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_From Inspector Bucket to M. Lecoq_.
May 26, 1 A.M.
MY DEAR SIR,—We have taken your man without difficulty. Bald,
benevolent-looking, stout, perhaps fancies himself like Napoleon; if so,
is deceived. We nabbed him asleep over his liquor and alone, at the
address you meant to give, 5 Forest Road, St. John’s Wood. The house was
empty, servants out, not a soul but him at home. He speaks English well
for a foreigner, and tries to make out he is a British subject. Was
rather confused when took, and kept ejaculating “Cold Punch,” apparently
with the hope of persuading us that such was his name or alias. He also
called for one Sam—probably an accomplice. He travels to Calais to-day
as a lunatic patient in a strait-waistcoat, under charge of four
“keepers” belonging to the force; and I trust that you have made
preparations for receiving your prisoner, and that our management of the
case has given satisfaction. What I like is doing business with a man
like you. We may not be so smart nor so clever at disguises as the
French profession, but we flatter ourselves we are punctual and
cautious.—Faithfully yours,