"By no means. You will be pleased to remain here and wait for the men that I sent out this morning. As they come in, send them to the wine merchant's at the corner of the Rue des Martyrs; you know it—opposite the church. They'll find a numerous company there."
As he gave his orders, he took off his gown, assumed a long black coat, and carefully adjusted his wig.
"Will Monsieur be back this evening?" asked Janouille.
"I don't know."
"And if anybody comes from over yonder?"
"Over yonder" with a detective, always means "the house"—otherwise the prefecture of police.
"Say that I am out on the Corbeil affair."
M. Lecoq was soon ready. He had the air, physiognomy, and manners of a highly respectable chief clerk of fifty. Gold spectacles, an umbrella, everything about him exhaled an odor of the ledger.
"Now," said he to M. Plantat. "Let's hurry away." Goulard, who had made a hearty breakfast, was waiting for his hero in the dining-room.
"Ah ha, old fellow," said M. Lecoq. "So you've had a few words with my wine. How do you find it?"