"We must be indulgent; come now," pursued Plantat. "Besides," he paused a moment to give more weight to what he was going to say, "besides, you haven't seen everything yet." No one could tell when M. Lecoq was playing a comedy. He did not always know, himself. This great artist, devoted to his art, practised the feigning of all the emotions of the human soul, just as he accustomed himself to wearing all sorts of costumes. He was very indignant against the assassins, and gesticulated about in great excitement; but he never ceased to watch Plantat slyly, and the last words of the latter made him prick up his ears. "Let's see the rest, then," said he. As he followed his worthy comrade to the garden, he renewed his confidences to the dear defunct. "Confound this old bundle of mystery! We can't take this obstinate fellow by surprise, that's clear. He'll give us the word of the riddle when we have guessed it; not before. He is as strong as we, my darling; he only needs a little practice. But look you--if he has found something which has escaped us, he must have previous information, that we don't know of." Nothing had been disturbed in the garden. "See here, Monsieur Lecoq," said the old justice of the peace, as he followed a winding pathway which led to the river. "It was here that one of the count's slippers was found; below there, a little to the right of these geraniums, his silk handkerchief was picked up." They reached the river-bank, and lifted, with great care, the planks which had been placed there to preserve the foot-prints. "We suppose," said M. Plantat, "that the countess, in her flight, succeeded in getting to this spot; and that here they caught up with her and gave her a finishing blow." Was this really Plantat's opinion, or did he only report the morning's theory? M. Lecoq could not tell. "According to my calculations," he said, "the countess could not have fled, but was brought here already dead, or logic is not logic. However, let us examine this spot carefully." He knelt down and studied the sand on the path, the stagnant water, and the reeds and water-plants. Then going along a little distance, he threw a stone, approaching again to see the effect produced on the mud. He next returned to the house, and came back again under the willows, crossing the lawn, where were still clearly visible traces of a heavy burden having been dragged over it. Without the least respect for his pantaloons, he crossed the lawn on all-fours, scrutinizing the smallest blades of grass, pulling away the thick tufts to see the earth better, and minutely observing the direction of the broken stems. This done, he said: "My conclusions are confirmed. The countess was carried across here." "Are you sure of it?" asked Plantat. There was no mistaking the old man's hesitation this time; he was clearly undecided, and leaned on the other's judgment for guidance. "There can be no error, possibly." The detective smiled, as he added: