This doleful remark recalled Lecoq to a realizing sense of the present situation.
They had allowed a prisoner to slip through their fingers. That was vexatious, it is true; but they had captured one of the most notorious of criminals—Joseph Conturier. Surely there was some comfort in that.
But while Lecoq could have borne dismissal, he could not endure the thought that he would not be allowed to follow up this affair of the Poivriere.
What would his superior officers say when he told them that May and the Duc de Sairmeuse were one and the same person?
They would, undoubtedly, shrug their shoulders and turn up their noses.
“Still, Monsieur Segmuller will believe me,” he thought. “But will he dare to take any action in the matter without incontrovertible evidence?”
This was very unlikely. Lecoq realized it all too well.
“Could we not make a descent upon the Hotel de Sairmeuse, and, on some pretext or other, compel the duke to show himself, and identify him as the prisoner May?”
He entertained this idea only for an instant, then abruptly dismissed it.
“A stupid expedient!” he exclaimed. “Are two such men as the duke and his accomplice likely to be caught napping? They are prepared for such a visit, and we should only have our labor for our pains.”