A bland smile passed over Lecoq’s face as, drawing a folded letter from his pocket, he answered,—
“Perhaps you are acquainted with the handwriting of your daughter. Well, then, listen to what she wrote not so very long ago to the very Paul who is sitting on the sofa there.
“‘MY DEAREST PAUL,—
“‘We should be guilty of the deepest ingratitude if——‘”
“Enough! Enough!” cried the banker in a hoarse voice. “Lost, lost, lost! My own child has been my ruin!”
The calmest of the conspirators was now the one who was generally the first to take alarm, and this was the genial Doctor Hortebise. When he recognized Lecoq, he had gently opened his locket and taken from it a small pellet of grayish-colored paste, and, holding it between his fingers, had waited until his leader should declare that all hope was gone.
In the meantime Lecoq turned towards Catenac.
“And you too are included in this warrant,” said he.
Catenac, perhaps owing to his legal training, made no reply to Lecoq, but addressing the commissary, observed,—
“I am the victim of a most unpleasant mistake, but my position——”