The two men pushed open the café door and entered a fairly large room dotted with small marble tables, with a bar in one corner and a dancing stage at the back. Seating themselves unostentatiously at a table near the door they called for drinks. There were some fifteen or twenty men and a few women in the place, some reading the papers, some playing dominoes, but most lounging in groups and talking. As La Touche’s keen eye ran over the faces, he soon spotted his man. ‘Is that he, Charcot?’ he asked, pointing to a small, unhealthy looking fellow, with a short, untidy, white beard and moustache. The porter looked cautiously. Then he assented eagerly. ‘It’s the man, monsieur, I believe. The beard changes him a bit, but I’m nearly sure it’s he.’ The suspect was one of those on the outskirts of a group, to whom a stout, fussy man with a large nose was holding forth on some socialistic subject. La Touche crossed over and touched the white-haired man on the arm. ‘M. Jean Dubois?’ The man started and an expression of fear came into his eyes. But he answered civilly enough. ‘Yes, monsieur. But I don’t know you.’ ‘My name is La Touche. I want a word or two with you. Will you have a drink with me and my friend here?’ He indicated the porter, Charcot, and they moved over. The fear had left Dubois’s eyes, but he still looked uneasy. In silence they sat down. ‘Now Dubois, what will you take?’ When the carter’s wants were supplied, La Touche bent towards him and began speaking in a low tone:-- ‘I dare say, Dubois, you already guess what I want, and I wish to say before anything else that you have nothing to fear if you are straight with me. On the contrary, I will give you one hundred francs if you answer my questions truly. If not--well, I am connected with the police, and we’ll become better acquainted.’ Dubois moved uneasily as he stammered:-- ‘I don’t know what you mean, monsieur.’ ‘So that there shall be no mistake, I shall tell you. I want to know who it was engaged you to take the cask to the rue Cardinet goods station.’ La Touche, who was watching the other intently, saw him start, while his face paled and the look of fear returned to his eyes. It was evident he understood the question. That involuntary motion had given him away. ‘I assure you, monsieur, I don’t know what you mean. What cask are you referring to?’ La Touche bent closer. ‘Tell me, do you know what was in that cask? No? Well, I’ll tell you. There was a body in it--the body of a woman--a murdered woman. Did you not guess that from the papers? Did you not realise that the cask you carried to the station was the one that all the papers have been full of? Now, do you want to be arrested as an accessory after the fact in a murder case?’ The man was ghastly, and beads of perspiration stood on his forehead. In a trembling voice he began again to protest his ignorance. La Touche cut him short.