But, nonsense! A detective who is afraid to risk his life
is no better than a low spy. Why! you never saw even Gevrol flinch."
Perhaps Father Absinthe had wished to ascertain if his companion's
courage was equal to his shrewdness and sagacity. If such were the case
he was satisfied on this score now.
"You, my friend, will remain here to follow them if they leave
hurriedly," resumed Lecoq, who in the mean while had already turned the
handle of the door. Entering with a careless air and taking a seat at a
table near that occupied by the fugitive and the man in the slouch hat,
he called for a plate of meat and a "chopine" of wine in a guttural
voice.
The fugitive and the ruffian opposite him were talking, but like
strangers who had met by chance, and not at all after the fashion of
friends who have met at a rendezvous. They spoke in the jargon of their
pretended rank in life, not that puerile slang met with in romances
descriptive of low life, but that obscene, vulgar dialect which it is
impossible to render, so changeable and diverse is the signification of
its words.
"What wonderful actors!" thought Lecoq; "what perfection! what method!
How I should be deceived if I were not absolutely certain!"
For the moment the man in the slouch hat was giving a detailed account
of the different prisons in France. He described the governors of the
principal houses of detention; explained the divergencies of discipline
in different establishments; and recounted that the food at Poissy was
ten times better than that at Fontevrault.
Pages:
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332