Lecoq stood as if petrified. Now he understood the terrible drama enacted in the Widow Chupin’s cabin. “I must go to Sairmeuse at once,” he said to himself; “there I can discover everything.” He left the room without seeing M. d’Escorval, and even successfully resisted the temptation to take Lacheneur’s letter with him. Exactly a month had transpired since Blanche’s death. His grace the Duke de Sairmeuse was reclining on a divan in his library, reading one of his favourite authors, when Otto his valet de chambre came in to inform him that a messenger was below, charged with delivering into his grace’s own hands a letter from M. d’Escorval. Martial sprang to his feet. “It is impossible,” he exclaimed; and then he quickly added: “Let the messenger come up.” A tall man, with florid complexion, and red hair and beard, timidly handed the duke a letter. Martial instantly broke the seal, and read: “I saved you, monsieur, by not recognizing the prisoner. [Illustration: “He began writing without noticing that the messenger was looking over his shoulder.”] May. In your turn assist me. By noon on the day after to-morrow, I must have two hundred and sixty thousand francs. I have sufficient confidence in your honour to apply to you. “MAURICE D’ESCORVAL.” For a moment Martial stood bewildered, then springing to a table he began writing, without noticing that the messenger was looking over his shoulder: “Monsieur--Not the day after to-morrow, but this evening, what you ask will be at your service. My fortune and my life are at your disposal. It is but a slight return for the generosity shown by you in withdrawing, when, under the rags of May, you recognized your former enemy, but now your devoted friend. “MARTIAL DE SAIRMEUSE.” The duke folded this letter with a feverish hand, and giving it to the messenger with a louis, he said: “Here is the answer, make haste!” But the messenger did not stir. He slipped the letter into his pocket, and then hastily cast his red beard and wig on the floor. “Lecoq!” exclaimed Martial, paler than death. “Lecoq, yes, sir,” replied the young detective. “I was obliged to take my revenge; my future depended on it, and so I ventured to imitate M. d’Escorval’s writing.” And as Martial offered no remark: “I must also say to Monsieur le Duc,” he continued, “that if your grace will transmit a confession of your presence at the Poivriere in your own hand-writing to the investigating magistrate I can and will at the same time furnish proofs of your grace’s innocence--that you were dragged into a snare, and that you only acted in self-defense.” Martial looked up in fair astonishment, but to show that he was acquainted with everything, Lecoq slowly added: “As madame is dead, there will be nothing said concerning what took place at the Borderie.”