THROUGH THE WALL

BY

CLEVELAND MOFFETT

AUTHOR OF

THE BATTLE, ETC. 

With Illustrations by

H. HEYER

NEW YORK 1909

TO

MY WIFE

AND OUR DELIGHTFUL PARIS HOME IN THE

VILLA MONTMORENCY, WHERE THIS

BOOK WAS WRITTEN

C. M. 

NEW YORK, AUGUST 1, 1909. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. --A BLOOD-RED SKYII. --COQUENIL'S GREATEST CASEIII. --PRIVATE ROOM NUMBER SIXIV. --"IN THE NAME OF THE LAW"V. --COQUENIL GETS IN THE GAMEVI. --THE WEAPONVII. --THE FOOTPRINTSVIII. --THROUGH THE WALLIX. --COQUENIL MARKS HIS MANX. --GIBELIN SCORES A POINTXI. --THE TOWERS OF NOTRE-DAMEXII. --BY SPECIAL ORDERXIII. --LLOYD AND ALICEXIV. --THE WOMAN IN THE CASEXV. --PUSSY WILMOTT'S CONFESSIONXVI. --THE THIRD PAIR OF BOOTSXVII. --"FROM HIGHER UP"XVIII. --A LONG LITTLE FINGERXIX. --TOUCHING A YELLOW TOOTHXX. --THE MEMORY OF A DOGXXI. --THE WOOD CARVERXXII. --AT THE HAIRDRESSER'SXXIII. --GROENER AT BAYXXIV. --THIRTY IMPORTANT WORDSXXV. --THE MOVING PICTUREXXVI. --COQUENIL'S MOTHERXXVII. --THE DIARYXXVIII. --A GREAT CRIMINALXXIX. --THE LOST DOLLYXXX. --MRS. LLOYD KITTREDGE

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"'We'll show 'em, eh, Caesar?'""'Alice, ' he cried ... 'Say it isn't true'""'I want you, ' he said in a low voice""'I didn't _resign_; I was discharged'""On the floor lay a man""'Ask Beau Cocono, ' he called back""'Alice, I am innocent'""'Have one?' said M. Paul, offering his cigarette case""'There it lies to the left of that heavy doorway'""'_Cherche!_' he ordered""He prolonged his victory, slowly increasing the pressure""Gibelin beamed. 'The old school has its good points, after all'""'I know _why_ you are thinking about that prison'""She was just bending over it when Coquenil entered""'Did you write this?'""And when he could think no longer, he listened to the pickpocket""'They all swore black and blue that Addison told the truth'""A door was opened suddenly and he was pushed into a room""'Stand still, I won't hurt you'""'There!' he said with a hideous grin, and he handed Tignol the tooth""'My dog, my dog!'""The confessional box was empty--_Alice was gone!_""'You mean that Father Anselm helped her to run away?' gasped Matthieu""'No nonsense, or you'll break your arm'""'It's the best disguise I ever saw, I'll take my hat off to you on that'""'You have ordered handcuffs put on a prisoner _for the last time_'""'No, no, no!' he shrieked. 'You dogs! You cowards!'""'What's the matter? Your eyes are shut'""And a moment later he had carried her safely through the flames"

CHAPTER I

A BLOOD-RED SKY

It is worthy of note that the most remarkable criminal case in which thefamous French detective, Paul Coquenil, was ever engaged, a case of morebaffling mystery than the Palais Royal diamond robbery and of far greaterperil to him than the Marseilles trunk drama--in short, a case that rankswith the most important ones of modern police history--would never havebeen undertaken by Coquenil (and in that event might never have beensolved) but for the extraordinary faith this man had in certain strangeintuitions or forms of half knowledge that came to him at critical momentsof his life, bringing marvelous guidance. Who but one possessed of suchfaith would have given up fortune, high position, the reward of a wholecareer, _simply because a girl whom he did not know spoke some chance wordsthat neither he nor she understood_. Yet that is exactly what Coquenil did. 

It was late in the afternoon of a hot July day, the hottest day Paris hadknown that year (1907) and M. Coquenil, followed by a splendidwhite-and-brown shepherd dog, was walking down the Rue de la Cité, past thesomber mass of the city hospital. Before reaching the Place Notre-Dame hestopped twice, once at a flower market that offered the grateful shade ofits gnarled polenia trees just beyond the Conciergerie prison, and onceunder the heavy archway of the Prefecture de Police. At the flower markethe bought a white carnation from a woman in green apron and wooden shoes, who looked in awe at his pale, grave face, and thrilled when he gave her asmile and friendly word. She wondered if it was true, as people said, thatM. Coquenil always wore glasses with a slightly bluish tint so that no onecould see his eyes. 

The detective walked on, busy with pleasant thoughts. This was the hour ofhis triumph and justification, this made up for the cruel blow that hadfallen two years before and resulted, no one understood why, in his leavingthe Paris detective force at the very moment of his glory, when the wholecity was praising him for the St. Germain investigation. _Beau Cocono!_That was the name they had given him; he could hear the night crowdsshouting it in a silly couplet:

 Il nous faut-o Beau Cocono-o!

And then what a change within a week! What bitterness and humiliation! M. Paul Coquenil, after scores of brilliant successes, had withdrawn from thepolice force for personal reasons, said the newspapers. His health wasaffected, some declared; he had laid by a tidy fortune and wished to enjoyit, thought others; but many shook their heads mysteriously and whisperedthat there was something queer in all this. Coquenil himself said nothing. 

But now facts would speak for him more eloquently than any words; now, within twenty-four hours, it would be announced that he had been chosen, _on the recommendation of the Paris police department_, to organize thedetective service of a foreign capital, with a life position at the headof this service and a much larger salary than he had ever received, alarger salary, in fact, than Paris paid to its own chief of police. 

M. Coquenil had reached this point in his musings when he caught sight of ared-faced man, with a large purplish nose and a suspiciously black mustache(for his hair was gray), coming forward from the prefecture to meet him. 

"Ah, Papa Tignol!" he said briskly. "How goes it?"

The old man saluted deferentially, and then, half shutting his small grayeyes, replied with an ominous chuckle, as one who enjoys bad news: "Eh, well enough, M. Paul; but I don't like _that_. " And, lifting an unshavenchin, he pointed over his shoulder with a long, grimy thumb to the westernsky. 

"Always croaking!" laughed the other. "Why, it's a fine sunset, man!"

Tignol answered slowly, with objecting nod: "It's too red. And it's barredwith purple!"

"Like your nose. Ha, ha!" And Coquenil's face lighted gaily. "Forgive me, Papa Tignol. "

"Have your joke, if you will, but, " he turned with sudden directness, "don't you _remember_ when we had a blood-red sky like that? Ah, you don'tlaugh now!"

It was true, Coquenil's look had deepened into one of somber reminiscence. 

"You mean the murders in the Rue Montaigne?"

"Pre-cisely. "

"Pooh! A foolish fancy! How many red sunsets have there been since we foundthose two poor women stretched out in their white-and-gold _salon_? Well, Imust get on. Come to-night at nine. There will be news for you. "

"News for me, " echoed the old man. "_Au revoir_, M. Paul, " and he watchedthe slender, well-knit figure as the detective moved across the PlaceNotre-Dame, snapping his fingers playfully at the splendid animal thatbounded beside him and speaking to the dog in confidential friendliness. 

"We'll show 'em, eh, Caesar?" And the dog answered with eager barking andquick-wagging tail. 

[Illustration: "'We'll show 'em, eh, Caesar?'"]

So these two companions advanced toward the great cathedral, directingtheir steps to the left-hand portal under the Northern tower. Here theypaused before statues of various saints and angels that overhang theblackened doorway while Coquenil said something to a professional beggar, who straightway disappeared inside the church. Caesar, meantime, withpanting tongue, was eying the decapitated St. Denis, asking himself, onewould say, how even a saint could carry his head in his hands. 

And presently there appeared a white-bearded sacristan in a three-corneredhat of blue and gold and a gold-embroidered coat. For all his brave apparelhe was a small, mild-mannered person, with kindly brown eyes and a way ofsmiling sadly as if he had forgotten how to laugh. 

"Ah, Bonneton, my friend!" said Coquenil, and then, with a quizzicalglance: "My decorative friend!"

"Good evening, M. Paul, " answered the other, while he patted the dogaffectionately. "Shall I take Caesar?"

"One moment; I have news for you. " Then, while the other listenedanxiously, he told of his brilliant appointment in Rio Janeiro and of hisimminent departure. He was sailing for Brazil in three days. 

"_Mon Dieu!_" murmured Bonneton in dismay. "Sailing for Brazil! So ourfriends leave us. Of course I'm glad for you; it's a great chance, but--_will_ you take Caesar?"

"I couldn't leave my dog, could I?" smiled Coquenil. 

"Of course not! Of course not! And _such_ a dog! You've been kind to lethim guard the church since old Max died. Come, Caesar! Just a moment, M. Paul. " And with real emotion the sacristan led the dog away, leaving thedetective all unconscious that he had reached a critical moment in hisdestiny. 

How the course of events would have been changed had Paul Coquenil remainedoutside Notre-Dame on this occasion it is impossible to know; the fact ishe did not remain outside, but, growing impatient at Bonneton's delay, hepushed open the double swinging doors, with their coverings of leather andred velvet, and entered the sanctuary. _And immediately he saw the girl_. 

She was in the shadows near a statue of the Virgin before which candleswere burning. On the table were rosaries and talismans and candles ofdifferent lengths that it was evidently the girl's business to sell. Infront of the Virgin's shrine was a _prie dieu_ at which a woman waskneeling, but she presently rose and went out, and the girl sat therealone. She was looking down at a piece of embroidery, and Coquenil noticedher shapely white hands and the mass of red golden hair coiled above herneck. When she lifted her eyes he saw that they were dark and beautiful, though tinged with sadness. He was surprised to find this lovely youngwoman selling candles here in Notre-Dame Church. 

And suddenly he was more surprised, for as the girl glanced up she met hisgaze fixed on her, and immediately there came into her face a look sostrange, so glad, and yet so frightened that Coquenil went to her quicklywith reassuring smile. He was sure he had never seen her before, yet herealized that somehow she was equally sure that she knew him. 

What followed was seen by only one person, that is, the sacristan's wife, abig, hard-faced woman with a faint mustache and a wart on her chin, who satby the great column near the door dispensing holy water out of a crackedsaucer and whining for pennies. Nothing escaped the hawklike eyes of MotherBonneton, and now, with growing curiosity, she watched the scene betweenCoquenil and the candle seller. What interest could a great detective havein this girl, Alice, whom she and her husband had taken in as ahalf-charity boarder? Such airs as she gave herself! What was she sayingnow? Why should he look at her like that? The baggage!

"Holy saints, how she talks!" grumbled the sacristan's wife. "And see theeyes she makes! And how he listens! The man must be crazy to waste his timeon her! Now he asks a question and she talks again with that queer, far-away look. He frowns and clinches his hands, and--upon my soul he seemsafraid of her! He says something and starts to come away. Ah, now he turnsand stares at her as if he had seen a ghost! _Mon Dieu, quelle folie!_"

This whole incident occupied scarcely five minutes, yet it wrought anextraordinary change in Coquenil. All his buoyancy was gone, and he lookedworn, almost haggard, as he walked to the church door with hard-shut teethand face set in an ominous frown. 

"There's some devil's work in this, " he muttered, and as his eyes caughtthe fires of the lurid sky he thought of Papa Tignol's words. 

"What is it?" asked the sacristan, approaching timidly. 

The detective faced him sharply. "Who is the girl in there? Where did shecome from? How did she get here? Why does she--" He stopped abruptly, and, pressing the fingers of his two hands against his forehead, he stroked thebrows over his closed eyes as if he were combing away error. "No, no!" hechanged, "don't tell me yet. I must be alone; I must think. Come to me atnine to-night. "

"I--I'll try to come, " said Bonneton, with visions of an objecting wife. 

"You _must_ come, " insisted the detective. "Remember, nine o'clock, " and hestarted to go. 

"Yes, yes, quite so, " murmured the sacristan, following him. "But, M. Paul--er--which day do you sail?"

Coquenil turned and snapped out angrily: "I may not sail at all. "

"But the--the position in Rio Janeiro?"

"A thousand thunders! Don't talk to me!" cried the other, and there wassuch black rage in his look that Bonneton cowered away, clasping andunclasping his hands and murmuring meekly: "Ah, yes, exactly. "

 * * * * *

So much for the humble influence that turned Paul Coquenil toward anunbelievable decision and led him ultimately into the most desperatestruggle of his long and exciting career. A day of sinister portent thismust have been, for scarcely had Coquenil left Notre-Dame when anotherscene was enacted there that should have been happy, but that, alas! showedonly a rough and devious way stretching before two lovers. And again it wasthe girl who made trouble, this seller of candles, with her fine hands andher hair and her wistful dark eyes. A strange and pathetic figure she was, sitting there alone in the somber church. Quite alone now, for it wasclosing time, Mother Bonneton had shuffled off rheumatically after acutting word--she knew better than to ask what had happened--and the oldsacristan, lantern in hand and Caesar before him, was making his round ofthe galleries, securing doors and windows. 

With a shiver of apprehension Alice turned away from the whispering shadowsand went to the Virgin's shrine, where she knelt and tried to pray. Thecandles sputtered before her, and she shut her eyes tight, which madecolored patterns come and go behind the lids, fascinating geometricalfigures that changed and faded and grew stronger. And suddenly, inside awidening green circle, she saw a face, the face of a young man withlaughing gray eyes, and her heart beat with joy. She loved him, she lovedhim!--that was her secret and the cause of her unhappiness, for she musthide her love, especially from him; she must give him some cold word, someevasive reason, not the real one, when he should come presently for hisanswer. Ah, that was the great fact, he was coming for his answer--he, herhero man, her impetuous American with the name she liked so much, LloydKittredge--how often she had murmured that name in her lonely hours!--_he_would be here shortly for his answer. 

And alas! she must say "No" to him, she must give him pain; she could nothope to make him understand--how could anyone understand?--and then, perhaps, he would misjudge her, perhaps he would leave her in anger and notcome back any more. Not come back any more! The thought cut with a sharppang, and in her distress she moved her lips silently in the familiarprayer printed before her:

 O Marie, souvenez vous du moment supreme où Jesus votre divin Fils, expirant sur la croix, nous confia à votre maternelle solicitude. 

Her thoughts wandered from the page and flew back to her lover; Why was heso impatient? Why was he not willing to let their friendship go on as ithad been all these months? Why must he ask this inconceivable question andinsist on having an answer? His wife! Her cheeks flamed at the word and herheart throbbed wildly. His wife! How wonderful that he should have chosenher, so poor and obscure, for such an honor, the highest he could pay awoman! Whatever happened she would at least have this beautiful memory tocomfort her loneliness and sorrow. 

A descending step on the tower stairs broke in upon her meditations, andshe rose quickly from her knees. The sacristan had finished his rounds andwas coming to close the outer doors. It was time for her to go. And, with aglance at her hair in a little glass and a touch to her hat, she went outinto the garden back of Notre-Dame, where she knew her lover would bewaiting. There he was, strolling along the graveled walk near the fountain, switching his cane impatiently. He had not seen her yet, and she stoodstill, looking at him fondly, dreading what was to come, yet longing tohear the sound of his voice. How handsome he was! What a nice gray suit, and--then Kittredge turned. 

"Ah, at last!" he exclaimed, springing toward her with a mirthful, boyishsmile. His face was ruddy and clean shaven, the twinkling eyes and humorouslines about the mouth suggesting some joke or drollery always ready on hislips. Yet his was a frank, manly face, easily likable. He was a man oftwenty-seven, slender of build, but carrying himself well. In dress he hadthe quiet good taste that some men are born with, besides a willingness totake pains about shirts, boots, and cravats--in short, he looked like awell-groomed Englishman. Unlike the average Englishman, however, he spokealmost perfect French, owing to the fact that his American father hadmarried into one of the old Creole families of New Orleans. 

"How is your royal American constitution?" She smiled, repeating inexcellent English one of the nonsensical phrases he was fond of using. Shetried to say it gayly, but he was not deceived, and answered seriously inFrench:

"Hold on. There's something wrong. We've been sad, eh?"

"Why--er--" she began, "I--er----"

"Been worrying, I know. Too much church. Too much of that old she dragon. Come over here and tell me about it. " He led her to a bench shaded by afriendly sycamore tree. "Now, then. "

She faced him with troubled eyes, searching vainly for words and findingnothing. The crisis had come, and she did not know how to meet it. Her redlips trembled, her eyes grew melting, and she sat there silent anddelicious in her perplexity. Kittredge thrilled under the spell of herbeauty; he longed to take her in his arms and comfort her. 

"Suppose we go back a little, " he said reassuringly. "About six months ago, I think it was in January, a young chap in a fur overcoat drifted into thisold stone barn and took a turn around it. He saw the treasure and the fakerelics and the white marble French gentleman trying to get out of hiscoffin. And he didn't care a hang about any of 'em until he saw you. Thenhe began to take notice. The next day he came back and you sold him alittle red guidebook that told all about the twenty-five chapels and theseven hundred and ninety-two saints. No, seven hundred and ninety-three, for there was one saint with wonderful eyes and glorious hair and----"

"Please don't, " she murmured. 

"Why not? You don't know which saint I was talking about. It was My Lady ofthe Candles. She had the most beautiful hands in the world, and all daylong she sat at a table making stitches on cloth of gold. Which was bad forher eyes, by the way. "

"Ah, yes!" sighed Alice. 

"There are all kinds of miracles in Notre-Dame, " he went on playfully, "butthe greatest miracle is how this saint with the eyes and the hands and thehair ever dropped down at that little table. Nobody could explain it, sothe young fellow with the fur overcoat kept coming back and coming back tosee if he could figure it out. Only soon he came without his overcoat. "

"In bitter cold weather, " she said reproachfully. 

"He was pretty blue that day, wasn't he? Dead sore on the game. Money allblown in, overcoat up the spout, nothing ahead, and a whole year of--ofdamned foolishness behind. Excuse _me_, but that's what it was. Well, heblew in that day and--he walked over to where you were sitting, you darlinglittle saint!"

"No, no, " murmured Alice, "not a saint, only a poor girl who saw you wereunhappy and--and was sorry. "

Their eyes met tenderly, and for a moment neither spoke. Then Kittredgewent on unsteadily: "Anyhow you were kind to me, and I opened up a little. I told you a few things, and--when I went away I felt more like a man. Isaid to myself: 'Lloyd Kittredge, if you're any good you'll cut out thisthing that's been raising hell with you'--excuse _me_, but that's what itwas--'and you'll make a new start, right now. ' And I did it. There's a lotyou don't know, but you can bet all your rosaries and relics that I've madea fair fight since then. I've worked and--been decent and--I did it all foryou. " His voice was vibrant now with passion; he caught her hand in hisand repeated the words, leaning closer, so that she felt his warm breath onher cheek. "All for you. You know that, don't you, Alice?"

What a moment for a girl whose whole soul was quivering with fondness! Whata proud, beautiful moment! He loved her, he loved her! Yet she drew herhand away and forced herself to say, as if reprovingly: "You mustn't dothat!"

He looked at her in surprise, and then, with challenging directness: "Whynot?"

"Because I cannot be what you--what you want me to be, " she answered, looking down. 

"I want you to be my wife. "

"I know. "

"And--and you refuse me?"

For a moment she did not speak. Then slowly she nodded, as if pronouncingher own doom. 

"Alice, " he cried, "look up here! You don't mean it. Say it isn't true. "

She lifted her eyes bravely and faced him. "It _is_ true, Lloyd; I cannever be your wife. "

"But why? Why?"

"I--I cannot tell you, " she faltered. 

He was about to speak impatiently, but before her evident distress hechecked the words and asked gently: "Is it something against me?"

"Oh, no!" she answered quickly. 

"Sure? Isn't it something you've heard that I've done or--or not done?Don't be afraid to hurt my feelings. I'll make a clean breast of it all, ifyou say so. God knows I was a fool, but I've kept straight since I knewyou, I'll swear to that. "

"I believe you, dear. "

"You believe me, you call me 'dear, ' you look at me out of those wonderfuleyes as if you cared for me. "

"I do, I do, " she murmured. 

[Illustration: "'Alice, ' he cried ... 'Say it isn't true. '"]

"You care for me, and yet you turn me down, " he said bitterly. "It remindsme of a verse I read, " and drawing a small volume from his pocket he turnedthe pages quickly. "Ah, here it is, " and he marked some lines with apencil. "There!"

Alice took the volume and began to read in a low voice:

 "Je n'aimais qu'elle au monde, et vivre un jour sans elle Me semblait un destin plus affreux que la mort. Je me souviens pourtant qu'en cette nuit cruelle Pour briser mon lien je fis un long effort. Je la nommai cent fois perfide et déloyale, Je comptai tous les maux qu'elle m'avait causés. "

She stopped suddenly, her eyes full of pain. 

"You don't think that, you _can't_ think that of me?" she pleaded. 

"I'd rather think you a coquette than--" Again he checked himself at thesight of her trouble. He could not speak harshly to her. 

"You dear child, " he went on tenderly. "I'll never believe any ill of you, never. I won't even ask your reasons; but I want some encouragement, something to work for. I've got to have it. Just let me go on hoping; saythat in six months or--or even a year you will be my ownsweetheart--promise me that and I'll wait patiently. Can't you promise methat?"

But again she shook her head, while her eyes filled slowly with tears. 

And now his face darkened. "Then you will never be my wife? Never? Nomatter what I do or how long I wait? Is that it?"

"That's it, " she repeated with a little sob. 

Kittredge rose, eying her sternly. "I understand, " he said, "or rather Idon't understand; but there's no use talking any more. I'll take mymedicine and--good-by. "

She looked at him in frightened supplication. "You won't leave me? Lloyd, you won't leave me?"

He laughed harshly. "What do you think I am? A jumping jack for you to pulla string and make me dance? Well, I guess not. Leave you? Of course I'llleave you. I wish I had never seen you; I'm sorry I ever came inside thisblooming church!"

"Oh!" she gasped, in sudden pain. 

"You don't play fair, " he went on recklessly. "You haven't played fair atall. You knew I loved you, and--you led me on, and--this is the end ofit. "

"No, " she cried, stung by his words, "it's _not_ the end of it. I _won't_be judged like that. I _have_ played fair with you. If I hadn't I wouldhave accepted you, for I love you, Lloyd, I love you with all my heart!"

"I like the way you show it, " he answered, unrelenting. 

"Haven't I helped you all these months? Isn't my friendship something?"

He shook his head. "It isn't enough for me. "

"Then how about _me_, if I want _your_ friendship, if I'm hungry for it, ifit's all I have in life? How about that, Lloyd?" Under their dark lashesher violet eyes were burning on him, but he hardened his heart to theirpleading. 

"It sounds well, but there's no sense in it. I can't stand for thislet-me-be-a-sister-to-you game, and I won't. "

He turned away impatiently and glanced at his watch. 

"Lloyd, " she said gently, "come to the house to-night. "

He shook his head. "Got an appointment. "

"An appointment?"

"Yes, a banquet. "

She looked at him in surprise. "You didn't tell me!"

"No. "

She was silent a moment. "Where is the banquet?"

"At the Ansonia. It's a new restaurant on the Champs Elysées, very swell. Ididn't tell you because--well, because I didn't. "

"Lloyd, " she whispered, "don't go to the banquet. "

"Don't go? Why, this is our national holiday. I'm down to tell somestories. I've _got_ to go. Besides, I wouldn't come to you, anyway. What'sthe use? I've said all I can, and you've said 'No. ' So it's all off--that'sright, Alice, _it's all off_. " His eyes were kinder now, but he spokefirmly. 

"Lloyd, " she begged, "come _after_ the banquet. "

"No!"

"I ask it for _you_. I--I feel that something is going to happen. Don'tlaugh. Look at the sky, there beyond the black towers. It's red, red likeblood, and--Lloyd, I'm afraid. "

Her eyes were fixed in the west with an enthralled expression, as if shesaw something there besides the masses of red and purple that crowned thesetting sun, something strange and terrifying. And in her agitation shetook the book and pencil from the bench, and nervously, almostunconsciously wrote something on one of the fly leaves. 

"Good-by, Alice, " he said, holding out his hand. 

"Good-by, Lloyd, " she answered in a dull, tired voice, putting down thebook and giving him her own little hand. 

As he turned to go he picked up the volume and his eye fell on the flyleaf. 

"Why, " he started, "what is this?" He looked more closely at the words, then sharply at her. 

"I--I'm _so_ sorry, " she stammered. "Have I spoiled your book?"

"Never mind the book, but--how did you come to write this?"

"I--I didn't notice what I wrote, " she said, in confusion. 

"Do you mean to say that you don't _know_ what you wrote?"

"I don't know at all, " she replied with evident sincerity. 

"It's the damnedest thing I ever heard of, " he muttered. And then, with apuzzled look: "See here, I guess I've been too previous. I'll cut out thatbanquet to-night--that is, I'll show up for soup and fish, and then I'llcome to you. Do I get a smile now?"

"O Lloyd!" she murmured happily. 

"I'll be there about nine. "

"About nine, " she repeated, and again her eyes turned anxiously to theblood-red western sky. 

CHAPTER II

COQUENIL'S GREATEST CASE

After leaving Notre-Dame, Paul Coquenil directed his steps toward theprefecture of police, but halfway across the square he glanced back at thechurch clock that shows its white face above the grinning gargoyles, and, pausing, he stood a moment in deep thought. 

"A quarter to seven, " he reflected; then, turning to the right, he walkedquickly to a little wine shop with flowers in the windows, the Tavern ofthe Three Wise Men, an interesting fragment of old-time Paris that offersits cheery but battered hospitality under the very shadow of the greatcathedral. 

"Ah, I thought so!" he muttered, as he recognized Papa Tignol at one of thetables on the terrace. And approaching the old man, he said in a low tone:"I want you. "

Tignol looked up quickly from his glass, and his face lighted. "Eh, M. Paulagain!"

"I must see M. Pougeot, " continued the detective. "It's important. Go tohis office. If he isn't there, go to his house. Anyhow, find him and tellhim to come to me _at once_. Hurry on; I'll pay for this. "

"Shall I take an auto?"

"Take anything, only hurry. "

"And you want _me_ at nine o'clock?"

Coquenil shook his head. "Not until to-morrow. "

"But the news you were going to tell me?"

"There'll be bigger news soon. Oh, run across to the church and tellBonneton that he needn't come either. "

"I knew it, I knew it, " chuckled Papa Tignol, as he trotted off. "There'ssomething doing!"

[Illustration: "'I want you, ' he said in a low voice. "]

With this much arranged, Coquenil, after paying for his friend's absinthe, strolled over to a cab stand near the statue of Henri IV and selected ahorse that could not possibly make more than four miles an hour. Behindthis deliberate animal he seated himself, and giving the driver hisaddress, he charged him gravely not to go too fast, and settled backagainst the cushions to comfortable meditations. "There is no better way tothink out a tough problem, " he used to insist, "than to take a very longdrive in a very slow cab. "

It may have been that this horse was not slow enough, for forty minuteslater Coquenil's frown was still unrelaxed when they drew up at the VillaMontmorency, really a collection of villas, some dozens of them, in aprivate park near the Bois de Boulogne, each villa a garden within agarden, and the whole surrounded by a great stone wall that shuts outnoises and intrusions. They entered by a massive iron gateway on the RuePoussin and moved slowly up the ascending Avenue des Tilleuls, past lawnsand trees and vine-covered walls, leaving behind the rush and glare of thecity and entering a peaceful region of flowers and verdure where Coquenillived. 

The detective occupied a wing of the original Montmorency chateau, ahabitation of ten spacious rooms, more than enough for himself and hismother and the faithful old servant, Melanie, who took care of them, especially during these summer months, when Madame Coquenil was away at acountry place in the Vosges Mountains that her son had bought for her. PaulCoquenil had never married, and his friends declared that, besides hiswork, he loved only two things in the world--his mother and his dog. 

It was a quarter to eight when M. Paul sat down in his spacious dining roomto a meal that was waiting when he arrived and that Melanie served withsolicitous care, remarking sadly that her master scarcely touched anything, his eyes roving here and there among painted mountain scenes that coveredthe four walls above the brown-and-gold wainscoting, or out into thegarden through the long, open windows; he was searching, searching forsomething, she knew the signs, and with a sigh she took away her mosttempting dishes untasted. 

At eight o'clock the detective rose from the table and withdrew into hisstudy, a large room opening off the dining room and furnished like no otherstudy in the world. Around the walls were low bookcases with wide tops onwhich were spread, under glass, what Coquenil called his criminal museum. This included souvenirs of cases on which he had been engaged, wonderfulsets of burglars' tools, weapons used by murderers--saws, picks, jointedjimmies of tempered steel, that could be taken apart and folded up in thespace of a thick cigar and hidden about the person. Also a remarkablecollection of handcuffs from many countries and periods in history. Also acollection of letters of criminals, some in cipher, with confessions ofprisoners and last words of suicides. Also plaster casts of hands of famouscriminals. And photographs of criminals, men and women, with faces oftendistorted to avoid recognition. And various grewsome objects, a card caseof human skin, and the twisted scarf used by a strangler. 

As for the shelves underneath, they contained an unequaled special libraryof subjects interesting to a detective, both science and fiction beingfreely drawn upon in French, English, and German, for, while Coquenil was aman of action in a big way, he was also a student and a reader of books, and he delighted in long, lonely evenings, when, as now, he sat in hiscomfortable study thinking, thinking. 

Melanie entered presently with coffee and cigarettes, which she placed on atable near the green-shaded lamp, within easy reach of the greatred-leather chair where M. Paul was seated. Then she stole outnoiselessly. It was five minutes past eight, and for an hour Coquenilthought and smoked and drank coffee. Occasionally he frowned and movedimpatiently, and several times he took off his glasses and stroked hisbrows over the eyes. 

Finally he gave a long sigh of relief, and shutting his hands and throwingout his arms with a satisfied gesture, he rose and walked to the fireplace, over which hung a large portrait of his mother and several photographs, oneof these taken in the exact attitude and costume of the painting ofWhistler's mother in the Luxembourg gallery. M. Paul was proud of thestriking resemblance between the two women. For some moments he stoodbefore the fine, kindly face, and then he said aloud, as if speaking toher: "It looks like a hard fight, little mother, but I'm not afraid. " Andalmost as he spoke, which seemed like a good omen, there came a clang atthe iron gate in the garden and the sound of quick, crunching steps on thegravel walk. M. Pougeot had arrived. 

M. Lucien Pougeot was one of the eighty police commissaries who, each inhis own quarter, oversee the moral washing of Paris's dirty linen. Acommissary of police is first of all a magistrate, but, unless he is afool, he soon becomes a profound student of human nature, for he sees allsides of life in the great gay capital, especially the darker sides. Heknows the sins of his fellow men and women, their follies and hypocrisies, he receives incredible confessions, he is constantly summoned to the scenesof revolting crime. Nothing, _absolutely nothing_, surprises him, and hehas no illusions, yet he usually manages to keep a store of grim pity forerring humanity. M. Pougeot was one of the most distinguished andintelligent members of this interesting body. He was a devoted friend ofPaul Coquenil. 

The newcomer was a middle-aged man of strong build and florid face, with abrush of thick black hair. His quick-glancing eyes were at once cold andkind, but the kindness had something terrifying in it, like the politenessof an executioner. As the two men stood together they presented absolutelyopposite types: Coquenil, taller, younger, deep-eyed, spare of build, witha certain serious reserve very different from the commissary's outspokendirectness. M. Pougeot prided himself on reading men's thoughts, but heused to say that he could not even imagine what Coquenil was thinking orfathom the depths of a nature that blended the eagerness of a child withthe austerity of a prophet. 

"Well, " remarked the commissary when they were settled in their chairs, "Isuppose it's the Rio Janeiro thing? Some parting instructions, eh?" And heturned to light a cigar. 

Coquenil shook his head. 

"When do you sail?"

"I'm not sailing. "

"Wha-at?"

For once in his life M. Pougeot was surprised. He knew all about thisforeign offer, with its extraordinary money advantages; he had rejoiced inhis friend's good fortune after two unhappy years, and now--now Coquenilinformed him calmly that he was not sailing. 

"I have just made a decision, the most important decision of my life, "continued the detective, "and I want you to know about it. You are the onlyperson in the world who _will_ know--everything. So listen! This afternoonI went into Notre-Dame church and I saw a young girl there who sellscandles. I didn't know her, but she looked up in a queer way, as if shewanted to speak to me, so I went to her and--well, she told me of a dreamshe had last night. "

"A dream?" snorted the commissary. 

"So she said. She may have been lying or she may have been put up to it; Iknow nothing about her, not even her name, but that's of no consequence;the point is that in this dream, as she called it, she brought together thetwo most important events in my life. "

"Hm! What _was_ the dream?"

"She says she saw me twice, once in a forest near a wooden bridge where aman with a beard was talking to a woman and a little girl. Then she saw meon a boat going to a place where there were black people. "

"That was Brazil?"

"I suppose so. And there was a burning sun with a wicked face inside thatkept looking down at me. She says she often dreams of this wicked face, shesees it first in a distant star that comes nearer and nearer, until it getsto be large and red and angry. As the face comes closer her fear grows, until she wakes with a start of terror; she says she would die of fright ifthe face ever reached her _before_ she awoke. That's about all. "

For some moments the commissary did not speak. "Did she try to interpretthis dream?"

"No. "

"Why did she tell you about it?"

"She acted on a sudden impulse, so she says. I'm inclined to believe her;but never mind that. Pougeot, " he rose in agitation and stood leaning overhis friend, "in that forest scene she brought up something that isn'tknown, something I've never even told you, my best friend. "

"_Tiens!_ What is that?"

"You think I resigned from the police force two years ago, don't you?"

"Of course. "

"Everyone thinks so. Well, it isn't true. I didn't resign; _I wasdischarged. _"

M. Pougeot stared in bewilderment, as if words failed him, and finally herepeated weakly: "Discharged! Paul Coquenil discharged!"

[Illustration: "'I _didn't_ resign; _I was discharged_. '"]

"Yes, sir, discharged from the Paris detective force for refusing to arresta murderer--that's how the accusation read. "

"But it wasn't true?"

"Judge for yourself. It was the case of a poacher who killed a guard. Idon't suppose you remember it?"

M. Pougeot thought a moment--he prided himself on remembering everything. "Down near Saumur, wasn't it?"

"Exactly. And it was near Saumur I found him after searching all overFrance. We were clean off the track, and I made up my mind the only way toget him was through his wife and child. They lived in a little house in thewoods not far from the place of the shooting. I went there as a peddler inhard luck, and I played my part so well that the woman consented to take mein as a boarder. "

"Wonderful man!" exclaimed the commissary. 

"For weeks it was a waiting game. I would go away on a peddling tour andthen come back as boarder. Nothing developed, but I could not get rid ofthe feeling that my man was somewhere near in the woods. "

"One of your intuitions. Well?"

"Well, at last the woman became convinced that they had _nothing to fearfrom me_, and she did things more openly. One day I saw her put some foodin a basket and give it to the little girl. And the little girl went offwith the basket into the forest. Then I knew I was right, and the next dayI followed the little girl, and, sure enough, she led me to a rough cavewhere her father was hiding. I hung about there for an hour or two, andfinally the man came out from the cave and I saw him talk to his wife andchild near a bridge over a mountain torrent. "

"The picture that girl saw in the dream!"

"Yes; I'll never forget it. I had my pistol ready and he was defenseless;and once I was just springing forward to take the fellow when he bent overand kissed his little girl. I don't know how you look at these things, Pougeot, but I couldn't break in there and take that man away from his wifeand child. The woman had been kind to me and trusted me, and--well, it wasa breach of duty and they punished me for it; but I couldn't do it, I_couldn't_ do it, and I didn't do it. "

"And you let the fellow go?"

"I let him go _then_, but I got him a week later in a fair fight, man toman. They gave him ten years. "

"And discharged you from the force?"

"Yes. That is, in view of my past services, they _allowed_ me to resign. "Coquenil spoke bitterly. 

"Outrageous! Unbelievable!" muttered Pougeot. "No doubt you weretechnically in the wrong, but it was a slight offense, and, after all, yougot your man. A reprimand at the most, _at the most_, was called for, and_not_ with you, not with Paul Coquenil. "

The commissary spoke with deeper feeling than he had shown in years, andthen, as if not satisfied with this, he clasped the detective's hand andadded heartily: "I'm proud of you, old friend, I honor you. "

Coquenil looked at Pougeot with an odd little smile. "You take it just asI thought you would, just as I took it myself--until to-day. It seems likea stupid blunder, doesn't it? Well, it wasn't a blunder; _it was anecessary move in the game_. " His face lighted with intense eagerness as hewaited for the effect of these words. 

"The game? What game?" The commissary stared. 

"A game involving a great crime. "

"You are sure of that?"

"Perfectly sure. "

"You have the facts of this crime?"

"No. It hasn't been committed yet. "

"Not committed yet?" repeated the other, with a startled glance. "But youknow the plan? You have evidence?"

"I have what is perfectly clear evidence _to me_, so clear that I wonder Inever saw it before. Lucien, suppose you were a great criminal, I don'tmean the ordinary clever scoundrel who succeeds for a time and is finallycaught, but a _really great criminal_, the kind that appears once or twice, in a century, a man with immense power and intelligence. "

"Like Vautrin in Napoleon's day?"

"Vautrin was a brilliant adventurer; he made millions with his swindlingschemes, but he had no stability, no big purpose, and he finally came togrief. There have been greater criminals than Vautrin, men whose crimeshave brought them _everything_--fortune, social position, politicalsupremacy--_and who have never been found out_. "

"Do you really think so?"

Coquenil nodded. "There have been a few like that with master minds, a veryfew; I have documents to prove it"--he pointed to his bookcases; "but wehaven't time for that. Come back to my question: Suppose _you_ were such acriminal, and suppose there was one person in this city who was thwartingyour purposes, perhaps jeopardizing your safety. What would you naturallydo?"

"I'd try to get rid of him. "

"Exactly. " Coquenil paused, and then, leaning closer to his friend, he saidwith extraordinary earnestness: "Lucien, for over two years _some one hasbeen trying to get rid of me!_"

"The devil!" started Pougeot. "How long have you known this?"

"Only to-day, " frowned the detective. "I ought to have known it long ago. "

"Hm! Aren't you building a good deal on that dream?"

"The dream? Heavens, man, " snapped Coquenil, "I'm building _nothing_ on thedream and nothing on the girl. She simply brought together two facts thatbelong together. Why she did it doesn't matter; she did it, and my reasondid the rest. There is a connection between this Rio Janeiro offer and mydischarge from the force. I know it. I'll show you other links in thechain. Three times in the past two years I have received offers of businesspositions away from Paris, tempting offers. Notice that--_businesspositions away from Paris!_ Some one has extraordinary reasons for wantingme out of this city and _out of detective work_. "

"And you think this 'some one' was responsible for your discharge from theforce?"

"I tell you I know it. M. Giroux, the chief at that time, was distressed atthe order, he told me so himself; he said it came from _higher up_. "

The commissary raised incredulous eyebrows. "You mean that Paris has acriminal able to overrule the wishes of a chief of police?"

"Is that harder than to influence the Brazilian Government? Do you thinkRio Janeiro offered me a hundred thousand francs a year just for mybeautiful eyes?"

"You're a great detective. "

"A great detective repudiated by his own city. That's another point: whyshould the police department discharge me two years ago and recommend menow to a foreign city? Don't you see the same hand behind it all?"

M. Pougeot stroked his gray mustache in puzzled meditation. "It's queer, "he muttered; "but----"

In spite of himself the commissary was impressed. 

After all, he had seen strange things in his life, and, better than anyone, he had reason to respect the insight of this marvelous mind. 

"Then the gist of it is, " he resumed uneasily, "you think some great crimeis preparing?"

"Don't you?" asked Coquenil abruptly. 

"Why--er--" hesitated the Other. 

"Look at the facts again. Some one wants me off the detective force, out ofFrance. Why? There can be only one reason--because I have been successfulin unraveling intricate crimes, more successful than other men on theforce. Is that saying too much?"

The commissary replied impatiently: "It's conceded that you are the mostskillful detective in France; but you're off the force already. So whyshould this person send you to Brazil?"

M. Paul thought a moment. "I've considered that. It is because this crimewill be of so startling and unusual a character that it _must_ attract myattention if I am here. And if it attracts my attention as a great criminalproblem, it is certain that I will try to solve it, whether on the force oroff it. "

"Well answered!" approved the other; he was coming gradually under thespell of Coquenil's conviction. "And when--when do you think this crime maybe committed?"

"Who can say? There must be great urgency to account for their insistingthat I sail to-morrow. Ah, you didn't know that? Yes, even now, at thisvery moment, I am supposed to be on the steamer train, for the boat goesout early in the morning _before the Paris papers can reach Cherbourg_. "

M. Pougeot started up, his eyes widening. "What!" he cried. "You meanthat--that possibly--to-_night?_"

As he spoke a sudden flash of light came in through the garden window, followed by a resounding peal of thunder. The brilliant sunset had beenfollowed by a violent storm. 

Coquenil paid no heed to this, but answered quietly: "I mean that a greatfight is ahead, and I shall be in it. Somebody is playing for enormousstakes, somebody who disposes of fortune and power and will stop at_nothing_, somebody who will certainly crush me unless I crush him. It willbe a great case, Lucien, my greatest case, perhaps my last case. " Hestopped and looked intently at his mother's picture, while his lips movedinaudibly. 

"Ugh!" exclaimed the commissary. "You've cast a spell over me. Come, come, Paul, it may be only a fancy!"

But Coquenil sat still, his eyes fixed on his mother's face. And then cameone of the strange coincidences of this extraordinary case. On the silenceof this room, with its tension of overwrought emotion, broke the sharpsummons of the telephone. 

"My God!" shivered the commissary. "What is that?" Both men satmotionless, their eyes fixed on the ominous instrument. 

Again came the call, this time more strident and commanding. M. Pougeotaroused himself with an effort. "We're acting like children, " he muttered. "It's nothing. I told them at the office to ring me up about nine. " And heput the receiver to his ear. "Yes, this is M. Pougeot.... What?... TheAnsonia?... You say he's shot?... In a private dining room?... Dead?... _Quel malheur!_"... Then he gave quick orders: "Send Papa Tignol over witha doctor and three or four _agents_. Close the restaurant. Don't let anyonego in or out. Don't let anyone leave the banquet room. I'll be there intwenty minutes. Good-by. "

He put the receiver down, and turning, white-faced, said to his friend:"_It has happened_. "

Coquenil glanced at his watch. "A quarter past nine. We must hurry. " Then, flinging open a drawer in his desk: "I want this and--_this_. Come, theautomobile is waiting. "

CHAPTER III

PRIVATE ROOM NUMBER SIX

The night was black and rain was falling in torrents as Paul Coquenil andthe commissary rolled away in response to this startling summons of crime. Up the Rue Mozart they sped with sounding horn, feeling their way carefullyon account of troublesome car tracks, then faster up the Avenue VictorHugo, their advance being accompanied by vivid lightning flashes. 

"He was in luck to have this storm, " muttered Coquenil. Then, in reply toPougeot's look: "I mean the thunder, it deadened the shot and gained timefor him. "

"Him? How do you know a man did it? A woman was in the room, and she'sgone. They telephoned that. "

The detective shook his head. "No, no, you'll find it's a man. Women arenot original in crime. And this is--_this is different_. How many murderscan you remember in Paris restaurants, I mean smart restaurants?"

M. Pougeot thought a moment. "There was one at the Silver Pheasant and oneat the Pavillion and--and----"

"And one at the Café Rouge. But those were stupid shooting cases, notmurders, not planned in advance. "

"Why do you think _this_ was planned in advance?"

"Because the man escaped. "

"They didn't say so. "

Coquenil smiled. "That's how I know he escaped. If they had caught himthey would have told you, wouldn't they?"

"Why--er----"

"Of course they would. Well, think what it means to commit murder in acrowded restaurant and get away. It means _brains_, Lucien. Ah, we'renearly there!"

They had reached Napoleon's arch, and the automobile, swinging sharply tothe right, started at full speed down the Champs Elysées. 

"It's bad for Gritz, " reflected the commissary; then both men fell silentin the thought of the emergency before them. 

M. Gritz, it may be said, was the enterprising proprietor of the Ansonia, this being the last and most brilliant of his creations for cheering therich and hungry wayfarer. He owned the famous Palace restaurant at MonteCarlo, the Queen's in Piccadilly, London, and the Café Royal in Brussels. Of all his ventures, however, this recently opened Ansonia (hotel andrestaurant) was by far the most ambitious. The building occupied a fullblock on the Champs Elysées, just above the Rond Point, so that it was inthe center of fashionable Paris. It was the exact copy of a well-knownVenetian palace, and its exquisite white marble colonnade made it a realadornment to the gay capital. Furthermore, M. Gritz had spent a fortune onfurnishings and decorations, the carvings, the mural paintings, the rugs, the chairs, everything, in short, being up to the best millionairestandard. He had the most high-priced chef in the world, with six chefsunder him, two of whom made a specialty of American dishes. He had his ownfarm for vegetables and butter, his own vineyards, his own permanentorchestra, and his own brand of Turkish coffee made before your eyes by asalaaming Armenian in native costume. For all of which reasons the presentsomber happening had particular importance. A murder anywhere was badenough, but a murder in the newest, the _chic_-est, and the costliestrestaurant in Paris must cause more than a nine days' wonder. As M. Pougeotremarked, it was certainly bad for Gritz. 

Drawing up before the imposing entrance, they saw two policemen on guard atthe doors, one of whom, recognizing the commissary, came forward quickly tothe automobile with word that M. Gibelin and two other men fromheadquarters had already arrived and were proceeding with theinvestigation. 

"Is Papa Tignol here?" asked Coquenil. 

"Yes, sir, " replied the man, saluting respectfully. 

"Before I go in, Lucien, you'd better speak to Gibelin, " whispered M. Paul. "It's a little delicate. He's a good detective, but he likes the old-schoolmethods, and--he and I never got on very well. He has been sent to takecharge of the case, so--be tactful with him. "

"He can't object, " answered Pougeot. "After all, I'm the commissary of thisquarter, and if I need your services----"

"I know, but I'd sooner you spoke to him. "

"Good. I'll be back in a moment, " and pushing his way through the crowd ofsensation seekers that blocked the sidewalk, he disappeared inside thebuilding. 

M. Pougeot's moment was prolonged to five full minutes, and when hereappeared his face was black. 

"Such stupidity!" he stormed. 

"It's what I expected, " answered Coquenil. 

"Gibelin says you have no business here. He's an impudent devil! 'Tell_Beau Cocono_, ' he sneered, 'to keep his hands off this case. Orders fromheadquarters. ' I told him you _had_ business here, business for me, and--come on, I'll show 'em. "

He took Coquenil by the arm, but the latter drew back. "Not yet. I have abetter idea. Go ahead with your report. Never mind me. "

"But I want you on the case, " insisted the commissary. 

"I'll be on the case, all right. "

"I'll telephone headquarters at once about this, " insisted Pougeot. "Whenshall I see you again?"

Coquenil eyed his friend mysteriously. "I _think_ you'll see me before thenight is over. Now get to work, and, " he smiled mockingly, "give M. Gibelinthe assurance of my distinguished consideration. "

Pougeot nodded crustily and went back into the restaurant, while Coquenil, with perfect equanimity, paid the automobile man and dismissed him. 

Meantime in the large dining rooms on the street floor everything was goingon as usual, the orchestra was playing in its best manner and few of thebrilliant company suspected that anything was wrong. Those who started togo out were met by M. Gritz himself, and, with a brief hint of troubleupstairs, were assured that they would be allowed to leave shortly aftersome necessary formalities. This delay most of them took good-naturedly andwent back to their tables. 

As M. Pougeot mounted to the first floor he was met at the head of thestairs by a little yellow-bearded man, with luminous dark eyes, who cametoward him, hand extended. 

"Ah, Dr. Joubert!" said the commissary. 

The doctor nodded nervously. "It's a singular case, " he whispered, "a verysingular case. "

At the same moment a door opened and Gibelin appeared. He was rather fat, with small, piercing eyes and a reddish mustache. His voice was harsh, hismanners brusque, but there was no denying his intelligence. In a spirit ofconciliation he began to give M. Pougeot some details of the case, whereupon the latter said stiffly: "Excuse me, sir, I need no assistancefrom you in making this investigation. Come, doctor! In the field of hisjurisdiction a commissary of police is supreme, taking precedence even overheadquarters men. " So Gibelin could only withdraw, muttering hisresentment, while Pougeot proceeded with his duties. 

In general plan the Ansonia was in the form of a large E, the main part ofthe second floor, where the tragedy took place, being occupied by publicdining rooms, but the two wings, in accordance with Parisian custom, containing a number of private rooms where delicious meals might be hadwith discreet attendance by those who wished to dine alone. In each of thewings were seven of these private rooms, all opening on a dark-redpassageway lighted by soft electric lamps. It was in one of the west wingprivate rooms that the crime had been committed, and as the commissaryreached the wing the waiters' awe-struck looks showed him plainly enough_which_ was the room--there, on the right, the second from the end, wherethe patient policeman was standing guard. 

M. Pougeot paused at the turn of the corridor to ask some question, but hewas interrupted by a burst of singing on the left, a roaring chorus ofhilarity. 

"It's a banquet party, " explained the doctor, "a lot of Americans. Theydon't know what has happened. "

"Hah!" reflected the other. "Just across the corridor, too!"

Then, briefly, the commissary heard what the witnesses had to tell himabout the crime. It had been discovered half an hour before, more preciselyat ten minutes to nine, by a waiter Joseph, who was serving a couple inNumber Six, a dark-complexioned man and a strikingly handsome woman. Theyhad arrived at a quarter before eight and the meal had begun at once. Oddlyenough, after the soup, the gentleman told the waiter not to bring the nextcourse until he rang, at the same time slipping into his hand a ten-francpiece. Whereupon Joseph had nodded his understanding--he had seen impatientlovers before, although they usually restrained their ardor until after thefish; still, _ma foi_, this was a woman to make a man lose his head, andthe night was to be a jolly one--how those young American devils weresinging!... So _vive l'amour_ and _vive la jeunesse!_ With which simplephilosophy and a twinkle of satisfaction Joseph had tucked away his goldpiece--and waited. 

Ten minutes! Fifteen minutes! An unconscionably _long time when you have adelicious sole à la Regence_ getting cold on your hands. Joseph knockeddiscreetly, then again after a decent pause, and finally, weary of waiting, he opened the door with an official cough of warning and stepped inside theroom. A moment later he started back, his eyes fixed with horror. 

"_Grand Dieu!_" he cried. 

"You saw the body, the man's body?" questioned the commissary. 

"Yes, sir, " answered the waiter, his face still pale at the memory. 

"And the woman? Where was the woman?"

"Ah, I forgot, " stammered Joseph. "She had come out of the room beforethis, while I was waiting. She asked where the telephone was, and I toldher it was on the floor below. Then she went downstairs--at least Isuppose she did, for she never came back. "

"Did anyone see her leave the hotel?", demanded Pougeot sharply, looking atthe others. 

"It's extraordinary, " answered the doctor, "but no one seems to have seenthis woman go out. M. Gibelin made inquiries, but he could learn nothingexcept that she really went to the telephone booth. The girl thereremembers her. "

Again Pougeot turned to the waiter. 

"What sort of a woman was she? A lady or--or not?"

Joseph clucked his tongue admiringly. "She was a lady, all right. And astunner! Eyes and--shoulders and--um-m!" He described imaginary femininecurves with the unction of a male dressmaker. "Oh, there's one thing more!"

"You can tell me later. Now, doctor, we'll look at the room. I'll need you, Leroy, and you and you. " He motioned to his secretary and to two of hismen. 

Dr. Joubert, bowing gravely, opened the door of Number Six, and thecommissary entered, followed by his scribe, a very bald and pale young man, and by the two policemen. Last came the doctor, closing the door carefullybehind him. 

It was the commissary's custom on arriving at the scene of a crime torecord his first impressions immediately, taking careful note of every factand detail in the picture that seemed to have the slightest bearing on thecase. These he would dictate rapidly to his secretary, walking back andforth, searching everywhere with keen eyes and trained intelligence, especially for signs of violence, a broken window, an overturned table, aweapon, and noting all suspicious stains--mud stains, blood stains, theprint of a foot, the smear of a hand and, of course, describing carefullythe appearance of a victim's body, the wounds, the position, the expressionof the face, any tearing or disorder of the garments. Many times thesequick, haphazard jottings, made in the precious moments immediatelyfollowing a crime, had proved of incalculable value in the subsequentinvestigation. 

In the present case, however, M. Pougeot was fairly taken aback by the_lack_ of significant material. Everything in the room was as it should be, table spread with snowy linen, two places set faultlessly among flowers andflashing glasses, chairs in their places, pictures smiling down from thewhite-and-gold walls, shaded electric lights diffusing a pleasant glow--inshort, no disorder, no sign of struggle, yet, there, stretched at fulllength on the floor near a pale-yellow sofa, lay a man in evening dress, his head resting, face downward, in a little red pool. He was evidentlydead. 

"Has anything been disturbed here? Has anyone touched this body?" demandedPougeot sharply. 

"No, " said the doctor; "Gibelin came in with me, but neither of us touchedanything. We waited for you. "

"I see. Ready, Leroy, " and he proceeded to dictate what there was to say, dwelling on two facts: that there was no sign of a weapon in the room andthat the long double window opening on the Rue Marboeuf was standing open. 

"Now, doctor, " he concluded, "we will look at the body. "

Dr. Joubert's examination established at once the direct cause of death. The man, a well-built young fellow of perhaps twenty-eight, had been shotin the right eye, a ball having penetrated the brain, killing himinstantly. The face showed marks of flame and powder, proving that theweapon--undoubtedly a pistol--had been discharged from a very shortdistance. 

This certainly looked like suicide, although the absence of the pistolpointed to murder. The man's face was perfectly calm, with no suggestion offright or anger; his hands and body lay in a natural position and hisclothes were in no way disordered. Either he had met death willingly, or ithad come to him without warning, like a lightning stroke. 

"Doctor, " asked the commissary, glancing at the open window, "if this manshot himself, could he, in your opinion, with his last strength have thrownthe pistol out there?"

"Certainly not, " answered Joubert. "A man who received a wound like thiswould be dead before he could lift a hand, before he could wink. "

"Ah!"

"Besides, a search has been made underneath that window and no pistol hasbeen found. "

"It must be murder, " muttered Pougeot. "Was there any quarreling with thewoman?"

"Joseph says not. On the contrary, they seemed on the friendliest terms. "

"Hah! See what he has on his person. Note everything down. We must find outwho this poor fellow was. "

[Illustration: "On the floor lay a man. "]

These instructions were carefully carried out, and it straightway becameclear that robbery, at any rate, had no part in the crime. In the deadman's pockets was found a considerable sum of money, a bundle of five-poundnotes of the Bank of England, besides a handful of French gold. On hisfingers were several valuable rings, in his scarf was a large ruby setwith diamonds, and attached to his waistcoat was a massive gold medal thatat once established his identity. He was Enrico Martinez, a Spaniard widelyknown as a professional billiard player, and also the hero of the terribleCharity Bazaar fire, where, at the risk of his life, he had saved severalwomen from the flames. For this bravery the city of Paris had awarded him agold medal and people had praised him until his head was half turned. 

So familiar a figure was Martinez that there was no difficulty in findingwitnesses in the restaurant able to identify him positively as the deadman. Several had seen him within a few days at the Olympia billiardacademy, where he had been practicing for a much-advertised match with anAmerican rival. All agreed that Martinez was quite the last man in Paris totake his own life, for the simple reason that he enjoyed it altogether toomuch. He was scarcely thirty and in excellent health, he made plenty ofmoney, he was fond of pleasure, and particularly fond of the ladies and hadno reason to complain of bad treatment at their hands; in fact, if thetruth must be told, he was ridiculously vain of his conquests among thefair sex, and was always saying to whoever would listen: "Ah, _mon cher_, Ihave met a woman! But _such_ a woman!" Then his dark eyes would glow and hewould snap his thumb nail under an upper tooth, with an expression ofravishing joy that only a Castilian billiard player could assume. And, ofcourse, it was always a different woman!

"Aha!" muttered the commissary. "There may be a husband mixed up in this. Call that waiter again, and--er--we will continue the examinationoutside. "

With this they removed to the adjoining private room, Number Five, leavinga policeman at the door of Number Six until proper disposal of the bodyshould be made. 

In the further questioning of Joseph the commissary brought out severalimportant facts. The waiter testified that, after serving the soup toMartinez and the lady, he had not left the corridor outside the door ofNumber Six until the moment when he entered the room and discovered thecrime. During this interval of perhaps a quarter of an hour he had moveddown the corridor a short distance, but not farther than the door of NumberFour. He was sure of this because one of the doors to the banquet room wasjust opposite the door of Number Four, and he had stood there listening toa Fourth-of-July speaker who was discussing the relations between Franceand America. Joseph, being something of a politician, was greatlyinterested in this. 

"Then this banquet-room door was open?" questioned Pougeot. 

"Yes, sir, it was open about a foot--some of the guests wanted air. "

"How did you stand as you listened to the speaker? Show me. " M. Pougeot ledJoseph to the banquet-room door. 

"Like this, " answered the waiter, and he placed himself so that his backwas turned to Number Six. 

"So you would not have seen anyone who might have come out of Number Six atthat time or gone into Number Six?"

"I suppose not. "

"And if the door of Number Six had opened while your back was turned, wouldyou have heard it?"

Joseph shook his head. "No, sir; there was a lot of applauding--likethat, " he paused as a roar of laughter came from across the hall. 

The commissary turned quickly to one of his men. "See that they make lessnoise. And be careful no one leaves the banquet room _on any excuse_. I'llbe there presently. " Then to the waiter: "Did you hear any sound fromNumber Six? Anything like a shot?"

"No, sir. "

"Hm! It must have been the thunder. Now tell me this, could anyone havepassed you in the corridor while you stood at the banquet-room door withoutyour knowing it?"

Joseph's round, red face spread into a grin. "The corridor is narrow, sir, and I"--he looked down complacently at his ample form--"I pretty well fillit up, don't I, sir?"

"You certainly do. Give me a sheet of paper. " And with a few rapid pencilstrokes the commissary drew a rough plan of the banquet room, the corridor, and the seven private dining rooms. He marked carefully the two doorsleading from the banquet room into the corridor, the one where Josephlistened, opposite Number Four, and the one opposite Number Six. 

"Here you are, blocking the corridor at Number Four"; he made a mark on theplan at that point. "By the way, are there any other exits from the banquetroom except these two corridor doors?"

"No, sir. "

"Good! Now pay attention. While you were listening at this door--I'll markit _A_--with your back turned to Number Six, a person _might_ have left thebanquet room by the farther door--I'll mark it _B_--and stepped across thecorridor into Number Six without your seeing him. Isn't that true?"

"Yes, sir, it's possible. "

"Or a person might have gone into Number Six from either Number Five orNumber Seven without your seeing him?"

[Illustration: West Wing of Ansonia Hotel--First Floor. Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Private dining rooms opening on corridor H H. 

No. 6. Private dining room where body was found. 

F. Large dining room occupied at time of tragedy by Americans gathered atFourth-of-July banquet. 

C. Seat at banquet occupied by Kittredge and left vacant by him. 

A, B. Two doors opening into corridor from banquet room. 

D. Point in corridor where the waiter Joseph stood with back turned to No. 6 while he looked through door A during Fourth-of-July speeches. 

X, Y. Arrows show direction taken by man and woman who passed Joseph incorridor going out. ]

"Excuse me, there was no one in Number Five during that fifteen minutes, and the party who had engaged Number Seven did not come. "

"Ah! Then if any stranger went into Number Six during that fifteen minuteshe must have come from the banquet room?"

"Yes, sir. "

"By this door, _B?_"

"That's the only way he could have come without my seeing him. "

"And if he went out from Number Six afterwards, I mean if he left thehotel, he must have passed you in the corridor?"

"Exactly. " Joseph's face was brightening. 

"Now, _did_ anyone pass you in the corridor, anyone except the lady?"

"Yes, sir, " answered the waiter eagerly, "a young man passed me. "

"Going out?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Did you know where he came from?"

"I supposed he came from the banquet room. "

"Did this happen before the lady went out, or after?"

"Before. "

"Can you describe this young man, Joseph?"

The waiter frowned and rubbed his red neck. "I think I should know him, hewas slender and clean shaven--yes, I'm sure I should know him. "

"Did anyone else pass you, either going out or coming in?"

"No, sir. "

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely sure. "

"That will do. "

Joseph heaved a sigh of relief and was just passing out when the commissarycried out with a startled expression: "A thousand thunders! Wait! Thatwoman--what did she wear?"

The waiter turned eagerly. "Why, a beautiful evening gown, sir, cut lowwith a lot of lace and----"

"No, no. I mean, what did she wear outside? Her wraps? Weren't they inNumber Six?"

"No, sir, they were downstairs in the cloakroom. "

"In the cloakroom!" He bounded to his feet. "_Bon sang de bon Dieu!_ Quick!Fool! Don't you understand?"

This outburst stirred Joseph to unexampled efforts; he fairly hurled hismassive body down the stairs, and a few moments later returned, panting buthappy, with news that the lady in Number Six had left a cloak and leatherbag in the cloakroom. These articles were still there. 

"Ah, that is something!" murmured the commissary, and he hurried down tosee the things for himself. 

The cloak was of yellow silk, embroidered in white, a costly garment from afashionable maker; but there was nothing to indicate the wearer. The bagwas a luxurious trifle in Brazilian lizard skin, with solid-gold mountings;but again there was no clew to the owner, no name, no cards, only somesamples of dress goods, a little money, and an unmarked handkerchief. 

"Don't move these things, " directed M. Pougeot. "It's possible some onewill call for them, and if anyone _should_ call, why--that's Gibelin'saffair. Now we'll see these Americans. "

It was a quarter past ten, and the hilarity of proceedings at theFourth-of-July banquet (no ladies present) had reached its height. A veryFrench-looking student from Bridgeport, Connecticut, had just started anuproarious rendering of "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean, " with Latin-Quartervariations, when there came a sudden hush and a turning of heads toward thehalf-open door, through which a voice was heard in peremptory command. Something had happened, something serious, if one could judge by the faceof François, the head waiter, who stood at the corridor entrance. 

"Not so fast, " he insisted, holding the young men back, and a moment laterthere entered a florid-faced man with authoritative mien, closely followedby two policemen. 

"Horns of a purple cow!" muttered the Bridgeport art student, who lovedeccentric oaths. "The house is pulled!"

"Gentlemen, " began M. Pougeot, while the company listened in startledsilence, "I am sorry to interrupt this pleasant gathering, especially as Iunderstand that you are celebrating your national holiday; unfortunately, Ihave a duty to perform that admits of no delay. While you have beenfeasting and singing, as becomes your age and the occasion, an act ofviolence has taken place within the sound of your voices--I may say undercover of your voices. "

He paused and swept his eyes in keen scrutiny over the faces before him, asif trying to read in one or the other of them the answer to some questionnot yet asked. 

"My friends, " he continued, and now his look became almost menacing, "I amhere as an officer of the law because I have reason to believe that a guestat this banquet is connected with a crime committed in this restaurantwithin the last hour or two. "

So extraordinary was this accusation and so utterly unexpected that forsome moments no one spoke. Then, after the first dismay, came indignantprotests; this man had a nerve to break in on a gathering of Americancitizens with a fairy tale like that!

"Silence!" rang out the commissary's voice sharply. "Who sat there?" Hepointed to a vacant seat at the long central table. 

All eyes turned to this empty chair, and heads came together in excitedwhispers. 

"Bring me a plan of the tables, " he continued, and when this was spreadbefore him: "I will read off the names marked here, and each one of youwill please answer. "

In tense silence he called the names, and to each one came a quick "Here!"until he said "Kittredge!"

There was no answer. 

"Lloyd Kittredge!" he repeated, and still no one spoke. 

"Ah!" he muttered and went on calling names, but no one else was missing. 

"All here but M. Kittredge. He _was_ here, and--he went out. I must knowwhy he went out, I must know when he went out--exactly when; I must knowhow he acted before he left, what he said--in short, I must know all youcan tell me about him. Remember, the best service you can render yourfriend is to speak freely. If he is innocent, the truth will protect him"

Then began a wearisome questioning of witnesses, not very fruitful, either, for these Americans developed a surprising ignorance touching theirfellow-countryman and all that concerned him. It must have been about nineo'clock when he went out, perhaps a few minutes earlier. No, there had beennothing peculiar in his actions or manner; in fact, most of the guests hadnot even noticed his absence. 

As to Kittredge's life and personality the result was scarcely moresatisfactory. He had appeared in Paris about a year before, just why wasnot known, and had passed as a good fellow, perhaps a little wild andhot-headed. Strangely enough, no one could say where Kittredge lived; hehad left rather expensive rooms near the boulevards that he had occupied atfirst, and since then he had almost disappeared from his old haunts. Somesaid that his money had given out and he had gone to work, but this wasonly vague rumor. 

These facts having been duly recorded, the banqueters were informed thatthey might depart, which they did in silence, the spirit of festivityhaving vanished. 

Inquiries were now made in the hotel about Kittredge's movements, butnothing came to light except the statement of a big, liveried doorkeeper, who remembered distinctly the sudden appearance at about nine o'clock of ayoung man who was very anxious to get a cab. The storm was then at itsheight, and the doorkeeper had advised the young man to wait, feeling surethe tempest would cease as suddenly as it had begun; but the latter, apparently ill at ease, had insisted that he must go at once; he said hewould find a cab himself, and turning up his collar so that his face wasalmost hidden, and drawing his thin overcoat tight about his evening dress, he had dashed into the black downpour, and a moment later the doorkeeper, surprised at this eccentric behavior, saw the young man hail a passing_fiacre_ and drive away. 

At this point in the investigation the unexpected happened. One of thepolicemen burst in to say that some one had called for the lady's cloak andbag. It was a young man with a check for the things; he was waiting forthem now in the cloakroom and he seemed nervous. 

"Well?" snapped the commissary. 

"I was going to arrest him, sir, " replied the other eagerly, "but----"

"Will you never learn your business?" stormed Pougeot. "Does Gibelin knowthis?"

"Yes, sir, we just told him. "

"Send Joseph here--quick. " And to the waiter when he appeared: "Tell thewoman in the cloakroom to let this young man have the things. Don't let himsee that you are suspicious, but take a good look at him. "

"Yes, sir. And then?"

"And then nothing. Leave him to Gibelin. "

A moment later Joseph returned to say that he had absolutely recognized theyoung man downstairs as the one who had passed him in the corridor, François was positive he was the missing banquet guest. In other words, they were facing this remarkable situation: that the cloak and leather bagleft by the mysterious woman of Number Six had now been called for by thevery man against whom suspicion was rapidly growing--Lloyd Kittredgehimself. 

CHAPTER IV

"IN THE NAME OF THE LAW"

When Kittredge, with cloak and bag, stepped into his waiting cab and, forthe second time on this villainous night, started down the Champs Elyséeshe was under no illusion as to his personal safety. He knew that he wouldbe followed and presently arrested, he knew this without even glancingbehind him, he had understood the whispers and searching looks in thehotel; it was _certain_ that his moments of liberty were numbered, so hemust make a clean job of this thing that had to be done while still therewas time. He had told the driver to cross the bridge and go down theBoulevard St. Germain, but now he changed the order and, half opening thedoor, he bade the man turn to the right and drive on to the Rue deVaugirard. He knew that this was a long, ill-lighted street, one of thelongest streets in Paris. 

"There's no number, " he called out. "Just keep going. "

The driver grumbled and cracked his whip, and a moment later, peering backthrough the front window, he saw his eccentric fare absorbed in examining awhite leather bag. He could see him distinctly by the yellow light of histwo side lanterns. The young man had opened one of the inner pockets of thebag, drawing out a flap of leather under which a name was stamped quitevisibly in gilt letters. Presently he took out a pocket knife and tried toscrape off the name, but the letters were deeply marked and could not beremoved so easily. After a moment's hesitation the young man carefully drewhis blade across the base of the flap, severing it from the bag, which hethen threw back on the seat, holding the flap in apparent perplexity. 

All this the driver observed with increasing interest until presentlyKittredge looked up and caught his eye. 

"You've got a nerve, " the young man muttered. "I'll fix you. " And, drawingthe two black curtains, he shut off the driver's view. 

As they neared the end of the Rue de Vaugirard, the American opened thedoor again and told the man to turn and drive back, he wanted to have alook at Notre-Dame, three full miles away. The driver swore softly, butobeyed, and back they went, passing another cab just behind them which alsoturned immediately and followed, as Kittredge noticed with a gloomy smile. 

On the way to Notre-Dame, Kittredge changed their direction half a dozentimes, acting on accountable impulses, going by zigzags through narrow, dark streets, instead of by the straight and natural way, so that it wasafter midnight when they entered the Rue du Cloitre Notre-Dame, which runsjust beside the cathedral, and drew up at a house indicated by theAmerican. The other cab drew up behind them. 

"Tell your friend back there, " remarked Kittredge to his driver as he gotout, "that I have important business here. There'll be plenty of time forhim to get a drink. " Then, with a nervous tug at the bell, he disappearedin the house, leaving the cloak and bag in the cab. 

And now two important things happened, one of them unexpected. The expectedthing was that M. Gibelin came forward immediately from the second cabfollowed by Papa Tignol and a policeman. The shadowing detective was in avile humor which was not improved when he got the message left by theflippant American. 

"Time for a drink! Infernal impudence! We'll teach him manners at thedepot! This farce is over, " he flung out. "See where he went, ask the_concierge_, " he said to Tignol. And to the policeman: "Watch thecourtyard. If he isn't down in ten minutes _we'll go up_. "

Then, as his men obeyed, Gibelin turned to Kittredge's driver. "Here's yourfare. You can go. I'm from headquarters. I have a warrant for this man'sarrest. " And he showed his credentials. "I'll take the things he has left. "

"Don't I get a _pourboire?_" grumbled the driver. 

"No, sir. You're lucky to get anything. "

"Am I?" retorted the Jehu, gathering up his reins (and now came theunexpected happening): "Well, I'll tell you one thing, my friend, _this isthe night they made a fool of M. Gibelin!_"

The detective started. "You know my name? What do you mean?"

The cab was already moving, but the driver turned on his seat and, wavinghis hand in derision, he called back: "Ask Beau Cocono!" And then to hishorse: "_Hue, cocotte!_"

Meantime Kittredge had climbed the four flights of stairs leading to thesacristan's modest apartment. And, in order to explain how he happened tobe making so untimely a visit it is necessary to go back several hours to aprevious visit here that the young American had already made on thismomentous evening. 

After leaving the Ansonia banquet at about nine o'clock in the singularmanner noted by the big doorkeeper, Kittredge, in accordance with hispromise to Alice, had driven directly to the Rue du Cloitre Notre-Dame, andat twenty minutes past nine by the clock in the Tavern of the Three WiseMen he had drawn up at the house where the Bonnetons lived. Five minuteslater the young man was seated in the sacristan's little _salon_ assuringAlice that he didn't mind the rain, that the banquet was a bore, anyhow, and that he hoped she was now going to prove herself a sensible andreasonable little girl. 

[Illustration: "'Ask Beau Cocono, ' he called back. "]

Alice welcomed her lover eagerly. She had been anxious about him, she didnot know why, and when the storm came she had been more anxious. But nowshe was reassured and--and happy. Her mantling color, her heaving bosom, and the fond, wistful lights in her dark eyes told how very happy she was. And how proud! After all he trusted her, it must be so! he had left hisfriends, left this fine banquet and, in spite of the pain she had givenhim, in spite of the bad night, he had come to her here in her humble home. 

And it would have straightway been the love scene all over again, for Alicehad never seemed so adorable, but for the sudden and ominous entrance ofMother Bonneton. She eyed the visitor with frank unfriendliness and, without mincing her words, proceeded to tell him certain things, notablythat his attentions to Alice must cease and that his visits here wouldhenceforth be unwelcome. 

In vain the poor girl protested against this breach of hospitality. MotherBonneton held her ground grimly, declaring that she had a duty to performand would perform it. 

"What duty?" asked the American. 

"A duty to M. Groener. "

At this name Alice started apprehensively. Kittredge knew that she had acousin named Groener, a wood carver who lived in Belgium, and who came toParis occasionally to see her and to get orders for his work. On oneoccasion he had met this cousin and had judged him a well-meaning butrather stupid fellow who need not be seriously considered in his efforts towin Alice. 

"Do you mean that M. Groener does not approve of me?" pursued Kittredge. 

"M. Groener knows nothing about you, " answered Mother Bonneton, "exceptthat you have been hanging around this foolish girl. But he understands hisresponsibility as the only relation she has in the world and he knows shewill respect his wishes as the one who has paid her board, more or less, for five years. "

"Well?"

"Well, the last time M. Groener was here, that's about a month ago, heasked me and my husband to make inquiries about _you_, and see what wecould find out. "

"It's abominable!" exclaimed Alice. 

"Abominable? Why is it abominable? Your cousin wants to know if this youngman is a proper person for you to have as a friend. "

"I can decide that for myself, " flashed the girl. 

"Oh, can you? Ha, ha! How wise we are!"

"And--er--you have made inquiries about me?" resumed Kittredge with astrangely anxious look. 

Mother Bonneton half closed her eyes and threw out her thick lips in anugly leer. "I should say we have! And found out things--well, just a few!"

"What things?"

"We have found out, my pretty sir, that you lived for months last year bygambling. I suppose you will deny it?"

"No, " answered Kittredge in a low tone, "it's true. "

"Ah! We found out also that the money you made by gambling you spent with abrazen creature who----"

"Stop!" interrupted the American, and turning to the girl he said: "Alice, I didn't mean to go into these details, I didn't see the need of it, but----"

"I don't want to know the details, " she interrupted. "I know _you_, Lloyd, that is enough. "

She looked him in the eyes trustingly and he blinked a little. 

"Plucky!" he murmured. "They're trying to queer me and maybe they will, but I'm not going to lie about it. Listen. I came to Paris a year ago onaccount of a certain person. I thought I loved her and--I made a fool ofmyself. I gave up a good position in New York and--after I had been here awhile I went broke. So I gambled. It's pretty bad--I don't defend myself, only there's one thing I want you to know. This person was not a low woman, she was a lady. "

"Huh!" grunted Mother Bonneton. "A lady! The kind of a lady who dines alonewith gay young gentlemen in private rooms! Aha, we have the facts!"

The young man's eyes kindled. "No matter where she dined, I say she was alady, and the proof of it is I--I wanted her to get a divorce and--andmarry me. "

"Oh!" winced Alice. 

"You see what he is, " triumphed the sacristan's wife, "running after amarried woman. "

But Kittredge went on doggedly: "You've got to hear the rest now. One daysomething happened that--that made me realize what an idiot I had been. When I say this person was a lady I'm not denying that she raised the devilwith me. She did that good and plenty, so at last I decided to break awayand I did. It wasn't exactly a path of roses for me those weeks, but Istuck to it, because--because I had some one to help me, " he paused andlooked tenderly at Alice, "and--well, I cut the whole thing out, gamblingand all. That was six months ago. "

"And the lady?" sneered Mother Bonneton. "Do you mean to tell us youhaven't had anything to do with her for six months?"

"I haven't even seen her, " he declared, "for more than six months. "

"A likely story! Besides, what we know is enough. I shall write M. Groenerto-night and tell him the facts. Meantime--" She rose and pointed to thedoor. 

Alice and Kittredge rose also, the one indignant and aggrieved at thiswanton affront to her lover, the other gloomily resigned to what seemed tobe his fate. 

"Well, " said he, facing Alice with a discouraged gesture, "things areagainst us. I'm grateful to you for believing in me and I--I'd like to knowwhy you turned me down this afternoon. But I probably never shall. I--I'llbe going now. "

He was actually moving toward the door, and she, almost fainting withemotion, was rallying her strength for a last appeal when the bell in thehall tinkled sharply. Mother Bonneton answered the call and returned amoment later followed by the doorkeeper from below, a cheery little womanwho bustled in carrying a note. 

"It's for the gentleman, " she explained, "from a lady waiting in acarriage. It's very important. " With this she delivered a note to Kittredgeand added in an exultant whisper to the sacristan's wife that the lady hadgiven her a franc for her trouble. 

"A lady waiting in a carriage!" chuckled Mother Bonneton. "What kind of alady?"

"Oh, very swell, " replied the doorkeeper mysteriously "Grande toilette, bare shoulders, and no hat. I should think she'd take cold. "

"Poor thing!" jeered the other. And then to Kittredge: "I suppose this is_another one_ you haven't seen for six months. "

Kittredge stood as if in a daze staring at the note. He read it, then readit again, then he crumpled it in his hand, muttering: "O God!" And his facewas white. 

"Good-by!" he said to Alice in extreme agitation. "I don't know what youthink of this, I can't stop to explain, I--I must go at once!" And takingup his hat and cane he started away. 

"But you'll come back?" cried the girl. 

"No, no! This is the end!"

She went to him swiftly and laid a hand on his arm. "Lloyd, you _must_ comeback. You must come back to-night. It's the last thing I'll ever ask you. You need never see me again but--_you must come back to-night_. "

She stood transformed as she spoke, not pleading but commanding andbeautiful beyond words. 

"It may be very late, " he stammered. 

"I'll wait until you come, " she said simply, "no matter what time. I'llwait. But you'll surely come, Lloyd?"

He hesitated a moment and then, before the power of her eyes: "I'll surelycome, " he promised, and a moment later he was gone. 

Then the hours passed, anxious, ominous hours! Ten, eleven, twelve! Andstill Alice waited for her lover, silencing Mother Bonneton's grumblingswith a look that this hard old woman had once or twice seen in the girl'sface and had learned to respect. At half past twelve a carriage sounded inthe quiet street, then a quick step on the stairs. Kittredge had kept hisword. 

The door was opened by Mother Bonneton, very sleepy and arrayed in awrapper of purple and gold pieced together from discarded altar coverings. She eyed the young man sternly but said nothing, for Alice was at her backholding the lamp and there was something in the American's face, somethinghalf reckless, half appealing, that startled her. She felt the cold breathof a sinister happening and regretted Bonneton's absence at the church. 

"Well, I'm here, " said Kittredge with a queer little smile. "I couldn'tcome any sooner and--I can't stay. "

The girl questioned him with frightened eyes. "Isn't it over yet?"

He looked at her sharply. "I don't know what you mean by 'it, ' but, as amatter of fact, _it_ hasn't begun yet. If you have any questions you'dbetter ask 'em. "

Alice turned and said quietly: "Was the woman who came in the carriage theone you told us about?"

"Yes. "

"Have you been with her ever since?"

"No. I was with her only about ten minutes. "

"Is she in trouble?"

"Yes. "

"And you?"

Kittredge nodded slowly. "Oh, I'm in trouble, all right. "

"Can I help you?"

He shook his head. "The only way you can help is by believing in me. Ihaven't lied to you. I hadn't seen that woman for over six months. I didn'tknow she was coming here. I don't love her, I love you, but I did love her, and what I have done to-night I--I _had_ to do. " He spoke with growingagitation which he tried vainly to control. 

Alice looked at him steadily for a moment and then in a low voice she spokethe words that were pressing on her heart: "_What_ have you done?"

"There's no use going into that, " he answered unsteadily. "I can only askyou to trust me. "

"I trust you, Lloyd, " she said. 

While they were talking Mother Bonneton had gone to the window attracted bysounds from below, and as she peered down her face showed surprise andthen intense excitement. 

"Kind saints!" she muttered. "The courtyard is full of policemen. " Thenwith sudden understanding she exclaimed: "Perhaps we will know now what hehas been doing. " As she spoke a heavy tread was heard on the stairs and themurmur of voices. 

"It's nothing, " said Alice weakly. 

"Nothing?" mocked the old woman. "Hear that!"

An impatient hand sounded at the door while a harsh voice called out thoseterrifying words: "_Open in the name of the law_. "

With a mingling of alarm and satisfaction Mother Bonneton obeyed thesummons, and a moment later, as she unlatched the door, a fat man with abristling red mustache and keen eyes pushed forward into the room where thelovers were waiting. Two burly policemen followed him. 

"Ah!" exclaimed Gibelin with a gesture of relief as his eye fell onKittredge. Then producing a paper he said: "I am from headquarters. I amlooking for"--he studied the writing in perplexity--"for M. Lo-eedKeetredge. What is _your_ name?"

"That's it, " replied the American, "you made a good stab at it. "

"You are M. Lo-eed Keetredge?"

"Yes, sir. "

"You must come with me. I have a warrant for your arrest. " And he showedthe paper. 

But Alice staggered forward. "Why do you arrest him? What has he done?"

The man from headquarters answered, shrugging his shoulders: "I don't knowwhat he's done, _he's charged with murder_. "

"Murder!" echoed the sacristan's wife. "Holy angels! A murderer in myhouse!"

"Take him, " ordered the detective, and the two policemen laid hold ofKittredge on either side. 

"Alice!" cried the young man, and his eyes yearned toward her. "Alice, I aminnocent. "

"Come, " said the men gruffly, and Kittredge felt a sickening sense of shameas he realized that he was a prisoner. 

"Wait! One moment!" protested the girl, and the men paused. Then, goingclose to her lover, Alice spoke to him in low, thrilling words that camestraight from her soul:

"Lloyd, I believe you, I trust you, I love you. No matter what you havedone, I love you. It was because my love is so great that I refused youthis afternoon. But you need me now, you're in trouble now, and, Lloyd, if--if you want me still, I'm yours, all yours. "

"O God!" murmured Kittredge, and even the hardened policeman choked alittle. "I'm the happiest man in Paris, but--" He could say no more exceptwith a last longing look: "Good-by. "

Wildly, fiercely she threw her arms around his neck and kissed himpassionately on the mouth--their first kiss. And she murmured: "I love you, I love you. "

Then they led Kittredge away. 

[Illustration: "'Alice, I am innocent. '"]

CHAPTER V

COQUENIL GETS IN THE GAME

It was a long night at the Ansonia and a hard night for M. Gritz. France isa land of infinite red tape where even such simple things as getting bornor getting married lead to endless formalities. Judge, then, of thecomplicated procedure involved in so serious a matter as gettingmurdered--especially in a fashionable restaurant! Long before thecommissary had finished his report there arrived no less a person than M. Simon, the chief of police, round-faced and affable, a brisk, dapper manwhose ready smile had led more than one trusting criminal into regrettedconfidences. 

And a little later came M. Hauteville, the judge in charge of the case, acold, severe figure, handsome in his younger days, but soured, it was said, by social disappointments and ill health. He was in evening dress, havingbeen summoned posthaste from the theater. Both of these officials went overthe case with the commissary and the doctor, both viewed the body andstudied its surroundings and, having formed a theory of the crime, bothproceeded to draw up a report. And the doctor drew up _his_ report. Andalready Gibelin (now at the prison with Kittredge) had made elaborate notesfor _his_ report. And outside the hotel, with eager notebooks, were a scoreof reporters all busy with _their_ reports. No doubt that, in the matter ofpaper and ink, full justice would be done to the sudden taking off of thisgallant billiard player!

Meantime the official police photographer and his assistants had arrived(this was long after midnight) with special apparatus for photographing thevictim and the scene of the crime. And their work occupied two full hoursowing largely to the difficult manipulation of a queer, clumsy camera thatphotographed the body _from above_ as it lay on the floor. 

In the intervals of these formalities the officials discussed the case witha wide variance in opinions and conclusions. The chief of police and M. Pougeot were strong for the theory of murder, while M. Hauteville leanedtoward suicide. The doctor was undecided. 

"But the shot was fired at the closest possible range, " insisted the judge;"the pistol was not a foot from the man's head. Isn't that true, doctor?"

"Yes, " replied Joubert, "the eyebrows are badly singed, the skin is burned, and the face shows unmistakable powder marks. I should say the pistol wasfired not six inches from the victim. "

"Then it's suicide, " declared the judge. "How else account for the facts?Martinez was a strong, active man. He would never have allowed a murdererto get so close to him without a struggle. But there is not the slightestsign of a struggle, no disorder in the room, no disarrangement of the man'sclothing. It's evidently suicide. "

"If it's suicide, " objected Pougeot, "where is the weapon? The man diedinstantly, didn't he, doctor?"

"Undoubtedly, " agreed the doctor. 

"Then the pistol must have fallen beside him or remained in his hand. Well, where is it?"

"Ask the woman who was here. How do you know she didn't take it?"

"Nonsense!" put in the chief. "Why should she take it? To throw suspicionon herself? Besides, I'll show you another reason why it's not suicide. Theman was shot through the right eye, the ball went in straight and clean, tearing its way to the brain. Well, in the whole history of suicides, thereis not one case where a man has shot himself in the eye. Did you ever hearof such a case, doctor?"

"Never, " answered Joubert. 

"A man will shoot himself in the mouth, in the temple, in the heart, anywhere, but not in the eye. There would be an unconquerable shrinkingfrom that. So I say it's murder. "

The judge shook his head. "And the murderer?"

"Ah, that's another question. We must find the woman. And we mustunderstand the rôle of this American. "

"No woman ever fired that shot or planned this crime, " declared thecommissary, unconsciously echoing Coquenil's opinion. 

"There's better reason to argue that the American never did it, " retortedthe judge. 

"What reason?"

"The woman ran away, didn't she? And the American didn't. If he had killedthis man, do you think _anything_ would have brought him back here for thatcloak and bag?"

"A good point, " nodded the chief. "We can't be sure of the murderer--yet, but we can be reasonably sure it's murder. "

Still the judge was unconvinced. "If it's murder, how do you account forthe singed eyebrows? How did the murderer get so near?"

"I answer as you did: 'Ask the woman. ' She knows. "

"Ah, yes, she knows, " reflected the commissary. "And, gentlemen, all ourtalk brings us back to this, _we must find that woman_. "

At half past one Gibelin appeared to announce the arrest of Kittredge. Hehad tried vainly to get from the American some clew to the owner of cloakand bag, but the young man had refused to speak and, with sullenindifference, had allowed himself to be locked up in the big room at thedepot. 

"I'll see what _I_ can squeeze out of him in the morning, " said Hautevillegrimly. There was no judge in the _parquet_ who had his reputation forbreaking down the resistance of obstinate prisoners. 

"You've got your work cut out, " snapped the detective. "He's a stubborndevil. "

In the midst of these perplexities and technicalities a note was brought infor M. Pougeot. The commissary glanced at it quickly and then, with a wordof excuse, left the room, returning a few minutes later and whisperingearnestly to M. Simon. 

"You say _he_ is here?" exclaimed the latter. "I thought he was sailingfor----"

M. Pougeot bent closer and whispered again. 

"Paul Coquenil!" exclaimed the chief. "Why, certainly, ask him to come in. "

A moment later Coquenil entered and all rose with cordial greetings, thatis, all except Gibelin, whose curt nod and suspicious glances showed thathe found anything but satisfaction in the presence of this formidablerival. 

"My dear Coquenil!" said Simon warmly. "This is like the old days! If youwere only with us now what a nut there would be for you to crack!"

"So I hear, " smiled M. Paul, "and--er--the fact is, I have come to helpyou crack it. " He spoke with that quiet but confident seriousness whichalways carried conviction, and M. Simon and the judge, feeling the man'spower, waited his further words with growing interest; but Gibelin blinkedhis small eyes and muttered under his breath: "The cheek of the fellow!"

"As you know, " explained Coquenil briefly, "I resigned from the force twoyears ago. I need not go into details; the point is, I now ask to be takenback. That is why I am here. "

"But, my dear fellow, " replied the chief in frank astonishment, "Iunderstood that you had received a magnificent offer with----"

"Yes, yes, I have. "

"With a salary of a hundred thousand francs?"

"It's true, but--I have refused it. "

Simon and Hauteville looked at Coquenil incredulously. How could a manrefuse a salary of a hundred thousand francs? The commissary watched hisfriend with admiration, Gibelin with envious hostility. 

"May I ask _why_ you have refused it?" asked the chief. 

"Partly for personal reasons, largely because I want to have a hand in thiscase. "

Gibelin moved uneasily. 

"You think this case so interesting?" put in the judge. 

"The most interesting I have ever known, " answered the other, and then headded with all the authority of his fine, grave face: "It's more thaninteresting, _it's the most important criminal case Paris has known forthree generations_. "

Again they stared at him. 

"My dear Coquenil, you exaggerate, " objected M. Simon. "After all, we haveonly the shooting of a billiard player. "

M. Paul shook his head and replied impressively: "The billiard player was apawn in the game. He became troublesome and was sacrificed. He is of noimportance, but there's a greater game than billiards here with a masterplayer and--_I'm going to be in it_. "

"Why do you think it's a great game?" questioned the judge. 

"Why do I think anything? Why did I think a commonplace pickpocket at theBon Marché was a notorious criminal, wanted by two countries? Why did Ithink we should find the real clew to that Bordeaux counterfeiting gang ina Passy wine shop? Why did I think it necessary to-night to be _on_ the cabthis young American took and not _behind_ it in another cab?" He shot aquick glance at Gibelin. "Because a good detective _knows_ certain thingsbefore he can prove them and acts on his knowledge. That is whatdistinguishes him from an ordinary detective. "

"Meaning me?" challenged Gibelin. 

"Not at all, " replied M. Paul smoothly. "I only say that----"

"One moment, " interrupted M. Simon. "Do I understand that you were with thedriver who took this American away from here to-night?"

Coquenil smiled. "I was not _with_ the driver, I _was the driver_ and I hadthe honor of receiving five francs from my distinguished associate. " Hebowed mockingly to Gibelin and held up a silver piece. "I shall keep thisamong my curiosities. "

"It was a foolish trick, a perfectly useless trick, " declared Gibelin, furious. 

"Perhaps not, " answered the other with aggravating politeness; "perhaps itwas a rather nice _coup_ leading to very important results. "

"Huh! What results?"

"Yes. What results?" echoed the judge. 

"Let me ask first, " replied Coquenil deliberately, "what you regard as themost important thing to be known in this case just now?"

"The name of the woman, " answered Hauteville promptly. 

"_Parbleu!_" agreed the commissary. 

"Then the man who gives you this woman's name and address will render areal service?"

"A service?" exclaimed Hauteville. "The whole case rests on this woman. Without her, nothing can be understood. "

"So it would be a good piece of work, " continued Coquenil, "if a man haddiscovered this name and address in the last few hours with nothing but hiswits to help him; in fact, with everything done to hinder him. " He lookedmeaningly at Gibelin. 

"Come, come, " interrupted the chief, "what are you driving at?"

"At this, _I have the woman's name and address_. "

"Impossible!" they cried. 

"I got them by my own efforts and I will give them up _on my own terms_. "He spoke with a look of fearless purpose that M. Simon well remembered fromthe old days. 

"A thousand devils! How did you do it?" cried Simon. 

"I watched the American in the cab as he leaned forward toward the lanternlight and I saw exactly what he was doing. He opened the lady's bag and cutout a leather flap that had her name and address stamped on it. "

"No, " contradicted Gibelin, "there was _no_ name in the bag. I examined itmyself. "

"The name was on the _under side_ of the flap, " laughed the other, "in giltletters. "

Gibelin's heart sank. 

"And you took this flap from the American?" asked M. Simon. 

"No, no! Any violence would have brought my colleague into the thing, forhe was close behind, and I wanted this knowledge for myself. "

"What did you do?" pursued the chief. 

"I let the young man cut the flap into small pieces and drop them one byone as we drove through dark little streets. And I noted where he droppedthe pieces. Then I drove back and picked them up, that is, all but two. "

"Marvelous!" muttered Hauteville. 

"I had a small searchlight lantern to help me. That was one of the things Itook from my desk, " he added to Pougeot. 

"And these pieces of leather with the name and address, you have them?"continued the chief. 

"I have them. "

"With you?"

"Yes. "

"May I see them?"

"Certainly. If you will promise to respect them as my personal property?"

Simon hesitated. "You mean--" he frowned, and then impatiently: "Oh, yes, Ipromise that. "

Coquenil drew an envelope from his breast pocket and from it he took anumber of white-leather fragments. And he showed the chief that most ofthese fragments were stamped in gold letters or parts of letters. 

"I'm satisfied, " declared Simon after examining several of the fragmentsand returning them. "_Bon Dieu!_" he stormed at Gibelin. "And you had thatbag in your hands!"

Gibelin sat silent. This was the wretchedest moment in his career. 

"Well, " continued the chief, "we _must_ have these pieces of leather. Whatare your terms?"

"I told you, " said Coquenil, "I want to be put back on the force. I want tohandle this case. "

M. Simon thought a moment. "That ought to be easily arranged. I will seethe _préfet de police_ about it in the morning. "

But the other demurred. "I ask you to see him to-night. It's ten minutes tohis house in an automobile. I'll wait here. "

The chief smiled. "You're in a hurry, aren't you? Well, so are we. Will youcome with me, Hauteville?"

"If you like. "

"And I'll go, if you don't mind, " put in the commissary. "I may have someinfluence with the _préfet_. "

"He won't refuse me, " declared Simon. "After all, I am responsible for thepursuit of criminals in this city, and if I tell him that I absolutely needPaul Coquenil back on the force, as I do, he will sign the commission atonce. Come, gentlemen. "

A moment later the three had hurried off, leaving Coquenil and Gibelintogether. 

"Have one?" said M. Paul, offering his cigarette case. 

"Thanks, " snapped Gibelin with deliberate insolence, "I prefer my own. "

"There's no use being ugly about it, " replied the other good-naturedly, ashe lighted a cigarette. His companion did the same and the two smoked insilence, Gibelin gnawing savagely at his little red mustache. 

"See here, " broke in the latter, "wouldn't you be ugly if somebody buttedinto a case that had been given to you?"

"Why, " smiled Coquenil, "if he thought he could handle it better than Icould, I--I think I'd let him try. "

[Illustration: "'Have one?' said M. Paul, offering his cigarette case. "]

Then there was another silence, broken presently by Gibelin. 

"Do you imagine the _préfet de police_ is going to stand being pulled outof bed at three in the morning just because Paul Coquenil wants something?Well, I guess not. "

"No? What do you think he'll do?" asked Coquenil. 

"Do? He'll tell those men they are three idiots, that's what he'll do. Andyou'll never get your appointment. Bet you five louis you don't. "

M. Paul shook his head. "I don't want your money. "

"_Bon sang!_ You think the whole police department must bow down to you. "

"It's not a case of bowing down to me, it's a case of _needing_ me. "

"Huh!" snorted the other. "I'm going to walk around. " He rose and movedtoward the door. Then he turned sharply: "Say, how much did you pay thatdriver?"

"Ten louis. It was cheap enough. He might have lost his place. "

"You think it's a great joke on me because I paid you five francs? Don'tforget that it was raining and dark and you had that rubber cape pulled upover half your face, so it wasn't such a wonderful disguise. "

"I didn't say it was. "

"Anyhow, I'll get square with you, " retorted the other, exasperated by M. Paul's good nature. "The best men make mistakes and _look out that youdon't make one_. "

"If I do, I'll call on you for help. "

"And _if_ you do, I'll take jolly good care that you don't get it, " snarledthe other. 

"Nonsense!" laughed Coquenil. "You're a good soldier, Gibelin; you like tokick and growl, but you do your work. Tell you what I'll do as soon as I'mput in charge of this case. Want to know what I'll do?"

"Well?"

"I'll have to set you to work on it. Ha, ha! Upon my soul, I will. "

"You'd better look out, " menaced the red-haired man with an ugly look, "orI'll do some work on this case you'll wish I hadn't done. " With this heflung himself out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 

"What did he mean by that?" muttered M. Paul, and he sat silent, lost inthought, until the others returned. In a glance, he read the answer intheir faces. 

"It's all right, " said the chief. 

"Congratulations, old friend, " beamed Pougeot, squeezing Coquenil's hand. 

"The _préfet_ was extremely nice, " added M. Hauteville; "he took our viewat once. "

"Then my commission is signed?"

"Precisely, " answered the chief; "you are one of us again, and--I'm glad. "

"Thank you, both of you, " said M. Paul with a quiver of emotion. 

"I give you full charge of this case, " went on M. Simon, "and I will seethat you have every possible assistance. I expect you to be on deckto-morrow morning. "

Coquenil hesitated a moment and then, with a flash of his tireless energy, he said: "If it's all the same to you, chief, I'll go on deckto-night--now. "

CHAPTER VI

THE WEAPON

Right across from the Ansonia on the Rue Marboeuf was a little wine shopthat remained open all night for the accommodation of cab drivers andbelated pedestrians and to this Coquenil and the commissary now withdrew. Before anything else the detective wished to get from M. Pougeot hisimpressions of the case. And he asked Papa Tignol to come with them for afortifying glass. 

"By the way, " said the commissary to Tignol when they were seated in theback room, "did you find out how that woman left the hotel without herwraps and without being seen?"

The old man nodded. "When she came out of the telephone booth she slippedon a long black rain coat that was hanging there. It belonged to thetelephone girl and it's missing. The rain coat had a hood to it which thewoman pulled over her head. Then she walked out quietly and no one paid anyattention to her. "

"Good work, Papa Tignol, " approved Coquenil. 

"It's you, M. Paul, who have done good work this night, " chuckled Tignol. "Eh! Eh! What a lesson for Gibelin!"

"The brute!" muttered Pougeot. 

Then they turned to the commissary's report of his investigation, Coquenillistening with intense concentration, interrupting now and then with aquestion or to consult the rough plan drawn by Pougeot. 

"Are you sure there is no exit from the banquet room and from these privaterooms except by the corridor?" he asked. 

"They tell me not. "

"So, if the murderer went out, he must have passed Joseph?"

"Yes. "

"And the only persons who passed Joseph were the woman and this American?"

"Exactly. "

"Too easy!" he muttered. "Too easy!"

"What do you mean?"

"That would put the guilt on one or the other of those two?"

"Apparently. "

"And end the case?"

"Why--er----"

"Yes, it would. A case is ended when the murderer is discovered. Well, thiscase is _not_ ended, you can be sure of that. The murderer I am looking for_is not that kind of a murderer_. To begin with, he's not a fool. If hemade up his mind to shoot a man in a private room he would know _exactly_what he was doing and _exactly_ how he was going to escape. "

"But the facts are there--I've given them to you, " retorted the commissarya little nettled. 

Coquenil shook his head. 

"My dear Lucien, you have given me _some_ of the facts; before morning Ihope we'll have others and--hello!"

He stopped abruptly to look at a comical little man with a very largemouth, the owner of the place, who had been hovering about for some momentsas if anxious to say something. 

"What is it, my friend?" asked Coquenil good-naturedly. 

At this the proprietor coughed in embarrassment and motioned to a prim, thin-faced woman in the front room who came forward with fidgety shyness, begging the gentlemen to forgive her if she had done wrong, but there wassomething on her conscience and she couldn't sleep without telling it. 

"Well?" broke in Pougeot impatiently, but Coquenil gave the woman areassuring look and she went on to explain that she was a spinster livingin a little attic room of the next house, overlooking the Rue Marboeuf. Sheworked as a seamstress all day in a hot, crowded _atelier_, and when shecame home at night she loved to go out on her balcony, especially thesefine summer evenings. She would stand there and brush her hair while shewatched the sunset deepen and the swallows circle over the chimney tops. Itwas an excellent thing for a woman's hair to brush it a long time everynight; she always brushed hers for half an hour--that was why it was sothick and glossy. 

"But, my dear woman, " smiled Coquenil, "what has that to do with me? I havevery little hair and no time to brush it. "

The seamstress begged his pardon, the point was that on the previousevening, just as she had nearly finished brushing her hair, she suddenlyheard a sound like a pistol shot from across the street, and looking down, she saw a glittering object thrown from a window. She saw it distinctly andwatched where it fell beyond the high wall that separated the Ansonia Hotelfrom an adjoining courtyard. She had not thought much about it at themoment, but, having heard that something dreadful had happened----

Coquenil could contain himself no longer and, taking the woman's arm, hehurried her to the door. 

"Now, " he said, "show me just _where_ you saw this glittering object thrownover the wall. "

"There, " she replied, pointing, "it lies to the left of that heavy doorwayon the courtyard stones. I could see it from my balcony. "

[Illustration: "'There it lies to the left of that heavy doorway. '"]

"Wait!" and, speaking to Tignol in a low tone, M. Paul gave him quickinstructions, whereupon the old man hurried across the street and pulledthe bell at the doorway indicated. 

"Is he going to see what it was?" asked the spinster eagerly. 

"Yes, he is going to see what it was, " and at that moment the door swungopen and Papa Tignol disappeared within. 

"Did you happen to see the person who threw this thing?" continued M. Paulgently. 

"No, but I saw his arm. "

Coquenil gave a start of satisfaction. "His arm? Then a man threw it?"

"Oh, yes, I saw his black coat sleeve and his white cuff quite plainly. "

"But not his face?"

"No, only the arm. "

"Do you remember the window from which he threw this object?" The detectivelooked at her anxiously. 

"Yes, indeed, it is easy to remember; it's the end window, on the firstfloor of the hotel. There!"

Coquenil felt a thrill of excitement, for, unless he had misunderstood thecommissary's diagram, the seamstress was pointing not to private roomNumber Six, _but to private room Number Seven!_

"Lucien!" he called, and, taking his friend aside, he asked: "Does that endwindow on the first floor belong to Number Six or Number Seven?"

"Number Seven. "

"And the window next to it?"

"Number Six. "

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely sure. "

"Thanks. Just a moment, " and he rejoined the seamstress. 

"You are giving us great assistance, " he said to her politely. "I shallspeak of you to the chief. "

"Oh, sir, " she murmured in confusion. 

"But one point is not quite clear. Just look across again. You see twoopen windows, the end window and the one next to it. Isn't it possible thatthis bright thing was thrown from the window _next_ to the end one?"

"No, no. "

"They are both alike and, both being open, one might easily make amistake. "

She shook her head positively. "I have made no mistake, _it was the endwindow_. "

Just then Coquenil heard the click of the door opposite and, looking over, he saw Papa Tignol beckoning to him. 

"Excuse me, " he said and hurried across the street. 

"It's there, " whispered Tignol. 

"The pistol?"

"Yes. "

"You remembered what I told you?"

The old man looked hurt. "Of course I did. I haven't touched it. Nothingcould make me touch it. "

"Good! Papa Tignol, I want you to stay here until I come back. Things aremarching along. "

Again he rejoined the seamstress and, with his serious, friendly air, hebegan: "And you still think that shining object was thrown from the_second_ window?"

"No, no! How stupid you are!" And then in confusion: "I beg a thousandpardons, I am nervous. I thought I told you plainly it was the end window. "

"Thanks, my good woman, " replied M. Paul. "Now go right back to your roomand don't breathe a word of this to anyone. "

"But, " she stammered, "would monsieur be so kind as to say what the brightobject was?"

The detective bent nearer and whispered mysteriously: "It was a comb, asilver comb!"

"_Mon Dieu!_ A silver comb!" exclaimed the unsuspecting spinster. 

"Now back to your room and finish brushing your hair, " he urged, and thewoman hurried away trembling with excitement. 

A few moments later Coquenil and the commissary and Papa Tignol werestanding in the courtyard near two green tubs of foliage plants betweenwhich the pistol had fallen. The doorkeeper of the house, a crabbedindividual who had only become mildly respectful when he learned that hewas dealing with the police, had joined them, his crustiness tempered bycuriosity. 

"See here, " said the detective, addressing him, "do you want to earn fivefrancs?" The doorkeeper brightened. "I'll make it ten", continued theother, "if you do exactly what I say. You are to take a cab, here is themoney, and drive to Notre-Dame. At the right of the church is a high ironrailing around the archbishop's house. In the railing is an iron gate witha night bell for Extreme Unction. Ring this bell and ask to see thesacristan Bonneton, and when he comes out give him this. " Coquenil wrotehastily on a card. "It's an order to let you have a dog named Caesar--mydog--he's guarding the church with Bonneton. Pat Caesar and tell him he'sgoing to see M. Paul, that's me. Tell him to jump in the cab and keepstill. He'll understand--he knows more than most men. Then drive back hereas quick as you can. "

The doorkeeper touched his cap and departed. 

Coquenil turned to Tignol. "Watch the pistol. When the doorkeeper comesback send him over to the hotel. I'll be there. "

"Right, " nodded the old man. 

Then the detective said to Pougeot: "I must talk to Gritz. You know him, don't you?"

The commissary glanced at his watch. "Yes, but do you realize it's afterthree o'clock?"

"Never mind, I must see him. A lot depends on it. Get him out of bed forme, Lucien, and--then you can go home. "

"I'll try, " grumbled the other, "but what in Heaven's name are you going todo with that dog?"

"_Use him, _" answered Coquenil. 

CHAPTER VII

THE FOOTPRINTS

One of the great lessons Coquenil had learned in his long experience withmysterious crimes was to be careful of hastily rejecting any evidencebecause it conflicted with some preconceived theory. It would have beeneasy now, for instance, to assume that this prim spinster was mistaken indeclaring that she had seen the pistol thrown from the window of NumberSeven. That, of course, seemed most unlikely, since the shooting was donein Number Six, yet how account for the woman's positiveness? She seemed atruthful, well-meaning person, and the murderer _might_ have gone intoNumber Seven after committing the crime. It was evidently important to getas much light as possible on this point. Hence the need of M. Gritz. 

M. Herman Gritz was a short, massive man with hard, puffy eyes and thinblack hair, rather curly and oily, and a rapacious nose. He appeared(having been induced to come down by the commissary) in a richlyembroidered blue-silk house garment, and his efforts at affability wereobviously based on apprehension. 

Coquenil began at once with questions about private room Number Seven. Wehad reserved this room and what had prevented the person from occupying it?M. Gritz replied that Number Seven had been engaged some days before by anold client, who, at the last moment, had sent a _petit bleu_ to say that hehad changed his plans and would not require the room. The _petit bleu_ didnot arrive until after the crime was discovered, so the room remainedempty. More than that, the door was locked. 

"Locked on the outside?"

"Yes. "

"With the key in the lock?"

"Yes. "

"Then anyone coming along the corridor might have turned the key andentered Number Seven?"

"It is possible, " admitted M. Gritz, "but very improbable. The room wasdark, and an ordinary person seeing a door locked and a room dark----"

"We are not talking about an ordinary person, " retorted the detective, "weare talking about a murderer. Come, we must look into this, " and he led theway down the corridor, nodding to the policeman outside Number Six andstopping at the next door, the last in the line, the door to Number Seven. 

"You know I haven't been in _there_ yet. " He glanced toward the adjoiningroom of the tragedy, then, turning the key in Number Seven, he tried toopen the door. 

"Hello! It's locked on the inside, too!"

"_Tiens!_ You're right, " said Gritz, and he rumpled his scanty locks inperplexity. 

"Some one has been inside, some one may be inside now. "

The proprietor shook his head and, rather reluctantly, went on to explainthat Number Seven was different from the other private rooms in this, thatit had a separate exit with separate stairs leading to an alleyway betweenthe hotel and a wall surrounding it. A few habitues knew of this exit andused it occasionally for greater privacy. The alleyway led to a gate in thewall opening on the Rue Marboeuf, so a particularly discreet couple, let ussay, could drive up to this gate, pass through the alleyway, and then, bythe private stairs, enter Number Seven without being seen by anyone, assuming, of course, that they had a key to the alleyway door. And theycould leave the restaurant in the same unobserved manner. 

As Coquenil listened, his mouth drew into an ominous thin line and his deepeyes burned angrily. 

"M. Gritz, " he said in a cold, cutting voice, "you are a man ofintelligence, you must be. This crime was committed last night about nineo'clock; it's now half past three in the morning. Will you please tell mehow it happens that this fact _of vital importance_ has been concealed fromthe police for over six hours?"

"Why, " stammered the other, "I--I don't know. "

"Are you trying to shield some one? Who is this man that engaged NumberSeven?"

Gritz shook his head unhappily. "I don't know his name. "

"You don't know his name?" thundered Coquenil. 

"We have to be discreet in these matters, " reasoned the other. "We havemany clients who do not give us their names, they have their own reasonsfor that; some of them are married, and, as a man of the world, _I_ respecttheir reserve. " M. Gritz prided himself on being a man of the world. He hadstarted as a penniless Swiss waiter and had reached the magnificent pointwhere broken-down aristocrats were willing to owe him money and sometimesborrow it--and he appreciated the honor. 

"But what do you call him?" persisted Coquenil. "You must call himsomething. "

"In speaking to him we call him 'monsieur'; in speaking of him we call him'_the tall blonde_. '"

"The tall blonde!" repeated M. Paul. 

"Exactly. He has been here several times with a woman he calls Anita. That's all I know about it. Anyway, what difference does it make since hedidn't come to-night?"

"How do you know he didn't come? He had a key to the alleyway door, didn'the?"

"Yes, but I tell you he sent a _petit bleu_. "

The detective shrugged his shoulders. "_Some one_ has been here and lockedthis door on the inside. I want it opened. "

"Just a moment, " trembled Gritz. "I have a pass key to the alleyway door. We'll go around. "

"Make haste, then, " and they started briskly through the halls, theproprietor assuring M. Paul that only a single key was ever given out forthe alleyway door and this to none but trusted clients, who returned it thesame night. 

"Only a single key to the alleyway door, " reflected, Coquenil. 

"Yes. "

"And your 'tall blonde' has it now?"

"I suppose so. "

They left the hotel by the main entrance, and were just going around intoRue Marboeuf when the _concierge_ from across the way met them with wordthat Caesar had arrived. 

"Caesar?" questioned Gritz. 

"He's my dog. Ph-h-eet! Ph-h-eet! Ah, here he is!" and out of the shadowsthe splendid animal came bounding. At his master's call he had made amighty plunge and broken away from Papa Tignol's hold. 

"Good old fellow!" murmured M. Paul, holding the dog's eager head with histwo hands. "I have work for you, sir, to-night. Ah, he knows! See his eyes!Look at that tail! We'll show 'em, eh, Caesar?"

And the dog answered with delighted leaps. 

"What are you going to do with him?" asked the proprietor. 

"Make a little experiment. Do you mind waiting a couple of minutes? It_may_ give us a line on this visitor to Number Seven. "

"I'll wait, " said Gritz. 

"Come over here, " continued the other. "I'll show you a pistol connectedwith this case. And I'll show it to the dog. "

"For the scent? You don't think a dog can follow the scent from a pistol, do you?" asked the proprietor incredulously. 

"I don't know. _This_ dog has done wonderful things. He tracked a murdereronce three miles across rough country near Liége and found him hidden in abarn. But he had better conditions there. We'll see. "

They had entered the courtyard now and Coquenil led Caesar to the spotwhere the weapon lay still undisturbed. 

"_Cherche!_" he ordered, and the dog nosed the pistol with concentratedeffort. Then silently, anxiously, one would say, he darted away, circlingthe courtyard back and forth, sniffing the ground as he went, pausingoccasionally or retracing his steps and presently stopping before M. Paulwith a little bark of disappointment. 

"Nothing, eh? Quite right. Give me the pistol, Papa Tignol. We'll tryoutside. There!" He pointed to the open door where the _concierge_ waswaiting. "Now then, _cherche!_"

In an instant Caesar was out in the Rue Marboeuf, circling again and againin larger and larger arcs, as he had been taught, back and forth, until hehad covered a certain length of street and sidewalk, every foot of thespace between opposite walls, then moving on for another length and thenfor another, looking up at his master now and then for a word ofencouragement. 

[Illustration: "'_Cherche!_' he ordered. "]

"It's a hard test, " muttered Coquenil. "Footprints and weapons have lainfor hours in a drenching rain, but--Ah!" Caesar had stopped with a littlewhine and was half crouching at the edge of the sidewalk, head low, eyesfiercely forward, body quivering with excitement. "He's found something!"

The dog turned with quick, joyous barks. 

"He's got the scent. Now _watch_ him, " and sharply he gave the word:"_Va!_"

Straight across the pavement darted Caesar, then along the oppositesidewalk _away_ from the Champs Elysées, running easily, nose down, pastthe Rue François Premier, past the Rue Clement-Marot, then out into thestreet again and stopping suddenly. 

"He's lost it, " mourned Papa Tignol. 

"Lost it? Of course he's lost it, " triumphed the detective. And turning toM. Gritz: "There's where your murderer picked up a cab. It's perfectlyclear. No one has touched that pistol since the man who used it threw itfrom the window of Number Seven. "

"You mean Number Six, " corrected Gritz. 

"I mean Number Seven. We know where the murderer took a cab, now we'll seewhere he left the hotel. " And hurrying toward his dog, he called: "Back, Caesar!"

Obediently the dog trotted back along the trail, recrossing the streetwhere he had crossed it before, and presently reaching the point where hehad first caught the scent. Here he stopped, waiting for orders, eying M. Paul with almost speaking intelligence. 

"A wonderful dog, " admired Gritz. "What kind is he?"

"Belgian shepherd dog, " answered Coquenil. "He cost me five hundred francs, and I wouldn't sell him for--well, I wouldn't sell him. " He bent over andfondled the panting animal. "We wouldn't sell our best friend, would we, Caesar?"

Evidently Caesar did not think this the moment for sentiment; he growledimpatiently, straining toward the scent. 

"He knows there's work to be done and he's right. " Then quickly he gave theword again and once more Caesar was away, darting back along the sidewalk_toward_ the Champs Elysées, moving nearer and nearer to the houses andpresently stopping at a gateway, against which he pressed and whined. Itwas a gateway in the wall surrounding the Ansonia Hotel. 

"The man came out here, " declared Coquenil, and, unlatching the gate, helooked inside, the dog pushing after him. 

"Down Caesar!" ordered M. Paul, and unwillingly the ardent creaturecrouched at his feet. 

The wall surrounding the Ansonia was of polished granite about six feethigh, and between this wall and the hotel itself was a space of equal widthplanted with slim fir trees that stood out in decorative dignity againstthe gray stone. 

"This is what you call the alleyway?" questioned Coquenil. 

"Exactly. "

From the pocket of his coat the detective drew a small electric lantern, the one that had served him so well earlier in the evening, and, touching aswitch, he threw upon the ground a strong white ray; whereupon a confusionof footprints became visible, as if a number of persons had trod back andforth here. 

"What does this mean?" he cried. 

Papa Tignol explained shamefacedly: "_We_ did it looking for the pistol; itwas Gibelin's orders. "

"_Bon Dieu!_ What a pity! We can never get a clean print in this mess. Butwait! How far along the alleyway did you look?"

"As far as that back wall. Poor Gibelin! He never thought of looking on theother side of it. Eh, eh!"

Coquenil breathed more freely. "We may be all right yet. Ah, yes, " hecried, going quickly to this back wall where the alleyway turned to theright along the rear of the hotel. Again he threw his white light beforehim and, with a start of satisfaction, pointed to the ground. There, clearly marked, was a line of footprints, _a single line_, with no breaksor imperfections, the plain record on the rain-soaked earth that oneperson, evidently a man, had passed this way, _going out_. 

"I'll send the dog first, " said M. Paul. "Here, Caesar! _Cherche!_"

Once more the eager animal sprang forward, following slowly along the rowof trees where the trail was confused, and then, at the corner, dashingahead swiftly, only to stop again after a few yards and stand scratchinguneasily at a closed door. 

"That settles it, " said Coquenil. "He has brought us to the alleyway door. Am I right?"

"Yes, " nodded Gritz. 

"The door that leads to Number Seven?"

"Yes. "

"Open it, " and, while the agitated proprietor searched for his pass key, the detective spoke to Tignol: "I want impressions of these footprints, the_best_ you can take. Use glycerin with plaster of Paris for the molds. Take_this_ one and these two and _this_ and _this_. Understand?"

"Perfectly. "

"Leave Caesar here while you go for what you need. Down, Caesar! _Garde!_"

The dog growled and went on guard forthwith. 

"Now, we'll have a look inside. "

The alleyway door stood open and, using his lantern with the utmost care, Coquenil went first, mounting the stairs slowly, followed by Gritz. At thetop they came to a narrow landing and a closed door. 

"This opens directly into Number Seven?" asked the detective. 

"Yes. "

"Is it usually locked or unlocked?"

"IT is _always_ locked. "

"Well, it's unlocked now, " observed Coquenil, trying the knob. Then, flashing his lantern forward, he threw the door wide open. The room wasempty. 

"Let me turn up the electrics, " said the proprietor, and he did so, showingfurnishings like those in Number Six except that here the prevailing tintwas pale blue while there it was pale yellow. 

"I see nothing wrong, " remarked M. Paul, glancing about sharply. "Do you?"

"Nothing. "

"Except that this door into the corridor is bolted. It didn't bolt itself, did it?"

"No, " sighed the other. 

Coquenil thought a moment, then he produced the pistol found in thecourtyard and examined it with extreme care, then he unlocked the corridordoor and looked out. The policeman was still on guard before Number Six. 

"I shall want to go in there shortly, " said the detective. The policemansaluted wearily. 

"Excuse me, " ventured M. Gritz, "have you still much to do?"

"Yes, " said the other dryly. 

"It's nearly four and--I suppose you are used to this sort of thing, butI'm knocked out, I--I'd like to go to bed. "

"By all means, my dear sir. I shall get on all right now if--oh, they tellme you make wonderful Turkish coffee here. Do you suppose I could havesome?"

"Of course you can. I'll send it at once. "

"You'll earn my lasting gratitude. "

Gritz hesitated a moment and then, with an apprehensive look in his beadyeyes, he said: "So you're going in _there?_" and he jerked his fat thumbtoward the wall separating them from Number Six. 

Coquenil nodded. 

"To see if the ball from _that_, " he looked with a shiver at the pistol, "fits in--in _that?_" Again he jerked his thumb toward the wall, beyondwhich the body lay. 

"No, that is the doctor's business. _Mine is more important_. Good night!"

"Good night, " answered Gritz and he waddled away down the corridor in hisblue-silk garments, wagging his heavy head and muttering to himself: "Moreimportant than _that! Mon Dieu!_"

CHAPTER VIII

THROUGH THE WALL

Coquenil's examination of the pistol showed that it was a weapon of goodmake and that only a single shot had been fired from it; also that thisshot had been fired within a few hours. Which, with the evidence of theseamstress and the dog, gave a strong probability that the instrument ofthe crime had been found. If the ball in the body corresponded with ballsstill in the pistol, this probability would become a practical certainty. And yet, the detective knit his brows. Suppose it was established beyond adoubt that this pistol killed the billiard player, there still remained thequestion _how_ the shooting was accomplished. The murderer was in NumberSeven, he could not and did not go into the corridor, for the corridor doorwas locked. But the billiard player was in Number Six, he was shot inNumber Six, and he died in Number Six. How were these two facts to bereconciled? The seamstress's testimony alone might be put aside but not thedog's testimony. _The murderer certainly remained in Number Seven_. 

Holding this conviction, the detective entered the room of the tragedy andturned up the lights, all of them, so that he might see whatever was to beseen. He walked back and forth examining the carpet, examining the walls, examining the furniture, but paying little heed to the body. He went to theopen window and looked out, he went to the yellow sofa and sat down, finally he shut off the lights and withdrew softly, closing the door behindhim. It was just as the commissary had said _with the exception of onething_. 

When he returned to Number Seven, M. Paul found that Gritz had kept hispromise and sent him a pot of fragrant Turkish coffee, steaming hot, and abox of the choicest Egyptian cigarettes. Ah, that was kind! This wassomething like it! And, piling up cushions in the sofa corner, Coquenilsettled back comfortably to think and dream. This was the time he lovedbest, these precious silent hours when the city slept and his mind becamemost active--this was the time when chiefly he received those flashes ofinspiration or intuition that had so often and so wonderfully guided him. 

For half an hour or so the detective smoked continuously and sipped thepowdered delight of Stamboul, his gaze moving about the room in friendlyscrutiny as if he would, by patience and good nature, persuade the wallsor, chairs to give up their secret. Presently he took off his glasses and, leaning farther back against the cushions, closed his eyes in pleasantmeditation. Or was it a brief snatch of sleep? Whichever it was, a discreetknock at the corridor door shortly ended it, and Papa Tignol entered to saythat he had finished the footprint molds. 

M. Paul roused himself with an effort and, sitting up, his elbow restingagainst the sofa back, motioned his associate to a chair. 

"By the way, " he asked, "what do you think of _that?_" He pointed to aJapanese print in a black frame that hung near the massive sideboard. 

"Why, " stammered Tignol, "I--I don't think anything of it. "

"A rather interesting picture, " smiled the other. "I've been studying it. "

"A purple sea, a blue moon, and a red fish--it looks crazy to me, " mutteredthe old _agent_. 

Coquenil laughed at this candid judgment. "All the same, it has a bearingon our investigations. "

"_Diable!_"

M. Paul reached for his glasses, rubbed them deliberately and put them on. "Papa Tignol, " he said seriously, "I have come to a conclusion about thiscrime, but I haven't verified it. I am now going to give myself anintellectual treat. "

"Wha-at?"

"I am going to prove practically whether my mind has grown rusty in thelast two years. "

"I wish you'd say things so a plain man can understand 'em, " grumbled theother. 

"You understand that we are in private room Number Seven, don't you? On theother side of that wall is private room Number Six where a man has justbeen shot. We know that, don't we? But the man who shot him was in _this_room, the little hair-brushing old maid saw the pistol thrown from _this_window, the dog found footprints coming from _this_ room, the murderer wentout through _that_ door into the alleyway and then into the street. Hecouldn't have gone into the corridor because the door was locked on theoutside. "

"He might have gone into the corridor and locked the door after him, "objected Tignol. 

Coquenil shook his head. "He could have locked the door after him on theoutside, not on the inside; but when we came in here, _it was locked on theinside_. No, sir, that door to the corridor has not been used thisevening. The murderer bolted it on the inside when he entered from thealleyway and it wasn't unbolted until I unbolted it myself. "

"Then how, in Heaven's name----"

"Exactly! How could a man in this room kill a man in the next room? That isthe problem I have been working at for an hour. And I believe I have solvedit. Listen. Between these rooms is a solid wooden partition with no door init--no passageway of any kind. Yet the man in there is dead, we're sure ofthat. The pistol was here, the bullet went there--somehow. _How_ did it gothere? _Think_. "

The detective paused and looked fixedly at the wall near the heavysideboard. Tignol, half fascinated, stared at the same spot, and then, as anew idea took form in his brain, he blurted out: "You mean it went _throughthe wall?_"

"Is there any other way?"

The old man laid a perplexed forefinger along his illuminated nose. "Butthere is no hole--through the wall, " he muttered. 

"There is either a hole or a miracle. And between the two, I conclude thatthere _is_ a hole which we haven't found yet. "

"It might be back of that sideboard, " ventured the other doubtfully. 

But M. Paul disagreed. "No man as clever as this fellow would have moved aheavy piece covered with plates and glasses. Besides, if the sideboard hadbeen moved, there would be marks on the floor and there are none. Now youunderstand why I'm interested in that Japanese print. "

Tignol sprang to his feet, then checked himself with a half-ashamed smile. 

"You're mocking me, you've looked behind the picture. "

Coquenil shook his head solemnly. "On my honor, I have not been near thepicture, I know nothing about the picture, but unless there is some flaw inmy reasoning----"

"I'll give my tongue to the cats to eat!" burst out the other, "if ever Isaw a man lie on a sofa and blow blue circles in the air and spin prettytheories about what is back of a picture when----"

"When what?"

"When all he had to do for proof was to reach over and--and lift the darnthing off its nail. "

Coquenil smiled. "I've thought of that, " he drawled, "but I like thesuspense. Half the charm of life is in suspense, Papa Tignol. However, youhave a practical mind, so go ahead, lift it off. "

The old man did not wait for a second bidding, he stepped forward quicklyand took down the picture. 

"_Tonnere de Dieu!_" he cried. "It's true! There are _two_ holes. "

Sure enough, against the white wall stood out not one but two black holesabout an inch in diameter and something less than three inches apart. Around the left hole, which was close to the sideboard, were black dotssprinkled over the painted woodwork like grains of pepper. 

"Powder marks!" muttered Coquenil, examining the hole. "He fired at closerange as Martinez looked into this room from the other side. Poor chap!That's how he was shot in the eye. " And producing a magnifying glass, thedetective made a long and careful examination of the holes while PapaTignol watched him with unqualified disgust. 

"Asses! Idiots! That's what we are, " muttered the old man. "For half anhour we were in that room, Gibelin and I, and we never found those holes. "

"They were covered by the sofa hangings. "

"I know, we shook those hangings, we pressed against them, we dideverything but look behind them. See here, did _you_ look behind them?"

"No, but I saw something on the floor that gave me an idea. "

"Ah, what was that?"

"Some yellowish dust. I picked up a little of it. There. " He unfolded apaper and showed a few grains of coarse brownish powder. "You see there areonly board partitions between these rooms, the boards are about an inchthick, so a sharp auger would make the holes quickly. But there would bedust and chips. "

"Of course. "

"Well, this is some of the dust. The woman probably threw the chips out ofthe window. "

"The woman?"

Coquenil nodded. "She helped Martinez while he bored the holes. "

Tignol listened in amazement. "You think Martinez bored those holes? Theman who was murdered?"

"Undoubtedly. The spirals from the auger blade inside the holes showplainly that the boring was done _from_ Number Six _toward_ Number Seven. Take the glass and see for yourself. "

Tignol took the glass and studied the hole. Then he turned, shaking hishead. "You're a fine detective, M. Paul, but I was a carpenter for sixyears before I went on the force and I know more about auger holes than youdo. I say you can't be sure which side of the wall this hole was boredfrom. You talk about spirals, but there's no sense in that. They're thesame either way. You _might_ tell by the chipping, but this is hard woodcovered with thick enamel, so there's apt to be no chipping. Anyhow, there's none here. We'll see on the other side. "

"All right, we'll see, " consented Coquenil, and they went around intoNumber Six. 

The old man drew back the sofa hangings and exposed two holes exactly likethe others--in fact, the same holes. "You see, " he went on, "the edges areclean, without a sign of chipping. There is no more reason to say thatthese holes were bored this side than from that. "

M. Paul made no reply, but going to the sofa he knelt down by it, and usinghis glass, proceeded to go over its surface with infinite care. 

"Turn up all the lights, " he said. "That's better, " and he continued hissearch. "Ah!" he cried presently. "You think there is no reason to say theholes were bored from this side. I'll give you a reason. Take this piece ofwhite paper and make me prints of his boot heels. " He pointed to the body. "Take the whole heel carefully, then the other one, get the nail marks, everything. That's right. Now cut out the prints. Good! Now look here. Kneel down. Take the glass. There on the yellow satin, by the tail of thatsilver bird. Do you see? Now compare the heel prints. "

Papa Tignol knelt down as directed and examined the sofa seat, which wascovered with a piece of Chinese embroidery. 

"_Sapristi!_ You're a magician!" he cried in great excitement. 

"No, " replied Coquenil, "it's perfectly simple. These holes in the wall arefive feet above the floor. And I'm enough of a carpenter, Papa Tignol, " hesmiled, "to know that a man cannot work an auger at that height withoutstanding on something. And here was the very thing for him to stand on, asofa just in place. So, _if_ Martinez bored these holes, he stood on thissofa to do it, and, in that case, the marks of his heels must have remainedon the delicate satin. And here they are. "

"Yes, here they are, nails and all, " admitted Tignol admiringly. "I'm anold fool, but--but----"

"Well?"

"Tell me _why Martinez did it_. "

Coquenil's face darkened. "Ah, that's the question. We'll know that when wetalk to the woman. "

The old man leaned forward eagerly: "_Why do you think the woman helpedhim?_"

"_Somebody_ helped him or the chips would still be there, _somebody_ heldback those hangings while he worked the auger, and somebody carried theauger away. "

Tignol pondered this, a moment, then, his face brightening: "Hah! I see!The sofa hangings were held back when the shot came, then they fell intoplace and covered the holes?"

"That's it, " replied the detective absently. 

"And the man in Number Seven, the murderer, lifted that picture from itsnail before shooting and then put it back on the nail after shooting?"

"Yes, yes, " agreed M. Paul. Already he was far away on a new line ofthought, while the other was still grappling with his first surprise. 

"Then this murderer must have _known_ that the billiard player was going tobore these holes, " went on Papa Tignol half to himself. "He must have beenwaiting in Number Seven, he must have stood there with his pistol readywhile the holes were coming through, he must have let Martinez finish onehole and then bore the other, he must have kept Number Seven dark so theycouldn't see him----"

"A good point, that, " approved Coquenil, paying attention. "He certainlykept Number Seven dark. "

"And he _probably_ looked into Number Six through the first hole whileMartinez was boring the second. I suppose _you_ can tell which of the twoholes was bored first?" chuckled Tignol. 

M. Paul started, paused in a flash of thought, and then, with suddeneagerness: "I see, _that's it!_"

"What's it?" gasped the other. 

"He bored _this_ hole first, " said Coquenil rapidly, "it's the right-handone when you're in this room, the left-hand one when you're in NumberSeven. As you say, the murderer looked through the first hole while hewaited for the second to be bored; so, naturally, he fired through the holewhere his eye was. _That was his first great mistake_. "

Tignol screwed up his face in perplexity. "What difference does it makewhich hole the man fired through so long as he shot straight and got away?"

"What difference? Just this difference, that, by firing through theleft-hand hole, he has given us precious evidence, against him. "

"How?"

"Come back into the other room and I'll show you. " And, when they hadreturned to Number Seven, he continued: "Take the pistol. Pretend you arethe murderer. You've been waiting your moment, holding your breath on oneside of the wall while the auger grinds through from the other. The firsthole is finished. You see the point of the auger as it comes through thesecond, now the wood breaks and a length of turning steel shoves towardyou. You grip your pistol and look through the left-hand hole, you see thewoman holding back the curtains, you see Martinez draw out the auger fromthe right-hand hole and lay it down. Now he leans forward, pressing hisface to the completed eyeholes, you see the whites of his eyes, not threeinches away. Quick! Pistol up! Ready to fire! No, no, through the_left-hand_ hole where _he_ fired. "

"_Sacré matin!_" muttered Tignol, "it's awkward aiming through thisleft-hand hole. "

"Ah!" said the detective. "_Why_ is it awkward?"

"Because it's too near the sideboard. I can't get my eye there to sightalong the pistol barrel. "

"You mean your right eye?"

"Of course. "

"Could you get your left eye there?"

"Yes, but if I aimed with my left eye I'd have to fire with my left handand I couldn't hit a cow that way. "

Coquenil looked at Tignol steadily. "_You could if you were a left-handedman_. "

"You mean to say--" The other stared. 

"I mean to say that _this_ man, at a critical moment, fired through thatawkward hole near the sideboard when he might just as well have firedthrough the other hole away from the sideboard. Which shows that it was aneasy and natural thing for him to do, consequently----"

"Consequently, " exulted the old man, "we've got to look for a left-handedmurderer, is that it?"

"What do _you_ think?" smiled the detective. 

Papa Tignol paused, and then, bobbing his head in comical seriousness: "Ithink, if I were this man, I'd sooner have the devil after me than PaulCoquenil. "

CHAPTER IX

COQUENIL MARKS HIS MAN

It was nearly four o'clock when Coquenil left the Ansonia and started upthe Champs Elysées, breathing deep of the early morning air. The night wasstill dark, although day was breaking in the east. And what a night it hadbeen! How much had happened since he walked with his dog to Notre-Dame theevening before! Here was the whole course of his life changed, yes, and hisprospects put in jeopardy by this extraordinary decision. How could heexplain what he had done to his wise old mother? How could he unsay allthat he had said to her a few days before when he had shown her that thistrip to Brazil was quite for the best and bade her a fond farewell? Couldhe explain it to anyone, even to himself? Did he honestly believe all theplausible things he had said to Pougeot and the others about this crime?Was it really the wonderful affair he had made out? After all, what had heacted on? A girl's dream and an odd coincidence. Was that enough? Was thatenough to make a man alter his whole life and face extraordinary danger?_Was it enough?_

Extraordinary danger! _Why_ did this sense of imminent peril haunt him andfascinate him? What was there in this crime that made it different frommany other crimes on which he had been engaged? Those holes through thewall? Well, yes, he had never seen anything quite like that. And thebilliard player's motive in boring the holes and the woman's rôle and theintricacy and ingenuity of the murderer's plan--all these offered anextraordinary problem. And it certainly was strange that thiscandle-selling girl with the dreams and the purplish eyes had appearedagain as the suspected American's sweetheart! He had heard this from PapaTignol, and how Alice had stood ready to brave everything for her loverwhen Gibelin marched him off to prison. Poor Gibelin!

So Coquenil's thoughts ran along as he neared the Place de l'Etoile. Well, it was too late to draw back. He had made his decision and he must abide byit, his commission was signed, his duty lay before him. By nine o'clock hemust be at the Palais de Justice to report to Hauteville. No use goinghome. Better have a rubdown and a cold plunge at the _haman_, then a turnon the mat with the professional wrestler, and then a few hours sleep. Thatwould put him in shape for the day's work with its main business of runningdown this woman in the case, this lady of the cloak and leather bag, whosename and address he fortunately had. Ah, he looked forward to his interviewwith her! And he must prepare for it!

Coquenil was just glancing about for a cab to the Turkish bath place, infact he was signaling one that he saw jogging up the Avenue de la GrandeArmée, when he became aware that a gentleman was approaching him with theintention of speaking. Turning quickly, he saw in the uncertain light a manof medium height with a dark beard tinged with gray, wearing a loose blackcape overcoat and a silk hat. The stranger saluted politely and said with aslight foreign accent: "How are you, M. Louis? I have been expecting you. "

The words were simple enough, yet they contained a double surprise forCoquenil. He was at a loss to understand how he could have been expectedhere where he had come by the merest accident, and, certainly, this was thefirst time in twenty years that anyone, except his mother, had addressedhim as Louis. He had been christened Louis Paul, but long ago he haddropped the former name, and his most intimate friends knew him only asPaul Coquenil. 

"How do you know that my name is Louis?" answered the detective with asharp glance. 

"I know a great deal about you, " answered the other, and then withsignificant emphasis: "_I know that you are interested in dreams_. May Iwalk along with you?"

"You may, " said Coquenil, and at once his keen mind was absorbed in thisnew problem. Instinctively he felt that something momentous was preparing. 

"Rather clever, your getting on that cab to-night, " remarked the other. 

"Ah, you know about that?"

"Yes, and about the Rio Janeiro offer. We want you to reconsider yourdecision. " His voice was harsh and he spoke in a quick, brusque way, as oneaccustomed to the exercise of large authority. 

"Who, pray, are 'we'?" asked the detective. 

"Certain persons interested in this Ansonia affair. "

"Persons whom you represent?"

"In a way. "

"Persons who know about the crime--I mean, who know the truth about it?"

"Possibly. "

"Hm! Do these persons know what covered the holes in Number Seven?"

"A Japanese print. "

"And in Number Six?"

"Some yellow hangings. "

"Ah!" exclaimed Coquenil in surprise. "Do they know why Martinez boredthese holes?"

"To please the woman, " was the prompt reply. 

"Did she want Martinez killed?"

"No. "

"Then why did she want the holes bored?"

"_She wanted to see into Number Seven_. "

It was extraordinary, not only the man's knowledge but his unaccountablefrankness. And more than ever the detective was on his guard. 

"I see you know something about the affair, " he said dryly. "What do youwant with me?"

"The persons I represent----"

"Say the _person_ you represent, " interrupted Coquenil. "A criminal of thistype acts alone. "

"As you like, " answered the other carelessly. "Then the person I represent_wishes you to withdraw from this case_. "

The message was preposterous, the manner of its delivery fantastic, yetthere was something vaguely formidable in the stranger's tone, as if agreat person had spoken, one absolutely sure of himself and of his power tocommand. 

"Naturally, " retorted Coquenil. 

"Why do you say naturally?"

"It's natural for a criminal to wish that an effort against him shouldcease. Tell your friend or employer that I am only mildly interested in hiswishes. "

He spoke with deliberate hostility, but the dark-bearded man answered, quite unruffled: "Ah, I may be able to heighten your interest. "

"Come, come, sir, my time is valuable. "

The stranger drew from his coat pocket a large thick envelope fastenedwith an elastic band and handed it to the detective. "Whatever your time isworth, " he said in a rasping voice, "I will pay for it. Please look atthis. "

Coquenil's curiosity was stirred. Here was no commonplace encounter, atleast it was a departure from ordinary criminal methods. Who was thissupercilious man? How dared he come on such an errand to him, PaulCoquenil? What desperate purpose lurked behind his self-confident mask?Could it be that he knew the assassin or--or _was he the assassin?_

Wondering thus, M. Paul opened the tendered envelope and saw that itcontained a bundle of thousand-franc notes. 

"There is a large sum here, " he remarked. 

"Fifty thousand francs. It's for you, and as much more will be handed youthe day you sail for Brazil. Just a moment--let me finish. This sum is abonus in addition to the salary already fixed. And, remember, you have alife position there with a brilliant chance of fame. That is what you careabout, I take it--fame; it is for fame you want to follow up this crime. "

Coquenil snapped his fingers. "I don't care _that_ for fame. I'm going towork out this case for the sheer joy of doing it. "

"You will _never_ work out this case!" The man spoke so sternly and withsuch a menacing ring in his voice that M. Paul felt a chill ofapprehension. 

"Why not?" he asked. 

"Because you will not be allowed to; it's doubtful if you _could_ work itout, but there's a chance that you could and we don't purpose to take thatchance. You're a free agent, you can persist in this course, but if youdo----"

He paused as if to check too vehement an utterance, and M. Paul caught athreatening gleam in his eyes that he long remembered. 

"Why?"

"If you do, you will be thwarted at every turn, you will be made to sufferin ways you do not dream of, through those who are dear to you, throughyour dog, through your mother----"

"You dare--" cried Coquenil. 

"We dare _anything_, " flashed the stranger. "I'm daring something now, am Inot? Don't you suppose I know what you are thinking? Well, I take the riskbecause--_because you are intelligent_. "

There was something almost captivating in the very arrogance andrecklessness of this audacious stranger. Never in all his experience hadCoquenil known a criminal or a person directly associated with crime, asthis man must be, to boldly confront the powers of justice. Undoubtedly, the fellow realized his danger, yet he deliberately faced it. What plancould he have for getting away once his message was delivered? It must bepractically delivered already, there was nothing more to say, he hadoffered a bribe and made a threat. A few words now for the answer, therefusal, the defiance, and--then what? Surely this brusque individual didnot imagine that he, Coquenil, would be simple enough to let him go nowthat he had him in his power? But wait! Was that true, _was_ this man inhis power?

As if answering the thought, the stranger said: "It is hopeless for you tostruggle against our knowledge and our resources, quite hopeless. We have, for example, the _fullest_ information about you and your life down to thesmallest detail. "

"Yes?" answered Coquenil, and a twinkle of humor shone in his eyes. "What'sthe name of my old servant?"

"Melanie. "

"What's the name of the canary bird I gave her last week?"

"It isn't a canary bird, it's a bullfinch. And its name is Pete. "

"Not bad, not at all bad, " muttered the other, and the twinkle in his eyesfaded. 

"We know the important things, too, all that concerns you, from your_forced resignation_ two years ago down to your talk yesterday with thegirl at Notre-Dame. So how can you fight us? How can you shadow people whoshadow you? Who watch your actions from day to day, from hour to hour? Whoknow _exactly_ the moment when you are weak and unprepared, as I know nowthat you are unarmed _because you left that pistol with Papa Tignol_. "

For a moment Coquenil was silent, and then: "Here's your money, " he said, returning the envelope. 

"Then you refuse?"

"I refuse. "

"Stubborn fellow! And unbelieving! You doubt our power against you. Come, Iwill give you a glimpse of it, just the briefest glimpse. Suppose you tryto arrest me. You have been thinking of it, _now act_. I'm a suspiciouscharacter, I ought to be investigated. Well, do your duty. I might pointout that such an arrest would accomplish absolutely nothing, for youhaven't the slightest evidence against me and can get none, but I waivethat point because I want to show you that, even in so simple an effortagainst us as this, _you would inevitably fail_. "

The man's impudence was passing all bounds. "You mean that I _cannot_arrest you?" menaced Coquenil. 

"Precisely. I mean that with all your cleverness and with a distinctadvantage in position, here on the Champs Elysées with policemen all aboutus, _you cannot arrest me_. "

"We'll see about that, " answered M. Paul, a grim purpose showing in hisdeep-set eyes. 

"I say this in no spirit of bravado, " continued the other with irritatinginsolence, "but so that you may remember my words and this warning when Iam gone. " Then, with a final fling of defiance: "This is the first time youhave seen me, M. Coquenil, and you will probably never see me again, butyou will hear from me. _Now blow your whistle!_"

Coquenil was puzzled. If this was a bluff, it was the maddest, mostincomprehensible bluff that a criminal ever made. But if it was _not_ abluff? Could there be a hidden purpose here? Was the man deliberatelymaking some subtle move in the game he was playing? The detective paused tothink. They had come down the Champs Elysées, past the Ansonia, and werenearing the Rond Point, the best guarded part of Paris, where the shrillsummons of his police call would be answered almost instantly. And yet hehesitated. 

"There is no hurry, I suppose, " said the detective. "I'd like to ask aquestion or two. "

"As many as you please. "

With all the strength of his mind and memory Coquenil was studying hisadversary. That beard? Could it be false? And the swarthy tone of the skinwhich he noticed now in the improving light, was that natural? If notnatural, then wonderfully imitated. And the hands, the arms? He had watchedthese from the first, noting every movement, particularly the _left_ handand the _left_ arm, but he had detected nothing significant; the man usedhis hands like anyone else, he carried a cane in the right hand, lifted hishat with the right hand, offered the envelope with the right hand. Therewas nothing to show that he was not a right-handed man. 

"I wonder if you have anything against me personally?" inquired M. Paul. 

"On the contrary, " declared the other, "we admire you and wish you well. "

"But you threaten my dog?"

"If necessary, yes. "

"And my mother?"

"_If necessary_. "

The decisive moment had come, not only because Coquenil's anger was stirredby this cynical avowal, but because just then there shot around the cornerfrom the Avenue Montaigne a large red automobile which crossed the ChampsElysées slowly, past the fountain and the tulip beds, and, turning into theAvenue Gabrielle, stopped under the chestnut trees, its engines throbbing. Like a flash it came into the detective's mind that the same automobile hadpassed them once before some streets back. Ah, here was the intended way ofescape! On the front seat were two men, strong-looking fellows, accomplices, no doubt. He must act at once while the wide street was stillbetween them. 

"I ask because--" began M. Paul with his indifferent drawl, then swiftlydrawing his whistle, he sounded a danger call that cut the air in sinisteralarm. The stranger sprang away, but Coquenil was on him in a bound, clutching him by the throat and pressing him back with intertwining legsfor a sudden fall. The bearded man saved himself by a quick turn, and witha great heave of his shoulders broke the detective's grip, then suddenly_he_ attacked, smiting for the neck, not with clenched fist but with theopen hand held sideways in the treacherous cleaving blow that the Japaneseuse when they strike for the carotid. Coquenil ducked forward, savinghimself, but he felt the descending hand hard as stone on his shoulders. 

"He struck with his _right_, " thought M. Paul. 

At the same moment he felt his adversary's hand close on his throat andrejoiced, for he knew the deadly Jitsu reply to this. Hardening his neckmuscles until they covered the delicate parts beneath like bands of steel, the detective seized his enemy's extended arm in his two hands, one at thewrist, one at the elbow, and as his trained fingers sought the painfulpressure points, his two free arms started a resistless torsion movement onthe captured arm. There is no escape from this movement, no enduring itsexcruciating pain; to a man taken at such a disadvantage one of two thingsmay happen. He may yield, and in that case he is hurled helpless over hisadversary's shoulder, or he may resist, with the result that the tendonsare torn from his lacerated arm and he faints in agony. 

Such was the master hold gained by M. Paul in the first minute of thestruggle; long and carefully he had practiced this coup with a wrestlingprofessional. It never failed, it could not fail, and, in savage triumph, he prolonged his victory, slowly increasing the pressure, slowly as he feltthe tendons stretching, the bones cracking in this helpless right arm. Afew seconds more and the end would come, a few seconds more and--then acrashing, shattering pain drove through Coquenil's lower heart region, hisarms relaxed, his hands relaxed, his senses dimmed, and he sank weakly tothe ground. His enemy had done an extraordinary thing, had delivered ablow not provided for in Jitsu tactics. In spite of the torsion torture, he had swung his free arm under the detective's lifted guard, not inYokohama style but in the best manner of the old English prize ring, hisclenched fist falling full on the point of the heart, full on the unguardedsolar-plexus nerves which God put there for the undoing of the vaingloriousfighters. And Coquenil dropped like a smitten ox with this thought hummingin his darkening brain: "_It was the left that spoke then_. "

[Illustration: "He prolonged his victory, slowly increasing the pressure. "]

As he sank to the ground M. Paul tried to save himself, and seizing hisopponent by the leg, he held him desperately with his failing strength; butthe spasms of pain overcame him, his muscles would not act, and with afurious sense of helplessness and failure, he felt the clutched legslipping from his grasp. Then, as consciousness faded, the brute instinctin him rallied in a last fierce effort and _he bit the man deeply under theknee_. 

When Coquenil came to himself he was lying on the ground and severalpolicemen were bending over him. He lifted his head weakly and looked abouthim. The stranger was gone. The automobile was gone. And it all came backto him in sickening memory, the flaunting challenge of this man, the fiercestruggle, his own overconfidence, and then his crushing defeat. Ah, what ablow that last one was with the conquering left!

And suddenly it flashed through his mind that he had been outwitted fromthe first, that the man's purpose had not been at all what it seemed to be, that a hand-to-hand conflict was precisely what the stranger had sought andplanned for, because--_because_--In feverish haste Coquenil felt in hisbreast pocket for the envelope with the precious leather fragments. It wasnot there. Then quickly he searched his other pockets. It was not there. _The envelope containing the woman's name and address was gone_. 

CHAPTER X

GIBELIN SCORES A POINT

The next day all Paris buzzed and wondered about this Ansonia affair, as itwas called. The newspapers printed long accounts of it with elaboratedetails, and various conjectures were made as to the disappearance ofMartinez's fair companion. More or less plausible theories were also putforth touching the arrested American, prudently referred to as "MonsieurK. , a well-known New Yorker. " It was furthermore dwelt upon as significantthat the famous detective, Paul Coquenil, had returned to his old place onthe force for the especial purpose of working on this case. And M. Coquenilwas reported to have already, by one of his brilliant strokes, secured aclew that would lead shortly to important revelations. Alas, no one knewunder what distressing circumstances this precious clew had been lost!

Shortly before nine by the white clock over the columned entrance to thePalais de Justice, M. Paul passed through the great iron and gilt barrierthat fronts the street and turning to the left, mounted the wide stonestairway. He had had his snatch of sleep at the _haman_, his rubdown andcold plunge, but not his intended bout with the wrestling professional. Hehad had wrestling enough for one day, and now he had come to keep hisappointment with Judge Hauteville. 

Two flights up the detective found himself in a spacious corridor off whichopened seven doors leading to the offices of seven judges. Seven! Strangethis resemblance to the fatal corridor at the Ansonia! And stranger stillthat Judge Hauteville's office should be Number Six!

Coquenil moved on past palace guards in bright apparel, past sad-facedwitnesses and brisk lawyers of the court in black robes with amusing whitebibs at their throats. And presently he entered Judge Hauteville's privateroom, where an amiable _greffier_ asked him to sit down until the judgeshould arrive. 

There was nothing in the plain and rather businesslike furnishings of thisroom to suggest the somber and sordid scenes daily enacted here. On thedull leather of a long table, covered with its usual litter of papers, hadbeen spread the criminal facts of a generation, the sinister harvest ofignorance and vice and poverty. On these battered chairs had sat andtwisted hundreds of poor wretches, innocent and guilty, petty thieves, shifty-eyed scoundrels, dull brutes of murderers, and occasionally acriminal of a higher class, summoned for the preliminary examinations. Here, under the eye of a bored guard, they had passed miserable hours whilethe judge, smiling or frowning, hands in his pockets, strode back and forthover the shabby red-and-green carpet putting endless questions, sifting outtruth from falsehood, struggling against stupidity and cunning, studyingeach new case as a separate problem with infinite tact and insight, neverwearying, never losing his temper, coming back again and again to theessential point until more than one stubborn criminal had broken down and, from sheer exhaustion, confessed, like the assassin who finally blurtedout: "Well, yes, I did it. I'd rather be guillotined than bothered likethis. "

Such was Judge Hauteville, cold, patient, inexorable in the pursuit oftruth. And presently he arrived. 

"You look serious this morning, " he said, remarking Coquenil's pale face. 

"Yes, " nodded M. Paul, "that's how I feel, " and settling himself in a chairhe proceeded to relate the events of the night, ending with a frank accountof his misadventure on the Champs Elysées. 

The judge listened with grave attention. This was a more serious affairthan he had imagined. Not only was there no longer any question of suicide, but it was obvious that they were dealing with a criminal of the mostdangerous type and one possessed of extraordinary resources. 

"You believe it was the assassin himself who met you?" questionedHauteville. 

"Don't you?"

"I'm not sure. You think his motive was to get the woman's address?"

"Isn't that reasonable?"

Hauteville shook his head. "He wouldn't have risked so much for that. Howdid he know that you hadn't copied the name and given it to one of us--sayto me?"

"Ah, if I only had, " sighed the detective. 

"How did he know that you wouldn't remember the name? Can't you rememberit--at all?"

"That's what I've been trying to do, " replied the other gloomily, "I'vetried and tried, but the name won't come back. I put those pieces togetherand read the words distinctly, the name and the address. It was a foreignname, English I should say, and the street was an avenue near the ChampsElysées, the Avenue d'Eylau, or the Avenue d'Iena, I cannot be sure. Ididn't fix the thing in my mind because I had it in my pocket, and in thework of the night it faded away. "

"A great pity! Still, this man could neither have known that nor guessedit. He took the address from you on a chance, but his chief purpose musthave been to impress you with his knowledge and his power. "

Coquenil stared at his brown seal ring and then muttered savagely: "How didhe know the name of that infernal canary bird?"

The judge smiled. "He has established some very complete system ofsurveillance that we must try to circumvent. For the moment we had betterdecide upon immediate steps. "

With this they turned to a fresh consideration of the case. Already themachinery of justice had begun to move. Martinez's body and the weapon hadbeen taken to the morgue for an autopsy, the man's jewelry and money werein the hands of the judge, and photographs of the scene of the tragedywould be ready shortly as well as plaster impressions of the alleywayfootprints. An hour before, as arranged the previous night, Papa Tignol hadstarted out to search for Kittredge's lodgings, since the American, whenquestioned by Gibelin at the prison, had obstinately refused to tell wherehe lived and an examination of his quarters was a matter of immediateimportance. 

It was not Papa Tignol, however, who was to furnish this information, butthe discomfited Gibelin whose presence in the outer office was at thismoment announced by the judge's clerk. 

"Ask him to come in, " said Hauteville, and a moment later Coquenil's fat, red-haired rival entered with a smile that made his short mustache fairlybristle in triumph. 

"Ah, you have news for us!" exclaimed the judge. 

Gibelin beamed. "I haven't wasted my time, " he nodded. Then, with asarcastic glance at Coquenil: "The old school has its good points, afterall. "

"No doubt, " agreed Coquenil curtly. 

"Although I am no longer in charge of this case, " rasped the fat man, "Isuppose there is no objection to my rendering my distinguished associate, "he bowed mockingly to M. Paul, "such assistance as is in my power. "

"Of course not, " replied Hauteville. 

"I happened to hear that this American has a room on the Rue Racine and Ijust looked in there. "

"Ah!" said the judge, and Coquenil rubbed his glasses nervously. There isno detective big-souled enough not to tingle with resentment when he findsthat a rival has scored a point. 

"Our friend lives at the Hôtel des Étrangers, near the corner of theBoulevard St. Michel, " went on Gibelin. "I _happened_ to be talking withthe man who sent out the banquet invitations and he told me. M. Kittredgehas a little room with a brick floor up six flights. And long! And black!"He rubbed his knees ruefully. "But it was worth the trouble. Ah, yes!" Hissmall eyes brightened. 

"You examined his things?"

"_Pour sûr!_ I spent an hour there. And talked the soul out of thechambermaid. A good-looking wench! And a sharp one!" he chuckled. "_She_knows the value of a ten-franc piece!"

"Well, well, " broke in M. Paul, "what did you discover?"

[Illustration: "Gibelin beamed. 'The old school has its good points, afterall. '"]

Gibelin lifted his pudgy hands deprecatingly. "For one thing I discovered aphotograph of the woman who was in Number Six with Martinez. "

"The devil!" cried Coquenil. 

"It is not of much importance, since already you have the woman's name andaddress. " He shot a keen glance at his rival. 

M. Paul was silent. What humiliation was this! No doubt Gibelin had heardthe truth and was gloating over it!

"How do you know it is the woman's photograph?" questioned the judge. 

"I'll tell you, " replied Gibelin, delighted with his sensation. "It's quitea story. I suppose you know that when this woman slipped out of theAnsonia, she drove directly to the house where we arrested the American. You knew that?" He turned to Coquenil. 

"No. "

"Well, I _happened_ to speak to the _concierge_ there and she remembersperfectly a lady in an evening gown with a rain coat over it like the onethis woman escaped in. This lady sent a note by the _concierge_ up to theapartment of that she-dragon, the sacristan's wife, where M. Kittredge wascalling on Alice. "

"Ah! What time was that?"

"About a quarter to ten. The note was for M. Kittredge. It must have been a_wild_ one, for he hurried down, white as a sheet, and drove off with thelady. Fifteen minutes later they stopped at his hotel and he went up to hisroom, two steps, at a time, while she waited in the cab. And Jean, the_garçon_, had a good look at her and he told Rose, the chambermaid, and_she_ had a look and recognized her as the woman whose photograph she hadoften seen in the American's room. "

"Ah, that's lucky!" rejoined the judge. "And you have this photograph?"

"No, but----"

"You said you found it?" put in Coquenil. 

"I did, that is, I found a piece of it, a corner that wasn't burned. "

"Burned?" cried the others. 

"Yes, " said Gibelin, "that's what Kittredge went upstairs for, to burn thephotograph and a lot of letters--_her_ letters, probably. The fireplace wasfull of fresh ashes. Rose says it was clean before he went up, so I pickedout the best fragments--here they are. " He drew a small package from hispocket, and opening it carefully, showed a number of charred or half-burnedpieces of paper on which words in a woman's handwriting could be plainlyread. 

"More fragments!" muttered Coquenil, examining them. "It's in English. Ah, is this part of the photograph?" He picked out a piece of cardboard. 

"Yes. You see the photographer's name is on it. "

"Watts, Regent Street, London, " deciphered the detective. "That issomething. " And, turning to the judge: "Wouldn't it be a good idea to senda man to London with this? You can make out part of a lace skirt and thetip of a slipper. It might be enough. "

"That's true, " agreed Hauteville. 

"Whoever goes, " continued Coquenil, "had better carry him the five-poundnotes found on Martinez and see if he can trace them through the Bank ofEngland. They often take the names of persons to whom their notes areissued. "

"Excellent. I'll see to it at once, " and, ringing for his secretary, thejudge gave orders to this effect. 

To all of which Gibelin listened with a mocking smile. "But why so muchtrouble, " he asked, "when you have the woman's name and address already?"

"I _had_ them and I--I lost them, " acknowledged M. Paul, and in a fewwords he explained what had happened. 

"Oh, " sneered the other, "I thought you were a skillful wrestler. "

"Come back to the point, " put in Hauteville. "Had the chambermaid ever seenthis lady before?"

"Yes, but not recently. It seems that Kittredge moved to the Hôtel desÉtrangers about seven months ago, and soon after that the lady came to seehim. Rose says she came three times. "

"Did she go to Kittredge's room?" put in Coquenil. 

"Yes. "

"Can the chambermaid describe her?" continued the judge. 

"She says the lady was young and good-looking--that's about all sheremembers. "

"Hm! Have you anything else to report?"

Gibelin chuckled harshly. "I have kept the most important thing for thelast. I'm afraid it will annoy my distinguished colleague even more thanthe loss of the leather fragments. "

"Don't waste your sympathy, " retorted Coquenil. 

Gibelin gave a little snort of defiance. "I certainly won't. I only meanthat your début in this case hasn't been exactly--ha, ha!--well, notexactly brilliant. "

"Here, here!" reproved the judge. "Let us have the facts. "

"Well, " continued the red-haired man, "I have found the owner of the pistolthat killed Martinez. "

Coquenil started. "The owner of the pistol we found in the courtyard?"

"Precisely. I should tell you, also, that the balls from that pistol areidentical with the ball extracted from the body. The autopsy proves it, soDr. Joubert says. And this pistol belongs in a leather holster that Ifound in Mr. Kittredge's room. Dr. Joubert let me take the pistol forverification and--there, you can see for yourselves. "

With this he produced the holster and the pistol and laid them before thejudge. There was no doubt about it, the two objects belonged together. Various worn places corresponded and the weapon fitted in its case. "Besides, " continued Gibelin, "the chambermaid identifies this pistol asthe property of the American. He always kept it in a certain drawer, shenoticed it there a few days ago, but yesterday it was gone and the holsterwas empty. "

"It looks bad, " muttered the judge. 

"It _looks_ bad, but it's too easy, it's too simple, " answered M. Paul. 

"In the old school, " sneered Gibelin, "we are not always trying to solveproblems in _difficult_ ways. We don't reject a solution merely becauseit's easy--if the truth lies straight before our nose, why, we see it. "

"My dear sir, " retorted Coquenil angrily, "if what you think the truthturns out to be the truth, then you ought to be in charge of this case andI'm a fool. "

"Granted, " smiled the other. 

"Come, come, gentlemen, " interrupted the judge. Then abruptly to Gibelin:"Did you see about his boots?"

"No, I thought you would send to the prison and get the pair he wore lastnight. "

"How do you know he didn't change his boots when he burned the letters? Goback to his hotel and see if they noticed a muddy pair in his room thismorning. Bring me whatever boots of his you find. Also stop at the depotand get the pair he had on when arrested. Be quick!"

"I will, " answered Gibelin, and he went out, pausing at the door to saluteM. Paul mockingly. 

"Ill-tempered brute!" said Hauteville. "I will see that he has nothing moreto do with this case. " Then he touched an electric bell. 

"That American, Kittredge, who was arrested last night?" he said to theclerk. "Was he put in a cell?"

"No, sir, he's in with the other prisoners. "

"Ah! Have him brought over here in about an hour for the preliminaryexamination. Make out his commitment papers for the Santé. He is to be _ausecret_. "

"Yes, sir. " The clerk bowed and withdrew. 

"You really think this young man innocent, do you?" remarked the judge toCoquenil. 

"It's easier to think him innocent than guilty, " answered the detective. 

"Easier?"

"If he is guilty we must grant him an extraordinary double personality. Theamiable lover becomes a desperate criminal able to conceive and carry outthe most intricate murder of our time. I don't believe it. If he is guiltyhe must have had the key to that alleyway door. How did he get it? He musthave known, that the 'tall blonde' who had engaged Number Seven would notoccupy it. How did he know that? And he must have relations with the manwho met me on the Champs Elysées. How could that be? Remember, he's a poordevil of a foreigner living in a Latin-Quarter attic. The thing isn'treasonable. "

"But the pistol?"

"The pistol may not really be his. Gibelin's whole story needs lookinginto. "

The judge nodded. "Of course. I leave that to you. Still, I shall feelbetter satisfied when we have compared the soles of his boots with theplaster casts of those alleyway footprints. "

"So shall I, " said Coquenil. "Suppose I see the workman who is finishingthe casts?" he suggested; "it won't take long, and perhaps I can bring themback with me. "

"Excellent, " approved Hauteville, and he bowed with grave friendliness asthe detective left the room. 

Then, for nearly an hour, the judge buried himself in the details of thiscase, turning his trained mind, with absorbed concentration, upon thepapers at hand, reviewing the evidence, comparing the various reports andopinions, and, in the light of clear reason, searching for a plausibletheory of the crime. He also began notes of questions that he wished to askKittredge, and was deep in these when the clerk entered to inform him thatCoquenil and Gibelin had returned. 

"Let them come in at once, " directed Hauteville, and presently the twodetectives were again before him. 

"Well?" he inquired with a quick glance. 

Coquenil was silent, but Gibelin replied exultingly: "We have found a pairof Kittredge's boots that absolutely correspond with the plaster casts ofthe alleyway footprints; everything is identical, the shape of the sole, the nails in the heel, the worn places--everything. "

The judge turned to Coquenil. "Is this true?"

M. Paul nodded. "It seems to be true. "

There was a moment of tense silence and then Hauteville said in measuredtones: "It makes a _strong_ chain now. What do you think?"

Coquenil hesitated, and then with a frown of perplexity and exasperation hesnapped out: "I--I haven't had time to think yet. "

CHAPTER XI

THE TOWERS OF NOTRE-DAME

It was a distressed and sleepless night that Alice passed after thetorturing scene of her lover's arrest. She would almost have preferred herhaunting dreams to this pitiful reality. What had Lloyd done? Why had thiswoman come for him? And what would happen now? Again and again, asweariness brought slumber, the sickening fact stirred her towakefulness--they had taken Kittredge away to prison charged with anabominable crime. And she loved him, she loved him now more than ever, shewas absolutely his, as she never would have been if this trouble had notcome. Ah, there was her only ray of comfort that just at the last she hadmade him happy. She would never forget his look of gratitude as she criedout her love and her trust in his innocence and--yes, she had kissed him, her Lloyd, before those rough men; she had kissed him, and even in thedarkness of her chamber her cheeks flamed at the thought. 

Soon after five she rose and dressed. This was Sunday, her busiest day, shemust be in Notre-Dame for the early masses. There was a worn place in achasuble that needed some touches of her needle; Father Anselm had askedher to see to it. And this duty done, there was the special Sunday sale ofcandles and rosaries and little red guidebooks of the church to keep herbusy. 

Alice was in the midst of all this when, shortly before ten, MotherBonneton approached, cringing at the side of a visitor, a lady of strikingbeauty whose dress and general air proclaimed a lavish purse. In a firstglance Alice noticed her exquisite supple figure and her full red lips. Also a delicate fragrance of violets. 

"This lady wants you to show her the towers, " explained the old crone witha cunning wink at the girl. "I tell her it's hard for you to leave yourcandles, especially now when people are coming in for high mass, but I cantake your place, and, " with a servile smile, "madame is generous. "

"Certainly, " agreed the lady, "whatever you like, five francs, ten francs. "

"Five francs is quite enough, " replied Alice, to Mother Bonneton's greatdisgust. "I love the towers on a day like this. "

So they started up the winding stone stairs of the Northern tower, the ladygoing first with lithe, nervous steps, although Alice counseled her not tohurry. 

"It's a long way to the top, " cautioned the girl, "three hundred andseventy steps. "

But the lady pressed on as if she had some serious purpose before her, round and round past an endless ascending surface of gloomy gray stone, scarred everywhere with names and initials of foolish sightseers, pastnarrow slips of fortress windows through the massive walls, round and roundin narrowing circles until finally, with sighs of relief, they came outinto the first gallery and stood looking down on Paris laughing under theyellow sun. 

"Ouf!" panted the lady, "it _is_ a climb. "

They were standing on the graceful stone passageway that joins the twotowers at the height of the bells and were looking to the west over thecolumned balustrade, over the Place Notre-Dame, dotted with queer littlepeople, tinkling with bells of cab horses, clanging with gongs of yondertrolley cars curving from the Pont Neuf past old Charlemagne astride of hisgreat bronze horse. Then on along the tree-lined river, on with wideningview of towers and domes until their eyes rested on the green spreading_bois_ and the distant heights of Saint Cloud. 

And straightway Alice began to point out familiar monuments, the spire ofthe Sainte Chapelle, the square of the Louvre, the gilded dome ofNapoleon's tomb, the crumbling Tour Saint Jacques, disfigured now withscaffolding for repairs, and the Sacré Cour, shining resplendent on theMontmartre hill. 

To all of which the lady listened indifferently. She was plainly thinkingof something else, and, furtively, she was watching the girl. 

"Tell me, " she asked abruptly, "is your name Alice?"

"Yes, " answered the other in surprise. 

The lady hesitated. "I thought that was what the old woman called you. "Then, looking restlessly over the panorama: "Where is the _conciergerie?_"

Alice started at the word. Among all the points in Paris this was the onetoward which her thoughts were tending, the _conciergerie_, the grim prisonwhere her lover was!

"It is there, " she replied, struggling with her emotion, "behind thatcupola of the Chamber of Commerce. Do you see those short pointed towers?That is it. "

"Is it still used as a prison?" continued the visitor with a strangeinsistence. 

"Why, yes, " stammered the girl, "I think so--that is, the depot is part ofthe _conciergerie_ or just adjoins it. "

"What is the depot?" questioned the other, eying Alice steadily. 

The girl flushed. "Why do you ask me that? Why do you look at me so?"

The lady stepped closer, and speaking low: "Because I know who you are, Iknow _why_ you are thinking about that prison. "

Alice stared at her with widening eyes and heaving bosom. The woman's tonewas kind, her look almost appealing, yet the girl drew back, guided by aninstinct of danger. 

"Who are you?" she demanded. 

"Don't you _know_ who I am?" answered the other, and now her emotion brokethrough the mask of calm. "I am the lady who--who called for M. Kittredgelast night. "

"Oh!" burst out Alice scornfully. "A lady! You call yourself a _lady!_"

"Call me anything you like but----"

"I don't wish to speak to you; it's an outrage your coming here; I--I'mgoing down. " And she started for the stairs. 

"Wait!" cried the visitor. "You _shall_ hear me. I have come to help theman you love. "

"The man _you_ love, " blazed the girl. "The man whose life you haveruined. "

"It's true I--I loved him, " murmured the other. 

"What _right_ had you to love him, you a married woman?"

The lady caught her breath with a little gasp and her hands shut tight. 

"He told you that?"

[Illustration: "'I know _why_ you are thinking about that prison. '"]

"Yes, because he was forced to--the thing was known. Don't be afraid, hedidn't tell your name, he _never_ would tell it. But I know enough, Iknow that you tortured him and--when he got free from you, after strugglingand--starving and----"

"Starving?"

"Yes, starving. After all that, when he was just getting a little happy, _you_ had to come again, and--and now he's _there_. "

She looked fixedly at the prison, then with angry fires flashing in herdark eyes: "I hate you, I _hate_ you, " she cried. 

In spite of her growing emotion the lady forced herself to speak calmly:"Hate me if you will, but _hear_ me. "

"No, " went on Alice fiercely, "_you_ shall hear _me_. You have done thiswicked, shameless thing, and now you come to me, think of that, _to me!_You must be mad. Anyhow, you are here and you shall tell me what I want toknow. "

"What do you want to know?" trembled the woman. 

"I want to know, first, who you are. I want your name and address. "

"Certainly; I am--er--Madam Marius, and I live at--er--6 Avenue Martignon. "

"Ah! May I have one of your cards?"

"I--er--I'm afraid I have no card here, " evaded the other, pretending tosearch in a gold bag. Her face was very pale. 

The girl made no reply, but walked quickly to a turn of the gallery. 

"Valentine, " she called. 

"Yes, " answered a voice. 

"Ah, you are there. I may need you in a minute. "

"_Bien!_"

Then, returning, she said quietly: "Valentine is a friend of mine. Shesells postal cards up here. Unless you tell me the truth, I shall ask herto go down and call the sacristan. Now then, _who are you?_"

"Don't ask who I am, " pleaded the lady. 

"I ask what I want to know. "

"Anything but that!"

"Then you are _not_ Madam Marius?"

"No. "

"You lied to me?"

"Yes. "

"Valentine!" called Alice, and promptly a girl of about sixteen, bare-headed, appeared at the end of the gallery. "Go down and ask PapaBonneton to come here at once. Say it's important. Hurry!"

With an understanding nod Valentine disappeared inside the tower and thequick clatter of her wooden shoes echoed up from below. 

"But--what will you tell him?" gasped the lady. 

"I shall tell him you were concerned in that crime last night. I don't knowwhat it was, I haven't read the papers, but he has. "

"Do you want to ruin me?" cried the woman; then, with a supplicatinggesture: "Spare me this shame; I will give you money, a large sum. Seehere!" and, opening her gold bag, she drew out some folded notes. "I'llgive you a thousand francs--five thousand. Don't turn away! I'll give youmore--my jewels, my pearls, my rings. Look at them. " She held out herhands, flashing with precious stones. 

Suddenly she felt the girl's eyes on her in utter scorn. "You are not evenintelligent, " Alice flung back; "you were a fool to come here; now you arestupid enough to think you can buy my silence. _Mon Dieu_, what a basesoul!"

"Forgive me, I don't know what I am saying, " begged the other. "Don't beangry. Listen; you say I was a fool to come here, but it isn't true. Irealized my danger, I knew what I was risking, and yet I came, because I_had_ to come. I felt I could trust you. I came in my desperation becausethere was no other person in Paris I dared go to. "

"Is that true?" asked the girl, more gently. 

"Indeed it is, " implored the lady, her eyes swimming with tears. "I begyour pardon sincerely for offering you money. I know you are loyal and kindand--I'm ashamed of myself. I have suffered so much since last nightthat--as you say, I must be mad. "

It was a strange picture--this brilliant beauty, forgetful of pride andstation, humbling herself to a poor candle seller. Alice looked at her inwonder. 

"I don't understand yet why you came to me, " she said. 

"I want to make amends for the harm I have done, I want to save M. Kittredge--not for myself. Don't think that! He has gone out of my life andwill never come into it again. I want to save him because it's right that Ishould, because he has been accused of this crime through me and I know heis innocent. "

"Ah, " murmured Alice joyfully, "you know he is innocent. "

"Yes; and, if necessary, I will give evidence to clear him. I will tellexactly what happened. "

"What happened where?"

"In the room where this man was--was shot. Ugh!" She pressed her hands overher eyes as if to drive away some horrid vision. 

"You were--there?" asked the girl. 

The woman nodded with a wild, frightened look. "Don't ask me about it. There isn't time now and--I told _him_ everything. "

"You mean Lloyd? You told Lloyd everything?"

"Yes, in the carriage. He realizes that I acted for the best, but--don'tyou see, if I come forward now and tell the truth, I shall be disgraced, ruined. "

"And if you don't come forward, Lloyd will remain in prison, " flashed thegirl. 

"You don't understand. There is no case against Lloyd. He is bound to bereleased for want of evidence against him. I only ask you to be patient afew days and let me help him without destroying myself. "

"How can you help him unless you speak out?"

"I can help with money for a good lawyer. That is why I brought these banknotes. " Again she offered the notes. "You won't refuse them--for him?"

But Alice pushed the money from her. "A lawyer's efforts _might_ free himin the future, your testimony will free him now. "

"Then you will betray me?" demanded the woman fiercely. 

"Betray?" answered the girl. "That's a fine-sounding word, but what does itmean? I shall do the best I can for the man I love. "

"Ha! The best you can! And what is that? To make him ashamed of you! Tomake him suffer!"

"Suffer?"

"Why not? Don't you suppose he will suffer to find that you have nosympathy with his wishes?"

"What do you mean?"

"You threaten to do the very thing that he went to prison to prevent. You're going to denounce me, aren't you?"

"To save him--yes. "

"When it isn't necessary, when it will cause a dreadful calamity. If hewanted to be saved that way, wouldn't he denounce me himself? He knows myname, he knows the whole story. Wouldn't he tell it himself if he wanted ittold?"

The girl hesitated, taken aback at this new view. "I suppose he thinks it amatter of honor. "

"Exactly. And you who pretend to love him have so little heart, so littledelicacy, that you care nothing for what he thinks a matter of honor. Apretty thing _your_ sense of honor must be!"

"Oh!" shrank Alice, and the woman, seeing her advantage, pursued itrelentlessly. "Did you ever hear of a _debt_ of honor? How do you know thatyour lover doesn't owe _me_ such a debt and isn't paying it now downthere?"

So biting were the words, so fierce the scorn, that Alice found herselfwavering. After all, she knew nothing of what had happened, nor could shebe sure of Lloyd's wishes. He had certainly spoken of things in his lifethat he regretted. Could it be that he was bound in honor to save thiswoman _at any cost?_ As she stood irresolute, there came up from below thesound of steps on the stairs, ascending steps, nearer and nearer, thendistinctly the clatter of Valentine's wooden shoes, then another and aheavier tread. The sacristan was coming. 

"Here is your chance, " taunted the lady; "give me up, denounce me, and thenremember what Lloyd will remember _always_, that when a distressed andhelpless sister woman came to you and trusted you, you showed her no pity, but deliberately wrecked her life. "

Half sorry, half triumphant, but without a word, Alice watched the tortureof this former rival; and now the loud breathing of the sacristan wasplainly heard on the stairs. 

"Remember, " flung out the other in a final defiance that was also a finalappeal, "remember that nothing brought me here but the sacredness of a lovethat is gone, a sacredness that _I_ respect and _he_ respects but that _youtrample on_. "

As she said this Valentine emerged from the tower door followed wearily byPapa Bonneton, in full regalia, his mild face expressing all that it couldof severity. 

"What has happened?" he said sharply to Alice. Then, with a habit ofdeference, he lifted his three-cornered hat to the lady: "Madam willunderstand that it was difficult for me to leave my duties. "

Madam stood silent, ghastly white, hands clinched so hard that the gems cutinto her flesh, eyes fixed on the girl in a last anguished supplication. 

Then Alice said to the sacristan: "Madam wants to hear the sound of thegreat bell. She asked me to strike it with the hammer, but I told her thatis forbidden during high mass. Madam offered ten francs--twenty francs--sheis going away and is very anxious to hear the bell; she has read about itsbeautiful tone. When madam offered twenty francs, I thought it my duty tolet you know. " All this with a self-possession that the daughters of Evehave acquired through centuries of practice. 

"Twenty francs!" muttered the guileless Bonneton. "You were right, mychild, perfectly right. That rule was made for ordinary visitors, but withmadam it is different. I myself will strike the bell for madam. " And withall dispatch he entered the Southern tower, where the great bourdon hangs, whispering: "Twenty francs! It's a miracle. "

No sooner was he gone than the lady caught the girl's two hands in hers, and with her whole soul in her eyes she cried: "God bless you! God blessyou!"

Alice tried to speak, but the words choked her, and, leaning over thebalustrade, she looked yearningly toward the prison, her lips moving insilence: "Lloyd! Lloyd!" Then the great bell struck and she turned with astart, brushing away the tears that dimmed her eyes. 

A moment later Papa Bonneton reappeared, scarcely believing that already hehad earned his louis and insisting on telling madam various things aboutthe bell--that it was presented by Louis XIV, and weighed over seventeentons; that eight men were required to ring it, two poised at each corner ofthe rocking framework; that the note it sounded was _fa diese_--did madamunderstand that? _Do, re, mi, fa?_ And more of the sort until madam assuredhim that she was fully satisfied and would not keep him longer from hisduties. Whereupon, with a torrent of thanks, the old man disappeared in thetower, looking unbelievingly at the gold piece in his hand. 

"And now what?" asked Alice with feverish eagerness when they were aloneagain. 

"Let me tell you, first, what you have saved me from, " said the lady, leaning weakly against the balustrade. A feeling of faintness had come overher in the reaction from her violent emotion. 

"No, no, " replied the girl, "this is the time for action, not sentiment. You have promised to save _him_, now do it. "

"I will, " declared the other, and the light of a fine purpose gave adignity to her rather selfish beauty. "Or, rather, we will save himtogether. First, I want you to take this money--you will take it now _forhim?_ That's right, put it in your dress. Ah, " she smiled as Alice obeyedher. "That is for a lawyer. He must have a good lawyer at once. "

"Yes, of course, " agreed Alice, "but how shall I get a lawyer?"

The lady frowned. "Ah, if I could only send you to my lawyer! But thatwould involve explanations. We need a man to advise us, some one who knowsabout these things. "

"I have it, " exclaimed Alice joyfully. "The very person!"

"Who is that?"

"M. Coquenil. "

"What?" The other stared. "You mean Paul Coquenil, the detective?"

"Yes, " said the girl confidently. "He would help us; I'm sure of it. "

"He is on the case already. Didn't you know that? The papers are full ofit. "

Alice shook her head. "That doesn't matter, does it? He would tell usexactly what to do. I saw him in Notre-Dame only yesterday and--and hespoke to me so kindly. You know, M. Coquenil is a friend of PapaBonneton's; he lends him his dog Caesar to guard the church. "

"It seems like providence, " murmured the lady. "Yes, that is the thing todo, you must go to M. Coquenil at once. Tell the old sacristan I have sentyou on an errand--for another twenty francs. "

Alice smiled faintly. "I can manage that. But what shall I say to M. Paul?"

"Speak to him about the lawyer and the money; I will send more ifnecessary. Tell him what has happened between us and then put yourself inhis hands. Do whatever he thinks best. There is one thing I want M. Kittredge to be told--I wish you would write it down so as to make nomistake. Here is a pencil and here is a piece of paper. " With nervous hasteshe tore a page from a little memorandum book. "Now, then, " and shedictated the following statement which Alice took down carefully: "_Tell M. Kittredge that the lady who called for him in the carriage knows now thatthe person she thought guilty last night is NOT guilty. She knows thisabsolutely, so she will be able to appear and testify in favor of M. Kittredge if it becomes necessary. But she hopes it will not be necessary. She begs M. Kittredge to use this money for a good lawyer_. "

CHAPTER XII

BY SPECIAL ORDER

It was not until after vespers that Alice was able to leave Notre-Dame andstart for the Villa Montmorency--in fact, it was nearly five when, withmingled feelings of confidence and shrinking, she opened the iron gate inthe ivy-covered wall of Coquenil's house and advanced down the neat walkbetween the double hedges to the solid gray mass of the villa, at oncedignified and cheerful. Melanie came to the door and showed, by a jealousglance, that she did not approve of her master receiving visits from youngand good-looking females. 

"M. Paul is resting, " she grumbled; "he worked all last night and he'sworked this whole blessed day until half an hour ago. "

"I'm sorry, but it's a matter of great importance, " urged the girl. 

"Good, good, " snapped Melanie. "What name?"

"He wouldn't know my name. Please say it's the girl who sells candles inNotre-Dame. "

"Huh! I'll tell him. Wait here, " and with scant courtesy the old servantleft Alice standing in the blue-tiled hallway, near a long diamond-panedwindow. A moment later Melanie reappeared with mollified countenance. "M. Paul says will you please take a seat in here. " She opened the study doorand pointed to one of the big red-leather chairs. "He'll be down in amoment. "

Left alone, Alice glanced in surprise about this strange room. She saw aphotograph of Caesar and his master on the wall and went nearer to look atit. Then she noticed the collection of plaster hands and was just bendingover it when Coquenil entered, wearing a loosely cut house garment of paleyellow with dark-green braid around the jacket and down the legs of thetrousers. He looked pale, almost haggard, but his face lighted in welcomeas he came forward. 

[Illustration: "She was just bending over it when Coquenil entered. "]

"Glad to see you, " he said. 

She had not heard his step and turned with a start of surprise. 

"I--I beg your pardon, " she murmured in embarrassment. 

"Are you interested in my plaster casts?" he asked pleasantly. 

"I was looking at this hand, " replied the girl. "I have seen one like it. "

Coquenil shook his head good-naturedly. "That is very improbable. "

Alice looked closer. "Oh, but I have, " she insisted. 

"You mean in a museum?"

"No, no, in life--I am positive I have. "

M. Paul listened with increasing interest. "You have seen a hand with alittle finger as long as this one?"

"Yes; it's as long as the third finger and square at the end. I've oftennoticed it. "

"Then you have seen something very uncommon, mademoiselle, something _I_have never seen. That is the most remarkable hand in my collection; it isthe hand of a man who lived nearly two hundred years ago. He was one of thegreatest criminals the world has ever known. "

"Really?" cried Alice, her eyes wide with sudden fright. "I--I must havebeen mistaken. "

But now the detective's curiosity was aroused. "Would you mind telling methe name of the person--of course it's a man--who has this hand?"

"Yes, " said Alice, "it's a man, but I should not like to give his nameafter what you have told me. "

"He is a good man?"

"Oh, yes. "

"A kind man?"

"Yes. "

"A man that you like?"

"Why--er--why, yes, I like him, " she replied, but the detective noticed astrange, anxious look in her eyes. And immediately he changed the subject. 

"You'll have a cup of tea with me, won't you? I've asked Melanie to bringit in. Then we can talk comfortably. By the way, you haven't told me yourname. "

"My name is Alice Groener, " she answered simply. 

"Groener, " he reflected. "That isn't a French name?"

"No, my family lived in Belgium, but I have only a cousin left. He is awood carver, in Brussels. He has been very kind to me and would pay myboard with the Bonnetons, but I don't want to be a burden, so I work at thechurch. "

"I see, " he said approvingly. 

The girl was seated in the full light, and as they talked, Coquenilobserved her attentively, noting the pleasant tones of her voice and thecharming lights in her eyes, studying her with a personal as well as aprofessional interest; for was not this the young woman who had so suddenlyand so unaccountably influenced his life? Who was she, what was she, thisdreaming candle seller? In spite of her shyness and modest ways, she wasbrave and strong of will, that was evident, and, plain dress or not, shelooked the aristocrat every inch of her. Where did she get that unconsciousair of quiet poise, that trick of the lifted chin? And how did she learn touse her hands like a great lady?

"Would you mind telling me something, mademoiselle?" he said suddenly. 

Alice looked at him in surprise, and again he remarked, as he had atNotre-Dame, the singular beauty of her wondering dark eyes. 

"What is it?"

"Have you any idea how you happened to dream that dream about me?"

The girl shrank away trembling. "No one can explain dreams, can they?" sheasked anxiously, and it seemed to him that her emotion was out of allproportion to its cause. 

"I suppose not, " he answered kindly. "I thought you might havesome--er--some fancy about it. If you ever should have, you would tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Ye-es. " She hesitated, and for a moment he thought she was going to saysomething more, but she checked the impulse, if it was there, and Coquenildid not press his demand. 

"There's one other thing, " he went on reassuringly. "I'm asking this in theinterest of M. Kittredge. Tell me if you know anything about this crime ofwhich he is accused?"

"Why, no, " she replied with evident sincerity. "I haven't even read thepapers. "

"But you know who was murdered?"

Alice shook her head blankly. "How could I? No one has told me. "

"It was a man named Martinez. "

She started at the word. "What? The billiard player?" she cried. 

He nodded. "Did you know him?"

"Oh, yes, very well. "

Now it was Coquenil's turn to feel surprise, for he had asked the questionalmost aimlessly. 

"You knew Martinez very well?" he repeated, scarcely believing his ears. 

"I often saw him, " she explained, "at the café where we went evenings. "

"Who were 'we'?"

"Why, Papa Bonneton would take me, or my cousin, M. Groener, or M. Kittredge. "

"Then M. Kittredge knew Martinez?"

"Of course. He used to go sometimes to see him play billiards. " She saidall this quite simply. 

"Were Kittredge and Martinez good friends?"

"Oh, yes. "

"Never had any words? Any quarrel?"

"Why--er--no, " she replied in some confusion. 

"I don't want to distress you, mademoiselle, " said Coquenil gravely, "butaren't you keeping something back?"

"No, no, " she insisted. "I just thought of--of a little thing that made meunhappy, but it has nothing to do with this case. You believe me, don'tyou?"

She spoke with pleading earnestness, and again M. Paul followed anintuition that told him he might get everything from this girl by goingslowly and gently, whereas, by trying to force her confidence, he would getnothing. 

"Of course I believe you, " he smiled. "Now I'm going to give you some ofthis tea; I'm afraid it's getting cold. "

And he proceeded to do the honors in so friendly a way that Alice waspresently quite at her ease again. 

"Now, " he resumed, "we'll settle down comfortably and you can tell me whatbrought you here, tell me all about it. You won't mind if I smoke acigarette? Be sure to tell me _everything_--there is plenty of time. "

So Alice began and told him about the mysterious lady and their agitatedvisit to the tower, omitting nothing, while M. Paul listened with startledinterest, nodding and frowning and asking frequent questions. 

"This is very important, " he said gravely when she had finished. "What apity you couldn't get her name!" He shut his fingers hard on his chair arm, reflecting that for the second time this woman had escaped him. 

"Did I do wrong?" asked Alice in confusion. 

"I suppose not. I understand your feelings, but--would you know her again?"he questioned. 

"Oh, yes, anywhere, " answered Alice confidently. 

"How old is she?"

A mischievous light shone in the girl's eyes. "I will say thirty--that isabsolutely fair. "

"You think she may be older?"

"I'm sure she isn't younger. "

"Is she pretty?"

"Oh, yes, very pretty, very animated and--_chic_. "

"Would you call her a lady?"

"Why--er--yes. "

"Aren't you sure?"

"It isn't that, but American ladies are--different. "

"Why do you think she is an American?" he asked. 

"I'm sure she is. I can always tell American ladies; they wear more colorsthan French ladies, more embroideries, more things on their hats; I'veoften noticed it in church. I even know them by their shiny finger nailsand their shrill voices. "

"Does she speak with an accent?"

"She speaks fluently, like a foreigner who has lived a long time in Paris, but she has a slight accent. "

"Ah! Now give me her message again. Are you sure you remember it exactly?"

"Quite sure. Besides, she made me write it down so as not to miss a word. Here it is, " and, producing the torn page, she read: "_Tell M. Kittredgethat the lady who called for him in the carriage knows now that the personshe thought guilty last night is NOT guilty. She knows this absolutely, soshe will be able to appear and testify in favor of M. Kittredge if itbecomes necessary. But she hopes it will not be necessary. She begs M. Kittredge to use this money for a good lawyer_. "

"She didn't say who this person is that she thought guilty last night?"

"No. "

"Did she say _why_ she thought him guilty or what changed her mind? Did shedrop any hint? Try to remember. "

Alice shook her head. "No, she said nothing about that. "

Coquenil rose and walked back and forth across the study, hands deep in hispockets, head forward, eyes on the floor, back and forth several timeswithout a word. Then he stopped before Alice, eying her intently as ifmaking up his mind about something. 

"I'm going to trust you, mademoiselle, with an important mission. You'reonly a girl, but--you've been thrown into this tragic affair, and--you'llbe glad to help your lover, won't you?"

"Oh, yes, " she answered eagerly. 

"You may as well know that we are facing a situation notaltogether--er--encouraging. I believe M. Kittredge is innocent and I hopeto prove it, but others think differently and they have serious thingsagainst him. "

"What things?" she demanded, her cheeks paling. 

"No matter now. "

"There can be _nothing_ against him, " declared the girl, "he is the soul ofhonor. "

"I hope so, " answered the detective dryly, "but he is also in prison, andunless we do something he is apt to stay there. "

"What can we do?" murmured Alice, twining her fingers piteously. 

"We must get at the truth, we must find this woman who came to see you. Thequickest way to do that is through Kittredge himself. He knows all abouther, if we can make him speak. So far he has refused to say a word, butthere is one person who ought to unseal his lips--that is the girl heloves. "

"Oh, yes, " exclaimed Alice, her face lighting with new hope, "I think Icould, I am sure I could, only--will they let me see him?"

"That is the point. It is against the prison rule for a person _au secret_to see anyone except his lawyer, but I know the director of the Santé and Ithink----"

"You mean the director of the depot?"

"No, for M. Kittredge was transferred from the depot this morning. You knowthe depot is only a temporary receiving station, but the Santé is one ofthe regular French prisons. It's there they send men charged with murder. "

Alice shivered at the word. "Yes, " she murmured, "and--what were yousaying?"

"I say that I know the director of the Santé and I think, if I send you tohim with a strong note, he will make an exception--I think so. "

"Splendid!" she cried joyfully. "And when shall I present the note?"

"To-day, at once; there isn't an hour to lose. I will write it now. "

Coquenil sat down at his massive Louis XV table with its fine bronzes andquickly addressed an urgent appeal to M. Dedet, director of the Santé, asking him to grant the bearer a request that she would make in person, andassuring him that, by so doing, he would confer upon Paul Coquenil adeeply appreciated favor. Alice watched him with a sense of awe, and shethought uneasily of her dream about the face in the angry sun and the landof the black people. 

"There, " he said, handing her the note. "Now listen. You are to find outcertain things from your lover. I can't tell you _how_ to find them out, that is your affair, but you must do it. "

"I will, " declared Alice. 

"You must find them out even if he doesn't wish to tell you. His safety andyour happiness may depend on it. "

"I understand. "

"One thing is this woman's name and address. "

"Yes, " replied Alice, and then her face clouded. "But if it isn't honorablefor him to tell her name?"

"You must make him see that it _is_ honorable. The lady herself says she isready to testify if necessary. At first she was afraid of implicating someperson she thought guilty, but now she knows that person is not guilty. Besides, you can say that we shall certainly know all about this woman in afew days whether he tells us or not, so he may as well save us valuabletime. Better write that down--here is a pad. "

"Save us valuable time, " repeated Alice, pencil in hand. 

"Then I want to know about the lady's husband. Is he dark or fair? Tall orshort? Does Kittredge know him? Has he ever had words with him or anytrouble? Got that?"

"Yes, " replied Alice, writing busily. 

"Then--do you know whether M. Kittredge plays tennis?"

Alice looked up in surprise. "Why, yes, he does. I remember hearing himsay he likes it better than golf. "

"Ah! Then ask him--see here. I'll show you, " and going to a corner betweenthe bookcase and the wall, M. Paul picked out a tennis racket among anumber of canes. "Now, then, " he continued while she watched him withperplexity, "I hold my racket _so_ in my right hand, and if a ball comes onmy left, I return it with a back-hand stroke _so_, using my right hand; butthere are players who shift the racket to the left hand and return the ball_so_, do you see?"

"I see. "

"Now I want to know if M. Kittredge uses both hands in playing tennis oronly the one hand. And I want to know _which_ hand he uses chiefly, thatis, the right or the left?"

"Why do you want to know that?" inquired Alice, with a woman's curiosity. 

"Never mind why, just remember it's important. Another thing is, to ask M. Kittredge about a chest of drawers in his room at the Hôtel des Étrangers. It is a piece of old oak, rather worm-eaten, but it has good bronzes forthe drawer handles, two dogs fighting on either side of the lock plates. "

Alice listened in astonishment. "I didn't suppose you knew where M. Kittredge lived. "

"Nor did I until this morning, " he smiled. "Since then I--well, as myfriend Gibelin says, I haven't wasted my time. "

"Your friend Gibelin?" repeated Alice, not understanding. 

Coquenil smiled grimly. "He is an amiable person for whom I am preparinga--a little surprise. "

"Oh! And what about the chest of drawers?"

"It's about one particular drawer, the small upper one on the right-handside--better write that down. "

"The small upper drawer on the right-hand side, " repeated Alice. 

"I find that M. Kittredge _always_ kept this drawer locked. He seems to bea methodical person, and I want to know if he remembers opening it a fewdays ago and finding, it unlocked. Have you got that?"

"Yes. "

"Good! Oh, one thing more. Find out if M. Kittredge ever suffers fromrheumatism or gout. "

The girl smiled. "Of course he doesn't; he is only twenty-eight. "

"Please do not take this lightly, mademoiselle, " the detective chidedgently. "It is perhaps the most important point of all--his release fromprison may depend on it. "

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not taking it lightly, indeed I'm not, " and, with tearsin her eyes, Alice assured M. Paul that she fully realized the importanceof this mission and would spare no effort to make it successful. 

A few moments later she hurried away, buoyed up by the thought that she wasnot only to see her lover but to serve him. 

It was after six when Alice left the circular railway at the Montrougestation. She was in a remote and unfamiliar part of Paris, the region ofthe catacombs and the Gobelin tapestry works, and, although M. Paul hadgiven her precise instructions, she wandered about for some time amongstreets of hospitals and convents until at last she came to an open placewhere she recognized Bartholdi's famous Belfort lion. Then she knew herway, and hurrying along the Boulevard Arago, she came presently to thegloomy mass of the Santé prison, which, with its diverging wings andgalleries, spreads out like a great gray spider in the triangular spacebetween the Rue Humboldt, the Rue de la Santé and the Boulevard Arago. 

A kind-faced policeman pointed out a massive stone archway where she mustenter, and passing here, beside a stolid soldier in his sentry box, shecame presently to a black iron door in front of which were waiting twoyellow-and-black prison vans, windowless. In this prison door were fourglass-covered observation holes, and through these Alice saw a guardwithin, who, as she lifted the black iron knocker, drew forth a long brasskey and turned the bolt. The door swung back, and with a shiver ofrepulsion the girl stepped inside. This was the prison, these men standingabout were the jailers and--what did that matter so long as she got to_him_, to her dear Lloyd. There was _nothing_ she would not face or endurefor his sake. 

No sooner had the guard heard that she came with a note from M. PaulCoquenil (that was a name to conjure with) than he showed her politely to asmall waiting room, assuring her that the note would be given at once tothe director of the prison. And a few moments later another door opened anda hard-faced, low-browed man of heavy build bowed to her with a crooked, sinister smile and motioned her into his private office. It was M. Dedet, the chief jailer. 

"Always at the service of Paul Coquenil, " he began. "What can I do for you, mademoiselle?"

Then, summoning her courage, and trying her best to make a good impression, Alice told him her errand. She wanted to speak with the American, M. Kittredge, who had been sent here the night before--she wanted to speakwith him alone. 

The jailer snapped his teeth and narrowed his brows in a hard stare. "DidPaul Coquenil send you here for _that?_" he questioned. 

"Yes, sir, " answered the girl, and her heart began to sink. "You see, it'sa very special case and----"

"Special case, " laughed the other harshly; "I should say so--it's a case ofmurder. "

"But he is innocent, perfectly innocent, " pleaded Alice. 

"Of course, but if I let every murderer who says he's innocent see hissweetheart--well, this would be a fine prison. No, no, little one, " he wenton with offensive familiarity, "I am sorry to disappoint you and I hate torefuse M. Paul, but it can't be done. This man is _au secret_, which meansthat he must not see _anyone_ except his lawyer. You know they assign alawyer to a prisoner who has no money to employ one. "

"But he _has_ money, at least I have some for him. Please let me see him, for a few minutes. " Her eyes filled with tears and she reached out herhands appealingly. "If you only knew the circumstances, if I could onlymake you understand. "

"Haven't time to listen, " he said impatiently, "there's no use whining. Ican't do it and that's the end of it. If I let you talk with this man andthe thing were known, I might lost my position. " He rose abruptly as if todismiss her. 

Alice did not move. She had been sitting by a table on which a large sheetof pink blotting paper was spread before writing materials. And as shelistened to the director's rough words, she took up a pencil and twisted itnervously in her fingers. Then, with increasing agitation, as she realizedthat her effort for Lloyd had failed, she began, without thinking, to makelittle marks on the blotter, and then a written scrawl--all with asingular fixed look in her eyes. 

"You'll have to excuse me, " said the jailer gruffly, seeing that she didnot take his hint. 

Alice started to her feet. "I--I beg your pardon, " she said weakly, and, staggering, she tried to reach the door. Her distress was so evident thateven this calloused man felt a thrill of pity and stepped forward to assisther. And, as he passed the table, his eye fell on the blotting paper. 

"Why, what is this?" he exclaimed, eying her sharply. 

"Oh, excuse me, sir, " begged Alice, "I have spoiled your nice blotter. I am_so_ sorry. "

"Never mind the blotter, but--" He bent closer over the scrawled words, and then with a troubled look: "_Did you write this?_"

"Why--er--why--yes, sir, I'm afraid I did, " she stammered. 

"Don't you _know_ you did?" he demanded. 

"I--I wasn't thinking, " she pleaded in fright. 

[Illustration: "'Did you write this?'"]

He stared at her for a moment, then he went to his desk, picked up aprinted form, filled it out quickly and handed it to her. 

"There, " he said, and his voice was almost gentle, "I guess I don't quiteunderstand about this thing. "

Alice looked at the paper blankly. "But--what is it?" she asked. 

The jailer closed one eye very slowly with a wise nod. "It's what you askedfor, a permit to see this American prisoner, _by special order_. "

CHAPTER XIII

LLOYD AND ALICE

Kittredge was fortunate in having a sense of humor, it helped him throughthe horrors of his first night at the depot, which he passed with the scumof Paris streets, thieves, beggars, vagrants, the miserable crop ofSaturday-night police takings, all herded into one foul room on filthybunks so close together that a turn either way brought a man into directcontact with his neighbor. 

Lloyd lay between an old pickpocket and a drunkard. He did not sleep, butpassed the hours thinking. And when he could think no longer, he listenedto the pickpocket who was also wakeful, and who told wonderful yarns of hisconquests among the fair sex in the time of the Commune, when he was astrapping artilleryman. 

"You're a pretty poor pickpocket, old chap, " reflected Kittredge, "butyou're an awful good liar!"

In spite of little sleep, he was serene and good-natured when they tookhim, handcuffed, before Judge Hauteville the next morning for hispreliminary examination--a mere formality to establish the prisoner'sidentity. Kittredge gave the desired facts about himself with perfectwillingness; his age, nationality, occupation, and present address. Herealized that there was no use hiding these. When asked if he had money toemploy a lawyer, he said "no"; and when told that the court would assignMaître Pleindeaux for his defense, he thanked the judge and went offsmiling at the thought that his interests were now in the hands of Mr. Full-of-Water. "I'll ask him to have a drink, " chuckled Kittredge. 

And he submitted uncomplainingly when they took him to the Bertillonmeasuring department and stood him up against the wall, bare as a babe, arms extended, and noted down his dimensions one by one, every limb andfeature being precisely described in length and breadth, every physicalpeculiarity recorded, down to the impression of his thumb lines and theprecise location of a small mole on his left arm. 

All this happened Sunday morning, and in the afternoon other experiencesawaited him--his first ride in a prison van, known as a _panier à salade_, and his initiation into real prison life at the Santé. The cell he tookcalmly, as well as the prison dress and food and the hard bed, for he hadknown rough camping in the Maine woods and was used to plain fare, but hewinced a little at the regulation once a week prison shave, and theregulation bath once a month! And what disturbed him chiefly was thethought that now he would have absolutely nothing to do but sit in his celland wait wearily for the hours to pass. Prisoners under sentence may be putto work, but one _au secret_ is shut up not only from the rest of theworld, but even from his fellow-prisoners. He is utterly alone. 

"Can't I have a pack of cards?" asked Lloyd with a happy inspiration. 

"Against the rule, " said the guard. 

"But I know some games of solitaire. I never could see what they wereinvented for until now. Let me have part of a pack, just enough to playold-maid solitaire. Ever heard of that?"

The guard shook his head. 

"Not even a part of a pack? You won't even let me play old-maid solitaire?"And with the merry, cheery grin that had won him favor everywhere fromwildest Bohemia to primest Presbyterian tea parties, Lloyd added: "That's ahell of a way to treat a murderer!"

The Sunday morning service was just ending when Kittredge reached theprison, and he got his first impressions of the place as he listened toresounding Gregorian tones chanted, or rather shouted, by tiers on tiers ofprisoners, each joining in the unison with full lung power through celldoors chained ajar. The making of this rough music was one of the pleasuresof the week, and at once the newcomer's heart was gripped by theindescribable sadness of it. 

[Illustration: "And when he could think no longer, he listened to thepickpocket. "]

Having gone through the formalities of arrival and been instructed as tovarious detail of prison routine, Lloyd settled down as comfortably asmight be in his cell to pass the afternoon over "The Last of the Mohicans. "He chose this because the librarian assured him that no books were aspopular among French convicts as the translated works of Fenimore Cooper. "Good old Stars and Stripes!" murmured Kittredge, but he stared at the samepage for a long time before he began to read. And once he brushed a quickhand across his eyes. 

Scarcely had Lloyd finished a single chapter when one of the guardsappeared with as much of surprise on his stolid countenance as anoverworked under jailer can show; for an unprecedented thing hadhappened--a prisoner _au secret_ was to receive a visitor, a young woman, at that, and, _sapristi_, a good-looking one, who came with a special orderfrom the director of the prison. Moreover, he was to see her in the privateparlor, with not even the customary barrier of iron bars to separate them. They were to be left together for half an hour, the guard standing at theopen door with instructions not to interfere except for serious reasons. Inthe memory of the oldest inhabitant such a thing had not been known!

Kittredge, however, was not surprised, first, because nothing couldsurprise him, and, also, because he had no idea what an extraordinaryexception had been made in his favor. So he walked before the guardindifferently enough toward the door indicated, but when he crossed thethreshold he started back with a cry of amazement. 

"Alice!" he gasped, and his face lighted with transfiguring joy. It was abare room with bare floors and bare yellow painted walls, the onlyfurnishings being two cane chairs and a cheap table, but to Kittredge itwas a marvelous and radiantly happy place, for Alice was there; he staredat her almost unbelieving, but it was true--by some kind miracle Alice, hisAlice, was there!

Then, without any prelude, without so much as asking for an explanation orgiving her time to make one, Lloyd sprang forward and caught the tremblinggirl in his arms and drew her close to him with tender words, while theguard muttered: "_Nom d'un chien! Il ne perd pas de temps, celui-la!_"

This was not at all the meeting that Alice had planned, but as she felt herlover's arms about her and his warm breath on her face, she forgot themessage that she brought and the questions she was to ask, she forgot hisdanger and her own responsibility, she forgot everything but this oneblessed fact of their great love, his and hers, the love that had drawnthem together and was holding them together now here, together, closetogether, she and her Lloyd. 

"You darling, " he whispered, "you brave, beautiful darling! I love you! Ilove you!" And he would have said it still again had not his lips beenclosed by her warm, red lips. So they stood silent, she limp in his arms, gasping, thrilling, weeping and laughing, he feasting insatiable on herlips, on the fragrance of her hair, on the lithe roundness of her body. 

"_Voyons, voyons!_" warned the guard. "_Soyons serieux!_"

"He is right, " murmured Alice, "we must be serious. Lloyd, let me go, " andwith an effort she freed herself. "I can only stay here half an hour, and Idon't know how much of it we have wasted already. " She tried to look at himreproachfully, but her eyes were swimming with tenderness. 

"It wasn't wasted, dear, " he answered fondly. "To have held you in my armslike that will give me courage for whatever is to come. "

"But, Lloyd, " she reasoned, "nothing bad will come if you do what I say. Iam here to help you, to get you out of this dreadful place. "

"You little angel!" he smiled. "How are you going to do it?"

"I'll tell you in a moment, " she said, "but, first, you must answer somequestions. Never mind why I ask them, just answer. You will, won't you, Lloyd? You trust me?"

"Of course I trust you, sweetheart, and I'll answer anything that I--that Ican. "

"Good. I'll begin with the easiest question, " she said, consulting herlist. "Sit down here--that's right. Now, then, have you ever had gout orrheumatism? Don't laugh--it's important. "

"Never, " he answered, and she wrote it down. 

"Do you play tennis with your right hand or your left hand?"

"Oh, see here, " he protested, "what's the use of----"

"No, no, " she insisted, "you must tell me. Please, the right hand or theleft?"

"I use both hands, " he answered, and she wrote it down. 

"Now, " she continued, "you have a chest of drawers in your room with twobrass dogs fighting about the lock plates?"

Kittredge stared at her. "How the devil did you know that?"

"Never mind. You usually keep the right-hand upper drawer locked, don'tyou?"

"That's true. "

"Do you remember going to this drawer any time lately and finding itunlocked?"

He thought a moment. "No, I don't. "

Alice hesitated, and then, with a flush of embarrassment, she went onbravely: "Now, Lloyd, I come to the hardest part. You must help me and--andnot think that I am hurt or--or jealous. "

"Well?"

"It's about the lady who--who called for you. This is all her fault, so--sonaturally she wants to help you. "

"How do you know she does?" he asked quickly. 

"Because I have seen her. "

"What?"

"Yes, and, Lloyd, she is sorry for the harm she has done and----"

"You have seen her?" he cried, half dazed. "How? Where?"

Then, in as few words as possible, Alice told of her talk with the lady atthe church. "And I have this message for you from her and--and _this_. " Shehanded him the note and the folded bank notes. 

Lloyd's face clouded. "She sent me money?" he said in a changed voice, andhis lips grew white. 

"Read the note, " she begged, and he did so, frowning. 

"No, no, " he declared, "it's quite impossible. I cannot take it, " and hehanded the money back. "You wouldn't have me take it?"

He looked at her gravely, and she thrilled with pride in him. 

"But the lawyer?" she protested weakly. "And your safety?"

"Would you want me to owe my safety to _her?_"

"Oh, no, " she murmured. 

"Besides, they have given me a lawyer. I dare say he is a good one, Mr. Full-of-Water. " He tried to speak lightly. 

"Then--then what shall I do with these?" She looked at the bank notes inperplexity. 

"Return them. "

"Ah, yes, " she agreed, snatching at a new idea. "I will return them, I willsay that you thank her, that _we_ thank her, Lloyd, but we cannot acceptthe money. Is that right?"

"Exactly. "

"I will go to her apartment in the morning. Let me see, it's on theAvenue--Where did I put her address?" and she went through the form ofsearching in her pocketbook. 

"The Avenue Kleber, " he supplied, unsuspecting. 

"Of course, the Avenue Kleber. Where _is_ that card? I've forgotten thenumber, too. Do you remember it, dear?"

Poor child, she tried so hard to speak naturally, but her emotion betrayedher. Indeed, it seemed to Alice, in that moment of suspense, that her lovermust hear the loud beating of her heart. 

"Ah, I see, " he cried, eying her steadily, "she did not give you heraddress and you are trying to get it from me. Do you even know her name?"

"No, " confessed Alice shamefacedly. "Forgive me, I--I wanted to help you. "

"By making me do a dishonorable thing?"

"Don't look at me like that. I wouldn't have you do a dishonorable thing;but----"

"Who told you to ask me these questions?"

"M. Coquenil. "

"What, the detective?"

"Yes. He believes you innocent, Lloyd, and he's going to prove it. "

"I hope he does, but--tell him to leave this woman alone. "

"Oh, he won't do that; he says he will find out who she is in a few days, anyway. That's why I thought----"

"I understand, " he said comfortingly, "and the Lord knows I want to get outof this hole, but--we've got to play fair, eh? Now let's drop all thatand--do you want to make me the happiest man in the world? I'm the happiestman in Paris already, even here, but if you will tell me onething--why--er--this prison won't cut any ice at all. "

"What do you want me to tell you?" she asked uneasily. 

"You little darling!" he said tenderly. "You needn't tell me anything ifit's going to make you feel badly, but, you see, I've got some lonely hoursto get through here and--well, I think of you most of the time and--" Hetook her hand fondly in his. 

"Dear, dear Lloyd!" she murmured. 

"And I've sort of got it in my head that--do you want to know?"

"Yes, I want to know, " she said anxiously. 

"I believe there's some confounded mystery about you, and, if you don'tmind, why--er----"

Alice started to her feet, and Lloyd noticed, as she faced him, that thepupils of her eyes widened and then grew small as if from fright or violentemotion. 

"Why do you say that? What makes you think there is a mystery about me?"she demanded, trying vainly to hide her agitation. 

"Now don't get upset--please don't!" soothed Kittredge. "If there isn'tanything, just say so, and if there is, what's the matter with telling achap who loves you and worships you and whose love wouldn't change forfifty mysteries--what's the matter with telling him all about it?"

"Are you sure your love wouldn't change?" she asked, still trembling. 

"Did _yours_ change when they told you things about me? Did it change whenthey arrested me and put me in prison? Yes, by Jove, it _did_ change, itgrew stronger, and that's the way mine would change, that's the only way. "

He spoke so earnestly and with such a thrill of fondness that Alice wasreassured, and giving him her hand with a happy little gesture, she said:"I know, dear. You see, I love you so much that--if anything should comebetween us, why--it would just kill me. "

"Nothing will come between us, " he said simply, and then after a pause: "Sothere _is_ a mystery. "

"I'm--I'm afraid so. "

"Ah, I knew it. I figured it out from a lot of little things. That's allI've had to do here, and--for instance, I said to myself: 'How the devildoes she happen to speak English without any accent?' You can't tell methat the cousin of a poor wood carver in Belgium would know English as youdo. It's part of the mystery, eh?"

"Why--er, " she stammered, "I have always known English. "

"Exactly, but how? And I suppose you've always known how to do thosecorking fine embroideries that the priests are so stuck on? But how did youlearn? And how does it come that you look like a dead swell? And where didyou get those hands like a saint in a stained-glass window? And that hair?I'll bet you anything you like you're a princess in disguise. "

"I'm _your_ princess, dear, " she smiled. 

"Now for the mystery, " he persisted. "Go on, what is it?"

At this her lovely face clouded and her eyes grew sad. "It's not the kindof mystery you think, Lloyd; I--I can't tell you about it verywell--because--" She hesitated. 

"Don't you worry, little sweetheart. I don't care what it is, I don't careif you're the daughter of a Zulu chief. " Then, seeing her distress, he saidtenderly: "Is it something you don't understand?"

"That's it, " she answered in a low voice, "it's something I don'tunderstand. "

"Ah! Something about yourself?"

"Ye-es. "

"Does anyone else know it?"

"No, no one _could_ know it, I--I've been afraid to speak of it. "

"Afraid?"

She nodded, and again he noticed that the pupils of her eyes were wideningand contracting. 

"And that is why you said you wouldn't marry me?"

"Yes, that is why. "

He stopped in perplexity. He saw that, in spite of her bravest efforts, thegirl was almost fainting under the strain of these questions. 

"You dear, darling child, " said Lloyd, as a wave of pity took him, "I'm abrute to make you talk about this. "

But Alice answered anxiously: "You understand it's nothing I have done thatis wrong, nothing I'm ashamed of?"

"Of course, " he assured her. "Let's drop it. We'll never speak of itagain. "

"I want to speak of it. It's something strange in my thoughts, dear, or--or my soul, " she went on timidly, "something that's--different andthat--frightens me--especially at night. "

"What do you expect?" he answered in a matter-of-fact tone, "when you spendall your time in a cold, black church full of bones and ghosts? Wait till Iget you away from there, wait till we're over in God's country, living in anice little house out in Orange, N. J. , and I'm commuting every day. "

"What's commuting, Lloyd?"

"You'll find out--you'll like it, except the tunnel. And you'll be so happyyou'll never think about your soul--no, sir, and you won't be afraidnights, either! Oh, you beauty, you little beauty!" he burst out, and wasabout to take her in his arms again when the guard came forward to warnthem that the time was nearly up, they had three minutes more. 

"All right, " nodded Lloyd, and as he turned to Alice, she saw tears in hiseyes. "It's tough, but never mind. You've made a man of me, little one, andI'll prove it. I used to have a sort of religion and then I lost it, andnow I've got it again, a new religion and a new creed. It's short and easyto say, but it's all I need, and it's going to keep me game through thiswhole rotten business. Want to hear my creed? You know it already, darling, for you taught it to me. Here it is: 'I believe in Alice'; that's all, that's enough. Let me kiss you. "

"Lloyd, " she whispered as he bent toward her, "can't you trust me with thatwoman's name?"

He drew back and looked at her half reproachfully and her cheeks flushed. She would not have him think that she could bargain for her lips, andthrowing her arms about him, she murmured: "Kiss me, kiss me as much as youlike. I am yours, yours. "

Then there was a long, delicious, agonizing moment of passion and painuntil the guard's gruff voice came between them. 

"One moment, " Kittredge said, and then to the clinging girl: "Why do youask that woman's name when you know it already?"

Wide-eyed, she faced him and shook her head. "I don't know her name, Idon't want to know it. "

"You don't know her name?" he repeated, and even in the tumult of theirlast farewell her frank and honest denial lingered in his mind. 

She did not know the woman's name! Back in his lonely cell Kittredgepondered this, and reaching for his little volume of De Musset, histreasured pocket companion that the jailer had let him keep, he opened itat the fly leaves. _She did not know this woman's name!_ And, wonderingly, he read on the white page the words and the name written by Alice herself, scrawlingly but distinctly, the day before in the garden of Notre-Dame. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE WOMAN IN THE CASE

Coquenil was neither surprised nor disappointed at the meager results ofAlice's visit to the prison. This was merely one move in the game, and ithad not been entirely vain, since he had learned that Kittredge _might_have used his left hand in firing a pistol and that he did not suffer withgout or rheumatism. This last point was of extreme importance. 

And the detective was speedily put in excellent humor by news awaiting himat the Palais de Justice Monday morning that the man sent to London totrace the burned photograph and the five-pound notes had already met withsuccess and had telegraphed that the notes in question had been issued toAddison Wilmott, whose bankers were Munroe and Co. , Rue Scribe. 

Quick inquiries revealed the fact that Addison Wilmott was a well-known NewYorker, living in Paris, a man of leisure who was enjoying to the full alarge inherited fortune. He and his dashing wife lived in a private _hôtel_on the Avenue Kleber, where they led a gay existence in the smartest andmost spectacular circle of the American Colony. They gave brilliantdinners, they had several automobiles, they did all the foolish andextravagant things that the others did and a few more. 

He was dull, good-natured, and a little fat; she was a beautiful woman withextraordinary charm and a lithe, girlish figure of which she took infinitecare; he was supposed to kick up his heels in a quiet way while she didthe thing brilliantly and kept the wheels of American Colony gossip (busyenough, anyway) turning and spinning until they groaned in utter weariness. 

What was there that Pussy Wilmott had not done or would not do if theimpulse seized her? This was a matter of tireless speculation in theultra-chic salons through which this fascinating lady flitted, envied andcensured. She was known to be the daughter of a California millionaire whohad left her a fortune, of which the last shred was long ago dispersed. Before marrying Wilmott she had divorced two husbands, had traveled allover the world, had hunted tigers in India and canoed the breakers, nativestyle, in Hawaii; she had lived like a cowboy on the Texas plains, where, it was said, she had worn men's clothes; she could swim and shoot and swearand love; she was altogether selfish, altogether delightful, altogetherimpossible; in short, she was a law unto herself, and her brilliantpersonality so far overshadowed Addison that, although he had the money andmost of the right in their frequent quarrels, no one ever spoke of himexcept as "Pussy Wilmott's husband. "

In spite of her willfulness and caprices Mrs. Wilmott was full of generousimpulses and loyal to her friends. She was certainly not a snob, as witnessthe fact that she had openly snubbed a certain grand duke, not for hisimmoralities, which she declared afterwards were nobody's business, butbecause of his insufferable stupidity. She rather liked a sinner, but shecouldn't stand a fool!

Such was the information M. Paul had been able to gather from swift andspecial police sources when he presented himself at the Wilmott _hôtel_, about luncheon time on Monday. Addison was just starting with some friendsfor a run down to Fontainebleau in his new Panhard, and he listenedimpatiently to Coquenil's explanation that he had come in regard to someEnglish bank notes recently paid to Mr. Wilmott, and possibly cleverforgeries. 

"Really!" exclaimed Addison. 

Coquenil hoped that Mr. Wilmott would give him the notes in question inexchange for genuine ones. This would help the investigation. 

"Of course, my dear sir, " said the American, "but I haven't the notes, theywere spent long ago. "

Coquenil was sorry to hear this--he wondered if Mr. Wilmott could rememberwhere the notes were spent. After an intellectual effort Addison rememberedthat he had changed one into French money at Henry's and had paid two orthree to a shirt maker on the Rue de la Paix, and the rest--he reflectedagain, and then said positively: "Why, yes, I gave five or six of them, Ithink there were six, I'm sure there were, because--" He stopped with a newidea. 

"You remember whom you paid them to?" questioned the detective. 

"I didn't pay them to anyone, " replied Wilmott, "I gave them to my wife. "

"Ah!" said Coquenil, and presently he took his departure with politeassurances, whereupon the unsuspecting Addison tooted away complacently forFontainebleau. 

It was now about two o'clock, and the next three hours M. Paul spent withhis sources of information studying the career of Pussy Wilmott fromspecial points of view in preparation for a call upon the lady, which heproposed to make later in the afternoon. 

He discovered two significant things: first, that, whatever her actualconduct, Mrs. Wilmott had never openly compromised herself. Love affairsshe might have had, but no one could say when or where or with whom she hadhad them; and if, as seemed likely, she was the woman in this Ansonia case, then she had kept her relations with Kittredge in profoundest secrecy. 

As offsetting this, however, Coquenil secured information that connectedMrs. Wilmott directly with Martinez. It appeared that, among her otherexcitements, Pussy was passionately fond of gambling. She was known to havewon and lost large sums at Monte Carlo, and she was a regular follower ofthe fashionable races in Paris. She had also been seen at the Olympiabilliard academy, near the Grand Hotel, where Martinez and other expertsplayed regularly before eager audiences, among whom betting on the gameswas the great attraction. The detective found two bet markers whoremembered distinctly that, on several occasions, a handsome woman, answering to the description of Mrs. Wilmott, had wagered five or ten louison Martinez and had shown a decided admiration for his remarkable skillwith the cue. 

"He used to talk about this lady, " said one of the markers; "he called herhis 'belle Américaine, ' but I am sure he did not know her real name. " Theman smiled at Martinez's inordinate vanity over his supposed fascinationfor women--he was convinced that no member of the fair sex could resist hisadvances. 

With so much in mind Coquenil started up the Champs Elysées about fiveo'clock. He counted on finding Mrs. Wilmott home at tea time, and as hestrolled along, turning the problem over in his mind, he found itconceivable that this eccentric lady, in a moment of ennui or for thenovelty of the thing, might have consented to dine with Martinez in aprivate room. It was certain no scruples would have deterred her if theadventure had seemed amusing, especially as Martinez had no idea who shewas. With her, excitement and a new sensation were the only rules ofconduct, and her husband's opinion was a matter of the smallest possibleconsequence. Besides, he would probably never know it!

Mrs. Wilmott, very languid and stunning, amidst her luxurious surroundings, received M. Paul with the patronizing indifference that bored rich womenextend to tradespeople. But presently when he explained that he was adetective and began to question her about the Ansonia affair, she rose witha haughty gesture that was meant to banish him in confusion from herpresence. Coquenil, however, did not "banish" so easily. He had dealt withhaughty ladies before. 

"My dear madam, please sit down, " he said quietly. "I must ask you toexplain how it happens that a number of five-pound notes, given to you byyour husband some days ago, were found on the body of this murdered man. "

"How do I know?" she replied sharply. "I spent the notes in shops; I'm notresponsible for what became of them. Besides, I am dining out to-night, and! I must dress. I really don't see any point to this conversation. "

"No, " he smiled, and the keenness of his glance: pierced her like a blade. "The point is, my dear lady, that I want you to tell me what you were doingwith this billiard player when he was shot last Saturday night. "

"It's false; I never knew the man, " she cried. "It's an outrage for youto--to intrude on a lady and--and insult her. "

"You used to back his game at the Olympia, " continued Coquenil coolly. 

"What of it? I'm fond of billiards. Is that a crime?"

"You left your cloak and a small leather bag in the _vestiaire_ at theAnsonia, " pursued M. Paul. 

"It isn't true!"

"Your name was found stamped in gold letters under a leather flap in thebag. "

She shot a frightened glance at him and then faltered: "It--it was?"

Coquenil nodded. "Your friend, M. Kittredge, tore the flap out of the bagand then cut it into small pieces and scattered the pieces from his cabthrough dark streets, but I picked up the pieces. "

"You--you did?" she stammered. 

"Yes. _Now what were you doing with Martinez in that room?_"

For some moments she did not answer but studied him with frightened, puzzled eyes. Then suddenly her whole manner changed. 

"Excuse me, " she smiled, "I didn't get your name?"

"M. Coquenil, " he said. 

"Won't you sit over here? This chair is more comfortable. That's right. Now, I will tell you _exactly_ what happened. " And, settling herself nearhim, Pussy Wilmott entered bravely upon the hardest half hour of her life. After all, he was a man and she would do the best she could!

"You see, M. Coquelin--I beg your pardon, M. Coquenil. The names are alike, aren't they?"

"Yes, " said the other dryly. 

"Well, " she went on quite charmingly, "I have done some foolish things inmy life, but this is the most foolish. I _did_ give Martinez thefive-pound notes. You see, he was to play a match this week with a Russianand he offered to lay the money for me. He said he could get good odds andhe was sure to win. "

"But the dinner? The private room?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I went there for a perfectly proper reason. Ineeded some one to help me and I--I couldn't ask a man who knew me so----"

"Then Martinez didn't know you?"

"Of course not. He was foolish enough to think himself in love with meand--well, I found it convenient and--amusing to--utilize him. "

"For what?"

Mrs. Wilmott bit her red lips and then with some dignity replied that shedid not see what bearing her purpose had on the case since it had not beenaccomplished. 

"Why wasn't it accomplished?" he asked. 

"Because the man was shot. "

"Who shot him?"

"I don't know. "

"You have no idea?"

"No idea. "

"But you were present in the room?"

"Ye-es. "

"You heard the shot? You saw Martinez fall?"

"Yes, but----"

"Well?"

Now her agitation, increased, she seemed about to make some statement, butchecked herself and simply insisted that she knew nothing about theshooting. No one had entered the room except herself and Martinez and thewaiter who served them. They had finished the soup; Martinez had left hisseat for a moment; he was standing near her when--when the shot was firedand he fell to the floor. She had no idea where the shot came from or whofired it. She was frightened and hurried away from the hotel. That was all. 

Coquenil smiled indulgently. "What did you do with the auger?" he asked. 

"The auger?" she gasped. 

"Yes, it was seen by the cab driver you took when you slipped out of thehotel in the telephone girl's rain coat. "

"You know that?"

He nodded and went on: "This cab driver remembers that you had somethingunder your arm wrapped in a newspaper. Was that the auger?"

"Yes, " she answered weakly. 

"And you threw it into the Seine as you crossed the Concorde bridge?"

She stared at him in genuine admiration: "My God, you're the cleverest manI ever met!"

M. Paul bowed politely, and glancing at a well-spread tea table, he said:"Mrs. Wilmott, if you think so well of me, perhaps you won't mind giving mea cup of tea. The fact is, I have been so busy with this case I forgot toeat and I--I feel a little faint. " He pressed a hand against his foreheadand Pussy saw that he was very white. 

"You poor man!" she cried in concern. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? I'llfix it myself. There! Take some of these toasted muffins. What anextraordinary life you must lead! I can almost forgive you for being sooutrageous because you're so--so interesting. " She let her siren eyes shineon him in a way that had wrought the discomfiture of many a man. 

M. Paul smiled. "I can return the compliment by saying that it isn't everylady who could throw a clumsy thing like an auger from a moving cab over awide roadway and a stone wall and land it in a river. I suppose you threwit over on the right-hand side?"

"Yes. "

"How far across the bridge had you got when you threw it? This may help thedivers. "

She thought a moment. "We were a little more than halfway across, I shouldsay. "

"Thanks. Now who bought this auger?"

"Martinez. "

"Did _you_ suggest the holes through the wall?"

"No, he did. "

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure. "

"But the holes were bored for you?"

"Of course. "

"Because you wanted to see into the next room?"

"Yes, " in a low tone. 

"And why?"

She hesitated a moment and then burst out in a flash of feeling: "Because Iknew that a wretched dancing girl was going to be there with----"

"Yes?" eagerly. 

"With my husband!"

CHAPTER XV

PUSSY WILMOTT'S CONFESSION

"Then your husband was the person you thought guilty that night?"questioned Coquenil. 

"Yes. "

"You told M. Kittredge when you called for him in the cab that you thoughtyour husband guilty?"

"Yes, but afterwards I changed my mind. My husband had nothing to do withit. If he had, do you suppose I would have told you this? No doubt he hasmisconducted himself, but----"

"You mean Anita?"

It was a chance shot, but it went true. 

She stared at him in amazement. "I believe you are the devil, " she said, and the detective, recalling his talk with M. Gritz, muttered to himself:"The tall blonde! Of course!"

And now Pussy, feeling that she could gain nothing against Coquenil by ruseor deceit, took refuge in simple truth and told quite charmingly how thiswhole tragic adventure had grown out of a foolish fit of jealousy. 

"You see, I found a _petit bleu_ on my husband's dressing table onemorning--I wish to Heaven he would be more careful--and I--I read it. Itbegan '_Mon gros bebe_, ' and was signed '_Ta petite Anita_, ' and--naturallyI was furious. I have often been jealous of Addison, but he has alwaysmanaged to prove that I was in the wrong and that he was a perfect saint, so now I determined to see for myself. It was a splendid chance, as theexact rendezvous was given, nine o'clock Saturday evening, in private roomNumber Seven at the Ansonia. I had only to be there, but, of course, Icouldn't go alone, so I got this man, Martinez--he was a perfect fool, I'msorry he's been shot, but he was--I got him to take me, because, as I toldyou, he didn't know me, and being such a fool, he would do whatever Iwished. "

"What day was it you found the _petit bleu?_" put in Coquenil. 

"It was Thursday. I saw Martinez that afternoon, and on Friday, he reservedprivate room Number Six for Saturday evening. "

"And you are sure it was _his_ scheme to bore the holes?"

"Yes, he said that would be an amusing way of watching Addison withoutmaking a scandal, and I agreed with him; it was the first clever idea Iever knew him to have. "

"That's a good point!" reflected Coquenil. 

"What is a good point?"

"Nothing, just a thought I had, " he answered abstractedly. 

"What a queer man you are!" she said with a little pout. She was notaccustomed to have men inattentive when she sat near them. 

"There's one thing that doesn't seem very clever, though, " reflected thedetective. "Didn't Martinez think your husband or Anita would see thoseholes in the wall?"

"No, because he had prepared for that. There was a tall palm in NumberSeven that stood just before the holes and screened them. "

Coquenil looked at her curiously. 

"How do you know there was?"

"Martinez told me. He had taken the precaution to look in there on Fridaywhen he engaged Number Six. He knew exactly where to bore the holes. "

"I see. And he put them behind the curtain hangings so that your waiterwouldn't see them?"

"That's it. "

"And you held the curtain hangings back while he used the auger?"

"Yes. You see he managed it very well. "

"Very well except for one thing, " mused Coquenil, "_there wasn't any palmin Number Six_. "

"No?"

"No. "

"That's strange!"

"Yes, it _is_ strange, " and again she felt that he was following a separatetrain of thought. 

"Did _you_ look through the holes at all?" he asked. 

"No, I hadn't time. "

"Did Martinez look through the first hole after it was bored?"

"Yes, but he couldn't see anything, as Number Seven was dark. "

"Then you have absolutely no idea who fired the shot?"

"Absolutely none. "

"Except you think it wasn't your husband?"

"I _know_ it wasn't my husband. "

"How do you know that?"

"Because I asked him. Ah, you needn't smile, I made him give me proof. "When I got home that night I had a horrible feeling that Addison must havedone it. Who else _could_ have done it, since he had engaged Number Seven?So I waited until he came home. It was after twelve. I could hear himmoving about in his room and I was afraid to speak to him, the thing seemedso awful; but, at last, I went in and asked him where he had been. He beganto lie in the usual way--you know any man will if he's in a hole likethat--but finally I couldn't stand it any longer and I said: 'Addison, forGod's sake, don't lie to me. I know something terrible has happened, and ifI can, I want to help you. '

"I was as white as a sheet and he jumped up in a great fright. 'What is it, Pussy? What is it?' he cried. And then I told him a murder had beencommitted at the Ansonia in private room Number Seven. I wish you couldhave seen his face. He never said a word, he just stared at me. 'Why don'tyou speak?' I begged. 'Addison, it wasn't you, tell me it wasn't you. Nevermind this Anita woman, I'll forgive that if you'll only tell me whereyou've been to-night. '

"Well, it was the longest time before I could get anything out of him. Yousee, it was quite a shock for Addison getting all this together, caughtwith the woman and then the murder on top of it; I had to cry and scold andget him whisky before he could pull himself together, but he finally didand made a clean breast of everything. "

"'Pussy, ' he said, 'you're all right, you're a plucky little woman, and I'ma bad lot, but I'm not as bad as that. I wasn't in that room, I didn't goto the Ansonia to-night, and I swear to God I don't know any more aboutthis murder than you do. '

"Then he explained what had happened in his blundering way, stopping everyminute or so to tell me what a saint I am, and the Lord knows _that's_ ajoke, and the gist of it was that he had started for the Ansonia with thiswoman, but she had changed her mind in the cab and they had gone to theCafé de Paris instead and spent the evening there. I was pretty sure hewas telling the truth, for Addison isn't clever and I usually know whenhe's lying, although I don't tell him so; but this was such an awful thingthat I couldn't take chances, so I said: 'Addison, put your things righton, we're going to the Café de Paris. ' 'What for?' said he. 'To settle thisbusiness, ' said I. And off we went and got there at half past one; but thewaiters hadn't gone, and they all swore black and blue that Addison toldthe truth, he had really been there all the evening with this woman. And_that_, " she concluded triumphantly, "is how I know my husband isinnocent. "

[Illustration: "'They all swore black and blue that Addison told thetruth. '"]

"Hm!" reflected Coquenil. "I wonder why Anita changed her mind?"

"I'm not responsible for Anita, " answered Pussy with a dignified whisk ofher shoulders. 

"No, of course not, of course not, " he murmured absently; then, after amoment's thought, he said gravely: "I never really doubted your husband'sinnocence, now I'm sure of it; unfortunately, this does not lessen yourresponsibility; you were in the room, you witnessed the crime; in fact, youwere the only witness. "

"But I know nothing about it, nothing, " she protested. 

"You know a great deal about this young man who is in prison. "

"I know he is innocent. "

Coquenil took off his glasses and rubbed them with characteristicdeliberation. "I hope you can prove it. "

"Of course I can prove it, " she declared. "M. Kittredge was arrestedbecause he called for my things, but I asked him to do that. I was interrible trouble and--he was an old friend and--and I knew I could dependon him. He had no reason to kill Martinez. It's absurd!"

"I'm afraid it's not so absurd as you think. You say he was an old friend, he must have been a _very particular kind_ of an old friend for you to aska favor of him that you knew and he knew would bring him under suspicion. You did know that, didn't you?"

"Why--er--yes. "

"I don't ask what there was between you and M. Kittredge, but if there hadbeen _everything_ between you he couldn't have done more, could he? And hecouldn't have done less. So a jury might easily conclude, in the absence ofcontrary evidence, that there was everything between you. "

"It's false, " she cried, while Coquenil with keen discernment watched theoutward signs of her trouble, the clinching of her hands, the heaving ofher bosom, the indignant flashing of her eyes. 

"I beg your pardon for expressing such a thought, " he said simply. "It's amatter that concerns the judge, only ladies dislike going to the Palais deJustice. "

She started in alarm. "You mean that I might have to go there?"

"Your testimony is important, and the judge cannot very well come here. "

"But, I'd rather talk to you; really, I would. You can ask me questionsand--and then tell him. Go on, I don't mind. M. Kittredge was _not_ mylover--there! Please make that perfectly clear. He was a dear, loyalfriend, but nothing more. "

"Was he enough of a friend to be jealous of Martinez?"

"What was there to make him jealous?"

"Well, " smiled Coquenil, "I can imagine that if a dear, loyal friend foundthe lady he was dear and loyal to having supper with another man in aprivate room, he _might_ be jealous. "

To which Pussy replied with an accent of finality but with a shade ofpique: "The best proof that M. Kittredge would not be jealous of me is thathe loves another woman. "

"The girl at Notre-Dame?"

"Yes. "

"But Martinez knew her, too. There might have been trouble over her, "ventured M. Paul shrewdly. 

She shook her head with eager positiveness. "There was no trouble. "

"You never knew of any quarrel between Kittredge and Martinez? No words?"

"Never. "

"Madam, " continued Coquenil, "as you have allowed me to speak frankly, I amgoing to ask if you feel inclined to make a special effort to help M. Kittredge?"

"Of course I do. "

"Even at the sacrifice of your own feelings?"

"What do you mean?"

"Let me go back a minute. Yesterday you made a plucky effort to serve yourfriend, you gave money for a lawyer to defend him, you even said you wouldcome forward and testify in his favor if it became necessary. "

"Ah, the girl has seen you?"

"More than that, she has seen M. Kittredge at the prison. And I am sorry totell you that your generous purposes have accomplished nothing. He refusesto accept your money and----"

"I told you he didn't love me, " she interrupted with a touch of bitterness. 

"We must have better evidence than that, just as we must have betterevidence of his innocence than your testimony. After all, you don't _know_that he did not fire this shot, you could not _see_ through the wall, andfor all you can say, M. Kittredge _may_ have been in Number Seven. "

"I suppose that's true, " admitted Pussy dolefully. 

"So we come back to the question of motive; his love for you or his hatredof the Spaniard might be a motive, but if we can prove that there was nosuch love and no such hatred, then we shall have rendered him a greatservice and enormously improved his chances of getting out of prison. Doyou follow me?"

"Perfectly. But how can we prove it?"

The detective leaned closer and said impressively: "If these things aretrue, it ought to be set forth in Kittredge's letters to you. "

It was another chance shot, and Coquenil watched the effect anxiously. 

"His letters to me!" she cried with a start of dismay, while M. Paul noddedcomplacently. "He never wrote me letters--that is, not many, and--whateverthere were, I--I destroyed. "

Coquenil eyed her keenly and shook his head. "A woman like you would neverwrite to a man oftener than he wrote to her, and Kittredge had a thickbundle of your letters. It was only Saturday night that he burned them, along with that photograph of you in the lace dress. "

It seemed to Pussy that a cold hand was closing over her heart; it wasghastly, it was positively uncanny the things this man had found out. Shelooked at him in frightened appeal, and then, with a gesture of halfsurrender: "For Heaven's sake, how much more do you know about me?"

"I know that you have a bundle of Kittredge's letters here, possibly inthat desk. " He pointed to a charming piece of old mahogany inlaid withivory. He had made this last deduction by following her eyes through theselast tortured minutes. 

"It isn't true; I--I tell you I destroyed the letters. " And he knew she waslying. 

M. Paul glanced at his watch and then said quietly: "Would you mind askingif some one is waiting for me outside?"

So thoroughly was the agitated lady under the spell of Coquenil's powerthat she now attached extraordinary importance to his slightest word oract. It seemed to her, as she pressed the bell, that she was precipitatingsome nameless catastrophe. 

"Is anyone waiting for this gentleman?" she asked, all in a tremble, whenthe servant appeared. 

"Yes, madam, two men are waiting, " replied the valet. 

She noticed, with a shiver, that he said two men, not two gentlemen. 

"That's all, " nodded Coquenil; "I'll let you know when I want them. " Andwhen the valet had withdrawn: "They have come from the prefecture in regardto these letters. "

Pussy rose and her face was deathly white. "You mean they are policemen? Myhouse is full of policemen?"

"Be calm, my dear lady, there are only two in the house and two outside. "

"Oh, the shame of it, the scandal of it!" she wailed. 

"A murder isn't a pleasant thing at the best and--as I said, they have comefor the letters. "

"You told them to come?"

"No, the judge told them to come. I hoped I might be able to spare you theannoyance of a search. "

"A search?" she cried, and realizing her helplessness, she sank down on asofa and began to cry. "It will disgrace me, it will break up my home, itwill ruin my life!" She could hear the gossips of the American Colonyrolling this choice morsel under their tongues, Pussy Wilmott's house hadbeen searched by the police for letters from her lover!

Then, suddenly, clutching at a last straw of hope, she yielded or seemed toyield. "As long as a search must be made, " she said with a sort ofhalf-defiant dignity, "I prefer to have you make it, and not these men. "

"I think that is wise, " bowed M. Paul. 

"In which room will you begin?"

"In this room. "

"I give you my word there are no letters here, but, as you don't believeme, why--do what you like. "

"I would like to look in that desk, " said the detective. 

"Very well--look!"

Coquenil went to the desk and examined it carefully. There were two drawersin a raised part at the back, there was a long, wide drawer in front, andover this a space like a drawer under a large inlaid cover, hinged at theback. He searched everywhere here, but found no sign of the expectedletters. 

"I must have been mistaken, " he muttered, and he continued his search inother parts of the room, Pussy hovering about with changing expressionsthat reminded M. Paul of children's faces when they play the game of "hotor cold. "

"Well, " he said, with an air of disappointment, "I find nothing here. Suppose we try another room. "

"Certainly, " she agreed, and her face brightened in such evident reliefthat he turned to her suddenly and said almost regretfully, as a generousadversary might speak to one whom he hopelessly outclasses: "Madam, I hearyou are fond of gambling. You should study the game of poker, which teachesus to hide our feelings. Now then, " he walked back quickly to the desk, "Iwant you to open this secret drawer. "

He spoke with a sudden sternness that quite disconcerted poor Pussy. Shestood before him frozen with fear, unable to lie any more, unable even tospeak. A big tear of weakness and humiliation gathered and rolled down hercheek, and then, still silent, she took a hairpin from her hair, insertedone leg of it into a tiny hole quite lost in the ornamental work at theback of the desk, pushed against a hidden spring, and presto! a smallsecret drawer shot forward. In this drawer lay a packet of letters tiedwith a ribbon. 

"Are these his letters?" he asked. 

In utter misery she nodded but did not speak. 

"Thanks, " he said. "May I take them?"

She put forward her hands helplessly. 

"I'm sorry, but, as I said before, a murder isn't a pleasant thing. " And hetook the packet from the drawer. 

Then, seeing herself beaten at every point, Pussy Wilmott gave way entirelyand wept angrily, bitterly, her face buried in the sofa pillows. 

"I'm sorry, " repeated M. Paul, and for the first time in the interview hefelt himself at a disadvantage. 

"Why didn't I burn them, why didn't I burn them?" she mourned. 

"You trusted to that drawer, " he suggested. 

"No, no, I knew the danger, but I couldn't give them up. They stood for thebest part of my life, the tenderest, the happiest. I've been a weak, wickedwoman!"

"Any secrets in these letters will be scrupulously respected, " he assuredher, "unless they have a bearing on this crime. Is there anything you wishto say before I go?"

"Are you going?" she said weakly. And then, turning to him withtear-stained face, she asked for a moment to collect herself. "I want tosay this, " she went on, "that I didn't tell you the truth about Kittredgeand Martinez. There _was_ trouble between them; he speaks about it in oneof his letters. It was about the little girl at Notre-Dame!"

"You mean Martinez was attentive to her?"

"Yes. "

"Did she encourage him?"

"I don't know. She behaved very strangely--she seemed attracted to him andafraid of him at the same time. Martinez told me what an extraordinaryeffect he had on the girl. He said it was due to his magnetic power. "

"And Kittredge objected to this?"

"Of course he did, and they had a quarrel. It's all in one of thoseletters. "

"Was it a serious quarrel? Did Kittredge make any threats?"

"I--I'm afraid he did--yes, I know he did. You'll see it in the letter. "

"Do you remember what he said?"

"Why--er--yes. "

"What was it?"

She hesitated a moment and then, as though weary of resisting, she replied:"He told Martinez that if he didn't leave this girl alone he would breakhis damned head for him. "

CHAPTER XVI

THE THIRD PAIR OF BOOTS

The wheels of justice move swiftly in Paris, and after one quiet day, during which Judge Hauteville was drawing together the threads of themystery, Kittredge found himself, on Tuesday morning, facing an ordealworse than the solitude of a prison cell. The seventh of July! What a datefor the American! How little he realized what was before him as he bumpedalong in a prison van breathing the sweet air of a delicious summermorning! He had been summoned for the double test put upon suspectedassassins in France, a visit to the scene of the crime and a viewing of thevictim's body. In Lloyd's behalf there was present at this grim ceremonyMaître Pleindeaux, a clean-shaven, bald-headed little man, with a hard, metallic voice and a set of false teeth that clicked as he talked. "Bet adollar it's ice water he's full of, " said Kittredge to himself. 

When brought to the Ansonia and shown the two rooms of the tragedy, Kittredge was perfectly calm and denied any knowledge of the affair; he hadnever seen these holes through the wall, he had never been in the alleyway, he was absolutely innocent. Maître Pleindeaux nodded in approval. At themorgue, however, Lloyd showed a certain emotion when a door was openedsuddenly and he was pushed into a room where he saw Martinez sitting on achair and looking at him, Martinez with his shattered eye replaced by aglass one, and his dead face painted to a horrid semblance of life. Thisis one of the theatrical tricks of modern procedure, and the American wasnot prepared for it. 

"My God!" he muttered, "he looks alive. "

Nothing was accomplished, however, by the questioning here, nothing wasextorted from the prisoner; he had known Martinez, he had never liked himparticularly, but he had never wished to do him harm, and he had certainlynot killed him. That was all Kittredge would say, however the questionswere turned, and he declared repeatedly that he had had no quarrel withMartinez. All of which was carefully noted down. 

[Illustration: "A door was opened suddenly and he was pushed into a room. "]

While his nerves were still tingling with the gruesomeness of all this, Lloyd was brought to Judge Hauteville's room in the Palais de Justice. Hewas told to sit down on a chair beside Maître Pleindeaux. A patientsecretary sat at his desk, a formidable guard stood before the door with asaber sword in his belt. Then the examination began. 

So far Kittredge had heard the voice of justice only in mild and politequestioning, now he was to hear the ring of it in accusation, in rapid, massed accusation that was to make him feel the crushing power of the stateand the hopelessness of any puny lying. 

"Kittredge, " began the judge, "you have denied all knowledge of this crime. Look at this pistol and tell me if you have ever seen it before. " Heoffered the pistol to Lloyd's manacled hands. Maître Pleindeaux took itwith a frown of surprise. 

"Excuse me, your honor, " he bowed, "I would like to speak to my clientbefore he answers that question. "

But Kittredge waved him aside. "What's the use, " he said. "That is mypistol; I know it; there's no doubt about it. "

"Ah!" exclaimed Hauteville. "It is also the pistol that killed Martinez. Itwas thrown from private room Number Seven at the Ansonia. A woman saw itthrown, and it was picked up in a neighboring courtyard. One ball wasmissing, and that ball was found in the body. "

"There's some mistake, " objected Pleindeaux with professional asperity, atthe same time flashing a wrathful look at Lloyd that said plainly: "You seewhat you have done!"

"Now, " continued the judge, "you say you have never been in the alleywaythat we showed you at the Ansonia. Look at these boots. Do you recognizethem?"

Kittredge examined the boots carefully and then said frankly to the judge:"I thank they are mine. "

"You wore them to the Ansonia on the night of the crime?"

"I think so. "

"Aren't you sure?"

"Not absolutely sure, because I have three pairs exactly alike. I alwayskeep three pairs going at the same time; they last longer that way. "

"I will tell you, then, that this is the pair you had on when you werearrested. "

"Then it's the pair I wore to the Ansonia. "

"You didn't change your boots after leaving the Ansonia?"

"No. "

"Kittredge, " said the judge severely, "the man who shot Martinez escaped bythe alleyway and left his footprints on the soft earth. We have madeplaster casts of them. There they are; our experts have examined them andfind that they correspond in every particular with the soles of theseboots. What do you say to this?"

Lloyd listened in a daze. "I don't see how it's possible, " he answered. 

"You still deny having been in the alleyway?"

"Absolutely. "

"I pass to another point, " resumed Hauteville, who was now striding backand forth with quick turns and sudden stops, his favorite manner of attack. "You say you had no quarrel with Martinez?"

A shade of anxiety crossed Lloyd's face, and he looked appealingly at hiscounsel, who nodded with a consequential smack of the lips. 

"Is that true?" repeated the judge. 

"Why--er--yes. "

"You never threatened Martinez with violence? Careful!"

"No, sir, " declared Kittredge stubbornly. 

Hauteville turned to his desk, and opening a leather portfolio, drew fortha paper and held it before Kittredge's eyes. 

"Do you recognize this writing?"

"It's--it's _my_ writing, " murmured Lloyd, and his heart sank. How had thejudge got this letter? And had he the others?

"You remember this letter? You remember what you wrote about Martinez?"

"Yes. "

"Then there _was_ a quarrel and you _did_ threaten him?"

"I advise my client not to answer that question, " interposed the lawyer, and the American was silent. 

"As you please, " said Hauteville, and he went on grimly: "Kittredge, youhave so far refused to speak of the lady to whom you wrote this letter. Nowyou must speak of her. It is evident she is the person who called for youin the cab. Do you deny that?"

"I prefer not to answer. "

"She was your mistress? Do you deny that?"

"Yes, I deny that, " cried the American, not waiting for Pleindeaux'sprompting. 

"Ah!" shrugged the judge, and turning to his secretary: "_Ask the lady tocome in_. "

Then, in a moment of sickening misery, Kittredge saw the door open and ablack figure enter, a black figure with an ashen-white face and frightenedeyes. It was Pussy Wilmott, treading the hard way of the transgressor withher hair done most becomingly, and breathing a delicate violet fragrance. 

"Take him into the outer room, " directed the judge, "until I ring. "

The guard opened the door and motioned to Maître Pleindeaux, who passed outfirst, followed by the prisoner and then by the guard himself. At thethreshold Kittredge turned, and for a second his eyes met Pussy's eyes. 

"Please sit down, madam, " said the judge, and then for nearly half an hourhe talked to her, questioned her, tortured her. He knew all that Coquenilknew about her life, and more; all about her two divorces and her varioussentimental escapades. And he presented this knowledge with such startlingeffectiveness that before she had been five minutes in his presence poorPussy felt that he could lay bare the innermost secrets of her being. 

And, little by little, he dragged from her the story of her relations withKittredge, going back to their first acquaintance. This was in New Yorkabout a year before, while she was there on business connected with someproperty deeded to her by her second husband, in regard to which there hadbeen a lawsuit. Mr. Wilmott had not accompanied her on this trip, and, being much alone, as most of her friends were in the country, she had seena good deal of M. Kittredge, who frequently spent the evenings with her atthe Hotel Waldorf, where she was stopping. She had met him through mutualfriends, for he was well connected socially in New York, and had soon grownfond of him. He had been perfectly delightful to her, and--well, thingsmove rapidly in America, especially in hot weather, and before she realizedit or could prevent it, he was seriously infatuated, and--the end of itwas, when she returned to Paris he followed her on another steamer, anextremely foolish proceeding, as it involved his giving up a fine positionand getting into trouble with his family. 

"You say he had a fine position in New York?" questioned the judge. "Inwhat?"

"In a large real-estate company. "

"And he lived in a nice way? He had plenty of money?"

"For a young man, yes. He often took me to dinner and to the theater, andhe was always sending me flowers. "

"Did he ever give you presents?"

"Ye-es. "

"What did he give you?"

"He gave me a gold bag that I happened to admire one day at Tiffany's. "

"Was it solid gold?"

"Yes. "

"And you accepted it?"

Pussy flushed under the judge's searching look. "I wouldn't have acceptedit, but this happened just as I was sailing for France. He sent it to thesteamer. "

"Ah! Have you any idea how much M. Kittredge paid for that gold bag?"

"Yes, for I asked at Tiffany's here and they said the bag cost about fourhundred dollars. When I saw M. Kittredge in Paris I told him he was afoolish boy to have spent all that money, but he was so sweet about it andsaid he was so glad to give me pleasure that I hadn't the heart to refuseit. "

After a pause for dramatic effect the judge said impressively: "Madam, youmay be surprised to hear that M. Kittredge returned to France on the samesteamer that carried you. "

"No, no, " she declared, "I saw all the passengers, and he was not amongthem. "

"He was not among the first-cabin passengers. "

"You mean to say he went in the second cabin? I don't believe it. "

"No, " answered Hauteville with a grim smile, "he didn't go in the secondcabin, _he went in the steerage!_"

"In the steerage!" she murmured aghast. 

"And during the five or six months here in Paris, while he was dancingattendance on you, he was practically without resources. "

"I know better, " she insisted; "he took me out all the time and spent moneyfreely. "

The judge shook his head. "He spent on you what he got by pawning hisjewelry, by gambling, and sometimes by not eating. We have the facts. "

"_Mon Dieu!_" she shuddered. "And I never knew it! I never suspected it!"

"This is to make it quite clear that he loved you as very few women havebeen loved. Now I want to know why you quarreled with him six months ago?"

"I didn't quarrel with him, " she answered faintly. 

"You know what I mean. What caused the trouble between you?"

"I--I don't know. "

"Madam, I am trying to be patient, I wish to spare your feelings in everypossible way, but I _must_ have the truth. Was the trouble caused by thisother woman?"

"No, it came before he met her. "

"Ah! Which one of you was responsible for it?"

"I don't know; really, I don't know, " she insisted with a weary gesture. 

"Then I must do what I can to _make_ you know, " he replied impatiently, and reaching forward, he pressed the electric bell. 

"Bring back the prisoner, " he ordered, as the guard appeared, and a momentlater Kittredge was again in his place beside Maître Pleindeaux, with thewoman a few feet distant. 

"Now, " began Hauteville, addressing both Lloyd and Mrs. Wilmott, "I come toan important point. I have here a packet of letters written by you, Kittredge, to this lady. You have already identified the handwriting asyour own; and you, madam, will not deny that these letters were addressedto you. You admit that, do you not?"

"Yes, " answered Pussy weakly. 

The judge turned over the letters and selected one from which he read apassage full of passion. "Would any man write words like that to a womanunless he were her lover? Do you think he would?" He turned to Mrs. Wilmott, who sat silent, her eyes on the floor. "What do _you_ say, Kittredge?"

Lloyd met the judge's eyes unflinchingly, but he did not answer. 

Again Hauteville turned over the letters and selected another one. 

"Listen to this, both of you. " And he read a long passage from a letteroverwhelmingly compromising. There were references to the woman's physicalcharm, to the beauty of her body, to the deliciousness of her caresses--itwas a letter that could only have been written by a man in a transport ofpassion. Kittredge grew white as he listened, and Mrs. Wilmott burned withshame. 

"Is there any doubt about it?" pursued the judge pitilessly. "And I haveonly read two bits from two letters. There are many others. Now I want thetruth about this business. Come, the quickest way will be the easiest. "

He took out his watch and laid it on the desk before him. "Madam, I willgive you five minutes. Unless you admit within that time what is perfectlyevident, namely, that you were this man's mistress, I shall continue thereading of these letters _before your husband_. "

"You're taking a cowardly advantage of a woman!" she burst out. 

"No, " answered Hauteville sternly. "I am investigating a cowardly murder. "He glanced at his watch. "Four minutes!"

Then to Kittredge: "And unless _you_ admit this thing, I shall summon thegirl from Notre-Dame and let _her_ say what she thinks of thiscorrespondence. "

Lloyd staggered under the blow. He was fortified against everything butthis; he would endure prison, pain, humiliation, but he could not bear thethought that this fine girl, his Alice, who had taught him what love reallywas, this fond creature who trusted him, should be forced to hear thatshameful reading. 

"You wouldn't do that?" he pleaded. "I don't ask you to spare me--I've beenno saint, God knows, and I'll take my medicine, but you can't drag aninnocent girl into this thing just because you have the power. "

"Were you this woman's lover?" repeated the judge, and again he looked athis watch. "Three minutes!"

Kittredge was in torture. Once his eyes turned to Mrs. Wilmott in a messageof unspeakable bitterness. "You're a judge, " he said in a strained, tensevoice, "and I'm a prisoner; you have all the power and I have none, butthere's something back of that, something we both have, I mean a commonmanhood, and you know, if you have any sense of honor, that _no man_ has aright to ask another man that question. "

"The point is well taken, " approved Maître Pleindeaux. 

"Two minutes!" said Hauteville coldly. Then he turned to Mrs. Wilmott. "Your husband is now at his club, one of our men is there also, awaiting myorders. He will get them by telephone, and will bring your husband here ina swift automobile. _You have one minute left!_"

Then there was silence in that dingy chamber, heavy, agonizing silence. Fifteen seconds! Thirty seconds! The judge's eye was on his watch. Now hisarm reached toward the electric bell, and Pussy Wilmott's heart almoststopped beating. Now his firm red finger advanced toward the white button. 

Then she yielded. "Stop!" came her low cry. "He--he was my lover. "

"That is better!" said the judge, and the scratching of the _greffier's_pen recorded unalterably Mrs. Wilmott's avowal. 

"I don't suppose you will contradict the lady, " said Hauteville, turning toKittredge. "I take your silence as consent, and, after all, the lady'sconfession is sufficient. You were her lover. And the evidence shows thatyou committed a crime based on passionate jealousy and hatred of a rival. You knew that Martinez was to dine with your mistress in a private room;you arranged to be at the same restaurant, at the same hour, and by acunning and intricate plan, you succeeded in killing the man you hated. Wehave found the weapon of this murder, and it belongs to you; we have founda letter written by you full of violent threats against the murdered man;we have found footprints made by the assassin, and they absolutely fityour boots; in short, we have the fact of the murder, the motive for themurder, and the evidence that you committed the murder. What have you tosay for yourself?"

Kittredge thought a moment, and then said quietly: "The fact of the murderyou have, of course; the evidence against me you seem to have, although itis false evidence; but----"

"How do you mean false evidence? Do you deny threatening Martinez withviolence?"

"I threatened to punch his head; that is very different from killing him. "

"And the pistol? And the footprints?"

"I don't know, I can't explain it, but--I know I am innocent. You say I hada motive for this crime. You're mistaken, I had _no_ motive. "

"Passion and jealousy have stood as motives for murder from the beginningof time. "

"There was _no_ passion and _no_ jealousy, " answered Lloyd steadily. 

"Are you mocking me?" cried the judge. "What is there in these letters, " hetouched the packet before him, "but passion and jealousy? Didn't you giveup your position in America for this woman?"

"Yes, but----"

"Didn't you follow her to Europe in the steerage because of yourinfatuation? Didn't you bear sufferings and privations to be near her?Shall I go over the details of what you did, as I have them here, in orderto refresh your memory?"

"No, " said Kittredge hoarsely, and his eye was beginning to flame, "mymemory needs no refreshing; I know what I did, I know what I endured. Therewas passion enough and jealousy enough, but that was a year ago. If I hadfound her then dining with a man in a private room, I don't know what Imight have done. Perhaps I should have killed both of them and myself, too, for I was mad then; but my madness left me. You seem to know a great dealabout passion, sir; did you ever hear that it can change into loathing?"

"You mean--" began the judge with a puzzled look, while Mrs. Wilmottrecoiled in dismay. 

"I mean that I am fighting for my life, and now that _she_ has admittedthis thing, " he eyed the woman scornfully, "I am free to tell the truth, all of it. "

"That is what we want, " said Hauteville. 

"I thought I loved her with a fine, true love, but she showed me it wasonly a base imitation. I offered her my youth, my strength, my future, andshe would have taken them and--broken them and scattered them in my faceand--and laughed at me. When I found it out, I--well, never mind, but youcan bet all your pretty French philosophy I didn't go about Paris lookingfor billiard players to kill on her account. "

It was not a gallant speech, but it rang true, a desperate cry from thesoul depths of this unhappy man, and Pussy Wilmott shrank away as shelistened. 

"Then why did you quarrel with Martinez?" demanded the judge. 

"Because he was interfering with a woman whom I _did_ love and _would_fight for----"

"For God's sake, stop, " whispered the lawyer. 

"I mean I would fight for her if necessary, " added the American, "but I'dfight fair, I wouldn't shoot through any hole in a wall. "

"Then you consider your love for this other woman--I presume you mean thegirl at Notre-Dame?"

"Yes. "

"You consider your love for her a fine, pure love in contrast to the otherlove?"

"The other wasn't love at all, it was passion. "

"Yet you did more for this lady through passion, " he pointed to Mrs. Wilmott, "than you have ever done for the girl through your pure love. "

"That's not true, " cried Lloyd. "I was a fool through passion, I've beensomething like a man through love. I was selfish and reckless throughpassion, I've been a little unselfish and halfway decent through love. Iwas a gambler and a pleasure seeker through passion, I've gone to work at amean little job and stuck to it and lived on what I've earned--throughlove. Do you think it's easy to give up gambling? Try it! Do you think it'seasy to live in a measly little room up six flights of black, smellystairs, with no fire in winter? Anyhow, it wasn't easy for me, but I didit--through love, yes, sir, _pure_ love. "

As Hauteville listened, his frown deepened, his eyes grew harder. "That'sall very fine, " he objected, "but if you hated this woman, why did you riskprison and--worse, to get her things? You knew what you were risking, Isuppose?"

"Yes, I knew. "

"Why did you do it?"

Kittredge hesitated. "I did it for--for what she had been to me. It meantruin and disgrace for her and--well, if she could ask such a thing, I couldgrant it. It was like paying a debt, and--I paid mine. "

The judge turned to Mrs. Wilmott: "Did you know that he had ceased to loveyou?"

Pussy Wilmott, with her fine eyes to the floor, answered almost in awhisper: "Yes, I knew it. "

"Do you know what he means by saying that you would have spoiled his lifeand--and all that?"

"N-not exactly. "

"You _do_ know!" cried the American. "You know I had given you my life insacred pledge, and you made a plaything of it. You told me you wereunhappy, married to a man you loathed, a dull brute; but when I offered youfreedom and my love, you drew back. When I begged you to leave him andbecome my wife, with the law's sanction, you said no, because I was poorand he was rich. You wanted a lover, but you wanted your luxury, too; and Isaw that what I had thought the call of your soul was only the call of yourbody. Your beauty had blinded me, your eyes, your mouth, your voice, thesmell of you, the taste of you, the devilish siren power of you, all thesehad blinded me. I saw that your talk about love was a lie. Love! What didyou know about love? You wanted me, along with your ease and yourpleasures, as a coarse creator of sensations, and you couldn't have me onthose terms. In my madness I would have done anything for you, borneanything; I would have starved for you, toiled for you, yes, gladly; butyou didn't want that kind of sacrifice. You couldn't see why I worriedabout money. There was plenty for us both where yours came from. God! Whereyours came from! Why couldn't I leave well enough alone and enjoy an easylife in Paris, with a nicely furnished _rez de chaussée_ off the ChampsElysées, where madam could drive up in her carriage after luncheon andbreak the Seventh Commandment comfortably three of four afternoons a week, and be home in time to dress for dinner! That was what you wanted, " hepaused and searched deep into her eyes as she cowered before him, "but_that was what you couldn't have!_"

"On the whole, I think he's guilty, " concluded the judge an hour later, speaking to Coquenil, who had been looking over the secretary's record ofthe examination. 

"Queer!" muttered the detective. "He says he had three pairs of boots. "

"He talks too much, " continued Hauteville; "his whole plea was ranting. It's a _crime passionel_, if ever there was one, and--I shall commit himfor trial. "

Coquenil was not listening; he had drawn two squares of shiny paper fromhis pocket, and was studying them with a magnifying glass. The judge lookedat him in surprise. 

"Do you hear what I say?" he repeated. "I shall commit him for trial. "

M. Paul glanced up with an absent expression. "It's circumstantialevidence, " was all he said, and he went back to his glass. 

"Yes, but a strong chain of it. "

"A strong chain, " mused the other, then suddenly his face lighted and hesprang to his feet. "Great God of Heaven!" he cried in excitement, andhurrying to the window he stood there in the full light, his eye glued tothe magnifying glass, his whole soul concentrated on those two pieces ofpaper, evidently photographs. 

"What is it? What have you found?" asked the judge. 

"I have found a weak link that breaks your whole chain, " triumphed M. Paul. "The alleyway footprints are _not_ identical with the soles of Kittredge'sboots. "

"But you said they were, the experts said they were. "

"We were mistaken; they are _almost_ identical, but not quite; in shape andsize they are identical, in the number and placing of the nails in the heelthey are identical, in the worn places they are identical, but when youcompare them under the magnifying glass, this photograph of the footprintswith this one of the boot soles, you see unmistakable differences in thescratches on separate nails in the heel, unmistakable differences. "

Hauteville shrugged his shoulders. "That's cutting it pretty fine tocompare microscopic scratches on the heads of small nails. "

"Not at all. Don't we compare microscopic lines on criminals' thumbs?Besides, it's perfectly plain, " insisted Coquenil, absorbed in hiscomparison. "I can count forty or fifty nail heads in the heel, and _none_of them correspond under the glass; those that should be alike are _not_alike. There are slight differences in size, in position, in wear; they arenot the same set of nails; it's impossible. Look for yourself. Compare anytwo and you'll see _that they were never in the same pair of boots!_"

With an incredulous movement Hauteville took the glass, and in his turnstudied the photographs. As he looked, his frown deepened. 

"It seems true, it certainly seems true, " he grumbled, "but--how do youaccount for it?"

Coquenil smiled in satisfied conviction. "Kittredge told you he had threepairs of boots; they were machine made and the same size; he says he keptthem all going, so they were all worn approximately alike. We have the pairthat he wore that night, and another pair found in his room, but the thirdpair is missing. _It's the third pair of boots that made those alleywayfootprints!_"

"Then you think--" began the judge. 

"I think we shall have found Martinez's murderer when we find the man whostole that third pair of boots. "

"Stole them?"

Coquenil nodded. 

"But that is all conjecture. "

"It won't be conjecture to-morrow morning--it will be absolute proof, unless----"

"Unless what?"

"Unless Kittredge lied when he told that girl he had never suffered withgout or rheumatism. "

CHAPTER XVII

"FROM HIGHER UP"

A great detective must have infinite patience. That is, the quality next toimagination that will serve him best. Indeed, without patience, hisimagination will serve him but indifferently. Take, for instance, so smalla thing as the auger used at the Ansonia. Coquenil felt sure it had beenbought for the occasion--billiard players do not have augers convenientlyat hand. It was probably a new one, and somewhere in Paris there was aclerk who _might_ remember selling it and _might_ be able to say whetherthe purchaser was Martinez or some other man. M. Paul believed it wasanother man. His imagination told him that the person who committed thiscrime had suggested the manner of it, and overseen the details of it downto even the precise placing of the eye holes. It must be so or the planwould not have succeeded. The assassin, then, was a friend ofMartinez--that is, the Spaniard had considered him a friend, and, as it wasof the last importance that these holes through the wall be large enoughand not too large, this friend might well have seen personally to thepurchase of the auger, not leaving it to a rattle-brained billiard playerwho, doubtless, regarded the whole affair as a joke. It was _not_ a joke!

So, as part of his day's work, M. Paul had taken steps for the finding ofthis smallish object dropped into the Seine by Pussy Wilmott, and, betimeson the morning after that lady's examination, a diver began work along theConcorde bridge under the guidance of a young detective named Bobet, selected for this duty by M. Paul himself. This was _one_ thread to befollowed, a thread that might lead poor Bobet through weary days and nightsuntil, among all the hardware shops in Paris, he had found the particularone where that particular auger had been sold!

Another thread, meanwhile, was leading another trustworthy man in and outamong friends of Martinez, whom he must study one by one until the falsefriend had been discovered. And another thread was hurrying still anotherman along the trail of the fascinating Anita, for Coquenil wanted to findout _why_ she had changed her mind that night, and what she knew about thekey to the alleyway door. Somebody gave that key to the assassin!

Besides all this, and more important, M. Paul had planned a piece of workfor Papa Tignol when the old man reported for instructions this sameWednesday morning just as the detective was finishing his chocolate andtoast under the trees in the garden. 

"Ah, Tignol!" he exclaimed with a buoyant smile. "It's a fine day, all thebirds are singing and--we're going to do great things. " He rubbed his handsexultantly, "I want you to do a little job at the Hôtel des Étrangers, where Kittredge lived. You are to take a room on the sixth floor, ifpossible, and spend your time playing the flute. "

"Playing the flute?" gasped Tignol. "I don't know how to play the flute. "

"All the better! Spend your time learning! There is no one who gets soquickly in touch with his neighbors as a man learning to play the flute. "

"Ah!" grinned the other shrewdly. "You're after information from the sixthfloor?"

M. Paul nodded and told his assistant exactly what he wanted. 

"Eh, eh!" chuckled the old man. "A droll idea! I'll learn to play theflute!"

"Meet me at nine to-night at the Three Wise Men and--good luck. I'm off tothe Santé. "

As he drove to the prison Coquenil thought with absorbed interest of thetest he was planning to settle this question of the footprints. He wassatisfied, from a study of the plaster casts, that the assassin had limpedslightly on his left foot as he escaped through the alleyway. Theimpressions showed this, the left heel being heavily marked, while the ballof the left foot was much fainter, as if the left ankle movement had beenhampered by rheumatism or gout. It was for this reason that Coquenil hadbeen at such pains to learn whether Kittredge suffered from these maladies. It appeared that he did not. Indeed, M. Paul himself remembered the youngman's quick, springy step when he left the cab that fatal night to enterBonneton's house. So now he proposed to make Lloyd walk back and forthseveral times in a pair of his own boots over soft earth in the prison yardand then show that impressions of these new footprints were different _inthe pressure marks_, and probably in the length of stride, from those leftin the alleyway. This would be further indication, along with thedifferences already noted in the nails, that the alleyway footprints werenot made by Kittredge. 

Not made by Kittredge, reflected the detective, but by a man wearingKittredge's boots, a man wearing the missing third pair, the stolen pair!Ah, there was a nut to crack! This man must have stolen the boots, as hehad doubtless stolen the pistol, to throw suspicion on an innocent person. No other conclusion was possible; yet, he had not returned the boots toKittredge's room after the crime. Why not? It was essential to his purposethat they be found in Kittredge's room, he must have intended to returnthem, something quite unforeseen must have prevented him from doing so. _What had prevented the assassin from returning Kittredge's boots?_

As soon as Coquenil reached the prison he was shown into the director'sprivate room, and he noticed that M. Dedet received him with a strangemixture of surliness and suspicion. 

"What's the trouble?" asked the detective. 

"Everything, " snarled the other, then he burst out: "What the devil did youmean by sending that girl to me?"

"What did I mean?" repeated Coquenil, puzzled by the jailer's hostility. "Didn't she tell you what she wanted?"

Dedet made no reply, but unlocking a drawer, he searched among someenvelopes, and producing a square of faded blotting paper, he opened itbefore his visitor. 

"There!" he said, and with a heavy finger he pointed to a scrawl of words. "There's what she wrote, and you know damned well you put her up to it. "

Coquenil studied the words with increasing perplexity. "I have no idea whatthis means, " he declared. 

"You lie!" retorted the jailer. 

M. Paul sprang to his feet. "Take that back, " he ordered with a look ofmenace, and the rough man grumbled an apology. "Just the same, " hemuttered, "it's mighty queer how she knew it unless you told her. "

"Knew what?"

The jailer eyed Coquenil searchingly. "_Nom d'un chien_, I guess you'restraight, after all, but--_how_ did she come to write that?" He scratchedhis dull head in mystification. 

"I have no idea. "

"See here, " went on Dedet, almost appealingly, "do you believe a girl Inever saw could know a thing about me that _nobody_ knows?"

"Strange!" mused the detective. "Is it an important thing?"

"Is it? If it hadn't been about the _most_ important thing, do you thinkI'd have broken a prison rule and let her see that man? Well, I guess not. But I was up against it and--I took a chance. "

Coquenil thought a moment. "I don't suppose you want to tell me what thesewords mean that she wrote?"

"No, I don't, " said the jailer dryly. 

"All right. Anyhow, you see I had nothing to do with it. " He paused, andthen in a businesslike tone: "Well, I'd better get to work. I want thatprisoner out in the courtyard. "

"Can't have him. "

"No? Here's the judge's order. "

But the other shook his head. "I've had later orders, just got 'em over thetelephone, saying you're not to see the prisoner. "

"What?"

"That's right, and _he_ wants to see you. "

"He? Who?"

"The judge. They've called me down, now it's your turn. "

Coquenil took off his glasses and rubbed them carefully. Then, without morediscussion, he left the prison and drove directly to the Palais de Justice;he was perplexed and indignant, and vaguely anxious. What did this mean?What could it mean?

As he approached the lower arm of the river where it enfolds the old islandcity, he saw Bobet sauntering along the quay and drew up to speak to him. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "I told you to watch that diver. "

The young detective shrugged his shoulders. "The job's done, he found theauger. "

"Ah! Where is it?"

"I gave it to M. Gibelin. "

Coquenil could scarcely believe his ears. 

"You gave the auger to Gibelin? Why?"

"Because he told me to. "

"You must be crazy! Gibelin had nothing to do with this. You take yourorders from me. "

"Do I?" laughed the other. "M. Gibelin says I take orders from him. "

"We'll see about this, " muttered M. Paul, and crossing the little bridge, he entered the courtyard of the Palais de Justice and hurried up to theoffice of Judge Hauteville. On the stairs he met Gibelin, fat andperspiring. 

"See here, " he said abruptly, "what have you done with that auger?"

"Put it in the department of old iron, " rasped the other. "We can't wastetime on foolish clews. "

Coquenil glared at him. "We can't, eh? I suppose _you_ have decided that?"

"Precisely, " retorted Gibelin, his red mustache bristling. 

"And you've been giving orders to young Bobet?"

"Yes, sir. "

"By what authority?"

"Go in there and you'll find out, " sneered the fat man, jerking a derisivethumb toward Hauteville's door. 

A moment later M. Paul entered the judge's private room, and the latter, rising from his desk, came forward with a look of genuine friendliness andconcern. 

"My dear Coquenil, " exclaimed Hauteville, with cordial hand extended. "I'mglad to see you but--you must prepare for bad news. "

Coquenil eyed him steadily. "I see, they have taken me off this case. "

The judge nodded gravely. "Worse than that, they have taken you off theforce. Your commission is canceled. "

"But--but why?" stammered the other. 

"For influencing Dedet to break a rule about a prisoner _au secret_; as amatter of fact, you were foolish to write that letter. "

"I thought the girl might get important evidence from her lover. "

"No doubt, but you ought to have asked me for an order. I would have givenit to you, and then there would have been no trouble. "

"It was late and the matter was urgent. After all you approve of what Idid?"

"Yes, but not of the way you did it. Technically you were at fault, and--I'm afraid you will have to suffer. "

M. Paul thought a moment. 

"Did you make the complaint against me?"

"No, no! Between ourselves, I should have passed the thing over asunimportant, but--well, the order came from higher up. "

"You mean the chief revoked my commission?"

"I don't know, I haven't seen the chief, but the order came from hisoffice. "

"With this prison affair given as the reason?"

"Yes. "

"And now Gibelin is in charge of the case?"

"Yes. "

"And I am discharged from the force? Discharged in disgrace?"

"It's a great pity, but----"

"Do you think I'll stand for it? Do you know me so little as that?" cut inthe other with increasing heat. 

"I don't see what you're going to do, " opposed the judge mildly. 

"You don't? Then I'll tell you that--" Coquenil checked himself at a suddenthought. "After all, what I do is not important, but I'll tell you whatGibelin will do, and that _is_ important, _he will let this American go totrial and be found guilty for want of evidence that would save him_. "

"Not if I can help it, " replied Hauteville, ruffled at this reflection onhis judicial guidance of the investigation. 

"No offense, " said M. Paul, "but this is a case where even as able a judgeas yourself must have special assistance and--Gibelin couldn't find thetruth in a thousand years. Do _you_ think he's fit to handle this case?"

"Officially I have no opinion, " answered Hauteville guardedly, "but I don'tmind telling you personally that I--I'm sorry to lose you. "

"Thanks, " said M. Paul. "I think I'll have a word with the chief. "

In the outer office Coquenil learned that M. Simon was just then inconference with one of the other judges and for some minutes he walkedslowly up and down the long corridor, smiling bitterly, until presentlyone of the doors opened and the chief came out followed by a black beardedjudge, who was bidding him obsequious farewell. 

As M. Simon moved away briskly, his eye fell on the waiting detective, andhis genial face clouded. 

"Ah, Coquenil, " he said, and with a kindly movement he took M. Paul's armin his. "I want a word with you--over here, " and he led the way to a widewindow space. "I'm sorry about this business. "

"Sorry?" exclaimed M. Paul. "So is Hauteville sorry, but--if you're sorry, why did you let the thing happen?"

"Not so loud, " cautioned M. Simon. "My dear fellow, I assure you I couldn'thelp it, I had nothing to do with it. "

Coquenil stared at him incredulously. "Aren't you chief of the detectivebureau?"

"Yes, " answered the other in a low tone, "but the order came from--fromhigher up. "

"You mean from the _préfet de police?_"

M. Simon laid a warning finger on his lips. "This is in strictestconfidence, the order came through his office, but I don't believe the_préfet_ issued it personally. _It came from higher up!_"

"From higher up!" repeated M. Paul, and his thoughts flashed back to thatsinister meeting on the Champs Elysées, to that harsh voice and flauntingdefiance. 

"He said he had power, that left-handed devil, " muttered the detective, "hesaid he had the biggest kind of power, and--I guess he has. "

CHAPTER XVIII

A LONG LITTLE FINGER

Coquenil kept his appointment that night at the Three Wise Men and foundPapa Tignol waiting for him, his face troubled even to the tip of hisluminous purple nose. In vain the old man tried to show interest in aneighboring game of dominoes; the detective saw at a glance that hisfaithful friend had heard the bad news and was mourning over it. 

"Ah, M. Paul, " cried Tignol. "This is a pretty thing they tell me. _Nomd'un chien_, what a pack of fools they are!"

"Not so loud, " cautioned Coquenil with a quiet smile. "It's all right, PapaTignol, it's all for the best. "

"All for the best?" stared the other. "But if you're off the force?"

"Wait a little and you'll understand, " said the detective in a low tone, then as the tavern door opened: "Here is Pougeot! I telephoned him. Goodevening, Lucien, " and he shook hands cordially with the commissary, whoseface wore a serious, inquiring look. "Will you have something, or shall wemove on?" and, under his breath, he added: "Say you don't want anything. "

"I don't want anything, " obeyed Pougeot with a puzzled glance. 

"Then come, it's a quarter past ten, " and tossing some money to the waiter, Coquenil led the way out. 

Drawn up in front of the tavern was a taxi-auto, the chauffeur bundled upto the ears in bushy gray furs, despite the mild night. There was aleather bag beside him. 

"Is this your man?" asked Pougeot. 

"Yes, " said M. Paul, "get in. If you don't mind I'll lower this frontwindow so that we can feel the air. " Then, when the commissary and Tignolwere seated, he gave directions to the driver. "We will drive through the_bois_ and go out by the Porte Dauphine. Not too fast. "

The man touched his cap respectfully, and a few moments later they wererunning smoothly to the west, over the wooden pavement of the Rue deRivoli. 

"Now we can talk, " said Coquenil with an air of relief. "I suppose you bothknow what has happened?"

The two men replied with sympathetic nods. 

"I regard you, Lucien, as my best friend, and you, Papa Tignol, are theonly man on the force I believe I can absolutely trust. "

Tignol bobbed his little bullet head back and forth, and pulled furiouslyat his absurd black mustache. This, was the greatest compliment he had everreceived. The commissary laid an affectionate hand on Coquenil's arm. "Youknow I'll stand by you absolutely, Paul; I'll do anything that is possible. How do you feel about this thing yourself?"

"I felt badly at first, " answered the other. "I was mortified and bitter. You know what I gave up to undertake this case, and you know how I havethrown myself into it. This is Wednesday night, the crime was committedlast Saturday, and in these four days I haven't slept twelve hours. As toeating--well, never mind that. The point is, I was in it, heart and soul, and--now I'm out of it. "

"An infernal shame!" muttered Tignol. 

"Perhaps not. I've done some hard thinking since I got word this morningthat my commission was canceled, and I have reached an importantconclusion. In the first place, I am not sure that I haven't fallen intothe old error of allowing my judgment to be too much influenced by apreconceived theory. I wouldn't admit this for the world to anyone but youtwo. I'd rather cut my tongue out than let Gibelin know it. Careful, there, " he said sharply, as their wheels swung dangerously near a stoneshelter in the Place de la Concorde. 

Both Pougeot and Tignol noted with surprise the half-resigned, half-discouraged tone of the famous detective. 

"You don't mean that you think the American may be guilty?" questioned thecommissary. 

"Never in the world!" grumbled Tignol. 

"I don't say he is guilty, " answered M. Paul, "but I am not so sure he isinnocent. And, if there is doubt about that, then there is doubt whetherthis case is really a great one. I have assumed that Martinez was killed byan extraordinary criminal, for some extraordinary reason, but--I may havebeen mistaken. "

"Of course, " agreed Pougeot. "And if you were mistaken?"

"Then I've been wasting my time on a second-class investigation that asecond-class man like Gibelin could have carried on as well as I; andlosing the Rio Janeiro offer besides. " He leaned forward suddenly towardthe chauffeur. "See here, what are you trying to do?" As he spoke theybarely escaped colliding with a cab coming down the Champs Elysées. 

"It was his fault; one of his lanterns is out, " declared the chauffeur, and, half turning, he exchanged curses with the departing jehu. 

They had now reached Napoleon's arch, and, at greater speed, the automobiledescended the Avenue de la Grande Armée. 

"Are you thinking of accepting the Rio Janeiro offer?" asked the commissarypresently. 

"Very seriously; but I don't know whether it's still open. I thoughtperhaps you would go to the Brazilian Embassy and ask about it delicately. I don't like to go myself, after this affair. Do you mind?"

"No, I don't mind, of course I don't mind, " answered, Pougeot, "but, mydear Paul, aren't you a little on your nerves to-night; oughtn't you tothink the whole matter over before deciding?"

"That's right, " agreed Tignol. 

"What is there to think about?" said Coquenil. "If you've got anything tosay, either of you, say it now. Run on through the _bois_, " he directed thechauffeur, "and then out on the St. Cloud road. This air is doing me a lotof good, " he added, drawing in deep breaths. 

For some minutes they sat silent, speeding along through the Bois deBoulogne, dimly beautiful under a crescent moon, on past crowdedrestaurants with red-clad musicians on the terraces, on past the silentlake and then through narrow and deserted roads until they had crossed thegreat park and emerged upon the high-way. 

"Where are we going, anyway?" inquired Tignol. 

"For a little ride, for a little change, " sighed M. Paul. 

"Come, come, " urged Pougeot, "you are giving way too much. Now listen tome. "

Then, clearly and concisely, the commissary went over the situation, considering his friend's problem from various points of view; and soabsorbed was he in fairly setting forth the advantages and disadvantages ofthe Rio Janeiro position that he did not observe Coquenil's utterindifference to what he was saying. But Papa Tignol saw this, andgradually, as he watched the detective with his shrewd little eyes, itdawned upon the old man that they were not speeding along here in thenight, a dozen miles out of Paris, simply for their health, but thatsomething special was preparing. 

"What in the mischief is Coquenil up to?" wondered Tignol. 

And presently, even Pougeot, in spite of his preoccupation, began torealize that there was something peculiar about this night promenade, foras they reached a crossroad, M. Paul ordered the chauffeur to turn into itand go ahead as fast as he pleased. The chauffeur hesitated, muttered somewords of protest, and then obeyed. 

"We are getting right out into wild country, " remarked the commissary. 

"Don't you like wild country?" laughed Coquenil. "I do. " It was plain thathis spirits were reviving. 

They ran along this rough way for several miles, and presently came to asmall house standing some distance back from the road. 

"Stop here!" ordered the detective. "Now, " he turned to Pougeot, "I shalllearn something that may fix my decision. " Then, leaning forward to thechauffeur, he said impressively: "Ten francs extra if you help me now. "

These words had an immediate effect upon the man, who touched his cap andasked what he was to do. 

"Go to this house, " pointed M. Paul, "ring the bell and ask if there is anote for M. Robert. If there is, bring the note to me; if there isn't, never mind. If anyone asks who sent you, say M. Robert himself. Understand?"

"_Oui, m'sieur_, " replied the chauffeur, and, saluting again, he strodeaway toward the house. 

The detective watched his receding figure as it disappeared in the shadows, then he called out: "Wait, I forgot something. "

The chauffeur turned obediently and came back. 

"Take a good look at him now, " said Coquenil to Tignol in a low tone. Thento the man: "There's a bad piece of ground in the yard; you'd better havethis, " and, without warning, he flashed his electric lantern full in thechauffeur's face. 

"_Merci, m'sieur, _" said the latter stolidly after a slight start, andagain he moved away, while Tignol clutched M. Paul's arm in excitement. 

"You saw him?" whispered the detective. 

"Did I see him!" exulted the other. "Oh, the cheek of that fellow!"

"You recognized him?"

"Did I? I'd know those little pig eyes anywhere. And that brush of amustache! Only half of it was blacked. "

"Good; that's all I want, " and, stepping out of the auto, Coquenil changedquickly to the front seat. Then he drew the starting lever and the machinebegan to move. 

"Halloa! What are you doing?" cried the chauffeur, running toward them. 

"Going back to Paris!" laughed Coquenil. "Hope you find the walking good, Gibelin!"

"It's only fifteen miles, " taunted Tignol. 

"You loafer, you blackguard, you dirty dog!" yelled Gibelin, dancing in arage. 

"Try to be more original in your detective work, " called M. Paul. "_Aurevoir_. "

They shot away rapidly, while the outraged and discomfited fat man stood inthe middle of the road hurling after them torrents of blasphemous abusethat soon grew faint and died away. 

"What in the world does this mean?" asked Pougeot in astonishment. 

Coquenil slowed down the machine and turned. "I can't talk now; I've got todrive this thing. It's lucky I know how. "

"But--just a moment. That note for M. Robert? There was _no_ Robert?"

"Of course not. "

"And--and you knew it was Gibelin all the time?"

"Yes. Be patient, Lucien, until we get back and I'll tell you everything. "

The run to Paris took nearly an hour, for they made a détour, and Coquenildrove cautiously; but they arrived safely, shortly after one, and left theautomobile at the company's garage, with the explanation (readily accepted, since a police commissary gave it) that the man who belonged with themachine had met with an accident; indeed, this was true, for the genuinechauffeur had used Gibelin's bribe money in unwise libations and appearedthe next morning with a battered head and a glib story that was never fullyinvestigated. 

"Now, " said Coquenil, as they left the garage, "where can we go and bequiet? A café is out of the question--we mustn't be seen. Ah, that room youwere to take, " he turned to Tignol. "Did you get it?"

"I should say I did, " grumbled the old man, "I've something to tell you. "

"Tell me later, " cut in the detective. "We'll go there. We can havesomething to eat sent in and--" he smiled indulgently at Tignol--"andsomething to drink. Hey, _cocher!_" he called to a passing cab, and amoment later the three men were rolling away to the Latin Quarter, withCoquenil's leather bag on the front seat. 

"_Enfin!_" sighed Pougeot, when they were finally settled in Tignol's room, which they reached after infinite precautions, for M. Paul seemed toimagine that all Paris was in a conspiracy to follow them. 

"I've been watched every minute since I started on this case, " he saidthoughtfully. "My house has been watched, my servant has been watched, myletters have been opened; there isn't one thing I've done that they don'tknow. "

"They? Who?" asked the commissary. 

"Ah, who?" repeated M. Paul. "If I only knew. You saw what they did withGibelin to-night, set him after me when he is supposed to be handling thiscase. Fancy that! Who gave Gibelin his orders? Who had the authority?That's what I want to know. Not the chief, I swear; the chief is straightin this thing. _It's some one above the chief_. Lucien, I told you this wasa great case and--it is. "

"Then you didn't mean what you were saying in the automobile about havingdoubts?"

"Not a word of it. "

"That was all for Gibelin?"

"Exactly. There's a chance that he may believe it, or believe some of it. He's such a conceited ass that he may think I only discovered him just atthe last. "

"And you're _not_ thinking of going to Rio Janeiro?"

Coquenil shut his teeth hard, and there came into his eyes a look ofindomitable purpose. "Not while the murderer of Martinez is walking aboutthis town laughing at me. I expect to do some laughing myself before I getthrough with this case. "

Both men stared at him. "But you are through. "

"Am I? Ha! Through? I want to tell you, my friends, that I've barelybegun. "

"My dear Paul, " reasoned the commissary, "what can you do off the force?How can you hope to succeed single-handed, when it was hard to succeed withthe whole prefecture to help you?"

Coquenil paused, and then said mysteriously: "That's the point, _did_ theyhelp me? Or hinder me? One thing is certain: that if I work alone, I won'thave to make daily reports for the guidance of some one higher up. "

"You don't mean--" began the commissary with a startled look. 

M. Paul nodded gravely. "I certainly do--there's no other way of explainingthe facts. I was discharged for a trivial offense just as I had evidencethat would prove this American innocent. They don't _want_ him provedinnocent. And they are so afraid I will discover the truth that they letthe whole investigation wait while Gibelin shadows me. Well, he's off mytrack now, and by to-morrow they can search Paris with a fine-tooth comband they won't find a trace of Paul Coquenil. "

"You're going away?"

"No. I'm going to--to disappear, " smiled the detective. "I shall work inthe dark, and, when the time comes, I'll _strike_ in the dark. "

"You'll need money?"

Coquenil shook his head. "I have all the money I want, and know where to gofor more. Besides, my old partner here is going to lay off for a few weeksand work with me. Eh, Papa Tignol?"

Tignol's eyes twinkled. "A few weeks or a few months is all the same to me. I'll follow you to the devil, M. Paul. "

"That's right, that's where we're going. And when I need you, Lucien, you'll hear from me. I wanted you to understand the situation. I may haveto call on you suddenly; you may get some strange message by some queermessenger. Look at this ring. Will you know it? A brown stone marked withGreek characters. It's debased Greek. The stone was dug up near Smyrna, where it had lain for fourteen hundred years. It's a talisman. You'lllisten to anyone who brings you this ring, old friend? Eh?"

Pougeot grasped M. Paul's hand and wrung it affectionately. "And honor hisrequest to the half of my kingdom, " he laughed, but his eyes were moist. Hehad a vivid impression that his friend was entering on a way of great andunknown peril. 

"Well, " said Coquenil cheerfully, "I guess that's all for to-night. There'sa couple of hours' work still for Papa Tignol and me, but it's half pasttwo, Lucien, and, unless you think of something----"

"No, except to wish you luck, " replied the commissary, and he started togo. 

"Wait, " put in Tignol, "there's something _I_ think of. You forget I'vebeen playing the flute to-day. "

"Ah, yes, of course! Any news?" questioned the detective. 

The old man rubbed his nose meditatively. "My news is asleep in the nextroom. If it wasn't so late I'd bring him in. He's a little shrimp of aphotographer, but--he's seen your murderer, all right. "

"The devil!" started M. Paul. "Where?"

Tignol drew back the double doors of a long window, and pointed out to abalcony running along the front of the hotel. 

"There! Let me tell you first how this floor is arranged. There are sixrooms opening on that balcony. See here, " and taking a sheet of paper, hemade a rough diagram. 

[Illustration: Diagram of floor-plan of rooms. ]

"Now, then, " continued Papa Tignol, surveying his handiwork with pride, "Ithink that is clear. B, here, is the balcony just outside, and there arethe six rooms with windows opening on it. We are in this room D, and myfriend, the little photographer, is in the next room E, peacefullysleeping; but he wasn't peaceful when he came home to-night and heard meplaying that flute, although I played in my best manner, eh, eh! He stoodit for about ten minutes, and then, eh, eh! It was another case of throughthe wall, first one boot, bang! then another boot, smash! only there wereno holes for the boots to come through. And then it was profanity! For asmall man he had a great deal of energy, eh, eh! that shrimp photographer!I called him a shrimp when he came bouncing in here. "

"Well, well?" fretted Coquenil. 

"Then we got acquainted. I apologized and offered him beer, which helikes; then he apologized and told me his troubles. Poor fellow, I don'twonder his nerves are unstrung! He's in love with a pretty dressmaker wholives in this room C. She is fair but fickle--he tells me she has made himunhappy by flirting with a medical student who lives in this room G. Just aminute, I'm coming to the point. 

"It seems the little photographer has been getting more and more jealouslately. He was satisfied that his lady love and the medical student usedthis balcony as a lover's lane, and he began lying in wait at his windowfor the medical student to steal past toward the dress-maker's room. "

"Yes?" urged the detective with growing interest. 

"For several nights last week he waited and nothing happened. But he's apatient little shrimp, so he waited again Saturday night and--something_did_ happen. Saturday night!"

"The night of the murder, " reflected the commissary. 

"That's it. It was a little after midnight, he says, and suddenly, as hestood waiting and listening, he heard a cautious step coming along thebalcony from the direction of the medical student's room, G. Then he saw aman pass his window, and he was sure it was the medical student. He steppedout softly and followed him as far as the window of room C. Then, feelingcertain his suspicions were justified, he sprang upon the man from behind, intending to chastise him, but he had caught the wrong pig by the ear, forthe man turned on him like a flash and--_it wasn't the medical student_. "

"Who was it? Go on!" exclaimed the others eagerly. 

"He doesn't know who it was, or anything about the man except that his handshut like a vise on the shrimp's throat and nearly choked the life out ofhim. You can see the nail marks still on the cheek and neck; but heremembers distinctly that the man carried something in his hand. "

"My God! The missing pair of boots!" cried Coquenil. "Was it?"

Tignol nodded. "Sure! He was carrying 'em loose in his hand. I mean theywere not wrapped up, he was going to leave 'em in Kittredge's room--here itis, A. " He pointed to the diagram. 

"It's true, it must be true, " murmured M. Paul. "And what then?"

"Nothing. I guess the man saw it was only a shrimp he had hold of, so heshook him two or three times and dropped him back into his own room; _andhe never said a word_. "

"And the boots?"

"He must have taken the boots with him. The shrimp peeped out and saw himgo back into this room F, which has been empty for several weeks. Then heheard steps on the stairs and the slam of the heavy street door. The manwas gone. "

Coquenil's face grew somber. "It was the assassin, " he said; "there's nodoubt about it. "

"Mightn't it have been some one he sent?" suggested Pougeot. 

"No--that would have meant trusting his secret to another man, and hehasn't trusted anyone. Besides, the fierce way he turned on thephotographer shows his nervous tension. It was the murderer himself and--"The detective stopped short at the flash of a new thought. "Great heavens!"he cried, "I can prove it, I can settle the thing right now. You say hisnail marks show?"

Tignol shrugged his shoulders. "They show as little scratches, but notenough for any funny business with a microscope. "

"Little scratches are all I want, " said the other, snapping his fingersexcitedly. "It's simply a question which side of his throat bears the thumbmark. We know the murderer is a left-handed man, and, being suddenlyattacked, he certainly used the full strength of his left hand in the firstdesperate clutch. He was facing the man as he took him by the throat, so, if he used his left hand, the thumb mark must be on the left side of thephotographer's throat, whereas if a right-handed man had done it, the thumbmark would be on the right side. Stand up here and take me by the throat. That's it! Now with your left hand! Don't you see?"

"Yes, " said Tignol, making the experiment, "I see. "

"Now bring the man in here, wake him, tell him--tell him anything you like. I must know this. "

"I'll get him in, " said the commissary. "Come, " and he followed Tignol intothe hall. 

A few moments later they returned with a thin, sleepy little person wrappedin a red dressing gown. It was the shrimp. 

"There!" exclaimed Papa Tignol with a gesture of satisfaction. 

The photographer, under the spell of Pougeot's authority, stood meekly forinspection, while Coquenil, holding a candle close, studied the marks onhis face. There, plainly marked _on the left side of the throat_ was asingle imprint, the curving red mark where a thumb nail had closed hardagainst the jugular vein (this man knew the deadly pressure points), whileon the right side of the photographer's face were prints of the fingers. 

"He used his left hand, all right, " said Coquenil, "and, _sapristi_, he hadsharp nails!"

"_Parbleu!_" mumbled the shrimp. 

"Here over the cheek bone is the mark of his first finger. And here, infront of the ear, is his second finger, and here is his third finger, justbehind the ear, and here, way down on the neck, is his little finger. Lordof heaven, what a reach! Let's see if I can put my fingers on these marks. There's the thumb, there's the first finger--stand still, I won't hurt you!There's the second finger, and the third, and--look at that, see that markof the little finger nail. I've got long fingers myself, but I can't comewithin an inch of it. You try. "

[Illustration: "'Stand still, I won't hurt you. '"]

Patiently the photographer stood still while the commissary and Tignoltried to stretch their fingers over the red marks that scarred hiscountenance. And neither of them succeeded. They could cover all the marksexcept that of the little finger, which was quite beyond their reach. 

"He has a very long little finger, " remarked the commissary, and, in aninstant, Coquenil remembered Alice's words that day as she looked at hisplaster casts. 

A very long little finger! Here it was! One that must equal the length ofthat famous seventeenth-century criminal's little finger in his collection. But _this_ man was living! He had brought back Kittredge's boots! He wasleft-handed! He had a very long little finger! _And Alice knew such a man!_

CHAPTER XIX

TOUCHING A YELLOW TOOTH

It was a quarter past four, and still night, when Coquenil left the Hôteldes Étrangers; he wore a soft black hat pulled down over his eyes, and ashabby black coat turned up around his throat; and he carried the leatherbag taken from the automobile. The streets were silent and deserted, yetthe detective studied every doorway and corner with vigilant care, while ahundred yards behind him, in exactly similar dress, came Papa Tignol, peering into the shadows with sharpest watchfulness against human shadowsbent on harming M. Paul. 

So they moved cautiously down the Boulevard St. Michel, then over thebridge and along the river to Notre-Dame, whose massive towers stood out inmysterious beauty against the faintly lighted eastern sky. Here the leaderpaused for his companion. 

"There's nothing, " he said, as the latter joined him. 

"Nothing. "

"Good! Take the bag and wait for me, but keep out of sight. "

"_Entendu_. "

Coquenil walked across the square to the cathedral, moving slowly, thinkingover the events of the night. They had crossed the track of the assassin, that was sure, but they had discovered nothing that could help in hiscapture except the fact of the long little finger. The man had leftabsolutely nothing in his room at the hotel (this they verified with thehelp of false keys), and had never returned after the night of the crime, although he had taken the room for a month, and paid the rent in advance. He had made two visits to this room, one at about three in the afternoon ofthe fatal day, when he spent an hour there, and entered Kittredge's room, no doubt, for the boots and the pistol; the other visit he made the samenight when he tried to return the boots and was prevented from doing so. How he must have cursed that little photographer!

As to the assassin's personal appearance, there was a startling differenceof opinion between the hotel doorkeeper and the _garçon_, both of whom sawhim and spoke to him. The one declared he had light hair and a beard, theother that he had dark hair and no beard; the one thought he was aFrenchman, the other was sure he was a foreigner. Evidently the man wasdisguised either coming or going, so this testimony was practicallyworthless. 

Despite all this, Coquenil was pleased and confident as he rang the nightbell at the archbishop's house beside the cathedral, for he had oneprecious clew, he had the indication of this extraordinarily long littlefinger, and he did not believe that in all France there were two men withhands like that. And he knew there was one such man, for Alice had seenhim. Where had she seen him? She said she had often noticed his long littlefinger, so she must often have been close enough to him to observe such asmall peculiarity. But Alice went about very little, she had few friends, and all of them must be known to the Bonnetons. It ought to be easy to getfrom the sacristan this information which the girl herself might withhold. Hence this nocturnal visit to Notre Dame--it was of the utmost importancethat Coquenil have an immediate talk with Papa Bonneton. 

And presently, after a sleepy salutation from the archbishop's servant, anda brief explanation, M. Paul was shown through a stone passageway thatconnects the church with the house, and on pushing open a wide door coveredwith red velvet, he found himself alone in Notre Dame, alone in utterdarkness save for a point of red light on the shadowy altar before theBlessed Sacrament. 

As he stood uncertain which way to turn, the detective heard a step and alow growl, and peering among the arches of the choir he saw a lanternadvancing, then a figure holding the lantern, then another crouching figuremoving before the lantern. Then he recognized Caesar. 

"Phee-et, phee-et!" he whistled softly, and with a start and a glad rush, the dog came bounding to his master, while the sacristan stared in alarm. 

"Good old Caesar! There, there!" murmured Coquenil, fondling the eagerhead. "It's all right, Bonneton, " and coming forward, he held out his handas the guardian lifted his lantern in suspicious scrutiny. 

"M. Paul, upon my soul!" exclaimed the sacristan. "What are you doing hereat this hour?"

"It's a little--er--personal matter, " coughed Coquenil discreetly, "partlyabout Caesar. Can we sit down somewhere?"

Still wondering, Bonneton led the way to a small room adjoining thetreasure chamber, where a dim lamp was burning; here he and his associatesgot alternate snatches of sleep during the night. 

"Hey, François!" He shook a sleeping figure on a cot bed, and the latterroused himself and sat up. "It's time to make the round. "

François looked stupidly at Coquenil and then, with a yawn and a shrug ofindifference, he called to the dog, while Caesar growled his reluctance. 

"It's all right, old fellow, " encouraged Coquenil, "I'll see you again, "whereupon Caesar trotted away reassured. 

"Take this chair, " said the sacristan. "I'll sit on the bed. We don't havemany visitors. "

"Now, then, " began M. Paul. "I'll come to the dog in a minute--don't worry. I'm not going to take him away. But first I want to ask about that girl whosells candles. She boards with you, doesn't she?"

"Yes. "

"You know she's in love with this American who's in prison?"

"I know. "

"She came to see me the other day. "

"She did?"

"Yes, and the result of her visit was--well, it has made a lot of trouble. What I'm going to say is absolutely between ourselves--you mustn't tell asoul, least of all your wife. "

"You can trust me, M. Paul, " declared Papa Bonneton rubbing his hands inexcitement. 

"To begin with, who is the man with the long little finger that she told meabout?" He put the questions carelessly, as if it were of no particularmoment. 

"Why, that's Groener, " answered Bonneton simply. 

"Groener? Oh, her cousin?"

"Yes. "

"I'm interested, " went on the detective with the same indifferent air, "because I have a collection of plaster hands at my house--I'll show it toyou some day--and there's one with a long little finger that the candlegirl noticed. Is her cousin's little finger really very long?"

"It's pretty long, " said Bonneton. "I used to think it had been stretchedin some machine. You know he's a wood carver. "

"I know. Well, that's neither here nor there. The point is, this girl had adream that--why, what's the matter?"

"Don't talk to me about her dreams!" exclaimed the sacristan. "She used tohave us scared to death with 'em. My wife won't let her tell 'em any more, and it's a good thing she won't. " For a mild man he spoke with surprisingvehemence. 

"Bonneton, " continued the detective mysteriously, "I don't know whetherit's from her dreams or in some other way, but that girl knows thingsthat--that she has no business to know. "

Then, briefly and impressively, Coquenil told of the extraordinaryrevelations that Alice had made, not only to him, but to the director ofthe Santé prison. 

"_Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!_" muttered the old man. "I think she's possessed ofthe devil. "

"She's possessed of dangerous knowledge, and I want to know where she gotit. I want to know all about this girl, who she is, where she came from, everything. And that's where you can help me. "

Bonneton shook his head. "We know very little about her, and, the queerthing is, she seems to know very little about herself. "

"Perhaps she knows more than she wants to tell. "

"Perhaps, but--I don't think so. I believe she is perfectly honest. Anyhow, her cousin is a stupid fellow. He comes on from Brussels every five or sixmonths and spends two nights with us--never more, never less. He eats hismeals, attends to his commissions for wood carving, takes Alice out once inthe afternoon or evening, gives my wife the money for her board, andthat's all. For five years it's been the same--you know as much about himin one visit as you would in a hundred. There's nothing much to know; he'sjust a stupid wood carver. "

"You say he takes Alice out every time he comes? Is she fond of him?"

"Why--er--yes, I think so, but he upsets her. I've noticed she's nervousjust before his visits, and sort of sad after them. My wife says the girlhas her worst dreams then. "

Coquenil took out a box of cigarettes. "You don't mind if I smoke?" And, without waiting for permission, he lighted one of his Egyptians and inhaledlong breaths of the fragrant smoke. "Not a word, Bonneton! I want tothink. " Then for full five minutes he sat silent. 

"I have it!" he exclaimed presently. "Tell me about this man François. "

"François?" answered the sacristan in surprise. "Why, he helps me with thenight work here. "

"Where does he live?"

"In a room near here. "

"Where does he eat?"

"He takes two meals with us. "

"Ah! Do you think he would like to make a hundred francs by doing nothing?Of course he would. And you would like to make five hundred?"

"Five hundred francs?" exclaimed Bonneton, with a frightened look. 

"Don't be afraid, " laughed the other. "I'm not planning to steal thetreasure. When do you expect this wood carver again?"

"It's odd you should ask that, for my wife only told me this morning she'shad a letter from him. We didn't expect him for six weeks yet, but itseems he'll be here next Wednesday. Something must have happened. "

"Next Wednesday, " reflected Coquenil. "He always comes when he says hewill?"

"Always. He's as regular as clockwork. "

"And he spends two nights with you?"

"Yes. "

"That will be Wednesday night and Thursday night of next week?"

"Yes. "

"Good! Now I'll show you how you're going to make this money. I wantFrançois to have a little vacation; he looks tired. I want him to go intothe country on Tuesday and stay until Friday. "

"And his work? Who will do his work?"

Coquenil smiled quietly and tapped his breast. 

"You?"

"I will take François's place. I'll be the best assistant you ever had andI shall enjoy Mother Bonneton's cooking. "

"You will take your meals with us?" cried the sacristan aghast. "But theyall know you. "

"None of them will know me; you won't know me yourself. "

"Ah, I see, " nodded the old man wisely. "You will have a disguise. But mywife has sharp eyes. "

"If she knows me, or if the candle girl knows me, I'll give you a thousandfrancs instead of five hundred. Now, here is the money for François"--hehanded the sacristan a hundred-franc note--"and here are five hundredfrancs for you. I shall come on Tuesday, ready for work. When do you wantme?"

"At six o'clock, " answered the sacristan doubtfully. "But what shall I sayif anyone asks me about it?"

"Say François was sick, and you got your old friend Matthieu to replace himfor a few days. I'm Matthieu!"

Papa Bonneton touched the five crisp bank notes caressingly; their cleanblue and white attracted him irresistibly. 

"You wouldn't get me into trouble, M. Paul?" he appealed weakly. 

"Papa Bonneton, " answered Coquenil earnestly, "have I ever shown youanything but friendship? When old Max died and you asked me to lend youCaesar I did it, didn't I? And you know what Caesar is to me. I _love_ thatdog, if anything happened to him--well, I don't like to think of it, but Ilet you have him, didn't I? That proves my trust; now I want yours. I can'texplain my reasons; it isn't necessary, but I tell you that what I'm askingcannot do you the least harm, and may do me the greatest good. There, it'sup to you. "

M. Paul held out his hand frankly and the sacristan took it, with emotion. 

"That settles it, " he murmured. "I never doubted you, but--my wife has aninfernal tongue and----"

"She will never know anything about this, " smiled the other, "and, if sheshould, give her one or two of these bank notes. It's wonderful how theychange a woman's point of view. Besides, you can prepare her by talkingabout François's bad health. "

"A good idea!" brightened Bonneton. 

"Then it's understood. Tuesday, at six, your friend Matthieu will be hereto replace François. Remember--Matthieu!"

"I'll remember. "

The detective rose to go. "Good night--or, rather, good morning, for theday is shining through that rose window. Pretty, isn't it? Ouf, I wonderwhen I'll get the sleep I need!" He moved toward the door. "Oh, I forgotabout the dog. Tignol will come for him Tuesday morning with a line fromme. I shall want Caesar in the afternoon, but I'll bring him back at six. "

"All right, " nodded the sacristan; "he'll be ready. _Au revoir_--untilTuesday. "

M. Paul went through the side door and then through the high iron gatewaybefore the archbishop's house. He glanced at his watch and it was afterfive. Across the square Papa Tignol was waiting. 

"Things are marching along, " smiled Coquenil some minutes later as theyrolled along toward the Eastern railway station. "You know what you have todo. And I know what I have to do! _Bon Dieu!_ what a life! You'd betterhave more money--here, " and he handed the other some bank notes. "We meetTuesday at noon near the Auteuil station beneath the first arch of theviaduct. "

"Do you know what day Tuesday is?"

M. Paul thought a moment. "The fourteenth of July! Our national holiday!And the crime was committed on the American Independence Day. Strange, isn't it?"

"There will be a great crowd about. "

"There's safety in a crowd. Besides, I've got to suit my time to _his_. "

"Then you really expect to see--_him?_" questioned the old man. 

"Yes, " nodded the other briefly. "Remember this, don't join me on Tuesdayor speak to me or make any sign to me unless you are absolutely sure youhave not been followed. If you are in any doubt, put your message underthe dog's collar and let him find me. By the way, you'd better have Caesarclipped. It's a pity, but--it's safer. "

Now they were rattling up the Rue Lafayette in the full light of day. 

"Ten minutes to six, " remarked Tignol. "My train leaves at six forty. "

"You'll have time to get breakfast. I'll leave you now. There's nothingmore to say. You have my letter--_for her_. You'll explain that it isn'tsafe for me to write through the post office. And she mustn't try to writeme. I'll come to her as soon as I can. You have the money for her; say Iwant her to buy a new dress, a nice one, and if there's anything else shewants, why, she must have it. Understand?"

Tignol nodded. 

Then, dropping the cab window, M. Paul told the driver to stop, and theydrew up before the terraced fountains of the Trinité church. 

"Good-by and good luck, " said Coquenil, clasping Tignol's hand, "and--don'tlet her worry. "

The cab rolled on, and M. Paul, bag in hand, strode down a side street; butjust at the corner he turned and looked after the hurrying vehicle, and hiseyes were full of sadness and yearning. 

 * * * * *

Tuesday, the fourteenth of July! The great French holiday! All Paris in thestreets, bands playing, soldiers marching, everybody happy or lookinghappy! And from early morning all trains, 'buses, cabs, automobiles, inshort, all moving things in the gay city were rolling a jubilant multitudetoward the Bois de Boulogne, where the President of the Republique was toreview the troops before a million or so of his fellow-citizens. Coquenilhad certainly chosen the busiest end of Paris for his meeting with PapaTignol. 

Their rendezvous was at noon, but two hours earlier Tignol took the trainat the St. Lazare station. And with him came Caesar, such a changed, unrecognizable Caesar! Poor dog! His beautiful, glossy coat of brown andwhite had been clipped to ridiculous shortness, and he crouched at the oldman's feet in evident humiliation. 

"It was a shame, old fellow, " said Tignol consolingly, "but we had to obeyorders, eh? Never mind, it will grow out again. "

Leaving the train at Auteuil, they walked down the Rue La Fontaine to atavern near the Rue Mozart, where the old man left Caesar in charge of theproprietor, a friend of his. It was now a quarter to eleven, and Tignolspent the next hour riding back and forth on the circular railway betweenAuteuil and various other stations; he did this because Coquenil hadcharged him to be sure he was not followed; he felt reasonably certain thathe was not, but he wished to be absolutely certain. 

So he rode back to the Avenue Henri Martin, where he crossed the platformand boarded a returning train for the Champs de Mars, telling the guard hehad made a mistake. Two other passengers did the same, a young fellow and aman of about fifty, with a rough gray beard. Tignol did not see the youngfellow again, but when he got off at the Champs de Mars, the gray-beardedman got off also and followed across the bridge to the opposite platform, where both took the train back to Auteuil. 

This was suspicious, so at Auteuil Tignol left the station quickly, only toreturn a few minutes later and buy another ticket for the Avenue HenriMartin. There once more he crossed the platform and took a train for theChamps de Mars, and this time he congratulated himself that no one hadfollowed him; but when he got off, as before, at the Champs de Mars andcrossed the bridge, he saw the same gray-bearded man crossing behind him. There was no doubt of it, he was being shadowed. 

And now Tignol waited until the train back to Auteuil was about starting, then he deliberately got into a compartment where the gray-bearded man wasseated alone. And, taking out pencil and paper, he proceeded to write anote for Coquenil. Their meeting was now impossible, so he must fasten thisexplanation, along with his full report, under Caesar's collar and let thedog be messenger, as had been arranged. 

"I am sending this by Caesar, " he wrote, "because I am watched. The manfollowing me is a bad-looking brute with dirty gray beard and no mustache. He has a nervous trick of half shutting his eyes and jerking up the cornersof his mouth, which shows the worst set of ugly yellow teeth I ever saw. I'd like to have one of them for a curiosity. "

"Would you?" said the man suddenly, as if answering a question. 

Tignol stared at him. 

"Excuse me, " explained the other, "but I read handwriting upside down. "

"Oh!"

"You say you would like one of my teeth?"

"Don't trouble, " smiled Tignol. 

"It's no trouble, " declared the stranger. "On the contrary!" and seizingone of his yellow fangs between thumb and first finger he gave a quickwrench. "There!" he said with a hideous grin, and he handed Tignol thetooth. 

They were just coming into the Auteuil station as this extraordinarymaneuver was accomplished. 

"I'll be damned!" exclaimed Tignol. 

[Illustration: "'There!' he said with a hideous grin, and he handed Tignolthe tooth. "]

"Is it really as good as that?" asked the stranger, in a tone that made theold man jump. 

Tignol leaned closer, and then in a burst of admiration he cried: "_Nom dedieu! It's Coquenil!_"

CHAPTER XX

THE MEMORY OF A DOG

"It's a composition of rubber, " laughed Coquenil. "You slip it on over yourown tooth. See?" and he put back the yellow fang. 

"Extraordinary!" muttered Tignol. "Even now I hardly know you. "

"Then I ought to fool the wood carver. "

"Fool him? You would fool your own mother. That reminds me--" He rose asthe train stopped. 

"Yes, yes?" questioned M. Paul eagerly. "Tell me about my mother. Is shewell? Is she worried? Did you give her all my messages? Have you a letterfor me?"

Tignol smiled. "There's a devoted son! But the old lady wouldn't like youwith those teeth. Eh, eh! Shades of Vidocq, what a make-up! We'd better getout! I'll tell you about my visit as we walk along. "

"Where are you going?" asked the detective, as the old man led the waytoward the Rue La Fontaine. 

"Going to get the dog, " answered Tignol. 

"No, no, " objected M. Paul. "I wouldn't have Caesar see me like this. Ihave a room on the Rue Poussin; I'll go back there first and take off someof this. "

"As you please, " said Tignol, and he proceeded to give Coquenil the latestnews of his mother, all good news, and a long letter from the old lady, full of love and wise counsels and prayers for her boy's safety. 

"There's a woman for you!" murmured M. Paul, and the tenderness of hisvoice contrasted oddly with the ugliness of his disguise. 

"Suppose I get the dog while you are changing?" suggested Tignol. "You knowhe's been clipped?"

"Poor Caesar! Yes, get him. My room is across the street. Walk back andforth along here until I come down. "

Half an hour later Coquenil reappeared almost his ordinary self, exceptthat he wore neither mustache nor eyeglasses, and, instead of his usualneat dress he had put on the shabby black coat and the battered soft hatthat he had worn in leaving the Hôtel des Étrangers. 

"Ah, Caesar! Old fellow!" he cried fondly as the dog rushed to meet himwith barks of joy. "It's good to have a friend like that! Where is the manwho cares so much? Or the woman either--except one?"

"There's one woman who seems to care a lot about this dog, " remarkedTignol. "I mean the candle girl. Such a fuss as she made when I went to gethim!"

M. Paul listened in surprise. "What did she do?"

"Do? She cried and carried on in a great way. She said something was goingto happen to Caesar; she didn't want me to take him. "

"Strange!" muttered the other. 

"I told her I was only taking him to you, and that you would bring him backto-night. When she had heard that she caught my two hands in hers and saidI must tell you she wanted to see you very much. There's something on hermind or--or she's afraid of something. "

Coquenil frowned and twisted his seal ring, then he changed it deliberatelyfrom the left hand to the right, as if with some intention. 

"We'll never get to the bottom of this case, " he muttered, "until we knowthe truth about that girl. Papa Tignol, I want you to go right back toNotre-Dame and keep an eye on her. If she is afraid of something, there'ssomething to be afraid of, _for she knows_. Don't talk to her; just hangabout the church until I come. Remember, we spend the night there. "

"_Sapristi_, a night in a church!"

"It won't hurt you for once, " smiled M. Paul. "There's a bed to sleep on, and a lot to talk about. You know we begin the great campaign to-morrow. "

Tignol rubbed his hands in satisfaction. "The sooner the better. " Thenyielding to his growing curiosity: "Have you found out much?"

Coquenil's eyes twinkled. "You're dying to know what I've been doing theselast five days, eh?"

"Nothing of the sort, " said the old man testily. "If you want to leave mein the dark, all right, only if I'm to help in the work----"

"Of course, of course, " broke in the other good-naturedly. "I was going totell you to-night, but Bonneton will be with us, so--come, we'll strollthrough the _bois_ as far as Passy, and I'll give you the main points. Thenyou can take a cab. "

Papa Tignol was enormously pleased at this mark of confidence, but hemerely gave one of his jerky little nods and walked along solemnly besidehis brilliant associate. In his loyalty for M. Paul this tough old veteranwould have allowed himself to be cut into small pieces, but he would havespluttered and grumbled throughout the operation. 

"Let's see, " began Coquenil, as they entered the beautiful park, "I havefive days to account for. Well, I spent two days in Paris and three inBrussels. "

"Where the wood carver lives?"

"Exactly. I got his address from Papa Bonneton. I thought I'd look the manover in his home when he was not expecting me. And before I started I putin two days studying wood carving, watching the work and questioning theworkmen until I knew more about it than an expert. I made up my mind that, when I saw this man with the long little finger, I must be able to decidewhether he was a genuine wood carver--or--or something else. "

"I see, " admired Tignol. "Well?"

"As it turned out, I didn't find him, I haven't seen him yet. He was awayon a trip when I got to Brussels, away on this trip that will bring him toParis to-morrow, so I missed him and--it's just as well I did!"

"You got facts about him?"

"Yes, I got facts about him; not the kind of facts I expected to get, either. I saw the place where he boards, this Adolph Groener. In fact, Istopped there, and I talked to the woman who runs it, a sharp-eyed youngwidow with a smooth tongue; and I saw the place where he works; it's awood-carving shop, all right, and I talked to the men there--two big strongfellows with jolly red faces, and--well--" he hesitated. 

"Well?"

The detective crossed his arms and faced the old man with a grim, searchinglook. 

"Papa Tignol, " he said impressively, "they all tell a simple, straightstory. His name _is_ Adolf Groener, he _does_ live in Brussels, he makeshis living at wood carving, and the widow who runs the confounded boardinghouse knows all about this girl Alice. "

Tignol rubbed his nose reflectively. "It was a long shot, anyway. "

"What would _you_ have done?" questioned the other sharply. 

"Why, " answered Tignol slowly, while his shrewd eyes twinkled, "I--I'd havecussed a little and--had a couple of drinks and--come back to Paris. "

Coquenil sat silent frowning. "I wasn't much better. After that first day Iwas ready to drop the thing, I admit it, only I went for a walk thatnight--and there's a lot in walking. I wandered for hours through that nicelittle town of Brussels, in the crowd and then alone, and the more Ithought the more I came back to the same idea, _he can't be a woodcarver!_"

"You couldn't prove it, but you knew it, " chuckled the old man. 

Coquenil nodded. "So I kept on through the second day. I saw more peopleand asked more questions, then I saw the same people again and tried totrip them up, but I didn't get ahead an inch. Groener was a wood carver, and he stayed a wood carver. "

"It began to look bad, eh?"

Coquenil stopped short and said earnestly: "Papa Tignol, when this case isover and forgotten, when this man has gone where he belongs, and I knowwhere that is"--he brought his hand down sideways swiftly--"I shall havethe lesson of this Brussels search cut on a block of stone and set in mystudy wall. Oh, I've learned the lesson before, but this drives it home, that _the most important knowledge a detective can have is the knowledge hegets inside himself!_"

Tignol had never seen M. Paul more deeply stirred. "_Sacré matin!_" heexclaimed. "Then you did find something?"

"Ah, but I deserve no credit for it, I ought to have failed. I weakened; Ihad my bag packed and was actually starting for Paris, convinced thatGroener had nothing to do with the case. Think of that!"

"Yes, but you _didn't_ start. "

"It was a piece of stupid luck that saved me when I ought to have known, when I ought to have been sure. And, mark you, if I had come back believingin Groener's innocence, this crime would never have been cleared up, never. "

Tignol shrugged his shoulders. "La, la, la! What a man! If you had falleninto a hole you might have broken your leg! Well, you didn't fall into thehole!"

Coquenil smiled. "You're right, I ought to be pleased, I am pleased. Afterall, it was a neat bit of work. You see, I was waiting in the parlor ofthis boarding house for the widow to bring me my bill--I had spent two daysthere--and I happened to glance at a photograph she had shown me when Ifirst came, a picture of Alice and herself, taken five years ago, whenAlice was twelve years old. There was no doubt about the girl, and it was agood likeness of the widow. She told me she was a great friend of Alice'smother, and the picture was taken when the mother died, just before Alicewent to Paris. 

"Well, as I looked at the picture now, I noticed that it had nophotographer's name on it, which is unusual, and it seemed to me there wassomething queer about the girl's hand; I went to the window and wasstudying the picture with my magnifying glass when I heard the woman's stepoutside, so I slipped it into my pocket. Then I paid my bill and cameaway. "

"You _needed_ that picture, " approved Tignol. 

"As soon as I was outside I jumped into a cab and drove to the principalphotographers in Brussels. There were three of them, and at each place Ishowed this picture and asked how much it would cost to copy it, and as Iasked the question I watched the man's face. The first two were perfectlybusinesslike, but the third man gave a little start and looked at me in anodd way. I made up my mind he had seen the picture before, but I didn't getanything out of him--then. In fact, I didn't try very hard, for I had myplan. 

"From here I drove straight to police headquarters and had a talk with thechief. He knew me by reputation, and a note that I brought from Pougeothelped, and--well, an hour later that photographer was ready to tell me theinnermost secrets of his soul. "

"Eh, eh, eh!" laughed Tignol. "And what did he tell you?"

"He told me he made this picture of Alice and the widow _only six weeksago_. "

"Six weeks ago!" stared the other. "But the widow told you it was takenfive years ago. "

"Exactly!"

"Besides, Alice wasn't in Brussels six weeks ago, was she?"

"Of course not; the picture was a fake, made from a genuine one of Aliceand a lady, perhaps her mother. This photographer had blotted out the ladyand printed in the widow without changing the pose. It's a simple trick inphotography. "

"You saw the genuine picture?"

"Of course--that is, I saw a reproduction of it which the photographer madeon his own account. He suspected some crooked work, and he didn't like theman who gave him the order. "

"You mean the wood carver?"

Coquenil shrugged his shoulders. "Call him a wood carver, call him what youlike. He didn't go to the photographer in his wood-carver disguise, hewent as a gentleman in a great hurry, and willing to pay any price for thework. "

Tignol twisted the long ends of his black mustache reflectively. "He wascovering his tracks in advance?"

"Evidently. "

"And the smooth young widow lied?"

"Lied?" snapped the detective savagely. "I should say she did. She liedabout this, and lied about the whole affair. So did the men at the shop. Itwas manufactured testimony, bought and paid for, and a manufacturedpicture. "

"Then, " cried Tignol excitedly, "then Groener is _not_ a wood carver?"

"He may be a wood carver, but he's a great deal more, he--he--" Coquenilhesitated, and then, with eyes blazing and nostrils dilating, he burst out:"If I know anything about my business, he's the man who gave me thatleft-handed jolt under the heart, he's the man who choked your shrimpphotographer, he's the man who killed Martinez!"

"Name of a green dog!" muttered Tignol. "Is that true, or--or do you only_know_ it?"

"It's true _because_ I know it, " answered Coquenil. "See here, I'll bet youa good dinner against a box of those vile cigarettes you smoke that thisman who calls himself Alice's cousin has the marks of my teeth on the calfof one of his legs--I forget which leg it is. "

"Taken!" said Tignol, and then, with sudden gravity: "But if this is true, things are getting serious, eh?"

"They've been serious. "

"I mean the chase is nearly over?"

M. Paul answered slowly, as if weighing his words: "This man is desperateand full of resources, I know that, but, with the precautions I havetaken, I don't see how he can escape--if he goes to Bonneton's houseto-morrow. "

Tignol scratched his head in perplexity. "Why in thunder is he such a foolas to go there?"

"I've wondered about that myself, " mused Coquenil "Perhaps he won't go, perhaps there is some extraordinary reason why he _must_ go. "

"Some reason connected with the girl?" asked the other quickly. 

"Yes. "

"You say he _calls_ himself Alice's cousin. Isn't he really her cousin?"

Coquenil shook his head. "He isn't her cousin, and she isn't Alice. "

"Wha-at?"

"Her name is Mary, and he is her stepfather. "

The old man stared in bewilderment. "But--how the devil do you know that?"

Coquenil smiled. "I found an inscription on the back of that Brusselsphotograph--I mean the genuine one--it was hidden under a hinged support, and Groener must have overlooked it. That was his second great mistake. "

"What was the inscription?" asked Tignol eagerly. 

"It read: 'To my dear husband, Raoul, from his devoted wife Margaret andher little Mary. ' You notice it says _her_ little Mary. That one wordthrows a flood of light on this case. The child was not _his_ little Mary. "

"I see, I see, " reflected the old man. "And Alice? Does she know that--thatshe _isn't_ Alice?"

"No. "

"Does she know that Groener is her stepfather, and not her cousin?"

"No. "

"Why not?"

"I _think_ I know why not, but, until I'm sure, I'd rather call it amystery. See here, we've talked too much, you must hurry back to her. Better take an auto. And remember, Papa Tignol, " he added in final warning, "there is nothing so important as to guard this girl. "

A few moments later, with Caesar bounding happily at his side, M. Paulentered the quieter paths of the great park, and presently came to athickly wooded region that has almost the air of a natural forest. Here thetwo romped delightedly together, and Coquenil put the dog through many ofhis tricks, the fine creature fairly outdoing himself in eagerness andintelligence. 

"Now, old fellow, " said M. Paul, "I'll sit down here and have a cigarette, "and he settled himself on a rustic bench, while Caesar stretched outcomfortably at his feet. And so the one dozed as the other drifted far awayin smoke-laden reverie. 

What days these had been, to be sure! How tired he was! He hadn't noticedit before, but now that everything was ready, now that he had finished hispreparations--yes, he was very tired. 

Everything was ready! It was good to know that. He had forgotten nothing. And, if all went well, he would soon be able to answer these questions thatwere fretting him. Who was Groener? Why had he killed Martinez? How had heprofited by the death of this unfortunate billiard player? And why did hehate Kittredge? Was it because the American loved Alice? And who was Alice, this girl whose dreams and fears changed the lives of serious men? Fromwhichever side he studied the crime he always came back to her--Kittredgeloved her, Martinez knew her, he himself had started on the case on heraccount. _Who was Alice?_

During these reflections Coquenil had been vaguely aware of gay sounds fromthe neighboring woods, and now a sudden burst of laughter brought him backto the consciousness of things about him. 

"We're too serious, my boy, " he said with an effort at lightness; "this isa bit of an outing, and we must enjoy it. Come, we'll move on!"

With the dog at his heels M. Paul turned his steps toward a beautiful coolglade, carpeted in gold and green as the sunbeams sprinkled down throughthe trees upon the spreading moss. Here he came into plain view of acompany of ladies and gentlemen, who, having witnessed the review, hadchosen this delightful spot for luncheon. They were evidently rich andfashionable people, for they had come as a coaching party on a very smartbreak, with four beautiful horses, and some in a flashing red-and-blackautomobile that was now drawn up beside the larger vehicle. 

With an idle eye M. Paul observed the details of the luncheon, red-coatedservants emptying bounteous hampers and passing tempting food from group togroup, others opening bottles of champagne, with popping corks, and fillingbubbling glasses, while the men of the party passed back and forth frombreak to automobile with jests and gay words, or strolled under the treesenjoying post-prandial cigars. 

Altogether it was a pleasing picture, and Coquenil's interest washeightened when he overheard a passing couple say that these were theguests of no less a person than the Duke of Montreuil, whose lavishentertainments were the talk of Paris. There he was, on the break, thisfavorite of fortune! What a brilliant figure of a man! Famous as asportsman, enormously rich, popular in society, at the head of vastindustrial enterprises, and known to have almost controlling power inaffairs of state!

"Never mind, old sport, it takes all kinds of people to make up the world. Now then, jump!"

So they went on, playing together, master and dog, and were passing aroundthrough the woods on the far side of the coaching party, when, suddenly, Caesar ceased his romping and began to nose the ground excitedly. Then, running to his master, he stood with eager eyes, as if urging some pursuit. 

The detective observed the dog in surprise. Was this some foolish whim tofollow a squirrel or a rabbit? It wasn't like Caesar. 

"Come, come, " he reasoned with friendly chiding, "don't be a baby. "

Caesar growled in vigorous protest, and darting away, began circling theground before him, back and forth, in widening curves, as Coquenil hadtaught him. 

"Have you found something--sure?"

The animal barked joyously. 

M. Paul was puzzled. Evidently there was a scent here, but what scent? Hehad made no experiments with Caesar since the night of the crime, when thedog had taken the scent of the pistol and found the alleyway footprints. But that was ten days ago; the dog could not still be on that same scent. Impossible! Yet he was on _some_ scent, and very eagerly. Coquenil hadnever seen him more impatient for permission to be off. Could a dogremember a scent for ten days?

"After all, what harm can it do?" reflected the detective, becominginterested in his turn. Then, deciding quickly, he gave the word, "_Cherche!_" and instantly the dog was away. 

"He means business, " muttered M. Paul, hurrying after him. 

On through the woods went Caesar, nose down, tail rigid, following thescent, moving carefully among the trees, and once or twice losing thetrail, but quickly finding it again, and, presently, as he reached moreopen ground, running ahead swiftly, straight toward the coaching party. 

In a flash Coquenil realized the danger and called loudly to the dog, butthe distance was too great, and his voice was drowned by the cries ofladies on the break, who, seeing the bounding animal, screamed theirfright. And no wonder, for this powerful, close-clipped creature, in hissudden rush looked like some formidable beast of prey; even the men startedup in alarm. 

"Caesar!" shouted M. Paul, but it was too late. The dog was flying full atthe break, eyes fixed, body tense; now he was gathering strength tospring, and now, with a splendid effort, he was actually hurling himselfthrough the air, when among the confused figures on the coach a man leanedforward suddenly, and something flashed in his hand. There was a featherof smoke, a sharp report, and then, with a stab of pain, Coquenil sawCaesar fall back to the ground and lie still. 

"My dog, my dog!" he cried, and coming up to the stricken creature, heknelt beside him with ashen face. 

One glance showed there was nothing to be done, the bullet had crashed intothe broad breast in front of the left shoulder and--it was all over withCaesar. 

"My friend, my dear old friend!" murmured M. Paul in broken tones, and hetook the poor head in his arms. At the master's voice Caesar opened hisbeautiful eyes weakly, in a last pitiful appeal, then the lids closed. 

"You cowards!" flung out the heartsick man. "You have killed my dog!"

"It was your own fault, " said one of the gentlemen coldly, "you had nobusiness to leave a dangerous animal like that at liberty. "

[Illustration: "'My dog, my dog!'"]

M. Paul did not speak or move; he was thinking bitterly of Alice'spresentiment. 

Then some one on the break said: "We had better move along, hadn't we, Raoul?"

"Yes, " agreed another. "What a beastly bore!"

And a few moments later, with clanking harness and sounding horn, the gayparty rolled away. 

Coquenil sat silent by his dog. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE WOOD CARVER

A detective, like an actor or a soldier, must go on fighting and playinghis part, regardless of personal feelings. Sorrow brings him no reprievefrom duty, so the next morning after the last sad offices for poor Caesar, Coquenil faced the emergency before him with steady nerve and calmresolution. There was an assassin to be brought to justice and the time foraction had come. This was, perhaps, the most momentous day of his wholecareer. 

Up to the very hour of luncheon M. Paul doubted whether the wood carverwould keep his appointment at the Bonnetons'. Why should he take such arisk? Why walk deliberately into a trap that he must suspect? It was true, Coquenil remembered with chagrin, that this man, if he really was the man, had once before walked into a trap (there on the Champs Elysées) and hadthen walked calmly out again; but this time the detective promised himselfthings should happen differently. His precautions were taken, and ifGroener came within his clutches to-day, he would have a lively timegetting out of them. There was a score to be settled between them, a heavyscore, and--let the wood carver beware!

The wood carver kept his appointment. More than that, he seemed inexcellent spirits, and as he sat down to Mother Bonneton's modest luncheonhe nodded good-naturedly to Matthieu, the substitute watchman, whom thesacristan introduced, not too awkwardly, then he fell to eating with ahearty appetite and without any sign of embarrassment or suspicion. 

"It's a strong game he's playing, " reflected the detective, "but he's goingto lose. "

The wood carver appeared to be a man approaching forty, of medium heightand stocky build, the embodiment of good health and good humor. His round, florid face was free from lines, his gray eyes were clear and friendly. Hehad thick, brown hair, a short, yellowish mustache, and a close-cut, brownish beard. He was dressed like a superior workingman, in a flannelshirt, a rough, blue suit, oil-stained and dust-sprinkled, and he worethick-soled boots. His hands were strong and red and not too clean, withseveral broken nails and calloused places. In a word, he looked the woodcarver, every inch of him, and the detective was forced to admit that, ifthis was a disguise, it was the most admirable one he had ever seen. Ifthis beard and hair and mustache were false, then his own make-up, the besthe had ever created, was a poor thing in comparison. 

During the meal Groener talked freely, speaking with a slight Belgianaccent, but fluently enough. He seemed to have a naïve spirit of drollery, and he related quite amusingly an experience of his railway journey. 

"You see, " he laughed, showing strong white teeth, "there were two Americangirls in one compartment and a newly married couple in the next one, with alittle glass window between. Well, the young bridegroom wanted to kiss hisbride, naturally, ha, ha! It was a good chance, for they were alone, but hewas afraid some one might look through the little window and see him, so hekept looking through it himself to make sure it was all right. Well, theAmerican girls got scared seeing a man's face peeking at them like that, so one of them caught hold of a cord just above the window and pulled itdown. She thought it was a curtain cord; she wanted to cover the window sothe man couldn't see through. Do I make myself comprehensible, M. Matthieu?" He looked straight at Coquenil. 

"Perfectly, " smiled the latter. 

"Well, it wasn't a curtain cord, " continued the wood carver with greatrelish of the joke, "it was the emergency signal, which, by theregulations, must only be used in great danger, so the first thing we knewthe train drew up with a terrible jerk, and there was a great shouting andopening of doors and rushing about of officials. And finally, ha, ha! theydiscovered that the Brussels express had been stopped, ha, ha, ha! becausea bashful young fellow wanted to kiss his girl. "

M. Paul marveled at the man's self-possession. Not a tone or a glance or amuscle betrayed him, he was perfectly at ease, buoyantly satisfied, onewould say, with himself and all the world--in short, he suggested nothingso little as a close-tracked assassin. 

In vain Coquenil tried to decide whether Groener was really unconscious ofimpending danger. Was he deceived by this Matthieu disguise? Or was itpossible, _could_ it be possible, that he was what he appeared to be, asimple-minded wood carver free from any wickedness or duplicity? No, no, itwas marvelous acting, an extraordinary make-up, but this was his man, allright. There was the long little finger, plainly visible, the identicalfinger of his seventeenth-century cast. Yes, this was the enemy, themurderer, delivered into his hands through some unaccountable fortune, andnow to be watched like precious prey, and presently to be taken anddelivered over to justice. It seemed too good to be true, too easy, yetthere was the man before him, and despite his habit of caution and hisknowledge that this was no ordinary adversary, the detective thrilled asover a victory already won. 

The wood carver went on to express delight at being back in Paris, wherehis work would keep him three or four days. Business was brisk, thankHeaven, with an extraordinary demand for old sideboards with carved panelsof the Louis XV period, which they turned out by the dozen, ha, ha, ha! inthe Brussels shop. He described with gusto and with evident insideknowledge how they got the worm holes in these panels by shooting fine shotinto them and the old appearance by burying them in the ground. Then hetold how they distributed the finished sideboards among farmhouses invarious parts of Belgium and Holland and France, where they were left to be"discovered, " ha, ha, ha! by rich collectors glad to pay big prices to thesimple-minded farmers, working on commission, who had inherited thesetreasures from their ancestors. 

Across the table Matthieu, with grinning yellow teeth, showed hisappreciation of this trick in art catering, and presently, when the coffeewas served, he made bold to ask M. Groener if there would be any chance fora man like himself in a wood-carving shop. He was strong and willingand--his present job at Notre-Dame was only for a few days. Papa Bonnetonnearly choked over his _demi tasse_ as he listened to this plea, but thewood carver took it seriously. 

"I'll help you with pleasure, " he said; "I'll take you around with me toseveral shops to-morrow. "

"To-morrow, not to-day?" asked Matthieu, apparently disappointed. 

"To-day, " smiled Groener, "I enjoy myself. This afternoon I escort mypretty cousin to hear some music. Did you know that, Alice?" He turnedgayly to the girl. 

Since the meal began Alice had scarcely spoken, but had sat looking down ather plate save at certain moments when she would lift her eyes suddenly andfix them on Groener with a strange, half-frightened expression. 

"You are very kind, Cousin Adolf, " she answered timidly, "but--I'm notfeeling well to-day. "

"Why, what's the matter?" he asked in a tone of concern that had just atouch of hardness in it. 

The girl hesitated, and Mother Bonneton put in harshly: "I'll tell you, she's fretting about that American who was sent to prison--a good riddanceit was. "

"You have no right to say that, " flashed Alice. 

"I have a right to tell your cousin about this foolishness. I've tried mybest to look after you and be a mother to you, but when a girl won't listento reason, when she goes to a _prison_ to see a worthless lover----"

"Stop!" cried Alice, her beautiful eyes filling with tears. 

"No, no, I'll tell it all. When a girl slips away from her work at thechurch and goes to see a man like Paul Coquenil----"

"Paul Coquenil?" repeated the wood carver blankly. 

"Have you never heard of Paul Coquenil?" smiled Matthieu, kicking PapaBonneton warningly under the table. 

Groener looked straight at the detective and answered with perfectsimplicity: "No wonder you smile, M. Matthieu, but think how far away fromParis I live! Besides, I want this to be a happy day. Come, little cousin, you shall tell me all about it when we are out together. Run along now andput on your nice dress and hat. We'll start in about half an hour. "

Alice rose from the table, deathly white. She tried to speak, but the wordsfailed her; it seemed to Coquenil that her eyes met his in desperateappeal, and then, with a glance at Groener, half of submission, half ofdefiance, she turned and left the room. 

"Now Madam Bonneton, " resumed Groener cheerfully, "while the young ladygets into her finery we might have a little talk. There are a fewmatters--er--" He looked apologetically at the others. "You and I will meetto-morrow, M. Matthieu; I'll see what I can do for you. "

"Thanks, " said Matthieu, rising in response to this hint for his departure. He bowed politely, and followed by the sacristan, went out. 

"Don't speak until we get downstairs, " whispered Coquenil, and theydescended the four flights in silence. 

"Now, Bonneton, " ordered the detective sharply, when they were in the lowerhallway, "don't ask questions, just do what I say. I want you to go rightacross to Notre-Dame, and when you get to the door take your hat off andstand there for a minute or so fanning yourself. Understand?"

The simple-minded sacristan was in a daze with all this mystery, but herepeated the words resignedly: "I'm to stand at the church door and fanmyself with my hat. Is that it?"

"That's it. Then Tignol, who's watching in one of these doorways, the slyold fox, will come across and join you. Tell him to be ready to move anyminute now. He'd better loaf around the corner of the church until he getsa signal from me. I'll wait here. Now go on. "

"But let me say--" began the other in mild protest. "No, no, " broke in M. Paul impatiently, "there's no time. Listen! Some one is coming down. Go, go!"

"I'm going, M. Paul, I'm going, " obeyed Bonneton, and he hurried across thefew yards of pavement that separated them from the cathedral. 

Meantime, the step on the stairs came nearer. It was a light, quick step, and, looking up, Coquenil saw Alice hurrying toward him, tense with someeager purpose. 

"Oh, M. Matthieu!" exclaimed the girl in apparent surprise. Then goingclose to him she said in a low tone that quivered with emotion: "I cameafter you, I must speak to you, I--I know who you are. "

He looked at her sharply. 

"You are M. Coquenil, " she whispered. 

"You saw it?" he asked uneasily. 

She shook her head. "I _knew_ it. "

"Ah!" with relief. "Does _he_ know?"

The girl's hands closed convulsively while the pupils of her eyes widenedand then grew small. "I'm afraid so, " she murmured, and then added thesesingular words: "_He knows everything_. "

M. Paul laid a soothing hand on her arm and said kindly: "Are you afraid ofhim?"

"Ye-es. " Her voice was almost inaudible. 

"Is he planning something?"

For a moment Alice hesitated, biting her red lips, then with a quickimpulse, she lifted her dark eyes to Coquenil. "I _must_ tell you, I haveno one else to tell, and I am so distressed, so--so afraid. " She caught hishands pleadingly in hers, and he felt that they were icy cold. 

"I'll protect you, that's what I'm here for, " he assured her, "but go on, speak quickly. What is he planning?"

"He's planning to take me away, away from Paris, I'm sure he is. Ioverheard him just now telling Mother Bonneton to pack my trunk. He says hewill spend three or four days in Paris, but that may not be true, he may goat once to-night. You can't believe him or trust him, and, if he takes meaway, I--I may never come back. "

"He won't take you away, " said M. Paul reassuring, "that is, he won'tif--See here, you trust me?"

"Oh, yes. "

"You'll do exactly what I tell you, _exactly_, without asking how or why?"

"I will, " she declared. 

"You're a plucky little girl, " he said as he met her unflinching look. "Letme think a moment, " and he turned back and forth in the hall, browscontracted, hands deep in his pockets. "I have it!" he exclaimed presently, his face brightening. "Now listen, " and speaking slowly and distinctly, thedetective gave Alice precise instructions, then he went over them again, point by point. 

"Are you sure you understand?" he asked finally. 

"Yes, I understand and I will do what you tell me, " she answered firmly, "but----"

"Well?"

"It will bring trouble on you. If anyone stands in his way--" She shiveredin alarm. 

Coquenil smiled confidently. "Don't worry about me. "

She shook her head anxiously. "You don't know, you can't understand whata"--she stopped as if searching for a word--"what a _wicked_ man he is. "

"I understand--a little, " answered Coquenil gravely; "you can tell me morewhen we have time; we mustn't talk now, _we must act_. "

"Yes, of course, " agreed Alice, "I will obey orders; you can depend on meand"--she held out her slim hand in a grateful movement--"thank you. "

For a moment he pressed the trembling fingers in a reassuring clasp, thenhe watched her wonderingly, as, with a brave little smile, she turned andwent back up the stairs. 

"She has the air of a princess, that girl, " he mused, "Who is she? What isshe? I ought to know in a few hours now, " and moving to the wide space ofthe open door, the detective glanced carelessly over the Place Notre-Dame. 

It was about two o'clock, and under a dazzling sun the trees and buildingsof the square were outlined on the asphalt in sharp black shadows. A 'buslumbered sleepily over the bridge with three straining horses. A bigyellow-and-black automobile throbbed quietly before the hospital. Sometourists passed, mopping red faces. A beggar crouched in the shade near theentrance to the cathedral, intoning his woes. Coquenil took out his watchand proceeded to wind it slowly. At which the beggar dragged himself lazilyout of his cool corner and limped across the street. 

"A little charity, kind gentleman, " he whined as he came nearer. 

"In here, Papa Tignol, " beckoned Coquenil; "there's something new. It's allright, I've fixed the doorkeeper. "

And a moment later the two associates were talking earnestly near thedoorkeeper's lodge. 

Meantime, Alice, with new life in her heart, was putting on her best dressand hat as Groener had bidden her, and presently she joined her cousin inthe salon where he sat smoking a cheap cigar and finishing his talk withMother Bonneton. 

"Ah, " he said, "are you ready?" And looking at her more closely, he added:"Poor child, you've been crying. Wait!" and he motioned Mother Bonneton toleave them. 

"Now, " he began kindly, when the woman had gone, "sit down here and tell mewhat has made my little cousin unhappy. "

He spoke in a pleasant, sympathetic tone, and the girl approached him as iftrying to overcome an instinctive shrinking, but she did not take theoffered chair, she simply stood beside it. 

"It's only a little thing, " she answered with an effort, "but I was afraidyou might be displeased. What time is it?"

He looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes to three. "

"Would you mind very much if we didn't start until five or ten minutes pastthree?"

"Why--er--what's the matter?"

Alice hesitated, then with pleading eyes: "I've been troubled aboutdifferent things lately, so I spoke to Father Anselm yesterday and he saidI might come to him to-day at a quarter to three. "

"You mean for confession?"

"Yes. "

"I see. How long does it take?"

"Fifteen or twenty minutes. "

"Will it make you feel happier?"

"Oh, yes, much happier. "

"All right, " he nodded, "I'll wait. "

"Thank you, Cousin Adolf, " she said eagerly. "I'll hurry right back; I'llbe here by ten minutes past three. "

He eyed her keenly. "You needn't trouble to come back, I'll go to thechurch with you. "

"And wait there?" she asked with a shade of disappointment. 

"Yes, " he answered briefly. 

There was nothing more to say, and a few minutes later Alice, anxious-eyedbut altogether lovely in flower-spread hat and a fleecy pink gown, enteredNotre-Dame followed by the wood carver. 

"Will you wait here, cousin, by my little table?" she asked sweetly. 

"You seem anxious to get rid of me, " he smiled. 

"No, no, " she protested, but her cheeks flushed; "I only thought this chairwould be more comfortable. "

"Any chair will do for me, " he said dryly. "Where is your confessional?"

"On the other side, " and she led the way down the right aisle, past variousrecessed chapels, past various confessional boxes, each bearing the name ofthe priest who officiated there. And presently as they came to aconfessional box in the space near the sacristy Alice pointed to the name, "Father Anselm. "

"There, " she said. 

"Is the priest inside?"

"Yes. " And then, with a new idea: "Cousin Adolf, " she whispered, "if you goalong there back of the choir and down a little stairway, you will come tothe treasure room. It might interest you. "

He looked at her in frank amusement. "I'm interested already. I'll getalong very nicely here. Now go ahead and get through with it. "

The girl glanced about her with a helpless gesture, and then, sighingresignedly, she entered the confessional. Groener seated himself on one ofthe little chairs and leaned back with a satisfied chuckle. He was so nearthe confessional that he could hear a faint murmur of voices--Alice's sweettones and then the priest's low questions. 

Five minutes passed, ten minutes! Groener looked at his watch impatiently. He heard footsteps on the stone of the choir, and, glancing up, sawMatthieu polishing the carved stalls. Some ladies passed with a guide whowas showing them the church. Groener rose and paced back and forthnervously. What a time the girl was taking! Then the door of theconfessional box opened and a black-robed priest came out and movedsolemnly away. _Enfin!_ It was over! And with a feeling of relief Groenerwatched the priest as he disappeared in the passage leading to thesacristy. 

Still Alice lingered, saying a last prayer, no doubt. But the hour wasadvancing. Groener looked at his watch again. Twenty minutes past three!She had been in that box over half an hour. It was ridiculous, unreasonable. Besides, the priest was gone; her confession was finished. She must come out. 

"Alice!" he called in a low tone, standing near the penitent's curtain. 

There was no answer. 

Then he knocked sharply on the woodwork: "Alice, what are you doing?"

Still no answer. 

Groener's face darkened, and with sudden suspicion he drew aside thecurtain. 

The confessional box was empty--_Alice was gone!_

[Illustration: "The confessional box was empty--_Alice was gone!_"]

CHAPTER XXII

AT THE HAIRDRESSER'S

What had happened was very simple. The confessional box from which Alicehad vanished was one not in use at the moment, owing to repairs in the wallbehind it. These repairs had necessitated the removal of several largestones, replaced temporarily by lengths of supporting timbers between whicha person might easily pass. Coquenil, with his habit of carefulobservation, had remarked this fact during his night in the church, and nowhe had taken advantage of it to effect Alice's escape. The girl had enteredthe confessional in the usual way, had remained there long enough to letGroener hear her voice, and had then slipped out through the open wall intothe sacristy passage beyond. _And the priest was Tignol!_

"I scored on him that time, " chuckled Coquenil, rubbing away at thewoodwork and thinking of Alice hastening to the safe place he had chosenfor her. 

"M. Matthieu!" called Groener. "Would you mind coming here a moment?"

"I was just going to ask you to look at these carvings, " replied Matthieu, coming forward innocently. 

"No, no, " answered the other excitedly, "a most unfortunate thing hashappened. Look at that!" and he opened the door of the confessional. "Shehas gone--run away!"

Matthieu stared in blank surprise. "Name of a pipe!" he muttered. "Not yourcousin?"

Groener nodded with half-shut eyes in which the detective caught a flash ofblack rage, but only a flash. In a moment the man's face was placid andgood-natured as before. 

"Yes, " he said quietly, "my cousin has run away. It makes me sadbecause--Sit down a minute, M. Matthieu, I'll tell you about it. "

"We'll be more quiet in here, " suggested Matthieu, indicating the sacristy. 

The wood carver shook his head. "I'd sooner go outside, if you don't mind. Will you join me in a glass at the tavern?"

His companion, marveling inwardly, agreed to this, and a few moments laterthe two men were seated under the awning of the Three Wise Men. 

"Now, " began Groener, with perfect simplicity and friendliness, "I'llexplain the trouble between Alice and me. I've had a hard time with thatgirl, M. Matthieu, a very hard time. If it wasn't for her mother, I'd havewashed my hands of her long ago; but her mother was a fine woman, a noblewoman. It's true she made one mistake that ruined her life and practicallykilled her, still----"

"What mistake was that?" inquired Matthieu with sympathy. 

"Why, she married an American who was--the less we say about him thebetter. The point is, Alice is half American, and ever since she has beenold enough to take notice, she has been crazy about American men. " Heleaned closer and, lowering his voice, added: "That's why I had to send herto Paris five years ago. "

"You don't say!"

"She was only thirteen then, but well developed and very pretty and--M. Matthieu, she got gone on an American who was spending the winter inBrussels, a married man. I had to break it up somehow, so I sent her away. Yes, sir. " He shook his head sorrowfully. 

"And now it's another American, a man in prison, charged with a horriblecrime. Think of that! As soon as Mother Bonneton wrote me about it, I sawI'd have to take the girl away again. I told her this morning she must packup her things and go back to Brussels with me, and that made the trouble. "

"Ah!" exclaimed Matthieu with an understanding nod. "Then she knew atluncheon that you would take her back to Brussels?"

"Of course she did. You know how she acted; she had made up her mind shewouldn't go. Only she was tricky about it. She knew I had my eye on her, soshe got this priest to help her. "

Now the other stared in genuine astonishment. "Why--was the priest in it?"

"Was he in it? Of course he was in it. He was the whole thing. This FatherAnselm has been encouraging the girl for months, filling her up withnonsense about how it's right for a young girl to choose her own husband. Mother Bonneton told me. "

"You mean that Father Anselm helped her to run away?" gasped Matthieu. 

"Of course he did. You saw him come out of the confessional, didn't you?"

"I was too far away to see his face, " replied the other, studying the woodcarver closely. "Did _you_ see his face?"

"Certainly I did. He passed within ten feet of me. I saw his facedistinctly. "

"Are you sure it was he? I don't doubt you, M. Groener, but I'm a sort ofofficial here and this is a serious charge, so I ask if you are _sure_ itwas Father Anselm?". 

"I'm absolutely sure it was Father Anselm, " answered the wood carverpositively. He paused a moment while the detective wondered what was themeaning of this extraordinary statement. Why was the man giving him thesedetails about Alice, and how much of them was true? Did Groener know he wastalking to Paul Coquenil? If so, he knew that Coquenil must know he waslying about Father Anselm. Then why say such a thing? What was his game?

[Illustration: "'You mean that Father Anselm helped her to run away?'gasped Matthieu. "]

"Have another glass?" asked the wood carver. "Or shall we go on?"

"Go on--where?"

"Oh, of course, you don't know my plan. I will tell you. You see, I mustfind Alice, I must try to save her from this folly, for her mother's sake. Well, I know how to find her. "

He spoke so earnestly and straightforwardly that Coquenil began to thinkGroener had really been deceived by the Matthieu disguise. After all, whynot? Tignol had been deceived by it. 

"How will you find her?"

"I'll tell you as we drive along. We'll take a cab and--you won't leave me, M. Matthieu?" he said anxiously. 

Coquenil tried to soften the grimness of his smile. "No, M. Groener, Iwon't leave you. "

"Good! Now then!" He threw down some money for the drinks, then he hailed apassing carriage. 

"Rue Tronchet, near the Place de la Madeleine, " he directed, and as theyrolled away, he added: "Stop at the nearest telegraph office. "

The adventure was taking a new turn. Groener, evidently, had some definiteplan which he hoped to carry out. Coquenil felt for cigarettes in his coatpocket and his hand touched the friendly barrel of a revolver. Then heglanced back and saw the big automobile, which had been waiting for hours, trailing discreetly behind with Tignol (no longer a priest) and two sturdyfellows, making four men with the chauffeur, all ready to rush up forattack or defense at the lift of his hand. There must be some miraculousinterposition if this man beside him, this baby-faced wood carver, was toget away now as he did that night on the Champs Elysées. 

"You'll be paying for that left-handed punch, old boy, before very long, "said Coquenil to himself. 

"Now, " resumed Groener, as the cab turned into a quiet street out of thenoisy traffic of the Rue de Rivoli, "I'll tell you how I expect to findAlice. I'm going to find her through the sister of Father Anselm. "

"The sister of Father Anselm!" exclaimed the other. 

"Certainly. Priests have sisters, didn't you know that? Ha, ha! She's ahairdresser on the Rue Tronchet, kind-hearted woman with children of herown. She comes to see the Bonnetons and is fond of Alice. Well, she'll knowwhere the girl has gone, and I propose to make her tell me. "

"To make her?"

"Oh, she'll want to tell me when she understands what this means to herbrother. Hello! Here's the telegraph office! Just a minute. "

He sprang lightly from the cab and hurried across the sidewalk. At the samemoment Coquenil lifted his hand and brought it down quickly, twice, in thedirection of the doorway through which Groener had passed. And a momentlater Tignol was in the telegraph office writing a dispatch beside the woodcarver. 

"I've telegraphed the Paris agent of a big furniture dealer in Rouen, "explained the latter as they drove on, "canceling an appointment forto-morrow. He was coming on especially, but I can't see him--I can't do anybusiness until I've found Alice. She's a sweet girl, in spite ofeverything, and I'm very fond of her. " There was a quiver of emotion in hisvoice. 

"Are you going to the hairdresser's now?" asked Matthieu. 

"Yes. Of course she may refuse to help me, but I _think_ I can persuade herwith you to back me up. " He smiled meaningly. 

"I? What can I do?"

"Everything, my friend. You can testify that Father Anselm planned Alice'sescape, which is bad for him, as his sister will realize. I'll say to her:'Now, my dear Madam Page'--that's her name--'you're not going to force meand my friend, M. Matthieu--he's waiting outside, in a cab--you're notgoing to force us to charge your reverend brother with abducting a younglady? That wouldn't be a nice story to tell the commissary of police, wouldit? You're too intelligent a woman, Madam Page, to allow such a thing, aren't you?' And she'll see the point mighty quick. She'll probably driveright back with us to Notre-Dame and put a little sense into her brother'sshaven head. It's four o'clock now, " he concluded gayly; "I'll bet you wehave Alice with us for dinner by seven, and it will be a good dinner, too. Understand you dine with us, M. Matthieu. "

The man's effrontery was prodigious and there was so much plausibility inhis glib chatter that, in spite of himself, Coquenil kept a last lingeringwonder if Groener _could_ be telling the truth. If not, what was his motivein this elaborate fooling? He must know that his hypocrisy and deceit wouldpresently be exposed. So what did he expect to gain by it? What could he bedriving at?

"Stop at the third doorway in the Rue Tronchet, " directed the wood carveras they entered the Place de la Madeleine, and pointing to a hairdresser'ssign, he added: "There is her place, up one flight. Now, if you will bepatient for a few minutes, I think I'll come back with good news. "

As Groener stepped from the carriage, Coquenil was on the point of seizinghim and stopping this farce forthwith. What would he gain by waiting? Yet, after all, what would he lose? With four trained men to guard the housethere was no chance of the fellow escaping, and it was possible his visithere might reveal something. Besides, a detective has the sportsman'sinstinct, he likes to play his fish before landing it. 

"All right, " nodded M. Paul, "I'll be patient, " and as the wood carverdisappeared, he signaled Tignol to surround the house. 

"He's trying to lose us, " said the old fox, hurrying up a moment later. "There are three exits here. "

"Three?"

"Don't you know this place?"

"What do you mean?"

"There's a passage from the first courtyard into a second one, and fromthat you can go out either into the Place de la Madeleine or the Rue del'Arcade. I've got a man at each exit but"----he shook his headdubiously--"one man may not be enough. "

"_Tonnere de Dieu_, it's Madam Cecile's!" cried Coquenil. Then he gavequick orders: "Put the chauffeur with one of your men in the Rue del'Arcade, bring your other man here and we'll double him up with thisdriver. Listen, " he said to the jehu; "you get twenty francs extra to helpwatch this doorway for the man who just went in. We have a warrant for hisarrest. You mustn't let him get past. Understand?"

"Twenty francs, " grinned the driver, a red-faced Norman with ruggedshoulders; "he won't get past, you can sleep on your two ears for that. "

Meantime, Tignol had returned with one of his men, who was straightwaystationed in the courtyard. 

"Now, " went on Coquenil, "you and I will take the exit on the Place de laMadeleine. It's four to one he comes out there. "

"Why is it?" grumbled Tignol. 

"Never mind why, " answered the other brusquely, and he walked ahead, frowning, until they reached an imposing entrance with stately palms onthe white stone floor and the glimpse of an imposing stairway. 

"Of course, of course, " muttered M. Paul. "To think that I had forgottenit! After all, one loses some of the old tricks in two years. "

"Remember that blackmail case, " whispered Tignol, "when we sneaked thecountess out by the Rue de l'Arcade? Eh, eh, eh, what a close shave!"

Coquenil nodded. "Here's one of the same kind. " He glanced at a sober_coupé_ from which a lady, thickly veiled, was descending, and he followedher with a shrug as she entered the house. 

"To think that some of the smartest women in Paris come here!" he mused. Then to Tignol: "How about that telegram?"

The old man stroked his rough chin. "The clerk gave me a copy of it, allright, when I showed my papers. Here it is and--much good it will do us. "

He handed M. Paul a telegraph blank on which was written:

 DUBOIS, 20 Rue Chalgrin. 

 Special bivouac amateur bouillon danger must have Sahara easily Groener arms impossible. 

 FELIX. 

"I see, " nodded Coquenil; "it ought to be an easy cipher. We must look upDubois, " and he put the paper in his pocket. "Better go in now and locatethis fellow. Look over the two courtyards, have a word with thedoorkeepers, see if he really went into the hairdresser's; if not, find outwhere he did go. Tell our men at the other exits not to let a yellow dogslip past without sizing it up for Groener. "

"I'll tell 'em, " grinned the old man, and he slouched away. 

For five minutes Coquenil waited at the Place de la Madeleine exit and itseemed a long time. Two ladies arrived in carriages and passed insidequickly with exaggerated self-possession. A couple came down the stairssmiling and separated coldly at the door. Then a man came out alone, andthe detective's eyes bored into him. It wasn't Groener. 

Finally, Tignol returned and reported all well at the other exits; no onehad gone out who could possibly be the wood carver. Groener had not beennear the hairdresser; he had gone straight through into the secondcourtyard, and from there he had hurried up the main stairway. 

"The one that leads to Madam Cecile's?" questioned M. Paul. 

"Yes, but Cecile has only two floors. There are two more above hers. "

"You think he went higher up?"

"I'm sure he did, for I spoke to Cecile herself. She wouldn't dare lie tome, and she says she has seen no such man as Groener. "

"Then he's in one of the upper apartments now?"

"He must be. "

Coquenil turned back and forth, snapping his fingers softly. "I'm nervous, Papa Tignol, " he said; "I ought not to have let him go in here, I ought tohave nailed him when I had him. He's too dangerous a man to take chanceswith and--_mille tonneres_, the roof!"

Tignol shook his head. "I don't think so. He might get through one scuttle, but he'd have a devil of a time getting in at another. He has no tools. "

Coquenil looked at his watch. "He's been in there fifteen minutes. I'llgive him five minutes more. If he isn't out then, we'll search the wholeblock from roof to cellar. Papa Tignol, it will break my heart if thisfellow gets away. "

He laid an anxious hand on his companion's arm and stood moodily silent, then suddenly his fingers closed with a grip that made the old man wince. 

"Suffering gods!" muttered the detective, "he's coming!"

As he spoke the glass door at the foot of the stairs opened and a handsomecouple advanced toward them, both dressed in the height of fashion, thewoman young and graceful, the man a perfect type of the dashing_boulevardier_. 

"No, no, you're crazy, " whispered Tignol. 

As the couple reached the sidewalk, Coquenil himself hesitated. In thebetter light he could see no resemblance between the wood carver and thisgentleman with his smart clothes, his glossy silk hat, and his haughtyeyeglass. The wood carver's hair was yellowish brown, this man's was dark, tinged with gray; the wood carver wore a beard and mustache, this man wasclean shaven--finally, the wood carver was shorter and heavier than thisman. 

While the detective wavered, the gentleman stepped forward courteously andopened the door of a waiting _coupé_. The lady caught up her silken skirtsand was about to enter when Coquenil brushed against her, as if byaccident, and her purse fell to the ground. 

"Stupid brute!" exclaimed the gentleman angrily, as he bent over andreached for the purse with his gloved hand. 

At the same moment Coquenil seized the extended wrist in such fierce andsudden attack that, before the man could think of resisting, he was heldhelpless with his left arm bent behind him in twisted torture. 

"No nonsense, or you'll break your arm, " he warned his captive as thelatter made an ineffectual effort against him. "Call the others, " heordered, and Tignol blew a shrill summons. "Rip off this glove. I want tosee his hand. Come, come, none of that. Open it up. No? I'll _make_ youopen it. There, I thought so, " as an excruciating wrench forced thestubborn fist to yield. "Now then, off with that glove! Ah!" he cried asthe bare hand came to view. "I thought so. It's too bad you couldn't hidethat long little finger! Tignol, quick with the handcuffs! There, I thinkwe have you safely landed now, _M. Adolf Groener!_"

[Illustration: "'No nonsense, or you'll break your arm. '"]

The prisoner had not spoken a word; now he flashed at Coquenil a look ofwithering contempt that the detective long remembered, and, leaning close, he whispered: "_You poor fool!_"

CHAPTER XXIII

GROENER AT BAY

Two hours later (it was nearly seven) Judge Hauteville sat in his office atthe Palais de Justice, hurrying through a meal that had been brought infrom a restaurant. 

"There, " he muttered, wiping his mouth, "that will keep me going for a fewhours, " and he touched the bell. 

"Is M. Coquenil back yet?" he asked when the clerk appeared. 

"Yes, sir, " replied the latter, "he's waiting. "

"Good! I'll see him. "

The clerk withdrew and presently ushered in the detective. 

"Sit down, " motioned the judge. "Coquenil, I've done a hard day's work andI'm tired, but I'm going to examine this man of yours to-night. "

"I'm glad of that, " said M. Paul, "I think it's important. "

"Important? Humph! The morning would do just as well--however, we'll letthat go. Remember, you have no standing in this case. The work has beendone by Tignol, the warrant was served by Tignol, and the witnesses havebeen summoned by Tignol. Is that understood?"

"Of course. "

"That is my official attitude, " smiled Hauteville, unbending a little; "Ineedn't add that, between ourselves, I appreciate what you have done, andif this affair turns out as I hope it will, I shall do my best to have yourservices properly recognized. "

Coquenil bowed. 

"Now then, " continued the judge, "have you got the witnesses?"

"They are all here except Father Anselm. He has been called to the bedsideof a dying woman, but we have his signed statement that he had nothing todo with the girl's escape. "

"Of course not, we knew that, anyway. And the girl?"

"I went for her myself. She is outside. "

"And the prisoner?"

"He's in another room under guard. I thought it best he shouldn't see thewitnesses. "

"Quite right. He'd better not see them when he comes through the outeroffice. You attend to that. "

"_Bien!_"

"Is there anything else before I send for him? Oh, the things he wore? Didyou find them?"

The detective nodded. "We found that he has a room on the fifth floor, overMadam Cecile's. He keeps it by the year. He made his change there, and wefound everything that he took off--the wig, the beard, and the roughclothes. "

The judge rubbed his hands. "Capital! Capital! It's a great coup. We may aswell begin. I want you to be present, Coquenil, at the examination. "

"Ah, that's kind of you!" exclaimed M. Paul. 

"Not kind at all, you'll be of great service. Get those witnesses out ofsight and then bring in the man. "

A few moments later the prisoner entered, walking with hands manacled, atthe side of an imposing _garde de Paris_. He still wore his smart clothes, and was as coldly self-possessed as at the moment of his arrest. He seemedto regard both handcuffs and guard as petty details unworthy of hisattention, and he eyed the judge and Coquenil with almost patronizingscrutiny. 

"Sit there, " said Hauteville, pointing to a chair, and the newcomer obeyedindifferently. 

The clerk settled himself at his desk and prepared to write. 

"What is your name?" began the judge. 

"I don't care to give my name, " answered the other. 

"Why not?"

"That's my affair. "

"Is your name Adolf Groener?"

"No. "

"Are you a wood carver?"

"No. "

"Have you recently been disguised as a wood carver?"

"No. "

He spoke the three negatives with a listless, rather bored air. 

"Groener, you are lying and I'll prove it shortly. Tell me, first, if youhave money to employ a lawyer?"

"Possibly, but I wish no lawyer. "

"That is not the question. You are under suspicion of having committed acrime and----"

"What crime?" asked the prisoner sharply. 

"Murder, " said the judge; then impressively, after a pause: "We have reasonto think that you shot the billiard player, Martinez. "

Both judge and detective watched the man closely as this name was spoken, but neither saw the slightest sign of emotion. 

"Martinez?" echoed the prisoner indifferently. "I never heard of him. "

"Ah! You'll hear enough of him before you get through, " nodded Hautevillegrimly. "The law requires that a prisoner have the advantage of counselduring examination. So I ask if you will provide a lawyer?"

"No, " answered the accused. 

"Then the court will assign a lawyer for your defense. Ask Maître Curé tocome in, " he directed the clerk. 

"It's quite useless, " shrugged the prisoner with careless arrogance, "Iwill have nothing to do with Maître Curé. "

"I warn you, Groener, in your own interest, to drop this offensive tone. "

"Ta, ta, ta! I'll take what tone I please. And I'll answer your questionsas I please or--or not at all. "

At this moment the clerk returned followed by Maître Curé, a florid-faced, brisk-moving, bushy-haired man in tight frock coat, who suggested an opera_impresario_. He seemed amused when told that the prisoner rejected hisservices, and established himself comfortably in a corner of the room as aninterested spectator. 

Then the magistrate resumed sternly: "You were arrested, sir, thisafternoon in the company of a woman. Do you know who she is?"

"I do. She is a lady of my acquaintance. "

"A lady whom you met at Madam Cecile's?"

"Why not?"

"You met her there by appointment?"

"Ye-es. "

The judge snorted incredulously. "You don't even know her name?"

"You think not?"

"Well, what is it?"

"Why should I tell you? Is _she_ charged with murder?" was the sneeringanswer. 

"Groener, " said Hauteville sternly, "you say this woman is a person of youracquaintance. We'll see. " He touched the bell, and as the door opened, "Madam Cecile, " he said. 

A moment later, with a breath of perfume, there swept in a large, overdressed woman of forty-five with bold, dark eyes and hair that was toored to be real. She bowed to the judge with excessive affability and satdown. 

"You are Madam Cecile?"

"Yes, sir. "

"You keep a _maison de rendez-vous_ on the Place de la Madeleine?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Look at this man, " he pointed to the prisoner. "Have you ever seen himbefore?"

"I have seen him--once. "

"When was that?"

"This afternoon. He called at my place and--" she hesitated. 

"Tell me what happened--everything. "

"He spoke to me and--he said he wanted a lady. I asked him what kind of alady he wanted, and he said he wanted a real lady, not a fake. I told him Ihad a very pretty widow and he looked at her, but she wasn't _chic_ enough. Then I told him I had something special, a young married woman, a beauty, whose husband has plenty of money only----"

"Never mind that, " cut in the judge. "What then?"

"He looked her over and said she would do. He offered her five hundredfrancs if she would leave the house with him and drive away in a carriage. It seemed queer but we see lots of queer things, and five hundred francs isa nice sum. He paid it in advance, so I told her to go ahead and--she did. "

"Do you think he knew the woman?"

"I'm sure he did not. "

"He simply paid her five hundred francs to go out of the house with him?"

"Exactly. "

"That will do. You may go. "

With a sigh of relief and a swish of her perfumed skirts, Madam Cecile leftthe room. 

"What do you say to that, Groener?" questioned the judge. 

"She's a disreputable person and her testimony has no value, " answered theprisoner unconcernedly. 

"Did you pay five hundred francs to the woman who left the house with you?"

"Certainly not. "

"Do you still maintain that she is a lady whom you know personally?"

"I do. "

Again Hauteville touched the bell. "The lady who was brought with thisman, " he directed. 

Outside there sounded a murmur of voices and presently a young woman, handsomely dressed and closely veiled, was led in by a guard. She wasalmost fainting with fright. 

The judge rose courteously and pointed to a chair. "Sit down, madam. Try tocontrol yourself. I shall detain you only a minute. Now--what is yourname?"

The woman sat silent, wringing her hands in distress, then she burst out:"It will disgrace me, it will ruin me. "

"Not at all, " assured Hauteville. "Your name will not go on therecords--you need not even speak it aloud. Simply whisper it to me. "

Rising in agitation the lady went to the judge's desk and spoke to himinaudibly. 

"Really!" he exclaimed, eying her in surprise as she stood before him, facedown, the picture of shame. 

"I have only two questions to ask, " he proceeded. "Look at this man andtell me if you know him, " he pointed to the accused. 

She shook her head and answered in a low tone: "I never saw him before thisafternoon. "

"You met him at Madam Cecile's?"

"Ye-es, " very faintly. 

"And he paid you five hundred francs to go out of the house with him?"

She nodded but did not speak. 

"That was the only service you were to render, was it, for this sum ofmoney, simply to leave the house with him and drive away in a carriage?"

"That was all. "

"Thank you, madam. I hope you will learn a lesson from this experience. Youmay go. "

Staggering, gasping for breath, clinging weakly to the guard's arm, thelady left the room. 

"Now, sir, what have you to say?" demanded the judge, facing the prisoner. 

"Nothing. "

"You admit that the lady told the truth?"

"Ha, ha!" the other laughed harshly. "A lady would naturally tell the truthin such a predicament, wouldn't she?"

At this the judge leaned over to Coquenil and, after some low words, hespoke to the clerk who bowed and went out. 

"You denied a moment ago, " resumed the questioner, "that your name isGroener. Also that you were disguised this afternoon as a wood carver. Doyou deny that you have a room, rented by the year, in the house where MadamCecile has her apartment? Ah, that went home!" he exclaimed. "You thoughtwe would overlook the little fifth-floor room, eh?"

"I know nothing about such a room, " declared the other. 

"I suppose you didn't go there to change your clothes before you called atMadam Cecile's?"

"Certainly not. "

"Call Jules, " said Hauteville to the sleepy guard standing at the door, andstraightway the clerk reappeared with a large leather bag. 

"Open it, " directed the magistrate. "Spread the things on the table. Letthe prisoner look at them. Now then, my stubborn friend, what about thesegarments? What about this wig and false beard?"

Groener rose wearily from his chair, walked deliberately to the table andglanced at the exposed objects without betraying the slightest interest orconfusion. 

"I've never seen these things before, I know nothing about them, " he said. 

"Name of a camel!" muttered Coquenil. "He's got his nerve with him allright!"

The judge sat silent, playing with his lead pencil, then he folded a sheetof paper and proceeded to mark it with a series of rough geometricalpatterns, afterwards going over them again, shading them carefully. Finallyhe looked up and said quietly to the guard: "Take off his handcuffs. "

The guard obeyed. 

"Now take off his coat. "

This was done also, the prisoner offering no resistance. 

"Now his shirt, " and the shirt was taken off. 

"Now his boots and trousers. "

All this was done, and a few moments later the accused stood in his socksand underclothing. And still he made no protest. 

Here M. Paul whispered to Hauteville, who nodded in assent. 

"Certainly. Take off his garters and pull up his drawers. I want his legsbare below the knees. "

"It's an outrage!" cried Groener, for the first time showing feeling. 

"Silence, sir!" glared the magistrate. 

"You'll be bare _above_ the knees in the morning when your measurements aretaken. " Then to the guard: "Do what I said. "

Again the guard obeyed, and Coquenil stood by in eager watchfulness as theprisoner's lower legs were uncovered. 

"Ah!" he cried in triumph, "I knew it, I was sure of it! There!" he pointedto an egg-shaped wound on the right calf, two red semicircles plainlyimprinted in the white flesh. "It's the first time I ever marked a man withmy teeth and--it's a jolly good thing I did. "

"How about this, Groener?" questioned the judge. "Do you admit having had astruggle with Paul Coquenil one night on the street?"

"No. "

"What made that mark on your leg?"

"I--I was bitten by a dog. "

"It's a wonder you didn't shoot the dog, " flashed the detective. 

"What do you mean?" retorted the other. 

Coquenil bent close, black wrath burning in his deep-set eyes, and spokethree words that came to him by lightning intuition, three simple wordsthat, nevertheless, seemed to smite the prisoner with sudden fear: "_Oh, nothing, Raoul!_"

So evident was the prisoner's emotion that Hauteville turned for anexplanation to the detective, who said something under his breath. 

"Very strange! Very important!" reflected the magistrate. Then to theaccused: "In the morning we'll have that wound studied by experts who willtell us whether it was made by a dog or a man. Now I want you to put on thethings that were in that bag. "

For the first time a sense of his humiliation seemed to possess theprisoner. He clinched his hands fiercely and a wave of uncontrollable angerswept over him. 

"No, " he cried hoarsely, "I won't do it, I'll never do it!"

Both the judge and Coquenil gave satisfied nods at this sign of abreakdown, but they rejoiced too soon, for by a marvelous effort of thewill, the man recovered his self-mastery and calm. 

"After all, " he corrected himself, "what does it matter? I'll put thethings on, " and, with his old impassive air, he went to the table and, aided by the guard, quickly donned the boots and garments of the woodcarver. He even smiled contemptuously as he did so. 

"What a man! What a man!" thought Coquenil, watching him admiringly. 

"There!" said the prisoner when the thing was done. 

But the judge shook his head. "You've forgotten the beard and the wig. Suppose you help make up his face, " he said to the detective. 

M. Paul fell to work zealously at this task and, using an elaboratecollection of paints, powders, and brushes that were in the bag, hepresently had accomplished a startling change in the unresistingprisoner--he had literally transformed him into the wood carver. 

"If you're not Groener now, " said Coquenil, surveying his work with asatisfied smile, "I'll swear you're his twin brother. It's the bestdisguise I ever saw, I'll take my hat off to you on that. "

"Extraordinary!" murmured the judge. "Groener, do you still deny that thisdisguise belongs to you?"

[Illustration: "'It's the best disguise I ever saw, I'll take my hat off toyou on that. '"]

"I do. "

"You've never worn it before?"

"Never. "

"And you're not Adolf Groener?"

"Certainly not. "

"You haven't a young cousin known as Alice Groener?"

"No. "

During these questions the door had opened silently at a sign from themagistrate, and Alice herself had entered the room. 

"Turn around!" ordered the judge sharply, and as the accused obeyed he camesuddenly face to face with the girl. 

At the sight of him Alice started in surprise and fear and cried out: "Oh, Cousin Adolf!"

But the prisoner remained impassive. 

"Did you expect to see this man here?" the magistrate asked her. 

"Oh, no, " she shivered. 

"No one had told you you might see him?"

"No one. "

The judge turned to Coquenil. "You did not prepare her for this meeting inany way?"

"No, " said M. Paul. 

"What is your name?" said Hauteville to the girl. 

"Alice Groener, " she answered simply. 

"And this man's name?"

"Adolf Groener. "

"You are sure?"

"Of course, he is my cousin. "

"How long have you known him?"

"Why I--I've always known him. "

Quick as a flash the prisoner pulled off his wig and false beard. 

"Am I your cousin now?" he asked. 

"Oh!" cried the girl, staring in amazement. 

"Look at me! Am I your cousin?" he demanded. 

"I--I don't know, " she stammered. 

"Am I talking to you with your cousin's voice? Pay attention--tell me--amI?"

Alice shook her head in perplexity. "It's not my cousin's voice, " sheadmitted. 

"And it's _not_ your cousin, " declared the prisoner. Then he faced thejudge. "Is it reasonable that I could have lived with this girl for yearsin so intimate a way and been wearing a disguise all the time? It's absurd. She has good eyes, she would have detected this wig and false beard. Didyou ever suspect that your cousin wore a wig or a false beard?" he askedAlice. 

"No, " she replied, "I never did. "

"Ah! And the voice? Did you ever hear your cousin speak with my voice?"

"No, never. "

"You see, " he triumphed to the magistrate. "She can't identify me as hercousin, for the excellent reason that I'm not her cousin. You can't changea man's personality by making him wear another man's clothes and falsehair. I tell you I'm _not_ Groener. "

"Who are you then?" demanded the judge. 

"I'm not obliged to say who I am, and you have no business to ask unlessyou can show that I have committed a crime, which you haven't done yet. Ask my fat friend in the corner if that isn't the law. "

Maître Curé nodded gravely in response to this appeal. "The prisoner iscorrect, " he said. 

Here Coquenil whispered to the judge. 

"Certainly, " nodded the latter, and, turning to Alice, who sat wonderingand trembling through this agitated scene, he said: "Thank you, mademoiselle, you may go. "

The girl rose and, bowing gratefully and sweetly, left the room, followedby M. Paul. 

"Groener, you say that we have not yet shown you guilty of any crime. Bepatient and we will overcome that objection. Where were you about midnighton the night of the 4th of July?"

"I can't say offhand, " answered the other. 

"Try to remember. "

"Why should I?"

"You refuse? Then I will stimulate your memory, " and again he touched thebell. 

Coquenil entered, followed by the shrimp photographer, who was evidentlymuch depressed. 

"Do you recognize this man?" questioned Hauteville, studying the prisonerclosely. 

"No, " came the answer with a careless shrug. 

The shrimp turned to the prisoner and, at the sight of him, started forwardaccusingly. 

"That is the man, " he cried, "that is the man who choked me. "

"One moment, " said the magistrate. "What is your name?"

"Alexander Godin, " piped the photographer. 

"You live at the Hôtel des Étrangers on the Rue Racine?"

"Yes, sir. "

"You are engaged to a young dressmaker who has a room near yours on thesixth floor?"

"I _was_ engaged to her, " said Alexander sorrowfully, "but there's amedical student on the same floor and----"

"No matter. You were suspicious of this young person. And on the night ofJuly 4th you attacked a man passing along the balcony. Is that correct?"

The photographer put forth his thin hands, palms upward in mild protest. "To say that I attacked him is--is a manner of speaking. The fact ishe--he--" Alexander stroked his neck ruefully. 

"I understand, he turned and nearly choked you. The marks of his nails arestill on your neck?"

"They are, sir, " murmured the shrimp. 

"And you are sure this is the man?" he pointed to the accused. 

"Perfectly sure. I'll swear to it. "

"Good. Now stand still. Come here, Groener. Reach out your arms as if youwere going to choke this young man. Don't be afraid, he won't hurt you. No, no, the other arm! I want you to put your _left_ hand, on his neck with thenails of your thumb and fingers exactly on these marks. I said exactly. There is the thumb--right! Now the first finger--good! Now the third! Andnow the little finger! Don't cramp it up, reach it out. Ah!"

With breathless interest Coquenil watched the test, and, as the long littlefinger slowly extended to its full length, he felt a sudden mad desire toshout or leap in the pure joy of victory, for the nails of the prisoner'sleft hand corresponded exactly with the nail marks on the shrimpphotographer's neck!

CHAPTER XXIV

THIRTY IMPORTANT WORDS

"Now, Groener, " resumed the magistrate after the shrimp had withdrawn, "whywere you walking along this hotel balcony on the night of July 4th?"

"I wasn't, " answered the prisoner coolly. 

"The photographer positively identifies you. "

"He's mistaken, I wasn't there. "

"Ah, " smiled Hauteville, with irritating affability. "You'll need a betterdefense than that. "

"Whatever I need I shall have, " came the sharp retort. 

"Have you anything to say about those finger-nail marks?"

"Nothing. "

"There's a peculiarity about those marks, Groener. The little finger of thehand that made them is abnormally, extraordinarily long. Experts say thatin a hundred thousand hands you will not find one with so long a littlefinger, perhaps not one in a million. It happens that _you_ have such ahand and such a little finger. Strange, is it not?"

"Call it strange, if you like, " shrugged the prisoner. 

"Well, _isn't_ it strange? Just think, if all the men in Paris should tryto fit their fingers in those finger marks, there would be only two orthree who could reach the extraordinary span of that little finger. "

"Nonsense! There might be fifty, there might be five hundred. "

"Even so, only one of those fifty or five hundred would be positivelyidentified as the man who choked the photographer _and that one isyourself_. There is the point; we have against you the evidence of Godinwho _saw_ you that night and _remembers_ you, and the evidence of your ownhand. "

So clearly was the charge made that, for the first time, the prisonerdropped his scoffing manner and listened seriously. 

"Admit, for the sake of argument, that I _was_ on the balcony, " he said. "Mind, I don't admit it, but suppose I was? What of it?"

"Nothing much, " replied the judge grimly; "it would simply establish astrong probability that you killed Martinez. "

"How so?"

"The photographer saw you stealing toward Kittredge's room carrying a pairof boots. "

"I don't admit it, but--what if I were?"

"A pair of Kittredge's boots are missing. They were worn by the murderer tothrow suspicion on an innocent man. They were stolen when the pistol wasstolen, and the murderer tried to return them so that they might bediscovered in Kittredge's room and found to match the alleyway footprintsand damn Kittredge. "

"I don't know who Kittredge is, and I don't know what alleyway you referto, " put in Groener. 

Hauteville ignored this bravado and proceeded: "In order to steal theseboots and be able to return them the murderer must have had access toKittredge's room. How? The simplest way was to take a room in the samehotel, on the same floor, opening on the same balcony. _Which is exactlywhat you did!_ The photographer saw you go into it after you choked him. You took this room for a month, but you never went back to it after theday of the crime. "

"My dear sir, all this is away from the point. Granting that I choked thephotographer, which I don't grant, and that I carried a pair of boots alonga balcony and rented a room which I didn't occupy, how does that connect mewith the murder of--what did you say his name was?"

"Martinez, " answered the judge patiently. 

"Ah, Martinez! Well, why did I murder this person?" asked the prisonerfacetiously. "What had I to gain by his death? Can you make that clear? Canyou even prove that I was at the place where he was murdered at thecritical moment? By the way, where _was_ the gentleman murdered? If I'm todefend myself I ought to have some details of the affair. "

The judge and Coquenil exchanged some whispered words. Then the magistratesaid quietly: "I'll give you one detail about the murderer; he is aleft-handed man. "

"Yes? And _am_ I left-handed?"

"We'll know that definitely in the morning when you undergo the Bertillonmeasurements. In the meantime M. Coquenil can testify that you use yourleft hand with wonderful skill. "

"Referring, I suppose, " sneered the prisoner, "to our imaginary encounteron the Champs Elysées, when M. Coquenil claims to have used his teeth on myleg. "

Quick as a flash M. Paul bent toward the judge and said something in a lowtone. 

"Ah, yes!" exclaimed Hauteville with a start of satisfaction. Then toGroener: "How do you happen to know that this encounter took place on theChamps Elysées?"

"Why--er--he said so just now, " answered the other uneasily. 

"I think not. Was the Champs Elysées mentioned, Jules?" he turned to theclerk. 

Jules looked back conscientiously through his notes and shook his head. "Nothing has been said about the Champs Elysées. "

"I must have imagined it, " muttered the prisoner. 

"Very clever of you, Groener, " said the judge dryly, "to imagine the exactstreet where the encounter took place. You couldn't have done better if youhad known it. "

"You see what comes of talking without the advice of counsel, " remarkedMaître Curé in funereal tones. 

"Rubbish!" flung back the prisoner. "This examination is of no importance, anyhow. "

"Of course not, of course not, " purred the magistrate. Then, abruptly, hiswhole manner changed. 

"Groener, " he said, and his voice rang sternly, "I've been patient with youso far, I've tolerated your outrageous arrogance and impertinence, partlyto entrap you, as I have, and partly because I always give suspectedpersons a certain amount of latitude at first. Now, my friend, you've hadyour little fling and--it's my turn. We are coming to a part of thisexamination that you will not find quite so amusing. In fact you willrealize before you have been twenty-four hours at the Santé that----"

"I'm not going to the Santé, " interrupted Groener insolently. 

Hauteville motioned to the guard. "Put the handcuffs on him. "

The guard stepped forward and obeyed, handling the man none too tenderly. Whereupon the accused once more lost his fine self-control and was sweptwith furious anger. 

"Mark my words, Judge Hauteville, " he threatened fiercely, "you haveordered handcuffs put on a prisoner _for the last time_. "

"What do you mean by that?" demanded the magistrate. 

[Illustration: "'You have ordered handcuffs put on a prisoner _for the lasttime_. '"]

But almost instantly Groener had become calm again. "I beg your pardon, " hesaid, "I'm a little on my nerves. I'll behave myself now, I'm ready forthose things you spoke of that are not so amusing. "

"That's better, " approved Hauteville, but Coquenil, watching the prisoner, shook his head doubtfully. There was something in this man's mind that theydid not understand. 

"Groener, " demanded the magistrate impressively, "do you still deny anyconnection with this crime or any knowledge concerning it?"

"I do, " answered the accused. 

"As I said before, I think you are lying, I believe you killed Martinez, but it's possible I am mistaken. I was mistaken in my first impressionabout Kittredge--the evidence seemed strong against him, and I shouldcertainly have committed him for trial had it not been for the remarkablework on the case done by M. Coquenil. "

"I realize that, " replied Groener with a swift and evil glance at thedetective, "but even M. Coquenil might make a mistake. "

Back of the quiet-spoken words M. Paul felt a controlled rage and aviolence of hatred that made him mutter to himself: "It's just as well thisfellow is where he can't do any more harm!"

"I warned you, " pursued the judge, "that we are coming to an unpleasantpart of this examination. It is unpleasant because it forces a guiltyperson to betray himself and reveal more or less of the truth that he triesto hide. "

The prisoner looked up incredulously. "You say it _forces_ him to betrayhimself?"

"That's practically what it does. There may be men strong enough andself-controlled enough to resist but we haven't found such a person yet. It's true the system is quite recently devised, it hasn't been thoroughlytested, but so far we have had wonderful results and--it's just the thingfor your case. "

Groener was listening carefully. "Why?"

"Because, if you are guilty, we shall know it, and can go on confidentlylooking for certain links now missing in the chain of evidence against you. On the other hand, if you are innocent, we shall know that, too, and--ifyou _are_ innocent, Groener, here is your chance to prove it. "

If the prisoner's fear was stirred he did not show it, for he answeredmockingly: "How convenient! I suppose you have a scales that registersinnocent or guilty when the accused stands on it?"

Hauteville shook his head. "It's simpler than that. We make the accusedregister his own guilt or his own innocence _with his own words_. "

"Whether he wishes to or not?"

The other nodded grimly. "Within certain limits--yes. "

"How?"

The judge opened a leather portfolio and selected several sheets of paperruled in squares. Then he took out his watch. 

"On these sheets, " he explained, "M. Coquenil and I have written down abouta hundred words, simple, everyday words, most of them, such as 'house, ''music, ' 'tree, ' 'baby, ' that have no particular significance; among thesewords, however, we have introduced thirty that have some association withthis crime, words like 'Ansonia, ' 'billiards, ' 'pistol. ' Do youunderstand?"

"Yes. "

"I shall speak these words slowly, one by one, and when I speak a word Iwant you to speak another word that my word suggests. For example, if I say'tree, ' you might say 'garden, ' if I say 'house, ' you might say 'chair. ' Ofcourse you are free to say any word you please, but you will find yourselfirresistibly drawn toward certain ones according as you are innocent orguilty. 

"For instance, Martinez, the Spaniard, was widely known as a billiardplayer. Now, if I should say 'billiard player, ' and you had no personalfeeling about Martinez, you might easily, by association of ideas, say'Spaniard'; but, if you had killed Martinez and wished to conceal yourcrime then, when I said 'billiard player' you would _not_ say 'Spaniard, 'but would choose some innocent word like table or chalk. That is a crudeillustration, but it may give you the idea. "

"And is that all?" asked Groener, in evident relief. 

"No, there is also the time taken in choosing a word. If I say 'pen' or'umbrella' it may take you three quarters of a second to answer 'ink' or'rain, ' while it may take another man whose mind acts slowly a second and aquarter or even more for his reply; each person has his or her average timefor the thought process, some longer, some shorter. But that time processis always lengthened after one of the critical or emotional words, I meanif the person is guilty. Thus, if I say, 'Ansonia' to you, and you are themurderer of Martinez, it will take you one or two or three seconds longerto decide upon a safe answering word than it would have taken if you were_not_ the murderer and spoke the first word that came to your tongue. Doyou see?"

"I see, " shrugged the prisoner, "but--after all, it's only an experiment, it never would carry weight in a court of law. "

"Never is a long time, " said the judge. "Wait ten years. We have awonderful mental microscope here and the world will learn to use it. _I_use it now, and I happen to be in charge of this investigation. "

Groener was silent, his fine dark eyes fixed keenly on the judge. 

"Do you really think, " he asked presently, while the old patronizing smileflickered about his mouth, "that if I were guilty of this crime I couldnot make these answers without betraying myself?"

"I'm sure you could not. "

"Then if I stood the test you would believe me innocent?"

The magistrate reflected a moment. "I should be forced to believe one oftwo things, " he said; "either that you are innocent or that you are a manof extraordinary mental power. I don't believe the latter so--yes, I shouldthink you innocent. "

"Let me understand this, " laughed the prisoner; "you say over a number ofwords and I answer with other words. You note the exact moment when youspeak your word and the exact moment when I speak mine, then you see howmany seconds elapse between the two moments. Is that it?"

"That's it, only I have a watch that marks the fifths of a second. Are youwilling to make the test?"

"Suppose I refuse?"

"Why should you refuse if you are innocent?"

"But if I do?"

The magistrate's face hardened. "If you refuse to-day I shall know how to_force_ you to my will another day. Did you ever hear of the third degree, Groener?" he asked sharply. 

As the judge became threatening the prisoner's good nature increased. "After all, " he said carelessly, "what does it matter? Go ahead with yourlittle game. It rather amuses me. "

And, without more difficulty, the test began, Hauteville speaking theprepared words and handling the stop watch while Coquenil, sitting besidehim, wrote down the answered words and the precise time intervals. 

First, they established Groener's average or normal time of reply whenthere was no emotion or mental effort involved. The judge said "milk" andGroener at once, by association of ideas, said "cream"; the judge said"smoke, " Groener replied "fire"; the judge said "early, " Groener said"late"; the judge said "water, " Groener answered "river"; the judge said"tobacco, " Groener answered "pipe. " And the intervals varied from fourfifths of a second to a second and a fifth, which was taken as theprisoner's average time for the untroubled thought process. 

"He's clever!" reflected Coquenil. "He's establishing a slow average. "

Then began the real test, the judge going deliberately through the entirelist which included thirty important words scattered among seventyunimportant ones. The thirty important words were:

 1. NOTRE DAME. 16. DETECTIVE. 2. EYEHOLE. 17. BRAZIL. 3. WATCHDOG. 18. CANARY BIRD. 4. PHOTOGRAPHER. 19. ALICE. 5. GUILLOTINE. 20. RED SKY. 6. CHAMPS ELYSÉES. 21. ASSASSIN. 7. FALSE BEARD. 22. BOOTS. 8. BRUSSELS. 23. MARY. 9. GIBELIN. 24. COACHING PARTY. 10. SACRISTAN. 25. JAPANESE PRINT. 11. VILLA MONTMORENCY. 26. CHARITY BAZAAR. 12. RAOUL. 27. FOOTPRINTS. 13. DREAMS. 28. MARGARET. 14. AUGER. 29. RED HAIR. 15. JIU JITSU. 30. FOURTH OF JULY. 

They went through this list slowly, word by word, with everything carefullyrecorded, which took nearly an hour; then they turned back to the beginningand went through the list again, so that, to the hundred original words, Groener gave two sets of answering words, most of which proved to be thesame, especially in the seventy unimportant words. Thus both times heanswered "darkness" for "light, " "tea" for "coffee, " "clock" for "watch, "and "handle" for "broom. " There were a few exceptions as when he answered"salt" for "sugar" the first time and "sweet" for "sugar" the second time;almost always, however, his memory brought back, automatically, the sameunimportant word at the second questioning that he had given at the firstquestioning. 

It was different, however, with the important words, as Hauteville pointedout when the test was finished, in over half the cases the accused hadanswered different words in the two questionings. 

"You made up your mind, Groener, " said the judge as he glanced over thesheets, "that you would answer the critical words within your average timeof reply and you have done it, but you have betrayed yourself in anotherway, as I knew you would. In your desire to answer quickly you repeatedlychose words that you would not have chosen if you had reflected longer;then, in going through the list a second time, you realized this andimproved on your first answers by substituting more innocent words. Forexample, the first time you answered 'hole' when I said 'auger, ' but thesecond time you answered 'hammer. ' You said to yourself: 'Hole is not agood answer because he will think I am thinking, of those eyeholes, soI'll change it to "hammer" which, means nothing. ' For the same reason whenI said 'Fourth of July' you answered 'banquet' the first time and 'America'the second time, which shows that the Ansonia banquet was in your mind. Andwhen I said 'watchdog' you answered first 'scent' and then 'tail'; when Isaid 'Brazil' you answered first 'ship' and then 'coffee, ' when I said'dreams' you answered first 'fear' and then 'sleep'; you made these changeswith the deliberate purpose to get as far away as possible fromassociations with the crime. "

"Not at all, " contradicted Groener, "I made the changes because every wordhas many associations and I followed the first one that came into my head. When we went through the list a second time I did not remember or try toremember the answers I had given the first time. "

"Ah, but that is just the point, " insisted the magistrate, "in the seventyunimportant words you _did_ remember and you _did_ answer practically thesame words both times, your memory only failed in the thirty importantwords. Besides, in spite of your will power, the test reveals emotionaldisturbance. "

"In me?" scoffed the prisoner. 

"Precisely. It is true you kept your answers to the important words withinyour normal tone of reply, but in at least five cases you went beyond thisnormal time in answering the _unimportant_ words. "

Groener shrugged his shoulders. "The words are unimportant and so are theanswers. "

"Do you think so? Then explain this. You were answering regularly at therate of one answer in a second or so when suddenly you hesitated andclenched your hands and waited _four and two fifths seconds_ beforeanswering 'feather' to the simple word 'hat. '"

"Perhaps I was tired, perhaps I was bored. "

The magistrate leaned nearer. "Yes, and perhaps you were inwardly disturbedby the shock and strain of answering the _previous_ word quickly andunconcernedly. I didn't warn you of that danger. Do you know what theprevious word was?"

"No. "

"_It was guillotine!_"

"Ah?" said the prisoner, absolutely impassive. 

"And why did you waver and wipe your brow and draw in your breath quicklyand wait _six and one fifth seconds_ before answering 'violin' when I gaveyou the word 'music'?"

"I'm sure I don't know. "

"Then I'll tell you; it was because you were again deeply agitated by theprevious word 'coaching party' which you had answered instantly with'horses. '"

"I don't see anything agitating in the word 'coaching party, '" saidGroener. 

Hauteville measured the prisoner for a moment in grim silence, then, throwing into his voice and manner all the impressiveness of his office andhis stern personality he said: "And why did you start from your seat andtremble nervously and wait _nine and four fifths seconds_ before you wereable to answer 'salad' to the word 'potato'?"

Groener stared stolidly at the judge and did not speak. 

"Shall I tell you why? It was because your heart was pounding, your headthrobbing, your whole mental machinery was clogged and numbed by the shockof the word before, by the terror that went through you _when you answered'worsted work' to 'Charity Bazaar. '_"

The prisoner bounded to his feet with a hoarse cry: "My God, you have noright to torture me like this!" His face was deathly white, his eyes werestaring. 

"We've got him going now, " muttered Coquenil. 

"Sit down!" ordered the judge. "You can stop this examination very easilyby telling the truth. "

The prisoner dropped back weakly on his chair and sat with eyes closed andhead fallen forward. He did not speak. 

"Do you hear, Groener?" continued Hauteville. "You can save yourself agreat deal of trouble by confessing your part in this crime. Look here!Answer me!"

With an effort the man straightened up and met the judge's eyes. His facewas drawn as with physical pain. 

"I--I feel faint, " he murmured. "Could you--give me a little brandy?"

"Here, " said Coquenil, producing a flask. "Let him have a drop of this. "

The guard put the flask to the prisoner's lips and Groener took severalswallows. 

"Thanks!" he whispered. 

"I told you it wouldn't be amusing, " said the magistrate grimly. "Come now, it's one thing or the other, either you confess or we go ahead. "

"I have nothing to confess, I know nothing about this crime--nothing. "

"Then what was the matter with you just now?"

With a flash of his former insolence the prisoner answered: "Look at thatclock and you'll see what was the matter. It's after ten, you've had mehere for five hours and--I've had no food since noon. It doesn't make a mana murderer because he's hungry, does it?"

The plea seemed reasonable and the prisoner's distress genuine, but, somehow, Coquenil was skeptical; he himself had eaten nothing since midday, he had been too busy and absorbed, and he was none the worse for it;besides, he remembered what a hearty luncheon the wood carver had eatenand he could not quite believe in this sudden exhaustion. Several times, furthermore, he fancied he had caught Groener's eye fixed anxiously on theclock. Was it possible the fellow was trying to gain time? But why? Howcould that serve him? What could he be waiting for?

As the detective puzzled over this there shot through his mind an idea fora move against Groener's resistance, so simple, yet promising such dramaticeffectiveness that he turned quickly to Hauteville and said: "I _think_ itmight be as well to let him have some supper. "

The judge nodded in acquiescence and directed the guard to take theprisoner into the outer office and have something to eat brought in forhim. 

"Well, " he asked when they were alone, "what is it?"

Then, for several minutes Coquenil talked earnestly, convincingly, whilethe magistrate listened. 

"It ought not to take more than an hour or so to get the things here, "concluded the detective, "and if I read the signs right, it will just aboutfinish him. "

"Possibly, possibly, " reflected the judge. "Anyhow it's worth trying, " andhe gave the necessary orders to his clerk. "Let Tignol go, " he directed. "Tell him to wake the man up, if he's in bed, and not to mind what itcosts. Tell him to take an auto. Hold on, I'll speak to him myself. "

The clerk waited respectfully at the door as the judge hurried out, whereupon Coquenil, lighting a cigarette, moved to the open window andstood there for a long time blowing contemplative smoke rings into thequiet summer night. 

CHAPTER XXV

THE MOVING PICTURE

"Are you feeling better?" asked the judge an hour later when the accusedwas led back. 

"Yes, " answered Groener with recovered self-possession, and again thedetective noticed that he glanced anxiously at the clock. It was a quarterpast eleven. 

"We will have the visual test now, " said Hauteville; "we must go to anotherroom. Take the prisoner to Dr. Duprat's laboratory, " he directed the guard. 

Passing down the wide staircase, strangely silent now, they entered a longnarrow passageway leading to a remote wing of the Palais de Justice. Firstwent the guard with Groener close beside him, then twenty paces, behindcame M. Paul and the magistrate and last came the weary clerk with MaîtreCuré. Their footsteps, echoed ominously along the stone floor, theirshadows danced fantastically before them and behind them under gas jetsthat flared through the tunnel. 

"I hope this goes off well, " whispered the judge uneasily. "You don't thinkthey have forgotten anything?"

"Trust Papa Tignol to obey orders, " replied Coquenil. "Ah!" he started andgripped his companion's arm. "Do you remember what I told you about thosealleyway footprints? About the pressure marks? Look!" and he pointed aheadexcitedly. "I knew it, he has gout or rheumatism, just touches that comeand go. He had it that night when he escaped from the Ansonia and he hasit now. See!"

The judge observed the prisoner carefully and nodded in agreement. Therewas no doubt about it, as he walked _Groener was limping noticeably on hisleft foot!_

Dr. Duprat was waiting for them in his laboratory, absorbed in recordingthe results of his latest experiments. A kind-eyed, grave-faced man wasthis, who, for all his modesty, was famous over Europe as a brilliantworker in psychological criminology. Bertillon had given the world a methodof identifying criminals' bodies, and now Duprat was perfecting a method ofrecognizing their mental states, especially any emotional disturbancesconnected with fear, anger or remorse. 

Entering the laboratory, they found themselves in a large room, quite dark, save for an electric lantern at one end that threw a brilliant circle on asheet stretched at the other end. The light reflected from this sheetshowed the dim outlines of a tiered amphitheater before which was a longtable spread with strange-looking instruments, electrical machines andspecial apparatus for psychological experiments. On the walls were chartsand diagrams used by the doctor in his lectures. 

"Everything ready?" inquired the magistrate after an exchange of greetingswith Dr. Duprat. 

"Everything, " answered the latter. "Is this the--er--the subject?" heglanced at the prisoner. 

Hauteville nodded and the doctor beckoned to the guard. 

"Please bring him over here. That's right--in front of the lantern. " Thenhe spoke gently to Groener: "Now, my friend, we are not going to doanything that will cause you the slightest pain or inconvenience. Theseinstruments look formidable, but they are really good friends, for theyhelp us to understand one another. Most of the trouble in this world comesbecause half the people do not understand the other half. Please turnsideways to the light. "

For some moments he studied the prisoner in silence. 

"Interesting, _ve_-ry interesting, " murmured the doctor, his fine student'sface alight. "Especially the lobe of this ear! I will leave a note about itfor Bertillon himself, he mustn't miss the lobe of this ear. Please turn alittle for the back of the head. Thanks! Great width! Extraordinaryfullness. Now around toward the light! The eyes--ah! The brow--excellent!Yes, yes, I know about the hand, " he nodded to Coquenil, "but the head iseven more remarkable. I must study this head when we have time--_ve_-ryremarkable. Tell me, my friend, do you suffer from sudden shootingpains--here, over your eyes?"

"No, " said Groener. 

"No? I should have thought you might. Well, well!" he proceeded kindly, "wemust have a talk one of these days. Perhaps I can make some suggestions. Isee so _many_ heads, but--not many like yours, no, no, not many likeyours. "

He paused and glanced toward an assistant who was busy with the lantern. The assistant looked up and nodded respectfully. 

"Ah, we can begin, " continued the doctor. "We must have these off, " hepointed to the handcuffs. "Also the coat. Don't be alarmed! You willexperience nothing unpleasant--nothing. There! Now I want the right armbare above the elbow. No, no, it's the left arm, I remember, I want theleft arm bare above the elbow. "

When these directions had been carried out, Dr. Duprat pointed to a heavywooden chair with a high back and wide arms. 

"Please sit here, " he went on, "and slip your left arm into this leathersleeve. It's a little tight because it has a rubber lining, but you won'tmind it after a minute or two. "

Groener walked to the chair and then drew back. "What are you going to doto me?" he asked. 

"We are going to show you some magic lantern pictures, " answered thedoctor. 

"Why must I sit in this chair? Why do you want my arm in that leatherthing?"

"I told you, Groener, " put in the judge, "that we were coming here for thevisual test; it's part of your examination. Some pictures of persons andplaces will be thrown on that sheet and, as each one appears, I want you tosay what it is. Most of the pictures are familiar to everyone. "

"Yes, but the leather sleeve?" persisted the prisoner. 

"The leather sleeve is like the stop watch, it records your emotions. Sitdown!"

Groener hesitated and the guard pushed him toward the chair. "Wait!" hesaid. "I want to know _how_ it records my emotions. "

The magistrate answered with a patience that surprised M. Paul. "There is a pneumatic arrangement, " he explained, "by which thepulsations of your heart and the blood pressure in your arteriesare registered--automatically. Now then! I warn you if you don'tsit down willingly--well, you had better sit down. "

Coquenil was watching closely and, through the prisoner's half shut eyes, he caught a flash of anger, a quick clenching of the freed hands andthen--then Groener sat down. 

Quickly and skillfully the assistant adjusted the leather sleeve over thebared left arm and drew it close with straps. 

"Not too tight, " said Duprat. "You feel a sense of throbbing at first, butit is nothing. Besides, we shall take the sleeve off shortly. Now then, " heturned toward the lantern. 

Immediately a familiar scene appeared upon the sheet, a colored photographof the Place de la Concorde. 

"What is it?" asked the doctor pleasantly. 

The prisoner was silent. 

"You surely recognize this picture. Look! The obelisk and the fountain, theTuileries gardens, the arches of the Rue de Rivoli, and the Madeleine, there at the end of the Rue Royale. Come, what is it?"

"The Place de la Concorde, " answered Groener sullenly. 

"Of course. You see how simple it is. Now another. "

The picture changed to a view of the grand opera house and at the samemoment a point of light appeared in the headpiece back of the chair. It wasshaded so that the prisoner could not see it and it illumined a graduatedwhite dial on which was a glass tube about thirty inches long, the wholeresembling a barometer. Inside the tube a red column moved regularly up anddown, up and down, in steady beats and Coquenil understood that this columnwas registering the beating of Groener's heart. Standing behind the chair, the doctor, the magistrate, and the detective could at the same time watchthe pulsating column and the pictures on the sheet; but the prisoner couldnot see the column, he did not know it was there, he saw only the pictures. 

"What is that?" asked the doctor. 

Groener had evidently decided to make the best of the situation for heanswered at once: "The grand opera house. "

"Good! Now another! What is that?"

"The Bastille column. "

"Right! And this?"

"The Champs Elysées. "

"And this?"

"Notre-Dame church. "

So far the beats had come uniformly about one in a second, for the man'spulse was slow; at each beat the liquid in the tube shot up six inches andthen dropped six inches, but, at the view of Notre-Dame, the column roseonly three inches, then dropped back and shot up seven inches. 

The doctor nodded gravely while Coquenil, with breathless interest, with a, morbid fascination, watched the beating of this red column. It was like thebeating of red blood. 

"_And this?_"

As the picture changed there was a quiver in the pulsating column, ahesitation with a quick fluttering at the bottom of the stroke, then thered line shot up full nine inches. 

M. Paul glanced at the sheet and saw a perfect reproduction of private roomNumber Six in the Ansonia. Everything was there as on the night of thecrime, the delicate yellow hangings, the sofa, the table set for two. And, slowly, as they looked, two holes appeared in the wall. Then a dim shapetook form upon the floor, more and more distinctly until the dissolvinglens brought a man's body into clear view, a body stretched face downwardin a dark red pool that grew and widened, slowly straining and wetting thepolished wood. 

"Groener, " said the magistrate, his voice strangely formidable in theshadows, "do you recognize this room?"

"No, " said the prisoner impassively, but the column was pulsing wildly. 

"You have been in this room?"

"Never. "

"Nor looked through these eyeholes?"

"No. "

"Nor seen that man lying on the floor?"

"No. "

Now the prisoner's heart was beating evenly again, somehow he had regainedhis self-possession. 

"You are lying, Groener, " accused the judge. "You remember this manperfectly. Come, we will lift him from the floor and look him in the face, full in the face. There!" He signaled the lantern operator and there leapedforth on the sheet the head of Martinez, the murdered, mutilated head withshattered eye and painted cheeks and the greenish death pallor showingunderneath. A ghastly, leering cadaver in collar and necktie, dressed upand photographed at the morgue, and now flashed hideously at the prisonerout of the darkness. Yet Groener's heart pulsed on steadily with only aslight quickening, with less quickening than Coquenil felt in his ownheart. 

"Who is it?" demanded the judge. 

"I don't know, " declared the accused. 

Again the picture changed. 

"Who is this?"

"Napoleon Bonaparte. "

"And this?"

"Prince Bismarck. "

"And this?"

"Queen Victoria. "

Here, suddenly, at the view of England's peaceful sovereign, Groener seemedthrown into frightful agitation, not Groener as he sat on the chair, coldand self-contained, but Groener as revealed by the unsuspected dial. Up anddown in mad excitement leaped the red column with many little breaks andquiverings at the bottom of the beats and with tremendous up-shootings asif the frightened heart were trying to burst the tube with its spurting redjet. 

The doctor put his mouth close to Coquenil's ear and whispered: "It's theshock showing now, the shock that he held back after the body. "

Then he leaned over Groener's shoulder and asked kindly: "Do you feel yourheart beating fast, my friend?"

"No, " murmured the prisoner, "my--my heart is beating as usual. "

"You will certainly recognize the next picture, " pursued the judge. "Itshows a woman and a little girl! There! Do you know these faces, Groener?"

As he spoke there appeared the fake photograph that Coquenil had found inBrussels, Alice at the age of twelve with the smooth young widow. 

The prisoner shook his head. "I don't know them--I never saw them. "

"Groener, " warned the magistrate, "there is no use keeping up this denial, you have betrayed yourself already. "

"No, " cried the prisoner with a supreme rally of his will power, "I havebetrayed nothing--nothing, " and, once more, while the doctor marveled, hispulse steadied and strengthened and grew normal. 

"What a man!" muttered Coquenil. 

"We know the facts, " went on Hauteville sternly, "we know why you killedMartinez and why you disguised yourself as a wood carver. "

The prisoner's face lighted with a mocking smile. "If you know all that, why waste time questioning me?"

"You're a good actor, sir, but we shall strip off your mask and quiet yourimpudence. Look at the girl in this _false_ picture which you had cunninglymade in Brussels. Look at her! Who is she? There is the key to the mystery!There is the reason for your killing Martinez! _He knew the truth aboutthis girl_. "

Now the prisoner's pulse was running wild, faster and faster, but with nomore violent spurtings and leapings; the red column throbbed swiftly andfaintly at the bottom of the tube as if the heart were weakening. 

"A hundred and sixty to the minute, " whispered Duprat to the magistrate. "It is dangerous to go on. "

Hauteville shrugged his shoulders. 

"Martinez knew the truth, " he went on, "Martinez held your secret. How hadMartinez come upon it? Who was Martinez? A billiard player, a shallowfellow, vain of his conquests over silly women. The last man in Paris, onewould say, to interfere with your high purposes or penetrate the barriersof wealth and power that surrounded you. "

"You--you flatter me! What am I, pray, a marquis or a duke?" chaffed theother, but the trembling dial belied his gayety, and even from the sideCoquenil could see that the man's face was as tense and pallid as the sheetbefore him. 

"As I said, the key to this murder, " pursued the magistrate, "is the secretthat Martinez held. Without that nothing can be understood and no justicecan be done. The whole aim of this investigation has been to get the secretand _we have got it!_ Groener, you have delivered yourself into our hands, you have written this secret for us in words of terror and we have readthem, we know what Martinez knew when you took his life, we know the storyof the medal that he wore on his breast. Do _you_ know the story?"

"I tell you I know nothing about this man or his medal, " flung back theprisoner. 

"No? Then you will be glad to hear the story. It was a medal of solid gold, awarded Martinez by the city of Paris for conspicuous bravery in savinglives at the terrible Charity Bazaar fire. You have heard of the CharityBazaar fire, Groener?"

"Yes, I--I have heard of it. "

"But perhaps you never heard the details or, if you did, you may haveforgotten them. _Have_ you forgotten the details of the Charity Bazaarfire?"

Charity Bazaar fire! Three times, with increasing emphasis, the magistratehad spoken those sinister words, yet the dial gave no sign, the red columnthrobbed on steadily. 

"I am not interested in the subject, " answered the accused. 

"Ah, but you are, or you ought to be. It was such a shocking affair. Hundreds burned to death, think of that! Cowardly men trampling women andchildren! Our noblest families plunged into grief and bereavement!Princesses burned to death! Duchesses burned to death! Beautiful womenburned to death! _Rich women burned to death!_ Think of it, Groener, and--"he signaled the operator, "_and look at it!_"

As he spoke the awful tragedy began in one of those extraordinary movingpictures that the French make after a catastrophe, giving to the imitationeven greater terrors than were in the genuine happening. Here before themnow leaped redder and fiercer flames than ever crackled through the realCharity Bazaar; here were women and children perishing in more savagetorture than the actual victims endured; here were horrors piled onhorrors, exaggerated horrors, manufactured horrors, until the spectaclebecame unendurable, until one all but heard the screams and breathed thesickening odor of burning human flesh. 

Coquenil had seen this picture in one of the boulevard theaters and, straightway, after the precious nine-second clew of the word test, he hadsent Papa Tignol off for it posthaste, during the supper intermission. Ifthe mere word "Charity Bazaar" had struck this man dumb with fear whatwould the thing itself do, the revolting, ghastly thing?

That was the question now, what would this hideous moving picture do to afire-fearing assassin already on the verge of collapse? Would it break thelast resistance of his overwrought nerves or would he still hold out?

Silently, intently the three men waited, bending over the dial as the testproceeded, as the fiends of torture and death swept past in lurid triumph. 

The picture machine whirled on with droning buzz, the accused sat still, eyes on the sheet, the red column pulsed steadily, up and down, up anddown, now a little higher, now a little quicker, but--for a minute, for twominutes--nothing decisive happened, nothing that they had hoped for; yetCoquenil felt, he knew that something was going to happen, he _knew_ it bythe agonized tension of the room, by the atmosphere of _pain_ about them. If Groener had not spoken, he himself, in the poignancy of his owndistress, must have cried out or stamped on the floor or broken something, just to end the silence. 

Then, suddenly, the tension snapped, the prisoner sprang to his feet and, tearing his arm from the leather sleeve, he faced his tormentorsdesperately, eyes blazing, features convulsed:

"No, no, no!" he shrieked. "You dogs! You cowards!"

"Lights up, " ordered Hauteville. Then to the guard: "Put the handcuffs onhim. "

[Illustration: "'No, no, no!' he shrieked. 'You dogs! You cowards!'"]

But the prisoner would not be silenced. "What does all this prove?" hescreamed in rage. "Nothing! Nothing! You make me look at disgusting, abominable pictures and--why _shouldn't_ my heart beat? Anybody's heartwould beat--if he had a heart. "

The judge paid no attention to this outburst, but went on in a tone as keenand cold as a knife: "Before you go to your cell, Groener, you shall hearwhat we charge against you. Your wife perished in the Charity Bazaar fire. She was a very rich woman, probably an American, who had been marriedbefore and who had a daughter by her previous marriage. That daughter isthe girl you call Alice. Her true name is Mary. She was in the fire withher mother and was rescued by Martinez, but the shock of seeing her motherburned to death _and, perhaps, the shock of seeing you refuse to save hermother----_"

"It's a lie!" yelled the prisoner. 

"All this terror and anguish caused a violent mental disturbance in thegirl and resulted in a failure of her memory. When she came out of the fireit was as if a curtain had fallen over her past life, she had lost thesense of her own personality, she did not know her own name, she washelpless, you could do as you pleased with her. _And she was a greatheiress!_ If she lived, she inherited her mother's fortune; if she died, this fortune reverted to you. So shrinking, perhaps, from the actualkilling of this girl, you destroyed her identity; you gave it out that she, too, had perished in the flames and you proceeded to enjoy her stolenfortune while she sold candles in Notre-Dame church. "

"You have no proof of it!" shouted Groener. 

"No? What is this?" and he signaled the operator, whereupon the lights wentdown and the picture of Alice and the widow appeared again. "There is thegirl whom you have wronged and defrauded. Now watch the woman, yourBrussels accomplice, watch her carefully--carefully, " he motioned to theoperator and the smooth young widow faded gradually, while the face andform of another woman took her place beside the girl. "Now we have thepicture as it was before you falsified it. Do you recognize _this_ face?"

"No, " answered the prisoner, but his heart was pounding. 

"It is your wife. Look!"

Under the picture came the inscription: "_To my dear husband Raoul with thelove of Margaret and her little Mary_. "

"I wish we had the dial on him now, " whispered Duprat to M. Paul. 

"There are your two victims!" accused the magistrate. "Mary and Margaret!How long do you suppose it will take us to identify them among the CharityBazaar unfortunates? It is a matter of a few hours' record searching. Whatmust we look for? A rich American lady who married a Frenchman. Her name isMargaret. She had a daughter named Mary. The Frenchman's name is Raoul andhe probably has a title. We have, also, the lady's photograph and thedaughter's photograph and a specimen of the lady's handwriting. Couldanything be simpler? The first authority we meet on noble fortune hunterswill tell us all about it. And then, M. Adolf Groener, we shall knowwhether it is a, marquis or a duke whose name _must be added to the list ofdistinguished assassins_. "

He paused for a reply, but none came. The guard moved suddenly in theshadows and called for help. 

"Lights!" said the doctor sharply and, as the lamps shone out, the prisonerwas seen limp and white, sprawling over a chair. 

Duprat hurried to him and pressed an ear to his heart. 

"He has fainted, " said the doctor. 

Coquenil looked half pityingly at his stricken adversary. "Down and out, "he murmured. 

Duprat, meantime, was working over the prisoner, rubbing his wrists, loosening his shirt and collar. 

"Ammonia--quick, " he said to his assistant, and a moment later, with thestrong fumes at his nostrils, Groener stirred and opened his eyes weakly. 

Just then a sound was heard in the distance as of a galloping horse. Thewhite-faced prisoner started and listened eagerly. Nearer and nearer camethe rapid hoof beats, echoing through the deserted streets. Now the horsewas crossing the little bridge near the hospital, now he was coming madlydown the Boulevard du Palais. Who was this rider dashing so furiouslythrough the peaceful night?

As they all turned wondering, the horse drew up suddenly before the palaceand a voice was heard in sharp command. Then the great iron gates swungopen and the horse stamped in. 

Hauteville hurried to the open window and stood there listening. Just belowhim in the courtyard he made out of the flashing helmet and imposinguniform of a mounted _garde de Paris_. And he caught some quick words thatmade him start. 

"A messenger from the Prime Minister, " muttered the judge, "on urgentbusiness _with me_. "

Groener heard and, with a long sigh, sank back against the chair and closedhis eyes, but Coquenil noticed uneasily that just a flicker of the oldpatronizing smile was playing about his pallid lips. 

CHAPTER XXVI

COQUENIL'S MOTHER

In accordance with orders, Papa Tignol appeared at the Villa Montmorencybetimes the next morning. It was a perfect summer's day and the old man'sheart was light as he walked up the Avenue des Tilleuls, past vine-coveredwalls and smiling gardens. 

"Eh, eh!" he chuckled, "it's good to be alive on a day like this and toknow what _I_ know. "

He was thinking, with a delicious thrill, of the rapid march of events inthe last twenty-four hours, of the keen pursuit, the tricks and disguises, the anxiety and the capture and then of the great coup of the evening. _Bondieu_, what a day!

And now the chase was over! The murderer was tucked away safely in a cellat the depot. Ouf, he had given them some bad moments, this wood carver!But for M. Paul they would never have caught the slippery devil, never! Ah, what a triumph for M. Paul! He would have the whole department bowing downto him now. And Gibelin! Eh, eh! Gibelin!

Tignol closed the iron gate carefully behind him and walked down thegraveled walk with as little crunching as possible. He had an idea thatCoquenil might still be sleeping and if anyone in Paris had earned a longsleep it was Paul Coquenil. 

To his surprise, however, the detective was not only up and dressed, but hewas on his knees in the study before a large leather bag into which he washastily throwing various garments brought down by the faithful Melanie, whose joy at having her master home again was evidently clouded by thisprospect of an imminent departure. 

"Ah, Papa Tignol!" said M. Paul as the old man entered, but there was noheartiness in his tone. "Sit down, sit down. "

Tignol sank back in one of the red-leather chairs and waited wonderingly. This was not the buoyant reception he had expected. 

"Is anything wrong?" he asked finally. 

"Why--er--why, yes, " nodded Coquenil, but he went on packing and did notsay what was wrong. And Tignol did not ask. 

"Going away?" he ventured after a silence. 

M. Paul shut the bag with a jerk and tightened the side straps, then hethrew himself wearily into a chair. 

"Yes, I--I'm going away. "

The detective leaned back and closed his eyes, he looked worn and gray. Tignol watched him anxiously through a long silence. What could be thetrouble? What had happened? He had never seen M. Paul like this, so brokenand--one would say, discouraged. And this was the moment of his triumph, the proudest moment in his career. It must be the reaction from these daysof strain, yes that was it. 

M. Paul opened his eyes and said in a dull tone: "Did you take the girl toPougeot last night?"

"Yes, she's all right. The commissary says he will look after her as if shewere his own daughter until he hears from you. "

"Good! And--you showed her the ring?"

The old man nodded. "She understands, she will be careful, but--there'snothing for her to worry about now--is there?"

Coquenil's face darkened. "You'd better let me have the ring before Iforget it. "

"Thanks!" He slipped the old talisman on his finger, and then, after atroubled pause, he said: "There is more for her to worry about than ever. "

"More? You mean on account of Groener?"

"Yes. "

"But he's caught, he's in prison. "

The detective shook his head. "He's not in prison. "

"Not in prison?"

"He was set at liberty about--about two o'clock this morning. "

Tignol stared stupidly, scarcely taking in the words. "But--but he'sguilty. "

"I know. "

"You have all this evidence against him?"

"Yes. "

"Then--then _how_ is he at liberty?" stammered the other. 

Coquenil reached for a match, struck it deliberately and lighted acigarette. 

"_By order of the Prime Minister_, " he said quietly, and blew out a longwhite fragrant cloud. 

"You mean--without trial?"

"Yes--without trial. He's a very important person, Papa Tignol. "

The old man scratched his head in perplexity. "I didn't know anybody wastoo important to be tried for murder. "

"He _can't_ be tried until he's committed for trial by a judge. "

"Well? And Hauteville?"

"Hauteville will never commit him. "

"Why not?"

"Because Hauteville has been removed from office. "

"Wha-at?"

"His commission was revoked this morning by order of the Minister ofJustice. "

"Judge Hauteville--discharged!" murmured Tignol, in bewilderment. 

Coquenil nodded and then added sorrowfully: "And you, too, my poor friend. _Everyone_ who has had anything to do with this case, from the highest tothe lowest, will suffer. We all made a frightful mistake, they say, indaring to arrest and persecute this most distinguished and honorablecitizen. Ha, ha!" he concluded bitterly as he lighted another cigarette. 

"_C'est épatant!_" exclaimed Tignol. "He must be a rich devil!"

"He's rich and--much more. "

"Whe-ew! He must be a senator or--or something like that?"

"Much more, " said Coquenil grimly. 

"More than a senator? Then--then a cabinet minister? No, it isn'tpossible?"

"He is more important than a cabinet minister, far more important. "

"Holy snakes!" gasped Tignol. "I don't see anything left except the PrimeMinister himself. "

"This man is so highly placed, " declared Coquenil gravely, "he is sopowerful that----"

"Stop!" interrupted the other. "I know. He was in that coaching party; hekilled the dog, it was--it was the Duke de Montreuil. "

"No, it was not, " replied Coquenil. "The Duke de Montreuil is rich andpowerful, as men go in France, but this man is of internationalimportance, his fortune amounts to a thousand million francs, at least, andhis power is--well--he could treat the Duke de Montreuil like a valet. "

"Who--who is he?"

Coquenil pointed to his table where a book lay open. "Do you see that redbook? It's the _Annuaire de la Noblesse Française_. You'll find his namethere--marked with a pencil. "

Tignol went eagerly to the table, then, as he glanced at the printed pagethere came over his face an expression of utter amazement. 

"It isn't possible!" he cried. 

"I know, " agreed Coquenil, "it isn't possible, but--_it's true!_"

"_Dieu de Dieu de Dieu!_" frowned the old man, bobbing his cropped head andtugging at his sweeping black mustache. Then slowly in awe-struck tones heread from the great authority on French titles:

 BARON FELIX RAOUL DE HEIDELMANN-BRUCK, only son of the Baron Georges Raoul de Heidelmann-Bruck, upon whom the title was conferred for industrial activities under the Second Empire. B. Jan. 19, 1863. Lieutenant in the 45th cuirassiers, now retired. Has extensive iron and steel works near St. Etienne. Also naval construction yards at Brest. Member of the Jockey Club, the Cercle de la Rue Royale, the Yacht Club of France, the Automobile Club, the Aero Club, etc. Decorations: Commander of the Legion of Honor, the order of St. Maurice and Lazare (Italy), the order of Christ (Portugal), etc. Address: Paris, Hotel Rue de Varennes Château near Langier, Touraine. Married Mrs. Elizabeth Coogan, who perished with her daughter Mary in the Charity Bazaar fire. 

"You see, it's all there, " said M. Paul. "His name is Raoul and his wife'sname was Margaret. She died in the Charity Bazaar fire, and hisstepdaughter Mary is put down as having died there, too. We know where_she_ is. "

"The devil! The devil! The devil!" muttered Tignol, his nut-cracker facescrewed up in comical perplexity. "This will rip things wide, _wide_ open. "

The detective shook his head. "It won't rip anything open. "

"But if he is guilty?"

"No one will know it, no one would believe it. "

"_You_ know it, you can prove it. "

"How can I prove it? The courts are closed against me. And even if theyweren't, do you suppose it would be possible to convict the Baron deHeidelmann-Bruck of _any_ crime? Nonsense! He's the most powerful man inFrance. He controls the banks, the bourse, the government. He can cause amoney panic by lifting his hand. He can upset the ministry by a word overthe telephone. He financed the campaign that brought in the present radicalgovernment, and his sister is the wife of the Prime Minister. "

"_And he killed Martinez!_" added Tignol. 

"Yes. "

For fully a minute the two men faced each other in silence. M. Paul lightedanother cigarette. 

"Couldn't you tell what you know in the newspapers?"

"No newspaper in France would dare to print it, " said Coquenil gravely. 

"Perhaps there is some mistake, " suggested the other, "perhaps he isn't theman. "

The detective opened his table drawer and drew out several photographs. "Look at those!"

One by one Tignol studied the photographs. "It's the man we arrested, allright--without the beard. "

"It's the Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck, " said Coquenil. 

Tignol gazed at the pictures with a kind of fascination. 

"How many millions did you say he has?"

"A thousand--or more. "

"A thousand millions!" He screwed up his face again and pulled reflectivelyon his long red nose. "And I put the handcuffs on him! Holy camels!"

Coquenil lighted another cigarette and breathed in the smoke deeply. 

"Aren't you smoking too many of those things? That makes five in tenminutes. "

M. Paul shrugged his shoulders. "What's the difference?"

"I see, you're thinking out some plan, " approved the other. 

"Plan for what?"

"For putting this thousand-million-franc devil where he belongs, " grinnedthe old man. 

The detective eyed his friend keenly. "Papa Tignol, that's the prettiestcompliment anyone ever paid me. In spite of all I have said you haveconfidence that I could do this man up--_somehow_, eh?"

"Sure!"

"I don't know, I don't know, " reflected Coquenil, and a shadow of sadnessfell over his pale, weary face. "Perhaps I could, but--I'm not going totry. "

"You--you're not going to try?"

"No, I'm through, I wash my hands of the case. The Baron deHeidelmann-Bruck can sleep easily as far as I am concerned. "

Tignol bounded to his feet and his little eyes flashed indignantly. "Idon't believe it, " he cried. "I won't have it. You can't tell me PaulCoquenil is afraid. _Are_ you afraid?"

"I don't think so, " smiled the other. 

"And Paul Coquenil hasn't been bought? He _can't_ be bought--can he?"

"I hope not. "

"Then--then what in thunder do you mean, " he demanded fiercely, "by sayingyou drop this case?"

M. Paul felt in his coat pocket and drew out a folded telegram. "Read that, old friend, " he answered with emotion, "and--and thank you for your goodopinion. "

Slowly Tignol read the contents of the blue sheet. 

 M. PAUL COQUENIL, Villa Montmorency, Paris. 

 House and barn destroyed by incendiary fire in night. Your mother saved, but seriously injured. M. Abel says insurance policy had lapsed. Come at once. 

 ERNESTINE. 

"_Quel malheur! Quel malheur!_" exclaimed the old man. "My poor M. Paul!Forgive me! I'm a stupid fool, " and he grasped his companion's hand inquick sympathy. 

"It's all right, you didn't understand, " said the other gently. 

"And you--you think it's _his_ doing?"

"Of course. He must have given the order in that cipher dispatch to Dubois. Dubois is a secret agent of the government. He communicated with the PrimeMinister, but the Prime Minister was away inaugurating a statue; he didn'treturn until after midnight. That is why the man wasn't set at libertysooner. No wonder he kept looking at the clock. "

"And Dubois telegraphed to have this hellish thing done?"

"Yes, yes, they had warned me, they had killed my dog, and--and now theyhave struck at my mother. " He bent down his head on his hands. "She's allI've got, Tignol, she's seventy years old and--infirm and--no, no, I quit, I'm through. "

In his distress and perplexity the old man could think of nothing to say;he simply tugged at his fierce mustache and swore hair-raising oaths underhis breath. 

"And the insurance?" he asked presently. "What does that mean?"

"I sent the renewal money to this lawyer Abel, " answered Coquenil in a dulltone. "They have used him against me to--to take my savings. I had putabout all that I had into this home for my mother. You see they want tobreak my heart and--they've just about done it. "

He was silent a moment, then glanced quickly at his watch. "Come, we haveno time to lose. My train leaves in an hour. I have important things toexplain--messages for Pougeot and the girl--I'll tell you in the carriage. "

Five minutes later they were speeding swiftly in an automobile toward theEastern railway station. 

 * * * * *

There followed three days of pitiful anxiety for Coquenil. His mother'shealth was feeble at the best, and the shock of this catastrophe, thesudden awakening in the night to find flames roaring about her, thedifficult rescue, and the destruction of her peaceful home, all this wasvery serious for the old lady; indeed, there were twenty-four hours duringwhich the village doctor could offer small comfort to the distracted son. 

Madam Coquenil, however, never wavered in her sweet faith that all waswell. She was comfortable now in the home of a hospitable neighbor anddeclared she would soon be on her feet again. It was this faith that savedher, vowed Ernestine, her devoted companion; but the doctor laughed andsaid it was the presence of M. Paul. 

At any rate, within the week all danger was past and Coquenil observeduneasily that, along with her strength and gay humor, his mother wasrapidly recovering her faculty of asking embarrassing questions and ofunderstanding things that had not been told her. In the matter of keenintuitions it was like mother like son. 

So, delay as he would and evade as he would, the truth had finally to betold, the whole unqualified truth; he had given up this case that he hadthought so important, he had abandoned a fight that he had called thegreatest of his life. 

"Why have you done it, my boy?" the old lady asked him gently, hersearching eyes fixed gravely on him. "Tell me--tell me everything. "

And he did as she bade him, just as he used to when he was little; he toldher all that had happened from the crime to the capture, then of theassassin's release and his own baffling failure at the very moment ofsuccess. 

His mother listened with absorbed interest, she thrilled, she radiated, shesympathized; and she shivered at the thought of such power for evil. 

When he had finished, she lay silent, thinking it all over, not wishing tospeak hastily, while Paul stroked her white hand. 

"And the young man?" she asked presently. "The one who is innocent? Whatabout _him?_"

"He is in prison, he will be tried. "

"And then? They have evidence against him, you said so--the footprints, thepistol, perhaps more that this man can manufacture. Paul, he will be foundguilty?"

"I--I don't know. "

"But you think so?"

"It's possible, mother, but--I've done all I can. "

"He will be found guilty, " she repeated, "this innocent young man will befound guilty. You know it, and--you give up the case. "

"That's unfair. I give up the case because your life is more precious to methan the lives of fifty young men. "

The old lady paused a moment, holding his firm hand in her two slenderones, then she said sweetly, yet in half reproach: "My son, do you thinkyour life is less precious to me than mine is to you?"

"Why--why, no, " he said. 

"It isn't, but we can't shirk our burdens, Paul. " She pointed simply to thepicture of a keen-eyed soldier over the fireplace, a brave, lovable face. "If we are men we do our work; if we are women, we bear what comes. That ishow your father felt when he left me to--to--you understand, my boy?"

"Yes, mother. "

"I want you to decide in that spirit. If it's right to drop this case, Ishall be glad, but I don't want you to drop it because you are afraid--forme, or--for anything. "

"But mother----"

"Listen, Paul; I know how you love me, but you mustn't put me first in thismatter, you must put your honor first, and the honor of your father'sname. "

"I've decided the thing"--he frowned--"it's all settled. I have sent wordby Tignol to the Brazilian embassy that I will accept that position in RioJaneiro. It's still open, and--mother, " he went on eagerly, "I'm going totake you with me. "

Her face brightened under its beautiful crown of silver-white hair, but sheshook her head. 

"I couldn't go, Paul; I could never bear that long sea journey, and Ishould be unhappy away from these dear old mountains. If you go, you mustgo alone. I don't say you mustn't go, I only ask you to think, _to think_. "

"I have thought, " he answered impatiently. "I've done nothing but think, ever since Ernestine sent that telegram. "

"You have thought about me, " she chided. "Have you thought about the case?Have you thought that, if you give it up, an innocent man will suffer and aguilty man will go unpunished?"

"Hah! The guilty man! It's a jolly sure thing _he'll_ go unpunished, whatever I do. "

"I don't believe it, " cried the old lady, springing forward excitedly inher invalid's chair, "such wickedness _cannot_ go unpunished. No, my boy, you can conquer, you _will_ conquer. "

"I can't fight the whole of France, " he retorted sharply. "You don'tunderstand this man's power, mother; I might as well try to conquer thedevil. "

"I don't ask you to do that, " she laughed, "but--isn't there _anything_ youcan think of? You've always won out in the past, and--what is this man'sintelligence to yours?" She paused and then went on more earnestly: "Paul, I'm so proud of you, and--you _can't_ rest under this wrong that has beendone you. I want the Government to make amends for putting you off theforce. I want them to publicly recognize your splendid services. And theywill, my son, they must, if you will only go ahead now, and--there I'mgetting foolish. " She brushed away some springing tears. "Come, we'll talkof something else. "

Nothing more was said about the case, but the seed was sown, and as theevening passed, the wise old lady remarked that her son fell into moodysilences and strode about restlessly. And, knowing the signs, she left himto his thoughts. 

When bedtime came, Paul kissed her tenderly good night and then turned towithdraw, but he paused at the door, and with a look that she rememberedwell from the days of his boyhood transgressions, a look of mingledfrankness and shamefacedness, he came back to her bedside. 

"Mother, " he said, "I want to be perfectly honest about this thing; I toldyou there is nothing that I could do against this man; as a matter of fact, there is one thing that I could _possibly_ do. It's a long shot, with theodds all against me, and, if I should fail, he would do me up, that's sure;still, I must admit that I see a chance, one small chance of--landing him. I thought I'd tell you because--well, I thought I'd tell you. "

"My boy!" she cried. "My brave boy! I'm happy now. All I wanted was to haveyou think this thing over alone, and--decide alone. Good night, Paul! Godbless you and--help you!"

"Good night, mother, " he said fondly. "I will decide before to-morrow, and--whatever I do, I--I'll remember what you say. "

Then he went to his room and for hours through the night Ernestine, watching by the patient, saw his light burning. 

The next morning he came again to his mother's bedside with his old buoyantsmile, and after loving greetings, he said simply: "It's all right, littlemother, I see my way. I'm going to take the chance, and, " he noddedconfidently, "between you and me, it isn't such a slim chance, either. "

CHAPTER XXVII

THE DIARY

Coquenil's effort during the next month might be set forth in great detail. It may also be told briefly, which is better, since the result rather thanthe means is of moment. 

The detective began by admitting the practical worthlessness of theevidence in hand against this formidable adversary, and he abandoned, forthe moment, his purpose of proving that De Heidelmann-Bruck had killedMartinez. Under the circumstances there was no way of proving it, for howcan the wheels of justice be made to turn against an individual whoabsolutely controls the manner of their turning, who is able to removeannoying magistrates with a snap of his fingers, and can use the full powerof government, the whole authority of the Prime Minister of France and theMinister of Justice for his personal convenience and protection?

The case was so extraordinary and unprecedented that it could obviously bemet only (if at all) by extraordinary and unprecedented measures. Suchmeasures Coquenil proceeded to conceive and carry out, realizing fullythat, in so doing, he was taking his life in his hands. His first intuitionhad come true, he was facing a great criminal and must either destroy or bedestroyed; it was to be a ruthless fight to a finish between Paul Coqueniland the Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck. 

And, true to his intuitions, as he had been from the start, M. Paulresolved to seek the special and deadly arm that he needed against thissinister enemy in the baron's immediate _entourage;_ in fact, in his ownhouse and home. That was the detective's task, to be received, unsuspected, as an inmate of De Heidelmann-Bruck's great establishment on the Rue deVarennes, the very center of the ancient nobility of Paris. 

In this purpose he finally succeeded, after what wiles and pains need notbe stated, being hired at moderate wages as a stable helper, with a smallroom over the carriage house, and miscellaneous duties that included muchdrudgery in cleaning the baron's numerous automobiles. It may truthfully besaid that no more willing pair of arms ever rubbed and scrubbed theiraristocratic brasses. 

The next thing was to gain the confidence, then the complicity of one ofthe men servants in the _hôtel_ itself, so that he might be given access tothe baron's private apartments at the opportune moment. In the horde ofhirelings about a great man there is always one whose ear is open totemptation, and the baron's household was no exception to this rule. Coquenil (known now as Jacques and looking the stable man to perfection)found a dignified flunky in black side whiskers and white-silk stockingswho was not above accepting some hundred-franc notes in return for sureinformation as to the master's absences from home and for necessaryassistance in the way of keys and other things. 

Thus it came to pass that on a certain night in August, about two in themorning, Paul Coquenil found himself alone in the baron's spacious, silentlibrary before a massive safe. The opening of this safe is another matterthat need not be gone into--a desperate case justifies desperate risk, andan experienced burglar chaser naturally becomes a bit of a burglarhimself; at any rate, the safe swung open in due course, without accidentor interference, and the detective stood before it. 

All this Coquenil had done on a chance, without positive knowledge, savefor the assurance of the black-whiskered valet that the baron wrotefrequently in a diary which he kept locked in the safe. Whether this wastrue, and, if so, whether the baron had been mad enough to put down withhis own hand a record of his own wickedness, were matters of pureconjecture. Coquenil was convinced that this journal would contain what hewanted; he did not believe that a man like De Heidelmann-Bruck would keep adiary simply to fill in with insipidities. If he kept it at all, it wouldbe because it pleased him to analyze, fearlessly, his own extraordinarydoings, good or bad. The very fact that the baron was different fromordinary men, a law unto himself, made it likely that he would disregardwhat ordinary men would call prudence in a matter like this; there is nosuch word as imprudence for one who is practically all-powerful, and, if ittickled the baron's fancy to keep a journal of crime, it was tolerablycertain he would keep it. 

The event proved that he did keep it. On one of the shelves of the safe, among valuable papers and securities, the detective found a thick bookbound in black leather and fastened with heavy gold clasps. It was thediary. 

With a thrill of triumph, Coquenil seized upon the volume, then, closingthe safe carefully, without touching anything else, he returned to his roomin the stable. His purpose was accomplished, and now he had only onethought--to leave the _hôtel_ as quickly as possible; it would be a matterof a few moments to pack his modest belongings, then he could rouse thedoorkeeper and be off with his bag and the precious record. 

As he started to act on this decision, however, and steal softly down tothe courtyard, the detective paused and looked at his watch. It was not yetthree o'clock, and M. Paul, in the real burglar spirit, reflected that hisdeparture with a bag, at this unseasonable hour, might arouse thedoorkeeper's suspicion; whereas, if he waited until half past five, thegate would be open and he could go out unnoticed. So he decided to wait. After all, there was no danger, the baron was away from Paris, and no onewould enter the library before seven or eight. 

While he waited, Coquenil opened the diary and began to read. There weresome four hundred neatly written pages, brief separate entries withoutdates, separate thoughts as it were, and, as he turned through them hefound himself more and more absorbed until, presently, he forgot time, place, danger, everything; an hour passed, two hours, and still thedetective read on while his candle guttered down to the stick and thebrightening day filled his mean stable room; he was absolutely lost in amost extraordinary human document, in one of those terrible utterances, shameless and fearless, that are flung out, once in a century or so, fromthe hot somber depths of a man's being. 

 I

 I have kept this diary because it amuses me, because I am not afraid, because my nature craves and demands some honest expression somewhere. If these pages were read I should be destroyed. I understand that, but I am in constant danger of being destroyed, anyway. I might be killed by an automobile accident. A small artery in my brain might snap. My heart might stop beating for various reasons. And it is no more likely that this diary will be found and read (with the precautions I have taken) than that one of these other things will happen. Besides, I have no fear, since I regard my own life and all other lives as of absolutely trifling importance. 

 II

 I say here to myself what thousands of serious and successful men all over the world are saying to themselves, what the enormous majority of men must say to themselves, that is, that I am (and they are) constantly committing crimes and we are therefore criminals. Some of us kill, some steal, some seduce virgins, some take our friends' wives, but most of us, in one way or another, deliberately and repeatedly break the law, so we are criminals. 

 III

 Half the great men of this world are great criminals. The Napoleons of war murder thousands, the Napoleons of trade and finance plunder tens of thousands. It is the same among beasts and fishes, among birds and insects, probably among angels and devils, everywhere we find one inexorable law, resistless as gravitation, that impels the strong to plunder and destroy the weak. 

 IV

 It is five years since I committed what would be called a monstrous and cowardly crime. As a matter of fact, I did what my intelligence recognized as necessary and what was therefore my duty. However, let us call it a crime. I have been interested to watch for any consequences or effects of this crime in myself and I have discovered none. I study my face carefully and fail to find any marks of wickedness. My eyes are clear and beautiful, my skin is remarkably free from lines. I am in splendid health, I eat well, sleep well, and enjoy life. My nerves are absolutely steady. I have never felt the slightest twinge of remorse. I have a keen sense of humor. I look five years younger than I am and ten years younger than men who have drudged virtuously and uncomplainingly on the "Thy-will-be-done" plan. I am certainly a better man, better looking, better feeling, stronger in every way than I was before I committed this crime. It is absolute nonsense, therefore, to say that sin or crime (I mean intelligent sin or crime) put an ugly stamp on a man. The ugly stamp comes from bad health, bad surroundings, bad conditions of life, and these can usually be changed by money. _Which I have!_

 V

 Last night (July 4th) I shot a man (Martinez) at the Ansonia Hotel. I observed my sensations carefully and must say that they were of a most commonplace character. There was no danger in the adventure, nothing difficult about it; in fact, it was far less exciting than shooting moose in the Maine woods or tracking grizzlies in the Rockies or going after tigers in India. There is really nothing so tame as shooting a man!

 VI

 There is no necessary connection between crime and vice. Some of the most vicious men--I mean gluttons, drunkards, degenerates, drug fiends, etc. Have never committed any crimes of importance. On the other hand, I am satisfied that great criminals are usually free from vices. It must be so, for vices weaken the will and dull the brain. I take a little wine at my meals, but never to excess, and I never was drunk in my life. I smoke three or four cigars a day and occasionally a cigarette, that is all. And I never gamble. No doubt there are vicious criminals, but they would probably have been vicious if they had not been criminals. 

 VII

 I have the most tremendous admiration for myself, for my courage, for my intelligence, for the use I have made of my opportunities. I started as the son of a broken-down nobleman, my material assets being a trumpery title. My best chance was to marry one of the vain and shallow rich women of America, and by many brilliant maneuvers in a most difficult and delicate campaign, I succeeded in marrying the very richest of them. She was a widow with an enormous fortune that her husband (a rapacious brute) had wrung from the toil of thousands in torturing mines. Following his method, I disposed of the woman, then of her daughter, and came into possession of the fortune. It would have been a silly thing to leave such vast potential power to a chit of a girl unable to use it or appreciate it. I have used it as a master, as a man of brain, as a gentleman. I have made myself a force throughout Europe, I have overthrown ministries, averted wars, built up great industries, helped the development of literature and art; in short, I have made amends for the brutality and dishonesty of the lady's first husband. I believe his name was Mike!

 VIII

 I am afraid of this girl's dreams! I can control her body, and when she is awake, I can more or less control her mind. But I cannot control her dreams. Sometimes, when I look into the depths of her strange, beautiful eyes, it seems to me she knows things or half knows them with some other self. I am afraid of her dreams!

Coquenil had reached this point in his reading and was pressing on throughthe pages, utterly oblivious to everything, when a harsh voice broke inupon him: "You seem to have an interesting book, my friend?"

Looking up with a start, M. Paul saw De Heidelmann-Bruck himself standingin the open doorway. His hands were thrust carelessly in his coat pocketsand a mocking smile played about his lips, the smile that Coquenil hadlearned to fear. 

"It's more than interesting, it's marvelous, it's unbelievable, " answeredthe detective quietly. "Please shut that door. There's a draught comingin. "

As he spoke he sneezed twice and reached naturally toward his coat as iffor a handkerchief. 

"No, no! None of that!" warned the other sharply. "Hands up!" And Coquenilobeyed. "My pistol is on you in this side pocket. If you move, I'll shootthrough the cloth. "

"That's a cowboy trick; you must have traveled in the Far West, " said M. Paul lightly. 

"Stand over there!" came the order. "Face against the wall! Hands high! Nowkeep still!"

Coquenil did as he was bidden. He stood against the wall while quickfingers went through his clothes, he felt his pistol taken from him, thensomething soft and wet pressed under his nostrils. He gasped and asweetish, sickening breath filled his lungs, he tried to struggle, butiron arms held him helpless. He felt himself drifting into unconsciousnessand strove vainly against it. He knew he had lost the battle, there wasnothing to hope for from this man--nothing. Well--it had been a finishfight and--one or the other had to go. _He_ was the one, he wasgoing--going. He--he couldn't fix his thoughts. What queer lights! Hey, Caesar! How silly! Caesar was dead--Oh! he must tell Papa Tignol that--aman shouldn't swear so with a--red--nose. Stop! this must be the--_end_and----

With a last rally of his darkening consciousness, Coquenil called up hismother's face and, looking at it through the eyes of his soul, he spoke toher across the miles, in a wild, voiceless cry: "I did the best I could, little mother, the--the best I--could. "

Then utter blackness!

CHAPTER XXVIII

A GREAT CRIMINAL

Coquenil came back to consciousness his first thought was that theadventure had brought him no pain; he moved his arms and legs anddiscovered no injury, then he reached out a hand and found that he waslying on a cold stone floor with his head on a rough sack filled apparentlywith shavings. 

He did not open his eyes, but tried to think where he could be and toimagine what had happened. It was not conceivable that his enemy would lethim escape, this delay was merely preliminary to something else and--he wascertainly a prisoner--somewhere. 

Reasoning thus he caught a sound as of rustling paper, then a faintscratching. With eyes still shut, he turned his face toward the scratchingsound, then away from it, then toward it, then away from it. Now he sniffedthe air about him, now he rubbed a finger on the floor and smelled it, nowhe lay quiet and listened. He had found a fascinating problem, and for along time he studied it without moving and without opening his eyes. 

Finally he spoke aloud in playful reproach: "It's a pity, baron, to writein that wonderful diary of yours with a lead pencil. "

Instantly there came the scraping of a chair and quick approaching steps. 

"How did you see me?" asked a harsh voice. 

Coquenil smiled toward a faint light, but kept his eyes closed. "I didn't, I haven't seen you yet. "

"But you knew I was writing in my diary?"

"Because you were so absorbed that you did not hear me stir. "

"Humph! And the lead pencil?"

"I heard you sharpen it. That was just before you stopped to eat theorange. "

The light came nearer. M. Paul felt that the baron was bending over him. 

"What's the matter? Your eyes are shut. "

"It amuses me to keep them shut. Do you mind?"

"Singular man!" mattered the other. "What makes you think I ate an orange?"

[Illustration: "'What's the matter? Your eyes are shut. '"]

"I got the smell of it when you tore the peel off and I heard the seedsdrop. "

The baron's voice showed growing interest. "Where do you think you are?"

"In a deep underground room where you store firewood. "

"Extraordinary!"

"Not at all. The floor is covered with chips of it and this bag is full ofshavings. "

"How do you know we are underground?"

"By the smell of the floor and because you need a candle when it's fulldaylight above. "

"Then you know what time it is?" asked the other incredulously. 

"Why--er--I can tell by looking. " He opened his eyes. "Ah, it's earlierthan I thought, it's barely seven. "

"How the devil do you know that?"

Coquenil did not answer for a moment. He was looking about him wonderingly, noting the damp stone walls and high vaulted ceiling of a large windowlesschamber. By the uncertain light of the baron's candle he made out an archedpassageway at one side and around the walls piles of logs carefully ropedand stacked together. 

"Your candle hasn't burned more than an hour, " answered the detective. 

"It might be a second candle. "

M. Paul shook his head. "Then you wouldn't have been eating your breakfastorange. And you wouldn't have been waiting so patiently. "

The two men eyed each other keenly. 

"Coquenil, " said De Heidelmann-Bruck slowly, "I give you credit forunusual cleverness, but if you tell me you have any inkling what I amwaiting for----"

"It's more than inkling, " answered the detective quietly, "I _know_ thatyou are waiting for the girl. "

"The girl?" The other started. 

"The girl Alice or--Mary your stepdaughter. "

"God Almighty!" burst out the baron. "What a guess!"

M. Paul shook his head. "No, not a guess, a fair deduction. My ring isgone. It was on my hand before you gave me that chloroform. You took it. That means you needed it. Why? To get the girl! You knew it would bringher, though _how_ you knew it is more than I can understand. "

"Gibelin heard you speak of the ring to Pougeot that night in theautomobile. "

"Ah! And how did you know where the girl was?"

"Guessed it partly and--had Pougeot followed. "

"And she's coming here?"

The baron nodded. "She ought to be here shortly. " Then with a quick, cruelsmile: "I suppose you know _why_ I want her?"

"I'm afraid I do, " said Coquenil. 

"Suppose we come in here, " suggested the other. "I'm tired holding thiscandle and you don't care particularly about lying on that bag ofshavings. "

With this he led the way through the arched passageway into another stonechamber very much like the first, only smaller, and lined in the same waywith piled-up logs. In the middle of the floor was a rough table spreadwith food, and two rough chairs. On the table lay the diary. 

"Sit down, " continued the baron. "Later on you can eat, but first we'llhave a talk. Coquenil, I've watched you for years, I know all about you, and--I'll say this, you're the most interesting man I ever met. You'vegiven me trouble, but--that's all right, you played fair, and--I like you, I like you. "

There was no doubt about the genuineness of this and M. Paul glancedwonderingly across the table. 

"Thanks, " he said simply. 

"It's a pity you couldn't see things my way. I wanted to be your friend, Iwanted to help you. Just think how many times I've gone out of my way togive you chances, fine business chances. "

"I know. "

"And that night on the Champs Elysées! Didn't I warn you? Didn't I almostplead with you to drop this case? And you wouldn't listen?"

"That's true. "

"Now see where you are! See what you've forced me to do. It's a pity; itcuts me up, Coquenil. " He spoke with real sadness. 

"I understand, " answered M. Paul. "I appreciate what you say. There's abond between a good detective and----"

"A _great_ detective!" put in the baron admiringly, "the greatest detectiveParis has known in fifty years or will know in fifty more. Yes, yes, it's apity!"

"I was saying, " resumed the other, "that there is a bond between adetective and a criminal--I suppose it gets stronger between a--a greatdetective, " he smiled, "and a great criminal. "

De Heidelmann-Bruck looked pleased. "You regard _me_ as a great criminal?"

Coquenil nodded gravely. "I certainly do. The greatest since LudovicoSchertzi--you know he had your identical little finger. "

"Really!"

"Yes. And your absolute lack of feeling about crime. Never a tremor! Nevera qualm of remorse! Just cold intelligence!"

"Of course. " The baron held his left hand close to the candle and looked atit critically. "Strange about that little finger! And _pretty_ the way youcaught the clew of it on that photographer's neck. Poor little devil!"

"What did you do with the boots you were trying to return that night?"questioned the detective. 

"Burned them. "

Coquenil was silent a moment. "And this American? What of him--now?"

"He will be tried and----" The baron shrugged his shoulders. 

"And be found guilty?"

"Yes, but--with jealousy as an extenuating circumstance. He'll do a fewyears, say five. "

"I never saw quite why you put the guilt on him. "

"It had to go on some one and--he was available. "

"You had nothing against him personally?"

"Oh, no. He was a pawn in the game. "

"A pawn to be sacrificed--like Martinez?"

"Exactly. "

"Ah, that brings me to the main point. How did Martinez get possession ofyour secret?"

"He met the girl accidentally and--remembered her. "

"As the one he had rescued from the Charity Bazaar fire?"

"Yes. You'd better eat a little. Try some of this cold meat and salad? Mycook makes rather good dressing. "

"No, thanks! Speaking of cooks, how did you know the name of that canarybird?"

"Ha, ha! Pete? I knew it from the husband of the woman who opens the biggate of the Villa Montmorency. He cleans your windows, you know, and--hewas useful to me. "

"He knew you as--Groener?"

"Of course. "

"None of these people knew you really?"

"No. "

"Not Dubois?"

"Ah, Dubois knew me, of course, but--Dubois is an automaton to carry outorders; he never knows what they mean. Anything else?"

Coquenil thought a moment. "Oh! Did you know that private room Number Sevenwould not be occupied that night by Wilmott and the dancing girl?"

"No. "

"Then how did you dare go in there?"

"Wilmott and the girl were not due until nine and I had--finished by halfpast eight. "

"How did you know Wilmott would not be there until nine?"

"Martinez told me. It was in Anita's _petit bleu_ that Mrs. Wilmott showedhim. "

"Had you no direct dealings with Anita?"

The baron shook his head. "I never saw the girl. The thing just happenedand--I took my chance. "

"You bought the auger for Martinez and told him where to bore the holes?"

"Yes. "

"And the key to the alleyway door?"

"I got a duplicate key--through Dubois. Anything else?"

"It's all very clever, " reflected M. Paul, "but--isn't it _too_ clever? Toocomplicated? Why didn't you get rid of this billiard player in some simplerway?"

"A natural question, " agreed De Heidelmann-Bruck. "I could have done iteasily in twenty ways--twenty stupid safe ways. But don't you see that iswhat I didn't want? It was necessary to suppress Martinez, but, insuppressing him as I did, there was also good sport. And when a man haseverything, Coquenil, good sport is mighty rare. "

"I see, I see, " murmured the detective. "And you let Alice live all theseyears for the same reason?"

"Yes. "

"The wood-carver game diverted you?"

"Precisely. It put a bit of ginger into existence. " He paused, and halfclosing his eyes, added musingly: "I'll miss it now. And I'll miss the zestof fighting you. "

"Ah!" said Coquenil. "By the way, how long have you known that I wasworking here in your stable?"

The baron smiled. "Since the first day. "

"And--you knew about the valet?"

"Naturally. "

"And about the safe?"

"It was all arranged. "

"Then--then you _wanted_ me to read the diary?"

"Yes, " answered the other with a strange expression. "I knew that if youread my diary I should be protected. "

"I don't understand. "

"Of course not, but--" Suddenly his voice grew harsher and M. Paul thoughtof the meeting on the Champs Elysées. "Do you realize, sir, " the baron wenton, and his voice was almost menacing, "that not once but half a dozentimes since this affair started, I have been on the point of crushing you, of sweeping you out of my path?"

"I can believe that. "

"Why haven't I done it? Why have I held back the order that was tremblingon my lips? Because I admire you, I'm interested in the workings of yourmind, I, yes, by God, in spite of your stubbornness and everything, I likeyou, Coquenil, and I don't want to harm you. 

"You may not believe it, " he went on, "but when you sent word to theBrazilian Embassy the other day that you would accept the Rio Janeirooffer, after all, I was honestly happy _for you_, not for myself. What didit matter to me? I was relieved to know that you were out of danger, thatyou had come to your senses. Then suddenly you went mad again and, and didthis. So I said to myself: 'All right, he wants it, he'll get it, ' and, Ilet you read the diary. "

"Why?"

"Why?" cried the baron hoarsely. "Don't you _see_ why? You know everythingnow, _everything_. It isn't guesswork, it isn't deduction, it's absolutecertainty. You have _seen_ my confession, you _know_ that I killedMartinez, that I robbed this girl of her fortune, that I am going to let aninnocent man suffer in my place. You know that to be true, don't you?"

"Yes, I know it to be true. "

"And because it's true, and because we both know it to be true, neither oneof us can draw back. We _cannot_ draw back if we would. Suppose I said toyou: 'Coquenil, I like you, I'm going to let you go free. ' What would youreply? You would say: 'Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck, I'm much obliged, but, asan honest man, I tell you that, as soon as I am free, I shall proceed tohave this enormous fortune you have been wickedly enjoying taken from youand given to its rightful owner. ' Isn't that about what you would say?"

"I suppose it is, " answered M. Paul. 

"You know it is, and you would also say: 'Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck, Ishall not only take this fortune from you and make you very poor instead ofvery rich, but I shall denounce you as a murderer and shall do my best tohave you marched out from a cell in the Roquette prison some fine morning, about dawn, between a jailer and a priest, with your legs roped togetherand your shirt cut away at the back of the neck and then to have you boundagainst an upright plank and tipped forward gently under a forty-poundknife'--you see I know the details--and then, phsst! the knife falls andbehold the head of De Heidelmann-Bruck in one basket and his body inanother! That would be your general idea, eh?"

"Yes, it would, " nodded the other. 

"Ah!" smiled the baron. "You see how I have protected myself _against myown weakness_. I must destroy you or be destroyed. _I am forced_, M. Coquenil, to end my friendly tolerance of your existence. "

"I see, " murmured M. Paul. "If I hadn't read that diary, your nerve wouldhave been a little dulled for this--business. " He motioned meaningly towardthe shadows. 

"That's it. "

"Whereas now the thing _has_ to be done and--you'll do it. "

"Exactly! Exactly!" replied the baron with the pleasure one might show at adelicate compliment. 

For some moments the two were silent, then M. Paul asked gravely: "How soonwill the girl be here?"

"She's undoubtedly here now. She is waiting outside. " He pointed to aheavily barred iron door. 

"Does she know it was a trick, about the ring?"

"Not yet. "

Again there was a silence. Coquenil hesitated before he said with aneffort: "Do you think it's necessary to--to include _her_ in this--affair?"

The baron thought a moment. "I think I'd better make a clean job of it. "

"You mean _both?_"

"Yes. "

They seemed to understand by half words, by words not spoken, by littlesigns, as brokers in a great stock-exchange battle dispose of fortunes witha nod or a lift of the eyebrows. 

"But--she doesn't know anything about you or against you, " added M. Paul, and he seemed to be almost pleading. 

"She has caused me a lot of trouble and, she _might_ know. "

"You mean, her memory?"

"Yes, it might come back. "

"Of course, " agreed the other with judicial fairness. "I asked Duprat aboutit and he said _it might_. "

"Ah, you see!"

"And--when do you--begin?"

"There's no hurry. When we get through talking. Is there anything else youwant to ask?"

The detective reflected a moment. "Was it you personally who killed mydog?"

"Yes. "

"And my mother?" His face was very white and his voice trembled. "Didyou--did you intend to kill her?"

The baron shrugged his shoulders. "I left that to chance. "

"That's all, " said Coquenil. "I--I am ready now. "

With a look of mingled compassion and admiration De Heidelmann-Bruck met M. Paul's unflinching gaze. 

"We take our medicine, eh? I took mine when you had me hitched to thatheart machine, and--now you'll take yours. Good-by, Coquenil, " he held outhis hand, "I'm sorry. "

"Good-by, " answered the detective with quiet dignity. "If it's all the sameto you, I--I won't shake hands. "

"No? Ah, well! I'll send in the girl. " He moved toward the heavy door. 

"Wait!" said M. Paul. "You have left your diary. " He pointed to the table. 

The baron smiled mockingly. "I intended to leave it; the book has servedits purpose, I'm tired of it. Don't be alarmed, _it will not be found_. " Heglanced with grim confidence at the stacked wood. "You'll have fifteen ortwenty minutes after she comes in, that is, if you make no disturbance. Good-by. "

The door swung open and a moment later Coquenil saw a dim, white-cladfigure among the shadows, and Alice, with beautiful, frightened eyes, staggered toward him. Then the door clanged shut and the sound of gratingbolts was heard on the other side. 

Alice and Coquenil were alone. 

CHAPTER XXIX

THE LOST DOLLY

As Alice saw M. Paul she ran forward with a glad cry and clung to his arm. 

"I've been _so_ frightened, " she trembled. "The man said you wanted me andI came at once, but, in the automobile, I felt something was wrong and--youknow _he_ is outside?" Her eyes widened anxiously. 

"I know. Sit down here. " He pointed to the table. "Does Pougeot know aboutthis?"

She shook her head. "The man came for M. Pougeot first. I wasn't down atbreakfast yet, so I don't know what he said, but they went off together. I'm afraid it was a trick. Then about twenty minutes later the same mancame back and said M. Pougeot was with you and that he had been sent tobring me to you. He showed me your ring and----"

"Yes, yes, I understand, " interrupted Coquenil. "You are not to blame, only--God, what can I do?" He searched the shadows with a savage sense ofhelplessness. 

"But it's all right, now, M. Paul, " she said confidently, "I am with_you_. "

Her look of perfect trust came to him with a stab of pain. 

"My poor child, " he muttered, peering about him, "I'm afraid we are--introuble--but--wait a minute. "

Taking the candle, Coquenil went through the arched opening into thelarger chamber and made a hurried inspection. The room was about fifteenfeet square and ten feet high, with everything of stone--walls, floor, andarched ceiling. Save for the passage into the smaller room, there was nosign of an opening anywhere except two small square holes near the ceiling, probably ventilating shafts. 

[Illustration:

A. Bag of shavings where Coquenil recovered consciousness in largeunderground chamber. 

B. Table and two chairs in smaller chamber where de Heidelmann-Bruck waswriting. 

C C C C C C. Logs of wood piled around walls of two chambers. 

D. Heavy iron door through which Alice was brought in. 

E. Stone shelf above wood pile. 

F. F. Opening through thick wall separating chambers, where Coquenil builta barricade of logs. Dotted lines 1-2, indicate curve of archway. 

S. S. Section of wood pile torn down by Alice to make barricade. 

X. The second barricade of logs. ]

Around the four walls were logs piled evenly to the height of nearly sixfeet, and at the archway the pile ran straight through into the smallerroom. The logs were in two-foot lengths, and as the archway was about fourfeet wide, the passage between the two rooms was half blocked with wood. 

Coquenil walked slowly around the chamber, peering carefully into cracksbetween the logs, as if searching for something. As he went on he held thecandle lower and lower, and presently got down upon his hands and knees andcrept along the base of the pile. 

"What _are_ you doing?" asked Alice, watching him in wonder from thearchway. 

Without replying, the detective rose to his feet, and holding the candlehigh above his head, examined the walls above the wood pile. Then hereached up and scraped the stones with his finger nails in several places, and then held his fingers close to the candlelight and looked at them andsmelled them. His fingers were black with soot. 

"M. Paul, won't you speak to me?" begged the girl. 

"Just a minute, just a minute, " he answered absently. Then he spoke withquick decision: "I'm going to set you to work, " he said. "By the way, haveyou any idea where we are?"

She looked at him in surprise. "Why, don't _you_ know?"

"I _think_ we are on the Rue de Varennes--a big _hôtel_ back of the highwall?"

"That's right, " she said. 

"Ah, he didn't take me away!" reflected M. Paul. "That is something. Pougeot will scent danger and will move heaven and earth to save us. Hewill get Tignol and Tignol knows I was here. But can they find us? Can theyfind us? Tell me, did you come down many stairs?"

"Yes, " she said, "quite a long flight; but won't you please----"

He cut her short, speaking kindly, but with authority. 

"You mustn't ask questions, there isn't time. I may as well tell you ourlives are in danger. He's going to set fire to this wood and----"

"Oh!" she cried, her eyes starting with terror. 

"See here, " he said sharply. "You've got to help me. We have a chance yet. The fire will start in this big chamber and--I want to cut it off byblocking the passageway. Let's see!" He searched through his pockets. "Hehas taken my knife. Ah, this will do!" and lifting a plate from the tablehe broke it against the wall. "There! Take one of these pieces and see ifyou can saw through the rope. Use the jagged edge--like this. That cuts it. Try over there. "

Alice fell to work eagerly, and in a few moments they had freed a sectionof the wood piled in the smaller chamber from the restraining ropes andstakes. 

"Now then, " directed Coquenil, "you carry the logs to me and I'll make abarricade in the passageway. "

The word passageway is somewhat misleading--there was really a distance ofonly three feet between the two chambers, this being the thickness of themassive stone wall that separated them. Half of this opening was alreadyfilled by the wood pile, and Coquenil proceeded to fill up the other half, laying logs on the floor, lengthwise, in the open part of the passage fromchamber to chamber, and then laying other logs on top of these, and so onas rapidly as the girl brought wood. 

They worked with all speed, Alice carrying the logs bravely, in spite ofsplintered hands and weary back, and soon the passageway was solidly walledwith closely fitted logs to the height of six feet. Above this, in thearched part, Coquenil worked more slowly, selecting logs of such shape andsize as would fill the curve with the fewest number of cracks between them. There was danger in cracks between the obstructing logs, for cracks meant adraught, and a draught meant the spreading of the fire. 

"Now, " said M. Paul, surveying the blocked passageway, "that is the best wecan do--with wood. We must stop these cracks with something else. What didyou wear?" He glanced at the chair where Alice had thrown her things. "Awhite cloak and a straw hat with a white veil and a black velvet ribbon. Tear off the ribbon and--we can't stand on ceremony. Here are my coat andvest. Rip them into strips and--Great God! There's the smoke now!"

As he spoke, a thin grayish feather curled out between two of the upperlogs and floated away, another came below it, then another, each wideningand strengthening as it came. Somewhere, perhaps in his sumptuous library, De Heidelmann-Bruck had pressed an electric button and, under the logspiled in the large chamber, deadly sparks had jumped in the waiting tinder;the crisis had come, the fire was burning, they were prisoners in a huge, slowly heating oven stacked with tons of dry wood. 

"Hurry, my child, " urged Coquenil, and working madly with a piece of stickthat he had wrenched from one of the logs, he met each feather of smokewith a strip of cloth, stuffing the cracks with shreds of garments, withAlice's veil and hat ribbon, with the lining of his coat, then with thebody of it, with the waist of her dress, with his socks, with herstockings, and still the smoke came through. 

"We _must_ stop this, " he cried, and tearing the shirt from his shoulders, he ripped it into fragments and wedged these tight between the logs. Thesmoke seemed to come more slowly, but--it came. 

"We must have more cloth, " he said gravely. "It's our only chance, littlefriend. I'll put out the candle! There! Let me have--whatever you canand--be quick!"

Again he worked with frantic haste, stuffing in the last shreds and ragsthat could be spared from their bodies, whenever a dull glow from the otherside revealed a crack in the barricade. For agonized moments there was nosound in that tomblike chamber save Alice's quick breathing and theshrieking tear of garments, and the ramming thud of the stick as Coquenilwedged cloth into crannies of the logs. 

"There, " he panted, "that's the best we can do. _Now it's up to God!_"

For a moment it seemed as if this rough prayer had been answered. Therewere no more points in the barricade that showed a glow beyond and toCoquenil, searching along the logs in the darkness by the sense of smell, there was no sign of smoke coming through. 

"I believe we have stopped the draught, " he said cheerfully; "as a finaltouch I'll hang that cloak of yours over the whole thing, " and, verycarefully, he tucked the white garment over the topmost logs and then atthe sides so that it covered most of the barricade. 

"You understand that a fire cannot burn without air, " he explained, "and itmust be air that comes in from below to replace the hot air that rises. NowI couldn't find any openings in that large room except two littleventilators near the ceiling, so if that fire is going to burn, it must getair from this room. "

"Where does this room get _its_ air from?" asked Alice. 

Coquenil thought a moment. "It gets a lot under that iron door, and--theremust be ventilating shafts besides. Anyhow, the point is, if we haveblocked this passage between the rooms we have stopped the fire fromturning, or, anyhow, from burning enough to do us any harm. You see theselogs are quite cold. Feel them. "

Alice groped forward in the darkness toward the barricade and, as shetouched the logs, her bare arm touched Coquenil's bare arm. 

Suddenly a faint sound broke the stillness and the detective startedviolently. He was in such a state of nervous tension that he would havestarted at the rustle of a leaf. 

"Hark! What is that?"

It was a low humming sound that presently grew stronger, and then sang onsteadily like a buzzing wheel. 

"It's over here, " said Coquenil, moving toward the door. "No, it's here!"He turned to the right and stood still, listening. "It's under the floor!"He bent down and listened again. "It's overhead! It's nowhereand--everywhere! What _is_ it?"

As he moved about in perplexity it seemed to him that he felt a current ofair. He put one hand in it, then the other hand, then he turned his face toit; there certainly was a current of air. 

"Alice, come here!" he called. "Stand where I am! That's right. Now put outyour hand! Do you feel anything?"

"I feel a draught, " she answered. 

"There's no doubt about it, " he muttered, "but--how _can_ there be adraught here?"

As he spoke the humming sound strengthened and with it the draught blewstronger. 

"Merciful God!" cried Coquenil in a flash of understanding, "it's ablower!"

"A blower?" repeated the girl. 

M. Paul turned his face upward and listened attentively. "No doubt of it!It's sucking through an air shaft--up there--in the ceiling. "

"I--I don't understand. "

"He's _forcing_ a draught from that room to this one. He has started ablower, I tell you, and----"

"What _is_ a blower?" put in Alice. 

At her frightened tone Coquenil calmed himself and answered gently: "It'slike a big electric fan, it's drawing air out of this room very fast, witha powerful suction, and I'm afraid--unless----"

Just then there came a sharp pop followed by a hissing noise as if some onewere breathing in air through shut teeth. 

"There goes the first one! Come over here!" He bent toward the logs, searching for something. "Ah, here it is! Do you feel the air blowingthrough _toward_ us? The blower has sucked out one of our cloth plugs. There goes another!" he said, as the popping sound was repeated. "Andanother! It's all off with our barricade, little girl!"

"You--you mean the fire will come through now?" she gasped. He could hearher teeth chattering and feel her whole body shaking in terror. 

Coquenil did not answer. He was looking through one of the open cracks, studying the dull glow beyond, and noting the hot breath that came through. What could he do? The fire was gaining with every second, the whirlingblower was literally dragging the flames toward them through the dry woodpile. Already the heat was increasing, it would soon be unbearable; at thisrate their hold on life was a matter of minutes. 

"The fire may come through--a little, " he answered comfortingly, "butI--I'll fix it so you will be--all right. Come! We'll build anotherbarricade. You know wood is a bad conductor of heat, and--if you have woodall about you and--over you, why, the fire can't burn you. "

"Oh!" said Alice. 

"We'll go over to this door as far from the passageway as we can get. Nowbring me logs from that side pile! That's right!"

He glanced at the old barricade and saw, with a shudder, that it wasalready pierced with countless open cracks that showed the angry firebeyond. And through these cracks great volumes of smoke were pouring. 

Fortunately, most of this smoke, especially at first, was borne away upwardby the blower's suction, and for some minutes Alice was able to helpCoquenil with the new barricade. They built this directly in front of theiron door, with only space enough between it and the door to allow them tocrouch behind it; they made it about five feet long and three feet high. Coquenil would have made it higher, but there was no time; indeed, he hadto do the last part of the work alone, for Alice sank back overcome by thesmoke. 

"Lie down there, " he directed. "Stretch right out behind the logs and keep, your mouth close to the floor and as near as you can to the crack under thedoor. You'll have plenty of cool, sweet air. See? That's right. Now I'llfix a roof over this thing and pretty soon, if it gets uncomfortable uphere, I'll crawl in beside you. It's better not to look at the silly oldbarricade. Just shut your eyes and--rest. Understand little friend?"

"Ye-es, " she murmured faintly, and with sinking heart, he realized thatalready she was drifting toward unconsciousness. Ah, well, perhaps that wasthe best thing!

He looked down at the fair young face and thought of her lover languishingin prison. What a wretched fate theirs had been! What sufferings they hadborne! What injustice! And now this end to their dream of happiness!

He turned to his work. He would guard her while life and strength remained, and he wondered idly, as he braced the overhead logs against the iron door, how many more minutes of life this shelter would give them. Why take somuch pains for so paltry a result?

He turned toward the barricade and saw that the flames were licking theirway through the wall of logs, shooting and curling their hungry red tonguesthrough many openings. The heat was becoming unbearable. Well, they were atthe last trench now, he was surprised at the clearness and calmness of hismind. Death did not seem such a serious thing after all!

Coquenil crawled in behind the shelter of logs and crouched down beside thegirl. She was quite unconscious now, but was breathing peacefully, smilingly, with face flushed and red lips parted. The glorious masses ofher reddish hair were spread over the girls white shoulders, and it seemedto M. Paul that he had never seen so beautiful a picture of youth andinnocence. 

Suddenly there was a crumbling of logs at the passageway and the chamberbecame light as day while a blast of heat swept over them. Coquenil lookedout around the end of the shelter and saw flames a yard long shootingtoward them through widening breaches in the logs. And a steady roar began. It was nearly over now, although close to the floor the air was still good. 

He reflected that, with the enormous amount of wood here, this fire wouldrage hotter and hotter for hours until the stones themselves would be redhot or white hot and--there would be nothing left when it all was over, absolutely nothing left but ashes. No one would ever know their fate. 

Then he thought of his mother. He wished he might have sent her aline--still she would know that her boy had fallen in a good cause, as hisfather had fallen. He needn't worry about his mother--she would know. 

Now another log crumbled with a sharp crackling. Alice stirred uneasily andopened her eyes. Then she sat up quickly, and there was something in herface Coquenil had never seen there, something he had never seen in anyface. 

"Willie, you naughty, naughty boy!" she cried. "You have taken my beautifuldolly. Poor little Esmeralda! You threw her up on that shelf, Willie; yes, you did. "

Then, before Coquenil could prevent it, she slipped out from behind theshelter and stood up in the fire-bound chamber. 

"Come back!" he cried, reaching after her, but the girl evaded him. 

"There it is, on that shelf, " she went on positively, and, following herfinger, Coquenil saw, what he had not noticed before, a massive stone shelfjutting out from the wall just over the wood pile. "You must get my dolly, "she ordered. 

"Certainly, I'll get it, " said M. Paul soothingly. "Come back hereand--I'll get your dolly. "

She stamped her foot in displeasure. "Not at all; I don't _like_ thisplace. It's a hot, _nasty_ place and--come"--she caught Coquenil'shand--"we'll go out where the fairies are. That's a _much_ nicer place toplay, Willie. "

Here there came to M. Paul an urging of mysterious guidance, as if aninward voice had spoken to him and said that God was trying to save them, that He had put wisdom in this girl's mouth and that he must listen. 

"All right, " he said, "we'll go and play where the fairies are, but--how dowe get there?"

"Through the door under the shelf. You know _perfectly_ well, Willie!"

"Yes, " he agreed, "I know about the door, but--I forget how to get itopen. "

"Silly!" She stamped her foot again. "You push on that stone thing underthe shelf. "

Shading his eyes against the glare, Coquenil looked at the shelf and sawthat it was supported by two stone brackets. 

"You mean the thing that holds the shelf up?"

"Yes, you must press it. "

"But there are two things that hold the shelf up. Is it the one on thisside that you press or the one on that side?"

"Dear me, what an _aggravating_ boy! It's the one _this_ side, of course. "

"Good! You lie down now and I'll have it open in a jiffy. "

He started to force Alice behind the shelter, for the heat was actuallyblistering the skin, but to his surprise he found her suddenly limp in hisarms. Having spoken these strange words of wisdom or of folly, she had goneback into unconsciousness. 

Coquenil believed that they were words of wisdom, and without a moment'shesitation, he acted on that belief. The wall underneath the shelf was halfcovered with piled-up logs and these must be removed; which meant that hemust work there for several minutes with the fierce breath of the firehissing over him. 

It was the work of a madman, or of one inspired. Three times Coquenil fellto the floor, gasping for breath, blinded by the flames that were roaringall about him, poisoned by deadly fumes. The skin on his arms and neck washanging away in shreds, the pain was unbearable, yet he bore it, the taskwas impossible, yet he did it. 

At last the space under the shelf was cleared, and staggering, blackened, blinded, yet believing, Paul Coquenil stumbled forward and seized theleft-hand bracket in his two bruised hands and pressed it with all hismight. 

Instantly a door underneath, cunningly hidden in the wall, yawned open on asquare black passage. 

"It's here that the fairies play, " muttered M. Paul, "and it's a mightygood place for us!"

With a bound he was back at the shelter and had Alice in his arms, smilingagain, as she slept--as she dreamed. And a moment later he had carried hersafely through flames that actually singed her hair, and laid her tenderlyin the cool passage. _And beside her he laid the baron's diary!_

[Illustration: "And a moment later he had carried her safely through theflames. "]

Then he went back to close the door. It was high time, for the lastobstructing logs of the old barricade had fallen and the chamber was aseething mass of fire. 

"I feel pretty rotten, " reflected Coquenil with a whimsical smile. "My hairis burned off and my eyebrows are gone and about half my skin, but--I guessI'll take a chance on a burn or two more and rescue Esmeralda!"

Whereupon he reached up inside that fiery furnace and, groping over the hotstone shelf, brought down a scorched and battered and dust-covered littlefigure that had lain there for many years. 

It was the lost dolly!

CHAPTER XXX

MRS. LLOYD KITTREDGE

The details of the hours that followed remained blurred memories in theminds of Alice and her rescuer. There was, first, a period of utter blankwhen Coquenil, overcome by the violence of his struggle and the agony ofhis burns, fell unconscious near the unconscious girl. How long they laythus in the dark playground of the fairies, so near the raging fire, yetsafe from it, was never known exactly; nor how long they wanderedafterwards through a strange subterranean region of passages and crosspassages, that widened and narrowed, that ascended and descended, that weresometimes smooth under foot, but oftener blocked with rough stones andalways black as night. The fairies must have been sorry at their plight, for, indeed, it was a pitiable one; bruised, blistered, covered with grimeand with little else, they stumbled on aimlessly, cutting their bare feet, falling often in sheer weakness, and lying for minutes where they fellbefore they could summon strength to stumble on. Surely no more patheticpair than these two ever braved the mazes of the Paris catacombs!

Perhaps the fairies finally felt that the odds were too great against them, and somehow led them to safety. At any rate, through the ghastly horror ofdarkness and weakness and pain there presently came hope--flickeringtorches in the distance, then faint voices and the presence of friends, some workingmen, occupied with drainage repairs, who produced stimulantsand rough garments and showed them the way to the upper world, to theblessed sunshine. 

Then it was a matter of temporary relief at the nearest pharmacy, ofwaiting until Pougeot, summoned by telephone, could arrive with all hastein an automobile. 

An hour later M. Paul and Alice were in clean, cool beds at a privatehospital near the commissary's house, with nurses and doctors bending overthem. And on a chair beside the girl, battered and blackened, satEsmeralda, while under the detective's pillow was the scorched but unharmeddiary of De Heidelmann-Bruck!

"Both cases serious, " was the head doctor's grave judgment. "The man isfrightfully burned. The girl's injuries are not so bad, but she issuffering from shock. We'll know more in twenty-four hours. " Then, turningto Pougeot: "Oh, he insists on seeing you alone. Only a minute mind!"

With a thrill of emotion the commissary entered the silent, darkened roomwhere his friend lay, swathed in bandages and supported on a water bed tolessen the pain. 

"It's all right Paul, " said M. Pougeot, "I've just talked with the doctor. "

"Thanks, Lucien, " answered a weak voice in the white bundle. "I'm going topull through--I've got to, but--if anything should go wrong, I want you tohave the main points. Come nearer. "

The commissary motioned to the nurse, who withdrew. Then he bent close tothe injured man and listened intently while Coquenil, speaking with aneffort and with frequent pauses, related briefly what had happened. 

"God in heaven!" muttered Pougeot. "He'll pay for this!"

"Yes, I--I think he'll pay for it, but--Lucien, do nothing until I am ableto decide things with you. Say nothing to anyone, not even to the doctor. And don't give our names. "

"No, no, I'll see to that. "

"The girl mustn't talk, tell her she--_mustn't talk_. And--Lucien?"

"Yes?"

"She may be delirious--_I_ may be delirious, I feel queer--now. Youmust--make sure of these--nurses. "

"Yes, Paul, I will. "

"And--watch the girl! Something has happened to--her mind. She's forgottenor--_remembered!_ Get the best specialist in Paris and--get Duprat. Dowhatever they advise--no matter what it costs. Everything depends on--her. "

"I'll do exactly as you say, old friend, " whispered the other. Then, at awarning signal from the nurse: "Don't worry now. Just rest and get well. "He rose to go. "Until to-morrow, Paul. "

The sick man's reply was only a faint murmur, and Pougeot stole softly outof the room, turning at the door for an anxious glance toward the whitebed. 

This was the first of many visits to the hospital by the devoted commissaryand of many anxious hours at that distressed bedside. Before midnightCoquenil was in raging delirium with a temperature of one hundred and five, and the next morning, when Pougeot called, the doctor looked grave. Theywere in for a siege of brain fever with erysipelas to be fought off, ifpossible. 

Poor Coquenil! His body was in torture and his mind in greater torture. Over and over again, those days, he lived through his struggle with thefire, he rescued Alice, he played with the fairies, he went back after thedoll. Over and over again!

And when the fever fell and his mind grew calm, there followed a period ofnervous exhaustion when his stomach refused to do its work, when his heart, for nothing at all, would leap into fits of violent beating. Pougeot couldnot even see him now, and the doctor would make no promise as to how soonit would be safe to mention the case to him. Perhaps not for weeks!

For weeks! And, meantime, Lloyd Kittredge had been placed on trial for themurder of Martinez and the evidence seemed overwhelmingly against him; infact, the general opinion was that the young American would be foundguilty. 

What should the commissary do?

For a week the trial dragged slowly with various delays and adjournments, during which time, to Pougeot's delight, Coquenil began to mend rapidly. The doctor assured the commissary that in a few days he should have aserious talk with the patient. A few days! Unfortunately, the trial beganto march along during these days--they dispose of murder casesexpeditiously in France--and, to make matters worse, Coquenil suffered arelapse, so that the doctor was forced to retract his promise. 

What should the commissary do?

In this emergency Coquenil himself came unexpectedly to Pougeot's relief;instead of the apathy or indifference he had shown for days, he suddenlydeveloped his old keen interest in the case, and one morning insisted onknowing how things were going and what the prospects were. In vain doctorand nurse objected and reasoned; the patient only insisted the morestrongly, he wished to have a talk with M. Pougeot at once. And, as thedanger of opposing him was felt to be greater than that of yielding, itresulted that M. Paul had his way, Pougeot came to his bedside and stayedan hour--two hours, until the doctor absolutely ordered him away; but, after luncheon, the detective took the bit in his teeth and told the doctorplainly that, with or without permission, he was going to do his work. Hehad learned things that he should have known long ago and there was not anhour to lose. A man's life was at stake, and--his stomach, his nerves, hisheart, and his other organs might do what they pleased, he proposed to savethat life. 

Before this uncompromising attitude the doctor could only bow gracefully, and when he was told by Pougeot (in strictest confidence) that this gauntand irascible patient, whom he had known as M. Martin, was none other thanthe celebrated Paul Coquenil, he comforted himself with the thought that, after all, a resolute mind can often do wonders with a weak body. 

It was a delightful September afternoon, with a brisk snap in the air andfloods of sunshine. Since early morning the streets about the Palais deJustice had been, blocked with carriages and automobiles, and the courtyardwith clamorous crowds eager to witness the final scene in this celebratedmurder trial. The case would certainly go to the jury before night. Thelast pleas would be made, the judge's grave words would be spoken, andtwelve solemn citizens would march out with the fate of this cheerful youngAmerican in their hands. It was well worth seeing, and all Paris that couldget tickets, especially the American Colony, was there to see it. PussyWilmott, in a most fetching gown, with her hair done ravishingly, sat nearthe front and never took her eyes off the prisoner. 

In spite of all that he had been through and all that he was facing, Kittredge looked surprisingly well. A little pale, perhaps, but game to theend, and ready always with his good-natured smile. All the ladies likedhim. He had such nice teeth and such well-kept hands! A murderer with thosekind, jolly eyes? Never in the world! they vowed, and smiled and staredtheir encouragement. 

A close observer would have noticed, however, that Lloyd's eyes wereanxious as they swept the spread of faces before him; they were searching, searching for one face that they could not find. Where was Alice? Why hadshe sent him no word? Was she ill? Had any harm befallen her? _Where wasAlice?_

So absorbed was Kittredge in these reflections that he scarcely heard thethundering denunciations hurled at him by the public prosecutor in hisfierce and final demand that blood be the price of blood and that theextreme penalty of the law be meted out to this young monster of wickednessand dissimulation. 

Nor did Lloyd notice the stir when one of the court attendants made waythrough the crush for a distinguished-looking man, evidently a person ofparticular importance, who was given a chair on the platform occupied bythe three black-robed judges. 

"The Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck!" whispered eager tongues, and straightwaythe awe-inspiring name was passed from mouth to mouth. The Baron deHeidelmann-Bruck! He had dropped in in a dilettante spirit to hear thespirited debate, and the judges were greatly honored. 

Alas for the baron! It was surely some sinister prompting that brought himhere to-day, so coldly complacent as he nodded to the presiding judge, soquietly indifferent as he glanced at the prisoner through his singleeyeglass. The gods had given Coquenil a spectacular setting for histriumph!

And now, suddenly, the blow fell. As the prosecuting officer soared alongin his oratorial flight, a note was passed unobtrusively to the presidingjudge, a modest little note folded on itself without even an envelope tohold it. For several minutes the note lay unnoticed; then the judge, withcareless eye, glanced over it; then he started, frowned, and his quickrereading showed that a spark of something had flashed from that scrap ofpaper. 

The presiding judge leaned quickly toward his associate on the right andwhispered earnestly, then toward his associate on the left, and, one afteranother, the three magistrates studied this startling communication, nodding learned heads and lowering judicial eyebrows. The public prosecutorblazed through his peroration to an inattentive bench. 

No sooner had the speaker finished than the clerk of the court announced abrief recess, during which the judges withdrew for deliberation and theaudience buzzed their wonder. During this interval the Baron deHeidelmann-Bruck looked frankly bored. 

On the return of the three, an announcement was made by the presiding judgethat important new evidence in the case had been received, evidence of sounusual a character that the judges had unanimously decided to interruptproceedings for a public hearing of the evidence in question. It wasfurther ordered that no one be allowed to leave the courtroom under anycircumstances. 

"Call the first witness!" ordered the judge, and amidst the excitementcaused by these ominous words a small door opened and a woman enteredleaning on a guard. She was dressed simply in black and heavily veiled, but her girlish figure showed that she was young. As she appeared, Kittredge started violently. 

The clerk of the court cleared his throat and called out something inincomprehensible singsong. 

The woman came forward to the witness stand and lifted her veil. As she didso, three distinct things happened: the audience murmured its admiration ata vision of strange beauty, Kittredge stared in a daze of joy, and DeHeidelmann-Bruck felt the cold hand of death clutching at his heart. 

It was Alice come to her lover's need! Alice risen from the flames! Alicehere for chastening and justice!

"What is your name?" questioned the judge. 

"Mary Coogan, " was the clear answer. 

"Your nationality?"

"I am an American. "

"You have lived a long time in France?"

"Yes. I came to France as a little girl. "

"How did that happen?"

"My father died and--my mother married a second time. "

Her voice broke, but she shot a swift glance at the prisoner and seemed togain strength. 

"Your mother married a Frenchman?"

"Yes. "

"What is the name of the Frenchman whom your mother married?"

The girl hesitated, and then looking straight at the baron, she said: "TheBaron de Heidelmann-Bruck. "

There was something in the girl's tone, in her manner, in the fearlesspoise of her head, that sent a shiver of apprehension through the audience. Every man and woman waited breathless for the next question. In theirabsorbed interest in the girl they scarcely looked at the aristocraticvisitor. 

"Is your mother living?"

"No. "

"How did she die?"

Again the witness turned to Kittredge and his eyes made her brave. 

"My mother was burned to death--in the Charity Bazaar fire, " she answeredin a low voice. 

"Were you present at the fire?"

"Yes. "

"Were you in danger?"

"Yes. "

"State what you remember about the fire. "

The girl looked down and answered rapidly: "My mother and I went to theCharity Bazaar with the Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck. When the fire broke out, there was a panic and we were held by the crush. There was a window near usthrough which some people were climbing. My mother and I got to this windowand would have been able to escape through it, but the Baron deHeidelmann-Bruck pushed us back and climbed through himself. "

"It's a lie!" cried the baron hoarsely, while a murmur of dismay arose fromthe courtroom. 

"Silence!" warned the clerk. 

"And after that?"

The girl shook her head and there came into her face a look of terriblesadness. 

"I don't know what happened after that for a long time. I was very illand--for years I did not remember these things. "

"You mean that for years you did not remember what you have justtestified?"

"Yes, that is what I mean. "

The room was so hushed in expectation that the tension was like physicalpain. 

"You did not remember your mother during these years?"

"No. "

"Not even her name?"

She shook her head. "I did not remember my own name. "

"But now you remember everything?"

"Yes, everything. "

"When did you recover your memory?"

"It began to come back a few weeks ago. "

"Under what circumstances?"

"Under circumstances like those when--when I lost it. "

"How do you mean?"

"I--I--" She turned slowly, as if drawn by some horrible fascination, andlooked at De Heidelmann-Bruck. The baron's face was ghastly white, but by asupreme effort he kept an outward show of composure. 

"Yes?" encouraged the judge. 

"I was in another fire, " she murmured, still staring at the baron. "I--Inearly lost my life there. "

The witness had reached the end of her strength; she was twisting anduntwisting her white fingers piteously, while the pupils of her eyeswidened and contracted in terror. She staggered as if she would faint orfall, and the guard was starting toward her when, through the anguishedsilence, a clear, confident voice rang out:

"_Alice!_"

It was the prisoner who had spoken, it was the lover who had come to therescue and whose loyal cry broke the spell of horror. Instantly the girlturned to Lloyd with a look of infinite love and gratitude, and before theoutraged clerk of the court had finished his warning to the young American, Alice had conquered her distress and was ready once more for the ordeal. 

"Tell us in your own words, " said the judge kindly, "how it was that younearly lost your life a second time in a fire. "

In a low voice, but steadily, Alice began her story. She spoke briefly ofher humble life with the Bonnetons, of her work at Notre-Dame, of theoccasional visits of her supposed cousin, the wood carver; then she came tothe recent tragic happenings, to her flight from Groener, to the kindnessof M. Pougeot, to the trick of the ring that lured her from thecommissary's home, and finally to the moment when, half dead with fright, she was thrust into that cruel chamber and left there with M. Coquenil--toperish. 

As she described their desperate struggle for life in that living furnaceand their final miraculous escape, the effect on the audience wasindescribable. Women screamed and fainted, men broke down and wept, eventhe judges wiped pitying eyes as Alice told how Paul Coquenil built thelast barricade with fire roaring all about him, and then how he dashedamong leaping flames and, barehanded, all but naked, cleared a way tosafety. 

Through the tense silence that followed her recital came the judge's voice:"And you accuse a certain person of committing this crime?"

"I do, " she answered firmly. 

"You make this accusation deliberately, realizing the gravity of what yousay?"

"I do. "

"Whom do you accuse?"

The audience literally held its breath as the girl paused before replying. Her hands shut hard at her sides, her body seemed to stiffen and rise, thenshe turned formidably with the fires of slumbering vengeance burning in herwonderful eyes--vengeance for her mother, for her lover, for her rescuer, for herself--she turned slowly toward the cowering nobleman and saiddistinctly: "I accuse the Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck. "

So monstrous, so unthinkable was the charge, that the audience sat stupidlystaring at the witness as if they doubted their own ears, and somewhispered that the thing had never happened, the girl was mad. 

Then all eyes turned to the accused. He struggled to speak but the wordschoked in his throat. If ever a great man was guilty in appearance, theBaron de Heidelmann-Bruck was that guilty great man!

"I insist on saying--" he burst out finally, but the judge cut him short. 

"You will be heard presently, sir. Call the next witness. "

The girl withdrew, casting a last fond look at her lover, and the clerk'svoice was heard summoning M. Pougeot. 

The commissary appeared forthwith and, with all the authority of hisoffice, testified in confirmation of Alice's story. There was no possibledoubt that the girl would have perished in the flames but for the heroismof Paul Coquenil. 

Pougeot was followed by Dr. Duprat, who gave evidence as to the return ofAlice's memory. He regarded her case as one of the most remarkablepsychological phenomena that had come under his observation, and hedeclared, as an expert, that the girl's statements were absolutely worthyof belief. 

"Call the next witness, " directed the judge, and the clerk of the courtsang out:

"_Paul Coquenil!_"

A murmur of sympathy and surprise ran through the room as the small dooropened, just under the painting of justice, and a gaunt, pallid figureappeared, a tall man, wasted and weakened. He came forward leaning on acane and his right hand was bandaged. 

"I would like to add, your Honor, " said Dr. Duprat, "that M. Coquenil hasrisen from a sick bed to come here; in fact, he has come against medicaladvice to testify in favor of this young prisoner. "

The audience was like a powder mine waiting for a spark. Only a word wasneeded to set off their quivering, pent-up enthusiasm. 

"What is your name?" asked the judge as the witness took the stand. 

"Paul Coquenil, " was the quiet answer. 

It was the needed word, the spark to fire the train. Paul Coquenil! Neverin modern times had a Paris courtroom witnessed a scene like that whichfollowed. Pussy Wilmott, who spent her life looking for new sensations, hadone now. And Kittredge manacled in the dock, yet wildly happy! And Aliceoutside, almost fainting between hope and fear! And De Heidelmann-Bruckwith his brave eyeglass and groveling soul! They _all_ had new sensations!

As Coquenil spoke, there went up a great cry from the audience, anirresistible tribute to his splendid bravery. It was spontaneous, it washysterical, it was tremendous. Men and women sprang to their feet, shoutingand waving and weeping. The crowd, crushed in the corridor, caught the cryand passed it along. 

"Coquenil! Coquenil!"

The down in the courtyard it sounded, and out into the street, where agroup of students started the old snappy refrain:

 "Oh, oh! Il nous faut-o! Beau, beau! Beau Cocono-o!"

In vain the judge thundered admonitions and the clerk shouted for order. That white-faced, silent witness leaning on his cane, stood for the momentto these frantic people as the symbol of what they most admired in aman--resourcefulness before danger and physical courage and the readinessto die for a friend. For these three they seldom had a chance to shout andweep, so they wept and shouted now!

"Coquenil! Coquenil!"

There had been bitter moments in the great detective's life, but this madeup for them; there had been proud, intoxicating moments, but this surpassedthem. Coquenil, too, had a new sensation!

When at length the tumult was stilled and the panting, sobbing audience hadsettled back in their seats, the presiding judge, lenient at heart to thedisorder, proceeded gravely with his examination. 

"Please state what you know about this case, " he said, and again theaudience waited in deathlike stillness. 

"There is no need of many words, " answered M. Paul; then pointing anaccusing arm at De Heidelmann-Bruck, "I know that this man shot EnricoMartinez on the night of July 4th, at the Ansonia Hotel. "

The audience gave a long-troubled sigh, the nobleman sat rigid on hischair, the judge went on with his questions. 

"You say you _know_ this?" he demanded sharply. 

"I know it, " declared Coquenil, "I have absolute proof of it--here. " Hedrew from his inner coat the baron's diary and handed it to the judge. 

"What is this?" asked the latter. 

"His own confession, written by himself and--Quick!" he cried, and sprangtoward the rich man, but Papa Tignol was there before him. With a bound theold fox had leaped forward from the audience and reached the accused intime to seize and stay his hand. 

"Excuse me, your Honor, " apologized the detective, "the man was going tokill himself. "

"It's false!" screamed the baron. "I was getting my handkerchief. "

"Here's the handkerchief, " said Tignol, holding up a pistol. 

At this there was fresh tumult in the audience, with men cursing and womenshrieking. 

The judge turned gravely to De Heidelmann-Bruck. "I have a painful duty toperform, sir. Take this man out--_under arrest_, and--clear the room. "

M. Paul sank weakly into a chair and watched idly while the attendants ledaway the unresisting millionaire, watched keenly as the judge opened thebaron's diary and began to read. He noted the magistrate's start ofamazement, the eager turning of pages and the increasingly absorbedattention. 

"Astounding! Incredible!" muttered the judge. "A great achievement! Icongratulate you, M. Coquenil. It's the most brilliant coup I have everknown. It will stir Paris to the depths and make you a--a hero. "

"Thank you, thank you, " murmured the sick man. 

At this moment an awe-struck attendant came forward to say that the baronwished a word with M. Paul. 

"By all means, " consented the judge. 

Haltingly, on his cane, Coquenil made his way to an adjoining room whereDe Heidelmann-Bruck was waiting under guard. 

As he glanced at the baron, M. Paul saw that once more the man haddemonstrated his extraordinary self-control, he was cold and composed asusual. 

"We take our medicine, eh?" said the detective admiringly. 

"Yes, " answered the prisoner, "we take our medicine. "

"But there's a difference, " reflected Coquenil. "The other day you said youwere sorry when you left me in that hot cellar. Now you're in a fairly hotplace yourself, baron, and--I'm _not_ sorry. "

De Heidelmann-Bruck shrugged his shoulders. 

"Any objection to my smoking a cigar?" he asked coolly and reached towardhis coat pocket. 

With a quick gesture Coquenil stopped the movement. 

"_I don't like smoke_, " he said with grim meaning. "If there is anythingyou want to say, sir, you had better say it. "

"I have only this to say, Coquenil, " proceeded the baron, absolutelyunruffled; "we had had our little fight and--I have lost. We both did ourbest with the weapons we had for the ends we hoped to achieve. I stood forwickedness, you stood for virtue, and virtue has triumphed; but, betweenourselves"--he smiled and shrugged his shoulders--"they're both only wordsand--it isn't important, anyhow. "

He paused while a contemplative, elusive smile played about his mouth. 

"The point is, I am going to pay the price that society exacts when thissort of thing is--found out. I am perfectly willing to pay it, not in theleast afraid to pay it, and, above all, not in the least sorry foranything. I want you to remember that and repeat it. I have no patiencewith cowardly canting talk about remorse. I have never for one momentregretted anything I have done, and I regret nothing now. Nothing! I havehad five years of the best this world can give--power, fortune, socialposition, pleasure, _everything_, and whatever I pay, I'm ahead of thegame, way ahead. If I had it all to do over again and knew that this wouldbe the end, _I would change nothing_. "

"Except that secret door under the stone shelf--you might change that, " putin Coquenil dryly. 

"No wonder you feel bitter, " mused the baron. "It was you or me, and--_I_showed no pity. Why should you? I want you to believe, though, that I wasgenuine when I said I liked you. I was ready to destroy you, but I likedyou. I like you now, Coquenil, and--this is perhaps our last talk, theywill take me off presently, and--you collect odd souvenirs--here is one--alittle good-by--from an adversary who was--game, anyway. You don't mindaccepting it?"

There was something in the man's voice that Coquenil had never heard there. Was it a faint touch of sentiment? He took the ring that the baron handedhim, an uncut ruby, and looked at it thoughtfully, wondering if, after all, there was room in this cold, cruel soul for a tiny spot of tenderness. 

"It's a beautiful stone, but--I cannot accept it; we never take gifts fromprisoners and--thank you. "

He handed back the ring. 

The baron's face darkened; he made an angry gesture as if he would dash thetrinket to the floor. Then he checked himself, and studying the ring sadly, twisted it about in his fingers. 

"Ah, that pride of yours! You've been brilliant, you've been brave, butnever unkind before. It's only a bauble, Coquenil, and----"

De Heidelmann-Bruck stopped suddenly and M. Paul caught a savage gleam inhis eyes; then, swiftly, the baron put the ring to his mouth, and suckingin his breath, swallowed hard. 

The detective sprang forward, but it was too late. 

"A doctor--quick!" he called to the guard. 

"No use!" murmured the rich man, sinking forward. 

Coquenil tried to support him, but the body was too heavy for his bandagedhand, and the prisoner sank to the floor. 

"I--I won the last trick, anyhow, " the baron whispered as M. Paul bent overhim. 

Coquenil picked up the ring that had fallen from a nerveless hand. He putit to his nose and sniffed it. 

"Prussic acid!" he muttered, and turned away from the last horrors. 

Two minutes later, when Dr. Duprat rushed in, the Baron deHeidelmann-Bruck, unafraid and unrepentant, had gone to his last longsleep. His face was calm, and even in death his lips seemed set in amocking smile of triumph. 

 * * * * *

And so it all ended, as the baron remarked, with virtue rewarded and righttriumphant over wrong. Only the doctors agreed that many a day must passbefore Coquenil could get back to his work, if, indeed, he ever went backto it. There were reasons, independent of M. Paul's health, that made thisdoubtful, reasons connected with the happiness of the lovers, for, afterall, it was to Coquenil that they owed everything; Kittredge owed him hisliberty and established innocence, Alice (we should say Mary) owed him hermemory, her lover, and her fortune; for, as the sole surviving heir of hermother, the whole vast inheritance came to her. And, when a sweet younggirl finds herself in such serious debt to a man and at the same time oneof the richest heiresses in the world, she naturally wishes to give somesubstantial form to her gratitude, even to the extent of a few odd millionsfrom her limitless store. 

At any rate, Coquenil was henceforth far beyond any need of following hisprofession; whatever use he might in the future make of his brillianttalents would be for the sheer joy of conquest and strictly in the spiritof art for its own sake. 

On the other hand, if at any time he wished to undertake a case, it wascertain that the city of Paris or the government of France would tender himtheir commissions on a silver salver, for now, of course, his justificationwas complete and, by special arrangement, he was given a sort of rovingcommission from headquarters with indefinite leave of absence. Best of all, he was made chevalier of the Legion of Honor "_for conspicuous publicservice_. " What a day it was, to be sure, when Madam Coquenil first caughtsight of that precious red badge on her son's coat!

So we leave Paul Coquenil resting and recuperating in the Vosges Mountains, taking long drives with his mother and planning the rebuilding of theirmountain home. 

"You did your work, Paul, and I'm proud of you, " the old lady said when sheheard the tragic tale, "but don't forget, my boy, it was the hand of Godthat saved you. "

"Yes, mother, " he said fondly, and added with a mischievous smile, "don'tforget that you had a little to do with it, too. "

As for the lovers, there is only this to be said: that they wereridiculously, indescribably happy. The mystery of Alice's strange dreamsand clairvoyant glimpses (it should be Mary) was in great part accountedfor, so Dr. Duprat declared, by certain psychological abnormalitiesconnected with her loss of memory; these would quickly disappear, hethought, with a little care and a certain electrical treatment that herecommended. Lloyd was positive kisses would do the thing just as well; atany rate, he proposed to give this theory a complete test. 

The young American had one grievance. 

"It's playing it low on a fellow, " he said, "when he's just squared himselfto hustle for a poor candle seller to change her into a howlingmillionaire. I'd like to know how the devil I'm going to be a hero now?"

"Silly boy, " she laughed, her radiant eyes burning on him, at which hethreatened to begin the treatment forthwith. 

"You darling!" he cried. "My little Alice! Hanged if I can _ever_ call youanything but Alice!"

She looked up at him archly and nestled close. 

"Lloyd, dear, I know a nicer name than Alice. "

"Yes?"

"A nicer name than Mary. "

"Yes?"

"A nicer name than _any_ name. "

"What is it, you little beauty?" he murmured, drawing her closer still andpressing his lips to hers. 

"How can I--tell you--unless you--let me--speak?" she panted. 

Then, with wonderful dancing lights in those deep, strange windows of hersoul, she whispered: "The nicest name in the world _for me_ is--_Mrs. LloydKittredge!_"

THE END