In the mean while, M. Segmuller who was usually calmness personified,
and dignity par excellence, paced restlessly to and fro. At times he
would sit down and then suddenly spring to his feet again, gesticulating
impatiently as he did so. Indeed, he seemed unable to remain quiet for a
moment.
"The prosecution is evidently making no headway," thought the clerk.
"May's prospects are encouraging." Owing to the magistrate's harsh
reception the idea delighted him; and, indeed, letting his rancor have
the upper hand, Goguet actually offered up a prayer that the prisoner
might get the better of the fight.
From half-past nine till ten o'clock M. Segmuller rang for his messenger
at least five times, and each time he asked him the same questions: "Are
you sure that M. Lecoq has not been here this morning? Inquire! If he
has not been here he must certainly have sent some one, or else have
written to me."
Each time the astonished doorkeeper replied: "No one has been here, and
there is no letter for you."
Five identical negative answers to the same inquiries only increased the
magistrate's wrath and impatience. "It is inconceivable!" he exclaimed.
"Here I am upon coals of fire, and that man dares to keep me waiting.
Where can he be?"
At last he ordered a messenger to go and see if he could not find Lecoq
somewhere in the neighborhood; perhaps in some restaurant or cafe. "At
all events, he must be found and brought back immediately," said he.
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