“Who knows where he is going now?” murmured Father Absinthe, as he trotted along by Lecoq’s side.

“I do,” replied the young detective.  “And the proof is, that I am going to leave you, and run on in advance, to prepare for his reception.  I may be mistaken, however, and as we must be prepared for any emergency, leave me the chalk-marks as you go along.  If our man doesn’t come to the Hotel de Mariembourg, as I think he will, I shall come back here to start in pursuit of you again.”

Just then an empty cab chanced to be passing, and Lecoq hastily got into it, telling the driver to take him to the Northern Railway Station by the shortest route and as quickly as possible.  As time was precious, he handed the cabman his fare while on the road, and then began to search his pocket-book, among the various documents confided to him by M. Segmuller, for a particular paper he would now require.

Scarcely had the cab stopped at the Place de Roubaix than the young detective alighted and ran toward the Hotel de Mariembourg, where, as on the occasion of his first visit, he found Madame Milner standing on a chair in front of her birdcage, obstinately trying to teach her starling German, while the bird with equal obstinacy repeated:  “Camille! where is Camille?”

On perceiving the individual of questionable mien who had presumed to cross her threshold, the pretty widow did not deign to change her position.

“What do you want?” she asked in a curt, sharp voice.

“I am the nephew of a messenger at the Palais de Justice,” replied Lecoq with an awkward bow, in perfect keeping with his attire.  “On going to see my uncle this morning, I found him laid up with rheumatism; and he asked me to bring you this paper in his stead.  It is a summons for you to appear at once before the investigating magistrate.”

This reply induced Madame Milner to abandon her perch.  “Very well,” she replied after glancing at the summons; “give me time to throw a shawl over my shoulder, and I’ll start.”

Lecoq withdrew with another awkward bow; but he had not reached the street before a significant grimace betrayed his inward satisfaction.  She had duped him once, and now he had repaid her.  On looking round him he perceived a half-built house at the corner of the Rue St. Quentin, and being momentarily in want of a hiding-place he concluded that he had best conceal himself there.  The pretty widow had only asked for sufficient time to slip on a shawl before starting; but then it so happened that she was rather particular as to her personal appearance—­and such a plump, attractive little body as herself, having an eye perhaps to renewed wedlock, could not possibly be expected to tie her bonnet strings in less than a quarter of an hour.  Hence, Lecoq’s sojourn behind the scaffolding of the half-built house proved rather longer than he had expected, and at the thought that May might arrive at any moment he fairly trembled with anxiety.  How much was he in advance of the fugitive?  Half an hour, perhaps!  And he had accomplished only half his task.