the one he was looking for. "Have you heard anything about a crime that
has been committed in the neighborhood?" he interrupted.

"Yes; a murder in a low wine-shop."

"Well, then, I will tell you that these two women are mixed up in it;
they fled when we entered the place. I am trying to find them. I am a
detective; here is my card. Now, can you give me any information?"

The driver had grown very pale. "Ah! the wretches!" he exclaimed. "I
am no longer surprised at the luck-money they gave me--a louis and two
five-franc pieces for the fare--thirty francs in all. Cursed money! If I
hadn't spent it, I'd throw it away!"

"And where did you drive them?"

"To the Rue de Bourgogne. I have forgotten the number, but I should
recognize the house."

"Unfortunately, they would not have let you drive them to their own
door."

"Who knows? I saw them ring the bell, and I think they went in just as I
drove away. Shall I take you there?"

Lecoq's sole response was to spring on to the box, exclaiming: "Let us
be off."

It was not to be supposed that the women who had escaped from the Widow
Chupin's drinking-den at the moment of the murder were utterly devoid