In less than twenty minutes they arrived at the Palais de Justice.
M. Segmuller did not seem to be immoderately surprised at Lecoq’s revelations. Still he listened with evident doubt to the young policeman’s ingenious deductions; it was the circumstance of the starling that seemed to decide him.
“Perhaps you are right, my dear Lecoq,” he said, at last; “and to tell the truth, I quite agree with you. But I can take no further action in the matter until you can furnish proof so convincing in its nature that the Duc de Sairmeuse will be unable to think of denying it.”
“Ah! sir, my superior officers will not allow me——”
“On the contrary,” interrupted the judge, “they will allow you the fullest liberty after I have spoken to them.”
Such action on the part of M. Segmuller required not a little courage. There had been so much laughter about M. Segmuller’s grand seigneur, disguised as a clown, that many men would have sacrificed their convictions to the fear of ridicule.
“And when will you speak to them?” inquired Lecoq, timidly.
“At once.”
The judge had already turned toward the door when the young policeman stopped him.
“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.”