He did not allow Lecoq to have a moment's rest.

He wanted this or that or the other thing.

He demanded paper and a pencil.
Then he wanted a spade; and finally he cried out for plaster of Paris, some water and a bottle of oil.
When more than an hour had elapsed, the investigating magistrate began to grow impatient, and asked what had become of the amateur detective.
"He is on the road," replied the corporal, "lying flat in the mud, and mixing some plaster in a plate.

He says he has nearly finished, and that he is coming back presently." He did in fact return almost instantly, joyous, triumphant, looking at least twenty years younger.

Lecoq followed him, carrying with the utmost precaution a large basket.
"I have solved the riddle!" said Tabaret to the magistrate.