"
During these remarks the prisoner's face wore, by turns, an expression
of anxiety, astonishment, irony, and mirth. When the magistrate had
finished, he burst into a hearty laugh.
"So that's the result of twelve or fourteen hours' research," he at
length exclaimed, turning toward Lecoq. "Ah! Mr. Agent, it's good to be
sharp, but not so sharp as that. The truth is, that when I was taken
to the station-house, forty-eight hours--thirty-six of them spent in a
railway carriage--had elapsed since I had taken off my boots. My feet
were red and swollen, and they burned like fire. What did I do? I poured
some water over them. As for your other suspicions, if I have a soft
white skin, it is only because I take care of myself. Besides, as
is usual with most men of my profession, I rarely wear anything but
slippers on my feet. This is so true that, on leaving Leipsic, I only
owned a single pair of boots, and that was an old cast-off pair given me
by M. Simpson."
Lecoq struck his chest. "Fool, imbecile, idiot, that I am!" he thought.
"He was waiting to be questioned about this circumstance. He is so
wonderfully shrewd that, when he saw me take the dust, he divined my
intentions; and since then he has managed to concoct this story--a
plausible story enough--and one that any jury would believe."
M. Segmuller was saying the same thing to himself. But he was not so
surprised nor so overcome by the skill the prisoner had displayed in
fencing with this point.
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