So the weeks went by, and Martial was expecting to be summoned before the Court of Assizes and condemned under the name of May, when he was afforded an opportunity to escape.
Too shrewd not to discern the trap that had been set for him, he endured some moments of horrible hesitation in the prison-van.
He decided to accept the risk, however, commending himself to his lucky star.
And he decided wisely, for that same night he leaped his own garden-wall, leaving, as a hostage, in the hands of Lecoq, an escaped convict, Joseph Conturier by name, whom he had picked up in a low drinking-saloon.
Warned by Mme. Milner, thanks to a blunder on the part of Lecoq, Otto was awaiting his master.
In the twinkling of an eye Martial’s beard fell under the razor; he plunged into the bath that was awaiting him, and his clothing was burned.
And it was he who, during the search a few minutes later, had the hardihood to call out:
“Otto, by all means allow these men to do their duty.”
But he did not breathe freely until the agents of police had departed.
“At last,” he exclaimed, “honor is saved! We have outwitted Lecoq!”