ankle-bone."

"What of that?" exclaimed the prisoner, in an insolent tone. "Is it a
crime not to have a marchioness's feet?"

"It is a crime you are not guilty of, at all events," said the young
detective slowly. "Do you think I can't see that if the mud were picked
off your feet would be white and neat? The nails have been carefully cut
and polished--"

He paused. A new idea inspired by his genius for investigation had just
crossed Lecoq's mind. Pushing a chair in front of the prisoner, and
spreading a newspaper over it, he said: "Will you place your foot
there?"

The man did not comply with the request.

"It is useless to resist," exclaimed the governor, "we are in force."

The prisoner delayed no longer. He placed his foot on the chair, as
he had been ordered, and Lecoq, with the aid of a knife, proceeded to
remove the fragments of mud that adhered to the skin.

Anywhere else so strange and grotesque a proceeding would have excited
laughter, but here, in this gloomy chamber, the anteroom of the assize
court, an otherwise trivial act is fraught with serious import. Nothing
astonishes; and should a smile threaten to curve one's lips, it is
instantly repressed.

All the spectators, from the governor of the prison to the keepers, had