As soon as he was within speaking
distance, the inspector called to Father Absinthe, who, after warning
Lecoq, remained on the threshold, leaning against the door-post, puffing
his pipe, as immovable as a sphinx.
"Ah, well, old man!" cried Gevrol, "have you any great melodrama, very
dark and very mysterious, to relate to us?"
"I have nothing to relate myself," replied the old detective, without
even drawing his pipe from his lips, "I am too stupid, that is perfectly
understood. But Monsieur Lecoq will tell you something that will
astonish you."
The prefix, "monsieur," which the old police agent used in speaking
of his colleague, displeased Gevrol so much that he pretended not to
understand. "Who are you speaking of?" he asked abruptly.
"Of my colleague, of course, who is now busy finishing his report--of
Monsieur Lecoq." Quite unintentionally, the worthy fellow had certainly
become the young police agent's godfather. From that day forward,
for his enemies as well as for his friends, he was and he remained
"Monsieur" Lecoq.
"Ah! ah!" said the inspector, whose hearing was evidently impaired. "Ah,
he has discovered--"
"The pot of roses which others did not scent, General." By this remark,
Father Absinthe made an enemy of his superior officer. But he cared
little for that: Lecoq had become his deity, and no matter what the
future might reserve, the old veteran had resolved to follow his young
colleague's fortunes.
"We'll see about that," murmured the inspector, mentally resolving to
have an eye on this youth whom success might transform into a rival.
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