ponder over the circumstance, for a rumble of wheels now announced the
approach of that lugubrious vehicle, the Black Maria.

When the Widow Chupin was removed from her cell she fought and scratched
and cried "Murder!" at the top of her voice; and it was only by sheer
force that she was at length got into the van. Then it was that the
officials turned to the assassin. Lecoq certainly expected some sign of
repugnance now, and he watched the prisoner closely. But he was again
doomed to disappointment. The culprit entered the vehicle in the most
unconcerned manner, and took possession of his compartment like one
accustomed to it, knowing the most comfortable position to assume in
such close quarters.

"Ah! what an unfortunate morning," murmured Lecoq, disconsolately.
"Still I will lie in wait for him at the prefecture."

When the door of the prison-van had been securely closed, the driver
cracked his whip, and the sturdy horses started off at a brisk trot.
Lecoq had taken his seat in front, between the driver and the guard; but
his mind was so engrossed with his own thoughts that he heard nothing
of their conversation, which was very jovial, although frequently
interrupted by the shrill voice of the Widow Chupin, who sang and yelled
her imprecations alternately.

It is needless, however, to recapitulate her oaths; let us rather follow
the train of Lecoq's meditation. By what means could he secure some clue
to the murderer's identity? He was still convinced that the prisoner
must belong to the higher ranks of society. After all, it was not so
extraordinary that he should have succeeded in feigning an appetite,
that he should have concealed his distaste for a nauseous beverage, and