. "How could he have had any?" he responded.
"Isn't the old woman alone in her cell? Ah, the old wretch! She has been
cursing and threatening ever since she arrived. Never in my whole life
have I heard such language as she has used. It has been enough to make
the very stones blush; even the drunken man was so shocked that he went
to the grating in the door, and told her to be quiet."

Lecoq's glance and gesture were so expressive of impatience and wrath
that the keeper paused in his recital much perturbed. "What is the
matter?" he stammered. "Why are you angry?"

"Because," replied Lecoq, furiously, "because--" Not wishing to disclose
the real cause of his anger, he entered the station house, saying that
he wanted to see the prisoner.

Left alone, the keeper began to swear in his turn. "These police agents
are all alike," he grumbled. "They question you, you tell them all they
desire to know; and afterward, if you venture to ask them anything, they
reply: 'nothing,' or 'because.' They have too much authority; it makes
them proud."

Looking through the little latticed window in the door, by which the men
on guard watch the prisoners, Lecoq eagerly examined the appearance of
the assumed murderer. He was obliged to ask himself if this was really
the same man he had seen some hours previously at the Poivriere,
standing on the threshold of the inner door, and holding the whole squad
of police agents in check by the intense fury of his attitude. Now, on
the contrary, he seemed, as it were, the personification of weakness and
despondency. He was seated on a bench opposite the grating in the door,
his elbows resting on his knees, his chin upon his hand, his under lip
hanging low and his eyes fixed upon vacancy.

"No," murmured Lecoq, "no, this man is not what he seems to be."

So saying he entered the cell, the culprit raised his head, gave the
detective an indifferent glance, but did not utter a word.

"Well, how goes it?" asked Lecoq.

"I am innocent!" responded the prisoner, in a hoarse, discordant voice.

"I hope so, I am sure--but that is for the magistrate to decide. I came
to see if you wanted anything."

"No," replied the murderer, but a second later he changed his mind. "All
the same," he said, "I shouldn't mind a crust and a drink of wine."

"You shall have them," replied Lecoq, who at once went out to forage
in the neighborhood for eatables of some sort. In his opinion, if the
murderer had asked for a dri