But the detective remained grave, almost sad, and reflected.
"Don't let us encourage a hope which may be disappointed," he resumed. "I have but one means of keeping a criminal like Tremorel out of the courts; will it succeed?"
"Yes, yes. If you wish it, it will!"
M. Lecoq could not help smiling at the old man's faith.
"I am certainly a clever detective," said he. "But I am only a man after all, and I can't answer for the actions of another man. All depends upon Hector. If it were another criminal, I should say I was sure. I am doubtful about him, I frankly confess. We ought, above all, to count upon the firmness of Mademoiselle Courtois; can we, think you?"
"She is firmness itself."
"Then there's hope. But can we really suppress this affair? What will happen when Sauvresy's narrative is found? It must be concealed somewhere in Valfeuillu, and Tremorel, at least, did not find it."
"It will not be found," said M. Plantat, quickly.
"You think so?"
"I am sure of it."