gardens and, after ordering the soldiers to watch the banks of the lake
and to seize the fugitive if he tried to put ashore, the commissary and
two of his men pulled off in pursuit of Lupin.

It was not a difficult matter, for they were able to follow his movements
by the intermittent light of the moon and to see that he was trying to
cross the lakes while bearing toward the right--that is to say, toward
the village of Saint-Gratien. Moreover, the commissary soon perceived
that, with the aid of his men and thanks perhaps to the comparative
lightness of his craft, he was rapidly gaining on the other. In ten
minutes he had decreased the interval between them by one half.

"That's it!" he cried. "We shan't even need the soldiers to keep him
from landing. I very much want to make the fellow's acquaintance. He's
a cool hand and no mistake!"

The funny thing was that the distance was now diminishing at an abnormal
rate, as though the fugitive had lost heart at realizing the futility of
the struggle. The policemen redoubled their efforts. The boat shot
across the water with the swiftness of a swallow. Another hundred yards
at most and they would reach the man.

"Halt!" cried the commissary.

The enemy, whose huddled shape they could make out in the boat, no longer
moved. The sculls drifted with the stream. And this absence of all
motion had something alarming about it. A ruffian of that stamp might
easily lie in wait for his aggressors, sell his life dearly and even
shoot them dead before they had a chance of attacking him.