Occasionally, however, he crossed the roadway, and, strange
to say, exchanged a few remarks with a neatly dressed, long-bearded
gentleman, who wore gold-rimmed spectacles over his nose and drab
silk gloves on his hands. This individual exhibited all the outward
characteristics of eminent respectability, and seemed to take a
remarkable interest in the contents of an optician's shop window.
Every now and then a policeman or an agent of the detective corps
passed by on his way to the Prefecture, and the elderly gentleman or
the "loafer" would at times run after these officials to ask for some
trifling information. The person addressed replied and passed on; and
then the "loafer" and the gentleman would join each other and laughingly
exclaim: "Good!--there's another who doesn't recognize us."
And in truth the pair had just cause for exultation, good reason to be
proud, for of some twelve or fifteen comrades they accosted, not one
recognized the two detectives, Lecoq and Father Absinthe. For the
"loafer" was none other than our hero, and the gentleman of such eminent
respectability his faithful lieutenant.
"Ah!" quoth the latter with admiration, "I am not surprised they don't
recognize me, since I can't recognize myself. No one but you, Monsieur
Lecoq, could have so transformed me."
Unfortunately for Lecoq's vanity, the good fellow spoke at a moment
when the time for idle conversation had passed. The prison van was just
crossing the bridge at a brisk trot.
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