Detective and mystery stories; French fiction -- Translations into English
Lecoq’s presumptions made Father Absinthe nervous. “The surest way,
perhaps,” ventured the latter, “would be to lock him up again!”
“No!” replied the young detective. “I want his secret, and I’ll have it.
What will be said of us if we two allow this man to escape us? He can’t
be visible and invisible by turns, like the devil. We’ll see what he is
going to do now that he’s got some money and a plan--for he has both at
the present moment. I would stake my right hand upon it.”
At that same instant, as if May intended to convince Lecoq of the truth
of his suspicion, he entered a tobacconist’s shop and emerged an instant
afterward with a cigar in his mouth.
XXI
So the landlady of the Hotel de Mariembourg had given May money. There
could be no further doubt on that point after the purchase of this
cigar. But had they agreed upon any plan? Had they had sufficient time
to decide on the method that May was to employ with the view of baffling
his pursuit?
It would seem so, since the fugitive’s manner had now changed in more
respects than one. If hitherto he had seemed to care little for the
danger of pursuit and capture, at present he was evidently uneasy and
agitated. After walking so long in the full sunlight, with his head
high in the air, he now slunk along in the shadow of the houses, hiding
himself as much as possible.
“It is evident that his fears have increased in proportion with his
hopes,” said Lecoq to his companion. “He was quite unnerved when we
saw him at the Odeon, and the merest trifle would have decided him to
surrender; now, however, he thinks he has a chance to escape with his
secret.”
The fugitive was following the boulevards, but suddenly he turned into
a side street and made his way toward the Temple, where, soon afterward,
Father Absinthe and Lecoq found him conversing with one of those
importunate dealers in cast-off garments who consider every passer-by
their lawful prey. The vender and May were evidently debating a question
of price; but the latter was plainly no skilful bargainer, for with a
somewhat disappointed air he soon gave up the discussion and entered the
shop.
“Ah, so now he has some coin he has determined on a costume,” remarked
Lecoq. “Isn’t that always an escaped prisoner’s first impulse?”
Soon afterward May emerged into the street. His appearance was decidedly
changed, for he wore a pair of dark blue linen trousers, of the type
French “navvies” habitually affect, and a loosely fitting coat of rough
woolen material. A gay silk ‘kerchief was knotted about his throat, and
a black silk cap was set on one side of his head. Thus attired, he was
scarcely more prepossessing in appearance than Lecoq, and one would have
hesitated before deciding which of the two it would be preferable to
meet at night on a deserted highway.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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