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?‰mile, 1836-1873

"Monsieur Lecoq"


A moment's silence followed her indication of the portrait--an act which
clearly revealed how deeply she worshiped her persecutor; and during
this pause the attic door slowly and softly opened. Not of itself,
however, for suddenly a man's head peered in. The intruder, whoever he
was, instantly withdrew, uttering as he did so a low exclamation. The
door was swiftly closed again; the key--which had been left on the
outside--grated in the lock, and the occupants of the garret could hear
hurried steps descending the stairs.
Lecoq was sitting with his back to the door, and could not, therefore,
see the intruder's face. Quickly as he had turned, he had failed to see
who it was: and yet he was far from being surprised at the incident.
Intuition explained its meaning.
"That must have been the accomplice!" he cried.
Thanks to his position, Father Absinthe had seen the man's face.
"Yes," said he, "yes, it was the same man who made me drink with him
yesterday."
With a bound, both detectives threw themselves against the door,
exhausting their strength in vain attempts to open it. It resisted all
their efforts, for it was of solid oak, having been purchased by the
landlord from some public building in process of demolition, and it was,
moreover, furnished with a strong and massive fastening.
"Help us!" cried Father Absinthe to the woman, who stood petrified with
astonishment; "give us a bar, a piece of iron, a nail--anything!"
The younger man was making frantic efforts to push back the bolt, or
to force the lock from the wood.


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