"Here's a dark closet."
"Is it secure?"
"There are thick walls on three sides of it, and the fourth is closed with a double door; no openings, no windows, nothing."
"Just the place."
M. Plantat opened the closet, a black-looking hole, damp, narrow, and full of old books and papers.
"There," said M. Lecoq to his prisoner, "in here you'll be like a little king," and he pushed him into the closet. Robelot did not resist, but he asked for some water and a light. They gave him a bottle of water and a glass.
"As for a light," said M. Lecoq, "you may dispense with it. You'll be playing us some dirty trick."
M. Plantat, having shut the closet-door, took the detective's hand.
"Monsieur," said he, earnestly, "you have probably just saved my life at the peril of your own; I will not thank you. The day will come, I trust, when I may—"
The detective interrupted him with a gesture.