. On reaching the bank, he saw the gentleman,
a hundred yards away, taking off his hat to him in the dusk.

One of the policemen discharged his revolver, without thinking.

The wind carried the sound of words across the water. The gentleman was
singing as he rowed:

"Go, little bark,
Float in the dark..."

But the commissary saw a skiff fastened to the landing-stage of the
adjoining property. He scrambled over the hedge separating the two
gardens and, after ordering the soldiers to watch the banks of the lake
and to seize the fugitive if he tried to put ashore, the commissary and
two of his men pulled off in pursuit of Lupin.

It was not a difficult matter, for they were able to follow his
movements by the intermittent light of the moon and to see that he was
trying to cross the lakes while bearing toward the right--that is to
say, toward the village of Saint-Gratien. Moreover, the commissary
soon perceived that, with the aid of his men and thanks perhaps to the
comparative lightness of his craft, he was rapidly gaining on the other.
In ten minutes he had decreased the interval between them by one half.

"That's it!" he cried. "We shan't even need the soldiers to keep him
from landing. I very much want to make the fellow's acquaintance. He's a
cool hand and no mistake!"

The funny thing was that the distance was now diminishing at an abnormal
rate, as though the fugitive had lost heart at realizing the futility
of the struggle. The policemen redoubled their efforts. The boat shot
across the water with the swiftness of a swallow. Another hundred yards
at most and they would reach the man.

"Halt!" cried the commissary.

The enemy, whose huddled shape they could make out in the boat, no
longer moved. The sculls drifted with the stream. And this absence of
all motion had something alarming about it. A ruffian of that stamp
might easily lie in wait for his aggressors, sell his life dearly and
even shoot them dead before they had a chance of attacking him.

"Surrender!" shouted the commissary.

The sky, at that moment, was dark. The three men lay flat at the bottom
of their skiff, for they thought they perceived a threatening gesture.

The boat, carried by its own impetus, was approaching the other.

The commissary growled:

"We won't let ourselves be sniped. Let's fire at him. Are you ready?"
And he roared, once more, "Surrender... if not...!"

No reply.

The enemy did not budge.

"Surrender!... H