Choose."
Lecoq retired in confusion; but the astronomer's words bore fruit in his
mind. "Why should I not follow good advice?" he asked himself. Police
service did not inspire him with repugnance--far from it. He had often
admired that mysterious power whose hand is everywhere, and which,
although unseen and unheard, still manages to hear and see everything.
He was delighted with the prospect of being the instrument of such a
power. He considered that the profession of detective would enable him
to employ the talents with which he had been endowed in a useful and
honorable fashion; besides opening out a life of thrilling adventure
with fame as its goal.
In short, this profession had a wonderful charm for him. So much so,
that on the following week, thanks to a letter from Baron Moser, he was
admitted into the service. A cruel disenchantment awaited him. He had
seen the results, but not the means. His surprise was like that of a
simple-minded frequenter of the theatre, when he is admitted for the
first time behind the scenes, and is able to pry into the decorations
and tinsel that are so dazzling at a distance.
However, the opportunity for which he had so ardently longed, for which
he had been waiting during many weary months, had come, he thought,
at last, as he reached the Poivriere with Gevrol and the other police
agents. While he was clinging to the window shutters he saw by the
light of his ambition a pathway to success. It was at first only a
presentiment, but it soon became a supposition, and then a conviction
based upon actual facts, which had escaped his companions, but which
he had observed and carefully noted.
Pages:
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31