immediately began prowling about, eagerly listening and watching, and
ready to take flight at the least sign of danger. At first they could
discover no particular reasons for alarm. But later on, at about two
o'clock in the morning, just as they were beginning to feel secure
again, the fog lifted a little, and they witnessed a phenomenon well
calculated to arouse anxiety.

Upon the unoccupied tract of land, which the people of the neighborhood
called the "plain," a small but very bright light was seen describing
the most capricious evolutions. It moved here and there without any
apparent aim, tracing the most inexplicable zigzags, sometimes sinking
to the earth, sometimes rising to a height of four or five feet, at
others remaining quite motionless, and the next second flying off like
a ball. In spite of the place and the season of the year, the less
ignorant among vagabonds believed the light to be some ignis fatuus, one
of those luminous meteors that raise from the marshes and float about
in the atmosphere at the bidding of the wind. In point of fact, however,
this ignis fatuus was the lantern by the light of which the two police
agents were pursuing their investigations.

After thus suddenly revealing his capacity to his first disciple, Lecoq
found himself involved in a cruel perplexity. He had not the boldness
and promptness of decision which is the gift of a prosperous past, and
was hesitating between two courses, both equally reasonable, and both
offering strong probabilities of success. He stood between two paths,
that made by the two women on the one side, and that made by the
accomplice on the other. Which should he take? For he could not hope
to follow both. Seated upon the log where the women had rested a few
moments before, with his hand pressed upon his forehead, he reflected
and weighed the chances.

"If I follow the man I shall learn nothing that I do not know already.
He has gone to hover round the party; he has followed them at a
distance, he has seen them lock up his accomplice, and he is undoubtedly
prowling round about the station house. If I hurried in pursuit, could I
hope to overtake and capture him? No; too long a time has elapsed."

Father Absinthe listened to this monologue with intense curiosity,
as anxious as an unsophisticated person who, having questioned a
clairvoyant in regard to some lost articles, is waiting the oracle's
response.

"To follow the women," continued the young man, "t