This assertion seemed far too audacious to suit Lecoq's companion, who
remarked: "One can not be sure of that."

"I am sure of it, however; and can prove it conclusively. If you doubt
it, it is because your eyes are growing old. Bring your lantern a little
nearer--yes, here it is--our man placed his large foot upon one of the
marks made by the woman with the small foot and almost effaced it."
This unexceptionable piece of circumstantial evidence stupefied the old
police agent.

"Now," continued Lecoq, "could this man have been the accomplice whom
the murderer was expecting? Might it not have been some strolling
vagrant whose attention was attracted by the two pistol shots? This is
what we must ascertain. And we will ascertain it. Come!"

A wooden fence of lattice-work, rather more than three feet high,
was all that separated the Widow Chupin's garden from the waste land
surrounding it. When Lecoq made the circuit of the house to cut off the
murderer's escape he had encountered this obstacle, and, fearing lest he
should arrive too late, he had leaped the fence to the great detriment
of his pantaloons, without even asking himself if there was a gate or
not. There was one, however--a light gate of lattice-work similar to the
fence, turning upon iron hinges, and closed by a wooden button. Now it
was straight toward this gate that these footprints in the snow led the
two police agents. Some now thought must have struck the younger man,
for he suddenly paused. "Ah!" he murmured, "these two women did not come
to the Poivriere this evening for the first time."

"Why do you think that, my boy?" inquired Father Absinthe.