ure, and
which revolt me. Think of it, monsieurs, our reputations, the
honor of our wives and daughters, are at the mercy of the first
petty rascal who has imagination enough to invent a slander. It
is not believed, perhaps; but it is repeated, and spreads. What
can be done? How can we know what is secretly said against us;
will we ever know it?"

"Eh!" replied the doctor, "what matters it? There is only one
voice, to my mind, worth listening to--that of conscience. As to
what is called 'public opinion,' as it is the aggregate opinion of
thousands of fools and rogues, I only despise it."

This discussion might have been prolonged, if the judge of
instruction had not pulled out his watch, and made an impatient
gesture.

"While we are talking, time is flying," said he. "We must hasten
to the work that still remains."

It was then agreed that while the doctor proceeded to his autopsy,
the judge should draw up his report of the case. M. Plantat was
charged with watching Lecoq's investigations.

As soon as the detective found himself alone with M. Plantat:

"Well," he said, drawing a long breath, as if relieved of a heavy
burden, "now we can get on."

Plantat smiled; the detective munched a lozenge, and added:

"It was very annoying to find the investigation already going on
when I reached here. Those who were here before me have had time
to get up a theory, and if I don't adopt it at once, there is the
deuce to pay!"

M. Domini's voice was heard in the entry, calling out to his clerk.

"Now there's the judge of instruction," continued Lecoq, "who thinks
this a very simple affair; while I, Lecoq, the equal at least of
Gevrol, the favorite pupil of Papa Tabaret--I do not see it at all
clearly yet."

He stopped; and after apparently going over in his mind the result
of his discoveries, went on: "No; I'm off the track, and have
almost lost my way. I see something underneath all this--but
what? what?"

M. Plantat's face remained placid, but his eyes shone.

"Perhaps you are right," said he, carelessly; "perhaps there is
something underneath." The detective looked at him; he didn't
stir. His face seemed the most undisturbed in the world. There
was a long silence, by which M. Lecoq profited to confide to the
portrait of the defunct the reflections which burdened his brain.

"See here, my dear darling," said he, "this worthy person seems a
shrewd old customer, and I must watch his actions and gestures
carefully