One day he could not refrain from exposing to his patron a little plan
he had conceived, which would enable him to obtain five or six hundred
francs from London. Two letters and a telegram were all that was
necessary, and the game was won. It was impossible to fail, and there
was no danger of arousing suspicion.

The astronomer, amazed at the simplicity of the plan, could but admire
it. On reflection, however, he concluded that it would not be prudent
for him to retain so ingenious a secretary in his service. This was
why, on the following day, he gave him a month's pay in advance, and
dismissed him, saying: "When one has your disposition, and is poor, one
may either become a famous thief or a great detective. Choose."

Lecoq retired in confusion; but the astronomer's words bore fruit in his
mind. "Why should I not follow good advice?" he asked himself. Police
service did not inspire him with repugnance--far from it. He had often
admired that mysterious power whose hand is everywhere, and which,
although unseen and unheard, still manages to hear and see everything.
He was delighted with the prospect of being the instrument of such a
power. He considered that the profession of detective would enable him
to employ the talents with which he had been endowed in a useful and
honorable fashion; besides opening out a life of thrilling adventure
with fame as its goal.

In short, this profession had a wonderful charm for him. So much so,
that on the following week, thanks to a letter from Baron Moser, he was
admitted into the service. A cruel disenchantment awaited him. He had
seen the results, but not the means. His surprise was like that of a
simple-minded frequenter of the theatre, when he is admitted for the
first time behind the scenes, and is able to pry into the decorations