He took a side-path that led to the cottage of the chief gardener of Trianon. That official happened to be in, and Lavenne invited him to put on his hat and to come out for a moment’s conversation. “Well, Monsieur Lavenne, what can I do for you?” said the man, putting on his coat as he came out, and latching the door behind him. “You can get a spade and take me to the place where you buried the dog belonging to his Majesty. I see by the report that you were ordered to bury it.” “You mean Atalanta, monsieur?” “The same.” The gardener, without a word, went to the tool-house by the cottage and took out a spade, then, shouldering the spade, he led the way to a clear space amidst some bushes. “Now,” said Lavenne, “dig me up the remains of the animal. I wish to examine them.” The gardener did as he was told, and Lavenne, on his knees, made a minute examination of the mouth of the dog. The body of the animal, lying in a light, dry soil, showed no trace of putrefaction, being, so the gardener said, as fresh as when he buried it. Lavenne, having finished his inspection, rose to his feet, dusted the soil from his knees, and having paid the man liberally for his trouble, took his way to where the carriage was waiting to convey him back to Paris. On the journey, he made some notes with a pencil in his pocket-book. He had discovered the poisoner of Atalanta. Led by the luck that sometimes attends genius, or perhaps by the commonsense which made him conduct his inquiry, not by direct interrogation, but by conversation on things in general, he had accomplished in a few hours what Sartines had failed to accomplish in several days. Arrived at the Hôtel de Sartines, he found his master absent and Monsieur Beauregard acting in his stead. Beauregard was a big, fine-looking man, one of the best swordsmen in France, fearless and honest, but not of the highest intelligence as far as detective work was concerned. Nor did Sartines use him for that business. Sartines had made Beauregard his chief of staff because the latter had all the qualities of a good organizer, the fidelity of a hound, and the rigid business methods in which Sartines was lacking. He was also a fine figure of a man, and so upheld the dignity of his position in the eyes of the Court and the populace. Beauregard was a great friend of Lavenne. “So his Excellency is out,” said Lavenne. “Well, that is a pity, as I have some news for him, and a request to make.” “And the news?” said Beauregard. “The news is, simply that I have found an indication as to the poisoner of Atalanta.”