facing them, thus dispelling all doubt as to the precise
moment of his approach.

About a hundred yards from the Poivriere, Lecoq suddenly seized his
colleague's arm. "Halt!" he exclaimed, "we have reached a good place; I
can see unmistakable proofs."

The spot, all unenclosed as it was, was evidently utilized by some
builder for the storage of various kinds of lumber. The ground was
strewn with large blocks of granite, some chiseled, some in the rough,
with numerous long planks and logs of wood in their midst. In front of
one of these logs, the surface of which had been evidently wiped, all
the various footprints came together, mingling confusedly.

"Here," declared the young detective, "our fugitives met the man and
took counsel with him. One of the women, the one with the little feet,
sat down upon this log."

"We ought to make quite sure of that," said Father Absinthe, in an
oracular tone.

But his companion cut short his desire for verification. "You, my old
friend," said he, "are going to do me the kindness to keep perfectly
still: pass me the lantern and do not move."

Lecoq's modest tone had suddenly become so imperious that his colleague
dared offer no resistance. Like a soldier at the command to halt,
he remained erect, motionless, and mute, following his colleague's
movements with an inquisitive, wondering eye.

Quick in his motions, and understanding how to maneuvre the lantern
in accordance with his wishes, the young police agent explored the
surroundings in a very short space of time. A bloodhound in pursuit of
his prey would have been less alert, less discerning, less agile. He
came and went, now turning, now pausing, now retreating, now hurrying on
again without any apparent reason; he scrutinized, he questioned every
surrounding object: the ground, the logs of wood, the blocks of stone,
in a word, nothing escaped his glance. For a moment he would remain
standing, then fall upon his knees, and at times lie flat upon his
stomach with his face so near the ground that his breath must have
melted the snow. He had drawn a tape-line from his pocket, and using it
with a carpenter's dexterity, he measured, measured, and measured.

And all his movements were accompanied with the wild gestures of a
madman, interspersed with oaths or short laughs, with exclamations of
disappointment or delight. After a quarter of an hour of this strange
exercise, he turned to Father Absinthe, placed the lantern on a stone,