They searched everywhere, and, at last, upstairs in the Widow Chupin’s own room, they found a well-trimmed lantern, so small and compact that it certainly had never been intended for honest purposes. “A regular burglar’s implement,” said Father Absinthe, with a coarse laugh. The implement was useful in any case; as both men agreed when they returned to the garden and recommenced their investigations systematically. They advanced very slowly and with extreme caution. The old man carefully held the lantern in the best position, while Lecoq, on his knees, studied each footprint with the attention of a chiromancer professing to read the future in the hand of a rich client. This new examination assured Lecoq that he had been correct in his first supposition. It was plain that two women had left the Poivriere by the back door. They had started off running, as was proved by the length of the steps and the shape of the footprints. The difference in the tracks left by the two fugitives was so remarkable that it did not escape Father Absinthe’s eyes. “Sapristi!” he muttered; “one of these jades can boast of having a pretty foot at the end of her leg!” He was right. One of the tracks betrayed a small, coquettish, slender foot, clad in an elegant high-heeled boot with a narrow sole and an arched instep. The other denoted a broad, short foot growing wider toward the end. It had evidently been incased in a strong, low shoe. This was indeed a clue. Lecoq’s hopes at once revived; so eagerly does a man welcome any supposition that is in accordance with his desires. Trembling with anxiety, he went to examine some other footprints a short distance from these; and an excited exclamation at once escaped his lips. “What is it?” eagerly inquired the other agent: “what do you see?” “Come and look for yourself, see there!” cried Lecoq. The old man bent down, and his surprise was so great that he almost dropped the lantern. “Oh!” said he in a stifled voice, “a man’s footprint!” “Exactly. And this fellow wore the finest of boots. See that imprint, how clear, how neat it is!” Worthy Father Absinthe was scratching his ear furiously, his usual method of quickening his rather slow wits. “But it seems to me,” he ventured to say at last, “that this individual was not coming from this ill-fated hovel.” “Of course not; the direction of the foot tells you that. No, he was not going away, he was coming here. But he did not pass beyond the spot where we are now standing. He was standing on tiptoe with outstretched neck and listening ears, when, on reaching this spot, he heard some noise, fear seized him, and he fled.” “Or rather, the women were going out as he was coming, and--” “No, the women were outside the garden when he entered it.” This assertion seemed far too audacious to suit Lecoq’s companion, who remarked: “One can not be sure of that.”