What Bernardet was searching for was a policeman. He saw two chatting
together and walking slowly along under the leafless trees. In three
steps, at each step turning his head to watch the people coming out of
the cabaret, he reached the men. While speaking to them he did not take
his eyes from the door of that place where he had left the young man in
the gray felt hat.

"Dagonin," he said, "you must follow me, if you please, and 'pull me
in!' I am going to pick a drunken quarrel with a particular person.
Interfere and arrest us both. Understand?"

"Perfectly," Dagonin replied.

He looked at his comrade, who carried his hand to his shako and saluted
Bernardet.

The little man who had given his directions in a quick tone, was already
far away. He stood near the door of the cabaret gazing searchingly at
each person who came out. The looks he cast were neither direct,
menacing nor even familiar. He had pulled his hat down to his eyebrows,
and he cast side glances at the crowd pouring from the door of the wine
shop.

He was astonished that the man in the sombrero had not yet appeared.
Possibly he had stopped, on his way out, in the front hall. Glancing
through the open door, Bernardet saw that he was right. The young man
was seated at one of those coffin-shaped oaken tables, with a glass of
greenish liquor before him. "He needs alcohol to brace him up," growled
the officer.

The door was shut again.

"I can wait till he has finished his absinthe," said Bernardet to
himself.

He had not long to wait. After a small number of persons had left the
place, the door opened and the man in the gray felt hat appeared,
stopped on the threshold, and, as Bernardet had done, scanned the
horizon and the street. Bernardet turned his back and seemed to be
walking away from the wine shop, leaving the man free. With a keen
glance or two over his shoulder toward him, Bernardet crossed the street
and hurried along at a rapid pace, in order to gain on the young man,
and by this manoeuvre to find himself directly in front of the
unknown. The man seemed to hesitate, walked quickly down the Boulevard a
few steps toward the Place Pigalle, in the direction where Rovere's
apartments were, but suddenly stopped, turned on his heel, repassed the
Cabaret du Squelette, and went toward the Moulin Rouge, which at first,
Bernardet thought, he was about to enter. As he stood there the vanes of
the Moulin Rouge, turning about, lighted up the windo