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?‰mile, 1836-1873

"Monsieur Lecoq"

"
Couturier's face darkened. "I am really unable to give you any," he
replied.
"Why?"
"Because I don't know him. I never saw him before last night."
"It's hard to believe that. A fellow doesn't enlist the first-comer for
an expedition like yours last evening. Before undertaking such a job
with a man, one finds out something about him."
"I don't say I haven't been guilty of a stupid blunder," replied
Couturier. "Indeed I could murder myself for it, but there was nothing
about the man to make me suspect that he belonged to the secret-service.
He spread a net for me, and I jumped into it. It was made for me, of
course; but it wasn't necessary for me to put my foot into it."
"You are mistaken, my man," said Lecoq. "The individual in question
didn't belong to the police force. I pledge you my word of honor, he
didn't."
For a moment Couturier surveyed Lecoq with a knowing air, as if he hoped
to discover whether he were speaking the truth or attempting to deceive
him. "I believe you," he said at last. "And to prove it I'll tell you
how it happened. I was dining alone last evening in a restaurant in
the Rue Mouffetard, when that man came in and took a seat beside me.
Naturally we began to talk; and I thought him a very good sort of a
fellow. I forget how it began, but somehow or other he mentioned that he
had some clothes he wanted to sell; and being glad to oblige him, I took
him to a friend, who bought them from him. It was doing him a good turn,
wasn't it? Well, he offered me something to drink, and I returned the
compliment.


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