Again he started to leave the room, and Lecoq, this time, had almost to use force to detain him. “Be calm, sir; be calm,” he entreated. “I will punish--” “Yes, yes--I understand that--but wait until you have regained your self-possession. It is quite possible that the guilty party may be one of the prisoners who assist in the distribution of food every morning.” “What does that matter?” “Excuse me, but it matters a great deal. If you noise this discovery abroad, we shall never discover the truth. The traitor will not be fool enough to confess his guilt. We must be silent and wait. We will keep a close watch and detect the culprit in the very act.” These objections were so sensible that the governor yielded. “So be it,” he sighed, “I will try and be patient. But let me see the missive that was enclosed in this bit of bread.” Lecoq could not consent to this proposal. “I warned M. Segmuller,” said he, “that there would probably be something new this morning; and he will be waiting for me in his office. We must only examine the letter in his presence.” This remark was so correct that the governor assented; and they at once started for the Palais de Justice. On their way, Lecoq endeavored to convince his companion that it was wrong to deplore a circumstance which might be of incalculable benefit to the prosecution. “It was an illusion,” said he, “to imagine that the governor of a prison could be more cunning than the prisoners entrusted to him. A prisoner is almost always a match in ingenuity for his custodians.” The young detective had not finished speaking when they reached the magistrate’s office. Scarcely had Lecoq opened the door than M. Segmuller and his clerk rose from their seats. They both read important intelligence in our hero’s troubled face. “What is it?” eagerly asked the magistrate. Lecoq’s sole response was to lay the pellet of bread upon M. Segmuller’s desk. In an instant the magistrate had opened it, extracting from the centre a tiny slip of the thinnest tissue paper. This he unfolded, and smoothed upon the palm of his hand. As soon as he glanced at it, his brow contracted. “Ah! this note is written in cipher,” he exclaimed, with a disappointed air. “We must not lose patience,” said Lecoq quietly. He took the slip of paper from the magistrate and read the numbers inscribed upon it. They ran as follows: “235, 15, 3, 8, 25, 2, 16, 208, 5, 360, 4, 36, 19, 7, 14, 118, 84, 23, 9, 40, 11, 99.” “And so we shall learn nothing from this note,” murmured the governor. “Why not?” the smiling clerk ventured to remark. “There is no system of cipher which can not be read with a little skill and patience; there are some people who make it their business.” “You are right,” said Lecoq, approvingly. “And I, myself, once had the knack of it.” “What!” exclaimed the magistrate; “do you hope to find the key to this cipher?” “With time, yes.”