"Considerable, no; but tolerably large. The tailor estimates it at twelve or fourteen hundred francs."
"While his vest was being repaired, Monsieur Jandidier complained of sudden indisposition, and sent a little boy for a carriage, saying that he was obliged to go to one of his workmen, who lived a long distance off. Unfortunately, the lad had forgotten the number of the carriage. He only recollected that it had yellow wheels, and was drawn by a large black horse. The vehicle was found. A circular sent to all who kept carriages for hire, put me on the track. I learned this morning that it was No. 6007. The driver, on being questioned, distinctly remembered having been stopped Saturday evening, about nine o'clock, in the Rue Richelieu, by a little boy, and waiting ten minutes in front of the Maison Gouin. The description he gave of his fare exactly suits our man, and he recognized the photograph among five different ones I showed him."
Maitre Magloire stopped. He wanted to enjoy the approval visible in the magistrate's expression.
"Monsieur Jandidier," he continued, "ordered the driver to take him to No. 48 Rue d'Arras-Saint-Victor. In this house lives a workman named Jules Tarot, employed by Monsieur Jandidier."
M. Magloire's way of pronouncing this name was intended to rouse the magistrate's attention, and did so.
"Not exactly, but this is the story. Monsieur Jandidier dismissed the carriage at the Rue d'Arras and went to Tarot's about ten o'clock. At eleven the employer and workman came out together. The latter did not return until midnight, and here I lose all trace of my man. Of course I didn't question Tarot, for fear of putting him on his guard."
"A workman in mother-of-pearl, a man who polishes shells on a grindstone to make them perfectly iridescent. He's a skillful fellow, and, assisted by his wife, to whom he has taught his trade, can make nearly a hundred francs a week."
"Oh! no. They are both young, they have no children, they are Parisians. Deuce take it, they enjoy themselves. Monday regularly carries away what the other days bring."
Two hours after Maitre Magloire's report, the police went to search Jules Tarot's house.
At sight of the officers, the workman and his wife turned deadly pale, and were seized with a nervous tremor that could not escape Maitre Magloire's practiced eye, Yet the most thorough investigation failed to detect anything suspicious, and the policemen were about to withdraw, when the detective noticed Tarot's wife glance anxiously at a cage hung in the window.