Seeing a second-hand-clothes shop
close by, May entered in evident haste. Lecoq at once stationed himself
under a gateway on the opposite side of the street, and pretended to be
busily engaged lighting a cigarette. The criminal being momentarily out
of sight, Father Absinthe thought he could approach without danger.
"Ah, well," said he, "there's our man changing his fine clothes for
coarser garments. He will ask for the difference in money; and they will
give it him. You told me this morning: 'May without a sou'--that's the
trump card in our game!"
"Nonsense! Before we begin to lament, let us wait and see what happens.
It is not likely that shopkeeper will give him any money. He won't buy
clothing of the first passer-by."
Father Absinthe withdrew to a little distance. He distrusted these
reasons, but not Lecoq who gave them.
In the mean while, in his secret soul, Lecoq was cursing himself.
Another blunder, thought he, another weapon left in the hands of the
enemy. How was it that he, who fancied himself so shrewd, had not
foreseen this emergency? Calmness of mind returned, however, a moment
afterward when he saw May emerge from the shop attired as when he
entered it. Luck had for once been in the young detective's favor.
May actually staggered when he stepped out on the pavement. His bitter
disappointment could be read in his countenance, which disclosed the
anguish of a drowning man who sees the frail plank which was his only
hope of salvation snatched from his grasp by the ruthless waves.
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