“They will ask me who I am, whence I came, how I have lived.”
“You speak English and German; tell them that you have just returned from foreign lands; that you were a foundling and that you have always lived a roving life.”
“How can I prove this?”
Otto drew a little nearer his master, and said, impressively:
“We must agree upon our plans, for our success depends upon a perfect understanding between us. I have a sweetheart in Paris—and no one knows our relations. She is as sharp as steel. Her name is Milner, and she keeps the Hotel de Mariembourg, on the Saint-Quentin. You can say that you arrived here from Leipsic on Sunday; that you went to this hotel; that you left your trunk there, and that this trunk is marked with the name of May, foreign artist.”
“Capital!” said Martial, approvingly.
And then, with extraordinary quickness and precision, they agreed, point by point, upon their plan of defence.
When all had been arranged, Otto pretended to awake from the heavy sleep of intoxication; he clamored to be released, and the keeper finally opened the door and set him at liberty.
Before leaving the station-house, however, he succeeded in throwing a note to the Widow Chupin, who was imprisoned in the other compartment.
So, when Lecoq, after his skilful investigations at the Poivriere, rushed to the Place d’Italie, panting with hope and ambition, he found himself outwitted by these men, who were inferior to him in penetration, but whose finesse was superior to his own.