heard the name, but I can't remember where."

"He is an extraordinary man!" exclaimed Lecoq. "He was formerly a clerk
at the Mont de Piete," added Gevrol; "but he is now a rich old fellow,
whose real name is Tabaret. He goes in for playing the detective by way
of amusement."

"And to augment his revenues," insinuated the commissary.

"He?" cried Lecoq. "No danger of that. He works so much for the glory
of success that he often spends money from his own pocket. It's
his amusement, you see! At the Prefecture we have nicknamed him
'Tirauclair,' from a phrase he is constantly in the habit of repeating.
Ah! he is sharp, the old weasel! It was he who in the case of that
banker's wife, you remember, guessed that the lady had robbed herself,
and who proved it."

"True!" retorted Gevrol; "and it was also he who almost had poor Dereme
guillotined for killing his wife, a thorough bad woman; and all the
while the poor man was innocent."

"We are wasting our time, gentlemen," interrupted M. Daburon. Then,
addressing himself to Lecoq, he added:--"Go and find M. Tabaret. I have
heard a great deal of him, and shall be glad to see him at work here."

Lecoq started off at a run, Gevrol was seriously humiliated. "You have
of course, sir, the right to demand the services of whom you please,"
commenced he, "but yet--"

"Do not," interrupted M. Daburon, "let us lose our tempers, M. Gevrol.