a moment). He refused, obstinately refused, to answer my questions, and
wouldn't even give me his name."

The commissary was silent for a moment, reviewing the past circumstances
in his mind, and it was in a serious tone that he eventually added: "We
are, I feel convinced, in presence of one of those mysterious crimes the
causes of which are beyond the reach of human sagacity--this strikes me
as being one of those enigmatical cases which human justice never can
reach." Lecoq made no audible rejoinder; but he smiled to himself and
thought: "We will see about that."




VI

No consultation held at the bedside of a dying man ever took place in
the presence of two physicians so utterly unlike each other as those who
accompanied the commissary of police to the Poivriere.

One of them, a tall old man with a bald head, wearing a broad-brimmed
hat, and an overcoat of antique cut, was evidently one of those modest
savants encountered occasionally in the byways of Paris--one of those
healers devoted to their art, who too often die in obscurity, after
rendering immense services to mankind. He had the gracious calmness of a
man who, having seen so much of human misery, has nothing left to learn,
and no troubled conscience could have possibly sustained his searching
glance, which was as keen as his lancet.

His colleague--young, fresh-looking, light-haired, and jovial--was