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The time seemed long, and, growing impatient, he paced to and fro the length of this log of wood occasionally pausing to listen. On hearing Lecoq's recital, all the conflicting sentiments that are awakened in a child's mind by a fairy tale doubt, faith, anxiety, and hope filled Father Absinthe's heart. What should he believe? what should he refuse to believe? He did not know.
M. Lecoq's face, which had up to that moment worn an anxious expression, beamed with joy. He felt the natural pride of a captain who has succeeded in his plans for the enemy's destruction. He tapped the old justice of the peace familiarly on the shoulder, and pronounced a single word: "Nipped!" Palot shook his head. "It isn't certain," said he. "Why?"
"At all events, there is now but one way left to discover his secret; we must allow him to escape and then track him to his lair." This expedient, although at first sight a very startling one, was not of Lecoq's own invention, nor was it by any means novel. At all times, in cases of necessity, have the police closed their eyes and opened the prison doors for the release of suspected criminals.
Lecoq's sole response was to lay the pellet of bread upon M. Segmuller's desk. In an instant the magistrate had opened it, extracting from the centre a tiny slip of the thinnest tissue paper. This he unfolded, and smoothed upon the palm of his hand. As soon as he glanced at it, his brow contracted. "Ah! this note is written in cipher," he exclaimed, with a disappointed air.
M. Lecoq's presumption, in speaking of a prisoner's innocence whose guilt seemed to the judge indisputable, exasperated him. "And what is this tremendous proof, if you please?" asked he. "It is simple and striking," answered M. Lecoq, putting on his most frivolous air as his conclusions narrowed the field of probabilities.
He intended that, after a single perusal of his report, the investigating magistrate should say: "Let the officer who drew up this document be sent for." It must be remembered that Lecoq's future depended upon such an order.
Bertomy had nothing but the highest praise for Lagors, but, on the other hand, spoke most disparagingly of the count. The count, it appeared, had proposed for the hand of Madeline, and had pressed his suit with great determination. And Madeline and this was what provided a new problem for Lecoq's consideration had tacitly accepted his attention.
Such was not Lecoq's opinion, however. "Well, yes, Monsieur Tabaret," said he, "the idea did occur to me; but I drove it away." "And why, if you please?" "Because because " "Because you would not believe in the logical sequence of your premises; but I am consistent, and I say that it seems impossible the murderer arrested in the Widow Chupin's drinking den should be the Duc de Sairmeuse.
'Besides, he added, 'my master is an American; he gives us our orders in French, but Madame and he always talk English together." M. Lecoq's eye glistened as Palot proceeded. "Tremorel speaks English, doesn't he?" asked he of M. Plantat. "Quite well; and Laurence too." "If that is so, we are on the right track, for we know that Tremorel shaved his beard off on the night of the murder.
The brown legs hung, the next instant, over the tallest of the trunks. The skilful whistling was resumed at once; our appearance and the boy's present occupation were mere interludes, we were made to understand; his real business, that afternoon, was to do justice to the Lecoq's entire opera, and to keep his eye on the sea.
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