ed that he should be ruined if we
kept him here. He begged us to send for the commissary, to go to his
house, and when we set him free, I thought he would go mad with joy; he
kissed our hands, and thanked us again and again!"

"And did you place him in the same cage as the murderer?" inquired
Lecoq.

"Of course."

"Then they talked with each other."

"Talked? Why, the drunkard was so 'gone' I tell you, that he couldn't
have said 'bread' distinctly. When he was placed in a cell, bang! He
fell down like a log of wood. As soon as he recovered, we let him out.
I'm sure, they didn't talk to each other."

The young police agent had grown very thoughtful. "I was evidently
right," he murmured.

"What did you say?" inquired the keeper.

"Nothing," replied Lecoq, who was not inclined to communicate his
reflections to the custodian of the guard-house. These reflections of
his were by no means pleasant ones. "I was right," he thought; "this
pretended drunkard was none other than the accomplice. He is evidently
an adroit, audacious, cool-headed fellow. While we were tracking his
footprints he was watching us. When we had got to some distance, he was
bold enough to enter the hovel. Then he came here and compelled them
to arrest him; and thanks to an assumption of childish simplicity,
he succeeded in finding an opportunity to speak with the murderer. He
played his part perfectly. Still, I know that he did play a part, and
that is something. I know that one must believe exactly the opposite of
what he said. He talked of his family, his wife and children--hence, he
has neither children, wife, nor family."

Lecoq suddenly checked himself, remembering that he had no time to waste
in conjectures. "What kind of fellow was this drunkard?" he inquired.

"He was tall and stout, with full ruddy cheeks, a pair of white
whiskers, small eyes, a broad flat nose, and a good-natured, jovial
manner."

"How old would you suppose him to be?"

"Between forty and fifty."

"Did you form any idea of his profession?"

"It's my opinion, that what with his soft cap and his heavy brown
overcoat, he must be either a clerk or the keeper of some little shop."

Having obtained this description, which agreed with the result of his
investigations, Lecoq was about to enter the station house when a
sudden thought brought him to a standstill. "I hope this man has had no
communication with this Widow Chupin!" he exclaimed.

The keeper laughed heartily