They walked rapidly on until passing the Rue Fer-a-Moulin, when they turned into a narrow, dimly lighted alley, and entered a dingy dwelling.

“Run and ask the concierge if there are not two doors by which any one can leave this house,” said Lecoq, addressing Father Absinthe.

The latter instantly obeyed.  He learned, however, that the house had only one street door, and accordingly the two detectives waited.  “We are discovered!” murmured Lecoq.  “I am sure of it.  May must have recognized me, or the boy at the Hotel de Mariembourg has described me to the accomplice.”

Father Absinthe made no response, for just then the two men came out of the house.  May was jingling some coins in his hand, and seemed to be in a very bad temper.  “What infernal rascals these receivers are!” he grumbled.

However, although he had only received a small sum for his clothing, he probably felt that his companion’s kindness deserved some reward; for immediately afterward he proposed they should take a drink together, and with that object in view they entered a wine-shop close by.  They remained here for more than an hour, drinking together; and only left this establishment to enter one a hundred paces distant.  Turned out by the landlord, who was anxious to shut up, the two friends now took refuge in the next one they found open.  Here again they were soon turned out and then they hurried to another boozing-den—­and yet again to a fifth.  And so, after drinking innumerable bottles of wine, they contrived to reach the Place Saint-Michel at about one o’clock in the morning.  Here, however, they found nothing to drink; for all the wine-shops were closed.

The two men then held a consultation together, and, after a short discussion, they walked arm-in-arm toward the Faubourg Saint-Germain, like a pair of friends.  The liquor they had imbibed was seemingly producing its effect, for they often staggered in their walk, and talked not merely loudly but both at the same time.  In spite of the danger, Lecoq advanced near enough to catch some fragments of their conversation; and the words “a good stroke,” and “money enough to satisfy one,” reached his ears.

Father Absinthe’s confidence wavered.  “All this will end badly,” he murmured.

“Don’t be alarmed,” replied his friend.  “I frankly confess that I don’t understand the maneuvres of these wily confederates, but what does that matter after all; now the two men are together, I feel sure of success—­sure.  If one runs away, the other will remain, and Gevrol shall soon see which is right, he or I.”

Meanwhile the two drunkards had slackened their pace.  By the manner in which they examined the magnificent mansions of the Faubourg Saint-German, one might have suspected them of the very worst intentions.  In the Rue de Varrennes, at only a few steps from the Rue de la Chaise, they suddenly paused before a wall of moderate height surrounding an immense garden.  The man in the slouch hat now did the talking, and explained to May—­as the detectives could tell by his gestures—­that the mansion to which the garden belonged had its front entrance in the Rue de Grenelle.