A few straight hairs shaded his forehead, which receded like that of a greyhound, and through their scantiness barely concealed his long ugly ears.

He was very comfortably dressed, clean as a new franc piece, displaying linen of dazzling whiteness, and wearing silk gloves and leather gaiters.

A long and massive gold chain, very vulgar-looking, was twisted thrice round his neck, and fell in cascades into the pocket of his waistcoat.
M.Tabaret, surnamed Tirauclair, stood at the threshold, and bowed almost to the ground, bending his old back into an arch, and in the humblest of voices asked, "The investigating magistrate has deigned to send for me ?" "Yes!" replied M.Daburon, adding under his breath; "and if you are a man of any ability, there is at least nothing to indicate it in your appearance." "I am here," continued the old fellow, "completely at the service of justice." "I wish to know," said M.Daburon, "whether you can discover some clue that will put us upon the track of the assassin.

I will explain the--" "Oh, I know enough of it!" interrupted old Tabaret.

"Lecoq has told me the principal facts, just as much as I desire to know." "Nevertheless--" commenced the commissary of police.
"If you will permit me, I prefer to proceed without receiving any details, in order to be more fully master of my own impressions.