“Ah!” quoth the latter with admiration, “I am not surprised they don’t recognize me, since I can’t recognize myself.  No one but you, Monsieur Lecoq, could have so transformed me.”

Unfortunately for Lecoq’s vanity, the good fellow spoke at a moment when the time for idle conversation had passed.  The prison van was just crossing the bridge at a brisk trot.

“Attention!” exclaimed the young detective, “there comes our friend!  Quick!—­to your post; remember my directions, and keep your eyes open!”

Near them, on the quay, was a large pile of timber, behind which Father Absinthe immediately concealed himself, while Lecoq, seizing a spade that was lying idle, hurried to a little distance and began digging in the sand.  They did well to make haste.  The van came onward and turned the corner.  It passed the two detectives, and with a noisy clang rolled under the heavy arch leading to “la Souriciere.”  May was inside, as Lecoq assured himself on recognizing the keeper sitting beside the driver.

The van remained in the courtyard for more than a quarter of an hour.  When it reappeared, the driver had left his perch and the quay opposite the Palais de Justice, threw a covering over his horses, lighted his pipe, and quietly walked away.  The moment for action was now swiftly approaching.

For a few minutes the anxiety of the two watchers amounted to actual agony; nothing stirred—­nothing moved.  But at last the door of the van was opened with infinite caution, and a pale, frightened face became visible.  It was the face of May.  The prisoner cast a rapid glance around him.  No one was in sight.  Then as swiftly and as stealthily as a cat he sprang to the ground, noiselessly closed the door of the vehicle, and walked quietly toward the bridge.

Lecoq breathed again.  He had been asking himself if some trifling circumstance could have been forgotten or neglected, thus disarranging all his plans.  He had been wondering if this strange man would refuse the dangerous liberty which had been offered him.  But he had been anxious without cause.  May had fled; not thoughtlessly, but with premeditation.

From the moment when he was left alone, apparently forgotten, in the insecurely locked compartment, until he opened the door and glanced around him, sufficient time had elapsed for a man of his intellect and discernment to analyze and calculate all the chances of so grave a step.  Hence, if he had stepped into the snare laid for him, it must be with a full knowledge of the risks he had to run.  He and Lecoq were alone together, free in the streets of Paris, armed with mutual distrust, equally obliged to resort to strategy, and forced to hide from each other.  Lecoq, it is true, had an auxiliary—­Father Absinthe.  But who could say that May would not be aided by his redoubtable accomplice?  Hence, it was a veritable duel, the result of which depended entirely upon the courage, skill, and coolness of the antagonists.