When Lecoq made the circuit of the house to cut off the
murderer's escape he had encountered this obstacle, and, fearing lest he
should arrive too late, he had leaped the fence to the great detriment
of his pantaloons, without even asking himself if there was a gate or
not. There was one, however--a light gate of lattice-work similar to the
fence, turning upon iron hinges, and closed by a wooden button. Now it
was straight toward this gate that these footprints in the snow led the
two police agents. Some now thought must have struck the younger man,
for he suddenly paused. "Ah!" he murmured, "these two women did not come
to the Poivriere this evening for the first time."
"Why do you think that, my boy?" inquired Father Absinthe.
"I could almost swear it. How, unless they were in the habit of coming
to this den, could they have been aware of the existence of this gate?
Could they have discovered it on such a dark, foggy night? No; for I,
who can, without boasting, say that I have good eyes--I did not see it."
"Ah! yes, that is true!"
"These two women, however, came here without hesitating, in a straight
line; and note that to do this, it was necessary for them to cross the
garden diagonally."
The veteran would have given something if he could have found some
objection to offer; but unfortunately he could find none. "Upon my
word!" he exclaimed, "yours is a droll way of proceeding. You are only
a conscript; I am a veteran in the service, and have assisted in more
affairs of this sort than you are years old, but never have I seen--"
"Nonsense!" interrupted Lecoq, "you will see much more.
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