In spite of the place and the season of the year, the less
ignorant among vagabonds believed the light to be some ignis fatuus, one
of those luminous meteors that raise from the marshes and float about
in the atmosphere at the bidding of the wind. In point of fact, however,
this ignis fatuus was the lantern by the light of which the two police
agents were pursuing their investigations.
After thus suddenly revealing his capacity to his first disciple, Lecoq
found himself involved in a cruel perplexity. He had not the boldness
and promptness of decision which is the gift of a prosperous past, and
was hesitating between two courses, both equally reasonable, and both
offering strong probabilities of success. He stood between two paths,
that made by the two women on the one side, and that made by the
accomplice on the other. Which should he take? For he could not hope
to follow both. Seated upon the log where the women had rested a few
moments before, with his hand pressed upon his forehead, he reflected
and weighed the chances.
"If I follow the man I shall learn nothing that I do not know already.
He has gone to hover round the party; he has followed them at a
distance, he has seen them lock up his accomplice, and he is undoubtedly
prowling round about the station house. If I hurried in pursuit, could I
hope to overtake and capture him? No; too long a time has elapsed."
Father Absinthe listened to this monologue with intense curiosity,
as anxious as an unsophisticated person who, having questioned a
clairvoyant in regard to some lost articles, is waiting the oracle's
response.
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