"To-morrow!--to-morrow, at nine o'clock, in my office in the Palais de
Justice."

Lecoq wished to insist upon a hearing, but M. d'Escorval had entered, or
rather thrown himself into, his carriage, and the coachman was already
whipping up the horse.

"And to think that he's an investigating magistrate," panted Lecoq, left
spellbound on the quay. "Has he gone mad?" As he spoke, an uncharitable
thought took possession of his mind. "Can it be," he murmured, "that M.
d'Escorval holds the key to the mystery? Perhaps he wishes to get rid of
me."

This suspicion was so terrible that Lecoq hastened back to the prison,
hoping that the prisoner's bearing might help to solve his doubts.
On peering through the grated aperture in the door of the cell, he
perceived the prisoner lying on the pallet that stood opposite the
door. His face was turned toward the wall, and he was enveloped in the
coverlid up to his eyes. He was not asleep, for Lecoq could detect a
strange movement of the body, which puzzled and annoyed him. On applying
his ear instead of his eye to the aperture, he distinguished a stifled
moan. There could no longer be any doubt. The death rattle was sounding
in the prisoner's throat.

"Help! help!" cried Lecoq, greatly excited. "The prisoner is killing
himself!"

A dozen keepers hastened to the spot. The door was quickly opened,
and it was then ascertained that the prisoner, having torn a strip of