"So you think he'll come out?"
"I'm sure of it, unless he has become a fool."
"I tell you we shall succeed then, for this is the only serious obstacle—"
He suddenly interrupted himself. The restaurant door opened ajar, and a man passed his head in and withdrew it immediately.
"That's my man," said M. Lecoq, calling the waiter to pay for the dinner, "he is waiting for us in the passage; let us go."
A young man dressed like a journeyman upholsterer was standing in the passage looking in at the shop-windows. He had long brown locks, and his mustache and eyebrows were coal-black. M. Plantat certainly did not recognize him as Palot, but M. Lecoq did, and even seemed dissatisfied with his get-up.
"Bad," growled he, "pitiable. Do you think it is enough, in order to disguise yourself, to change the color of your beard? Look in that glass, and tell me if the expression of your face is not just what it was before? Aren't your eye and smile the same? Then your cap is too much on one side, it is not natural; and your hand is put in your pocket awkwardly."
"I'll try to do better another time, Monsieur Lecoq," Palot modestly replied.
"I hope so; but I guess your porter won't recognize you to-night, and that is all we want."
"And now what must I do?"