“I don’t deceive myself, sir.  May will guess the truth of course.  I’m quite aware of that.”

“Very well.  Then, what would be the use of attempting what you propose?”

“I have come to this conclusion,” replied Lecoq, “May will find himself strangely embarrassed, even when he’s set free.  He won’t have a sou in his pocket; we know he has no trade, so what will he do to earn a living?  He may struggle along for a while; but he won’t be willing to suffer long.  Man must have food and shelter, and when he finds himself without a roof over his head, without even a crust of bread to break, he will remember that he is rich.  Won’t he then try to recover possession of his property?  Yes, certainly he will.  He will try to obtain money, endeavor to communicate with his friends, and I shall wait till that moment arrives.  Months may elapse, before, seeing no signs of my surveillance, he may venture on some decisive step; and then I will spring forward with a warrant for his arrest in my hand.”

“And what if he should leave Paris?  What if he should go abroad?”

“Oh, I will follow him.  One of my aunts has left me a little land in the provinces worth about twelve thousand francs.  I will sell it, and spend the last sou, if necessary, so long as I only have my revenge.  This man has outwitted me as if I were a child, and I must have my turn.”

“And what if he should slip through your fingers?”

Lecoq laughed like a man that was sure of himself.  “Let him try,” he exclaimed; “I will answer for him with my life.”

“Your idea is not a bad one,” said M. Segmuller, eventually.  “But you must understand that law and justice will take no part in such intrigues.  All I can promise you is my tacit approval.  Go, therefore, to the Prefecture; see your superiors—­”

With a really despairing gesture, the young man interrupted M. Segmuller.  “What good would it do for me to make such a proposition?” he exclaimed.  “They would not only refuse my request, but they would dismiss me on the spot, if my name is not already erased from the roll.”

“What, dismissed, after conducting this case so well?”

“Ah, sir, unfortunately every one is not of that opinion.  Tongues have been wagging busily during your illness.  Somehow or other, my enemies have heard of the last scene we had with May; and impudently declare that it was I who imagined all the romantic details of this affair, being eager for advancement.  They pretend that the only reasons to doubt the prisoner’s identity are those I have invented myself.  To hear them talk at the Depot, one might suppose that I invented the scene in the Widow Chupin’s cabin; imagined the accomplices; suborned the witnesses; manufactured the articles of conviction; wrote the first note in cipher as well as the second; duped Father Absinthe, and mystified the governor.”

“The deuce!” exclaimed M. Segmuller; “in that case, what do they think of me?”