, after you have got his opinion, you can take
advantage of it."

The detective weighed his wife's words, and then said:

"Perhaps you are right; yet M. Lecoq is so devilishly shrewd, that he
might see through me."

"Shrewd!" echoed Mme. Alexandre, "shrewd! All of you at the police
office say that so often, that he has gained his reputation by it: you
are just as sharp as he is."

"Well, we will see. I will think the matter over; but, in the meantime,
what does the girl say?"

The "girl" was Mme. Nina Gypsy.

In taking up her abode at the Archangel, the poor girl thought she
was following good advice; and, as Fanferlot had never appeared in her
presence since, she was still under the impression that she had obeyed
a friend of Prosper's. When she received her summons from M. Patrigent,
she admired the wonderful skill of the police in discovering her
hiding-place; for she had established herself at the hotel under a
false, or rather her true name, Palmyre Chocareille.

Artfully questioned by her inquisitive landlady, she had, without any
mistrust, confided her history to her.

Thus Fanferlot was able to impress the judge with the idea of his