"I have one more favor to ask, Monsieur," he said, entreatingly. "You are so good; you are the first person who gave me any encouragement--who had faith in me."

"Speak, my brave fellow."

"Ah! Monsieur, will you not give me a message for Monsieur d'Escorval?

Any insignificant message--inform him of the prisoner's escape. I will be the bearer of the message, and then--Oh! fear nothing, Monsieur; I will be prudent."

"Very well!" replied the judge.

When he left the office of his chief, Lecoq was fully authorized to proceed with his investigations, and in his pocket was a note for M.

d'Escorval from M. Segmuller. His joy was so intense that he did not deign to notice the sneers which were bestowed upon him as he pa.s.sed through the corridors. On the threshold his enemy Gevrol, the so-called general, was watching for him.

"Ah, ha!" he laughed, as Lecoq pa.s.sed out, "here is one of those simpletons who fish for whales and do not catch even a gudgeon."

For an instant Lecoq was angry. He turned abruptly and looked Gevrol full in the face.

"That is better than a.s.sisting prisoners to carry on a surrept.i.tious correspondence with people outside," he retorted, in the tone of a man who knows what he is saying.

In his surprise, Gevrol almost lost countenance, and his blush was equivalent to a confession.

But Lecoq said no more. What did it matter to him now if Gevrol had betrayed him! Was he not about to win a glorious revenge?

He spent the remainder of the day in preparing his plan of action, and in thinking what he should say when he took M. Segmuller's note to Maurice d'Escorval.

The next morning about eleven o'clock he presented himself at the house of M. d'Escorval.

"Monsieur is in his study with a young man," replied the servant; "but, as he gave me no orders to the contrary, you may go in."

Lecoq entered.

The study was unoccupied. But from the adjoining room, separated from the study only by a velvet _portiere_, came a sound of stifled exclamations, and of sobs mingled with kisses.

Not knowing whether to remain or retire, the young policeman stood for a moment undecided; then he observed an open letter lying upon the carpet.

Impelled to do it by an impulse stronger than his own will, Lecoq picked up the letter. It read as follows:

"The bearer of this letter is Marie-Anne's son, Maurice--your son. I have given him all the proofs necessary to establish his ident.i.ty.

It was to his education that I consecrated the heritage of my poor Marie-Anne.

"Those to whose care I confided him have made a n.o.ble man of him. If I restore him to you, it is only because the life I lead is not a fitting life for him. Yesterday, the miserable woman who murdered my sister died from poison administered by her own hand. Poor Marie-Anne! she would have been far more terribly avenged had not an accident which happened to me, saved the Duc and the d.u.c.h.esse de Sairmeuse from the snare into which I had drawn them.

"Jean Lacheneur."

Lecoq stood as if petrified.

Now he understood the terrible drama which had been enacted in the Widow Chupin's cabin.

"I must go to Sairmeuse at once," he said to himself; "there I can discover all."

He departed without seeing M. d'Escorval. He resisted the temptation to take the letter with him.

It was exactly one month to a day after the death of Mme. Blanche.

Reclining upon a divan in his library the Duc de Sairmeuse was engaged in reading, when Otto, his _valet de chambre_, came to inform him that a messenger was below, charged with delivering into the duke's own hands a letter from M. Maurice d'Escorval.

With a bound, Martial was on his feet.

"Is it possible?" he exclaimed.

Then he added, quickly:

"Let the messenger enter."

A large man, with a very florid complexion, and red hair and beard, timidly handed the duke a letter, he broke the seal, and read:

"I saved you, Monsieur, by not recognizing the prisoner, May. In your turn, aid me! By noon, day after to-morrow, I must have two hundred and sixty thousand francs.

"I have sufficient confidence in your honor to apply to you.

"Maurice d'Escorval."

For a moment Martial stood bewildered, then, springing to a table, he began writing, without noticing that the messenger was looking over his shoulder:

"Monsieur--Not day after to-morrow, but this evening. My fortune and my life are at your disposal. It is but a slight return for the generosity you showed in retiring, when, beneath the rags of May, you recognized your former enemy, now your devoted friend,

"Martial de Sairmeuse."

He folded this letter with a feverish hand, and giving it to the messenger with a louis, he said:

"Here is the answer, make haste!"

But the messenger did not go.

He slipped the letter into his pocket, then with a hasty movement he cast his red beard and wig upon the floor.

"Lecoq!" exclaimed Martial, paler than death.

"Lecoq, yes, Monsieur," replied the young detective. "I was obliged to take my revenge; my future depended upon it, and I ventured to imitate Monsieur d'Escorval's writing."

And as Martial made no response:

"I must also say to Monsieur le Duc," he continued, "that on transmitting to the judge the confession written by the Duke's own hand, of his presence at the Poivriere, I can and shall, at the same time, furnish proofs of his entire innocence."