ve the culprits' ruin. How can
we preserve them? By what process could we solidify them? I would deluge
them with my blood if that could only cause them to congeal."

Father Absinthe was just then thinking that his share of the labor had
hitherto been the least important; for he had merely held the lantern.
But here was a chance for him to acquire a real and substantial right to
the prospective reward. "I know a method," said he, "by which one could
preserve these marks in the snow."

At these words the younger man stopped short. "You know--you?" he
interrupted.

"Yes, I know," replied the old detective, with the evident satisfaction
of a man who has gained his revenge. "They invented a way at the time of
that affair at the Maison Blanche, last December."

"I recollect."

"Ah! well, on the snow in the courtyard there was a footprint that
attracted a detective's attention. He said that the whole evidence
depended on that mark alone, that it was worth more than ten years' hard
work in following up the case. Naturally, he desired to preserve it.
They sent for a great chemist--"

"Go on, go on."

"I have never seen the method put into practise, but an expert told me
all about it, and showed me the mold they obtained. He explained it to
me precisely, on account of my profession."

Lecoq was trembling with impatience. "And how did they obtain the mold?"
he asked abruptly.

"Wait: I was just going to explain. They take some of the best gelatine,
and allow it to soak in cold water. When it becomes thoroughly softened,
they heat it until it forms a liquid, of moderate consistency. Then when
it is just cool enough, they pour a nice little covering of it upon the
footprint."

Lecoq felt the irritation that is natural to a person who has just heard
a bad joke, or who has lost his time in listening to a fool.

"Enough!" he interrupted, angrily. "That method can be found in all the
manuals. It is excellent, no doubt, but how can it serve us? Have you
any gelatine about you?"

"No."

"Nor have I. You might as well have counseled me to pour melted lead
upon the footprints to fix them."

They continued their way, and five minutes later, without having
exchanged another word, they reentered the Widow Chupin's hovel. The
first impulse of the older man would have been to rest to breathe, but
Lecoq did not give him time to do so.

"Make haste: get me a dish--a plate--anything!" cried the young
detective, "and bring me s