Lecoq had not remained five minutes in the shop:  and yet, when he emerged, May and Father Absinthe were nowhere in sight.  Still, the young detective was not at all uneasy on that score.  In making arrangements with his old colleague for this pursuit Lecoq had foreseen such a situation, and it had been agreed that if one of them were obliged to remain behind, the other, who was closely following May, should from time to time make chalk marks on the walls, shutters, and facings of the shops, so as to indicate the route, and enable his companion to rejoin him.  Hence, in order to know which way to go, Lecoq had only to glance at the buildings around him.  The task was neither long nor difficult, for on the front of the third shop beyond that of the second-hand-clothes dealer a superb dash of the crayon instructed him to turn into the Rue Saint-Jacques.

On he rushed in that direction, his mind busy at work with the incident that had just occurred.  What a terrible warning that old-clothes dealer’s declaration had been!  Ah! that mysterious accomplice was a man of foresight.  He had even done his utmost to insure his comrade’s salvation in the event of his being allowed to escape.  What did the package the shopkeeper had spoken of contain?  Clothes, no doubt.  Everything necessary for a complete disguise—­money, papers, a forged passport most likely.

While these thoughts were rushing through Lecoq’s mind, he had reached the Rue Soufflot, where he paused for an instant to learn his way from the walls.  This was the work of a second.  A long chalk mark on a watchmaker’s shop pointed to the Boulevard Saint-Michel, whither the young detective at once directed his steps.  “The accomplice,” said he to himself, resuming his meditation, “didn’t succeed with that old-clothes dealer; but he isn’t a man to be disheartened by one rebuff.  He has certainly taken other measures.  How shall I divine what they are in order to defeat them?”

The supposed murderer had crossed the Boulevard Saint-Michel, and had then taken to the Rue Monsieur-le-Prince, as Father Absinthe’s dashes of the crayon proclaimed with many eloquent flourishes.

“One circumstance reassures me,” the young detective murmured, “May’s going to this shop, and his consternation on finding that there was nothing for him there.  The accomplice had informed him of his plans, but had not been able to inform him of their failure.  Hence, from this hour, the prisoner is left to his own resources.  The chain that bound him to his accomplice is broken; there is no longer an understanding between them.  Everything depends now upon keeping them apart.  Yes, everything lies in that!”

Ah! how Lecoq rejoiced that he had succeeded in having May transferred to another prison; for he was convinced that the accomplice had warned May of the attempt he was going to make with the old-clothes dealer on the very evening before May’s removal to Mazas.  Hence, it had not been possible to acquaint him with the failure of this scheme or the substitution of another.