eposit, and draw funds at will."

The doctor had nothing to reply. M. Lecoq went on, speaking with
a certain hesitation, while his eyes interrogated M. Plantat.

"We must find the reasons of this murder, and the motives of the
assassin's terrible resolution--in the past. Some crime so
indissolubly linked the count and countess, that only the death of
one of them could free the other. I suspected this crime the first
thing this morning, and have seen it all the way through; and the
man that we have just shut up in there--Robelot--who wanted to
murder Monsieur Plantat, was either the agent or the accomplice of
this crime."

The doctor had not been present at the various episodes which,
during the day at Valfeuillu and in the evening at the mayor's, had
established a tacit understanding between Plantat and Lecoq. He
needed all the shrewdness he possessed to fill up the gaps and
understand the hidden meanings of the conversation to which he had
been listening for two hours. M. Lecoq's last words shed a ray of
light upon it all, and the doctor cried, "Sauvresy!"

"Yes--Sauvresy," answered M. Lecoq. "And the paper which the
murderer hunted for so eagerly, for which he neglected his safety
and risked his life, must contain the certain proof of the crime."

M. Plantat, despite the most significant looks and the direct
provocation to make an explanation, was silent. He seemed a hundred
leagues off in his thoughts, and his eyes, wandering in space,
seemed to follow forgotten episodes in the mists of the past. M.
Lecoq, after a brief pause, decided to strike a bold blow.

"What a past that must have been," exclaimed he, "which could drive
a young, rich, happy man like Hector de Tremorel to plan in cool
blood such a crime, to resign himself to disappear after it, to
cease to exist, as it were to lose all at once his personality, his
position, his honor and his name! What a past must be that which
drives a young girl of twenty to suicide!"

M. Plantat started up, pale, more moved than he had yet appeared.

"Ah," cried he, in an altered voice, "you don't believe what you say!
Laurence never knew about it, never!"

The doctor, who was narrowly watching the detective, thought he
saw a faint smile light up his mobile features. The old justice of
the peace went on, now calmly and with dignity, in a somewhat
haughty tone:

"You didn't need tricks or subterfuge, Monsieur Lecoq, to induce me
to tell what I know. I have evinced