And, assuming his most idiotic manner, he said aloud:
"On reflection, Monsieur, little remains to be done. Two of the principals are in custody, and when they make up their minds to talk—they'll do it, sooner or later, if the judge is determined they shall—we shall know all."
A bucket of ice-water falling on M. Plantat's head could not have surprised him more, or more disagreeably, than this speech.
"What!" stammered he, with an air of frank amazement, "do you, a man of experience, who—"
Delighted with the success of his ruse, Lecoq could not keep his countenance, and Plantat, who perceived that he had been caught in the snare, laughed heartily. Not a word, however, was exchanged between these two men, both subtle in the science of life, and equally cunning in its mysteries. They quite understood each other.
"My worthy old buck," said the detective to himself, "you've got something in your sack; only it's so big, so monstrous, that you won't exhibit it, not for a cannon-ball. You wish your hand forced, do you? Ve-ry well!"
"He's sly," thought M. Plantat. "He knows that I've got an idea; he's trying to get at it—and I believe he will."
M. Lecoq had restored his lozenge-box to his pocket, as he always did when he went seriously to work. His amour-propre was enlisted; he played a part—and he was a rare comedian.
"Now," cried he, "let's to horse. According to the mayor's account, the instrument with which all these things were broken has been found."
"In the room in the second story," answered M. Plantat, "overlooking the garden, we found a hatchet on the floor, near a piece of furniture which had been assailed, but not broken open; I forbade anyone to touch it."