what were you doing here?"

The bone-setter did not reply.

"Take care," insisted M. Plantat, "your silence will confirm us in
the idea that you came with the worst designs."

But it was in vain that M. Plantat wasted his persuasive eloquence.
Robelot shut himself up in a ferocious and dogged silence. M.
Gendron, hoping, not without reason, that he might have some influence
over his former assistant, spoke:

"Answer us; what did you come for?"

Robelot made an effort; it was painful, with his broken jaw, to speak.

"I came to rob; I confess it."

"To rob--what?"

"I don't know."

"But you didn't scale a wall and risk the jail without a definite
object?"

"Well, then, I wanted--"

He stopped.

"What? Go on."

"To get some rare flowers in the conservatory."

"With your cutlass, hey?" said M. Lecoq. Robelot gave him a
terrible look; the detective continued:

"You needn't look at me that way--you don't scare me. And don't
talk like a fool, either. If you think we are duller than you, you
are mistaken--I warn you of it."

"I wanted the flower-pots," stammered the man.

"Oh, come now," cried M. Lecoq, shrugging his shoulders, "don't
repeat such nonsense. You, a man that buys large estates for cash,
steal flower-pots! Tell that to somebody else. You've been turned
over to-night, my boy, like an old glove. You've let out in spite
of yourself a secret that tormented you furiously, and you came
here to get it back again. You thought that perhaps Monsieur Plantat
had not told it to anybody, and you wanted to prevent him from
speaking again forever."

Robelot made a sign of protesting.

"Shut up now," said M. Lecoq. "And your cutlass?"

While this conversation was going on, M. Plantat reflected.

"Perhaps," he murmured, "I've spoken too soon."

"Why so?" asked M. Lecoq. "I wanted a palpable proof for Monsieur
Domini; we'll give him this rascal, and if he isn't satisfied, he's
difficult to please."

"But what shall we do with him?"

"Shut him up somewhere in the house; if necessary, I'll tie him up."

"Here's a dark closet."

"Is it secure?"

"There are thick walls on three sides of it, and the fourth is
closed with a double door; no openings, no windows, nothing."

"Just the place."

M. Plantat opened the closet, a black-looking hole, damp, narrow,
and full of old books and papers.

"There," said M. Lecoq to his prisoner, "in here you'll be like a
little king," and he pushed him into the c