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diff --git a/old/11373-8.txt b/old/11373-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aeacd5a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11373-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14181 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Through the Wall, by Cleveland Moffett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Through the Wall + +Author: Cleveland Moffett + +Release Date: February 29, 2004 [EBook #11373] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THROUGH THE WALL *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +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 SKY +II.--COQUENIL'S GREATEST CASE +III.--PRIVATE ROOM NUMBER SIX +IV.--"IN THE NAME OF THE LAW" +V.--COQUENIL GETS IN THE GAME +VI.--THE WEAPON +VII.--THE FOOTPRINTS +VIII.--THROUGH THE WALL +IX.--COQUENIL MARKS HIS MAN +X.--GIBELIN SCORES A POINT +XI.--THE TOWERS OF NOTRE-DAME +XII.--BY SPECIAL ORDER +XIII.--LLOYD AND ALICE +XIV.--THE WOMAN IN THE CASE +XV.--PUSSY WILMOTT'S CONFESSION +XVI.--THE THIRD PAIR OF BOOTS +XVII.--"FROM HIGHER UP" +XVIII.--A LONG LITTLE FINGER +XIX.--TOUCHING A YELLOW TOOTH +XX.--THE MEMORY OF A DOG +XXI.--THE WOOD CARVER +XXII.--AT THE HAIRDRESSER'S +XXIII.--GROENER AT BAY +XXIV.--THIRTY IMPORTANT WORDS +XXV.--THE MOVING PICTURE +XXVI.--COQUENIL'S MOTHER +XXVII.--THE DIARY +XXVIII.--A GREAT CRIMINAL +XXIX.--THE LOST DOLLY +XXX.--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 the +famous French detective, Paul Coquenil, was ever engaged, a case of more +baffling mystery than the Palais Royal diamond robbery and of far greater +peril to him than the Marseilles trunk drama--in short, a case that ranks +with the most important ones of modern police history--would never have +been undertaken by Coquenil (and in that event might never have been +solved) but for the extraordinary faith this man had in certain strange +intuitions or forms of half knowledge that came to him at critical moments +of his life, bringing marvelous guidance. Who but one possessed of such +faith would have given up fortune, high position, the reward of a whole +career, _simply because a girl whom he did not know spoke some chance words +that 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 had +known that year (1907) and M. Coquenil, followed by a splendid +white-and-brown shepherd dog, was walking down the Rue de la Cité, past the +somber mass of the city hospital. Before reaching the Place Notre-Dame he +stopped twice, once at a flower market that offered the grateful shade of +its gnarled polenia trees just beyond the Conciergerie prison, and once +under the heavy archway of the Prefecture de Police. At the flower market +he 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 a +smile and friendly word. She wondered if it was true, as people said, that +M. Coquenil always wore glasses with a slightly bluish tint so that no one +could see his eyes. + +The detective walked on, busy with pleasant thoughts. This was the hour of +his triumph and justification, this made up for the cruel blow that had +fallen two years before and resulted, no one understood why, in his leaving +the Paris detective force at the very moment of his glory, when the whole +city was praising him for the St. Germain investigation. _Beau Cocono!_ +That was the name they had given him; he could hear the night crowds +shouting 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 the +police force for personal reasons, said the newspapers. His health was +affected, some declared; he had laid by a tidy fortune and wished to enjoy +it, thought others; but many shook their heads mysteriously and whispered +that 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 the +detective service of a foreign capital, with a life position at the head +of this service and a much larger salary than he had ever received, a +larger 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 a +red-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 gray +eyes, 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 unshaven +chin, he pointed over his shoulder with a long, grimy thumb to the western +sky. + +"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 barred +with 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't +laugh 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 found +those two poor women stretched out in their white-and-gold _salon_? Well, I +must 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 watched +the slender, well-knit figure as the detective moved across the Place +Notre-Dame, snapping his fingers playfully at the splendid animal that +bounded beside him and speaking to the dog in confidential friendliness. + +"We'll show 'em, eh, Caesar?" And the dog answered with eager barking and +quick-wagging tail. + +[Illustration: "'We'll show 'em, eh, Caesar?'"] + +So these two companions advanced toward the great cathedral, directing +their steps to the left-hand portal under the Northern tower. Here they +paused before statues of various saints and angels that overhang the +blackened doorway while Coquenil said something to a professional beggar, +who straightway disappeared inside the church. Caesar, meantime, with +panting tongue, was eying the decapitated St. Denis, asking himself, one +would say, how even a saint could carry his head in his hands. + +And presently there appeared a white-bearded sacristan in a three-cornered +hat of blue and gold and a gold-embroidered coat. For all his brave apparel +he was a small, mild-mannered person, with kindly brown eyes and a way of +smiling sadly as if he had forgotten how to laugh. + +"Ah, Bonneton, my friend!" said Coquenil, and then, with a quizzical +glance: "My decorative friend!" + +"Good evening, M. Paul," answered the other, while he patted the dog +affectionately. "Shall I take Caesar?" + +"One moment; I have news for you." Then, while the other listened +anxiously, he told of his brilliant appointment in Rio Janeiro and of his +imminent departure. He was sailing for Brazil in three days. + +"_Mon Dieu!_" murmured Bonneton in dismay. "Sailing for Brazil! So our +friends 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 let +him 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 the +detective all unconscious that he had reached a critical moment in his +destiny. + +How the course of events would have been changed had Paul Coquenil remained +outside Notre-Dame on this occasion it is impossible to know; the fact is +he did not remain outside, but, growing impatient at Bonneton's delay, he +pushed open the double swinging doors, with their coverings of leather and +red velvet, and entered the sanctuary. _And immediately he saw the girl_. + +She was in the shadows near a statue of the Virgin before which candles +were burning. On the table were rosaries and talismans and candles of +different lengths that it was evidently the girl's business to sell. In +front of the Virgin's shrine was a _prie dieu_ at which a woman was +kneeling, but she presently rose and went out, and the girl sat there +alone. She was looking down at a piece of embroidery, and Coquenil noticed +her shapely white hands and the mass of red golden hair coiled above her +neck. When she lifted her eyes he saw that they were dark and beautiful, +though tinged with sadness. He was surprised to find this lovely young +woman selling candles here in Notre-Dame Church. + +And suddenly he was more surprised, for as the girl glanced up she met his +gaze fixed on her, and immediately there came into her face a look so +strange, so glad, and yet so frightened that Coquenil went to her quickly +with reassuring smile. He was sure he had never seen her before, yet he +realized that somehow she was equally sure that she knew him. + +What followed was seen by only one person, that is, the sacristan's wife, a +big, hard-faced woman with a faint mustache and a wart on her chin, who sat +by the great column near the door dispensing holy water out of a cracked +saucer and whining for pennies. Nothing escaped the hawklike eyes of Mother +Bonneton, and now, with growing curiosity, she watched the scene between +Coquenil and the candle seller. What interest could a great detective have +in this girl, Alice, whom she and her husband had taken in as a +half-charity boarder? Such airs as she gave herself! What was she saying +now? Why should he look at her like that? The baggage! + +"Holy saints, how she talks!" grumbled the sacristan's wife. "And see the +eyes she makes! And how he listens! The man must be crazy to waste his time +on 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 seems +afraid of her! He says something and starts to come away. Ah, now he turns +and stares at her as if he had seen a ghost! _Mon Dieu, quelle folie!_" + +This whole incident occupied scarcely five minutes, yet it wrought an +extraordinary change in Coquenil. All his buoyancy was gone, and he looked +worn, almost haggard, as he walked to the church door with hard-shut teeth +and face set in an ominous frown. + +"There's some devil's work in this," he muttered, and as his eyes caught +the 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 she +come 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 the +brows over his closed eyes as if he were combing away error. "No, no!" he +changed, "don't tell me yet. I must be alone; I must think. Come to me at +nine 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 he +started 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 was +such black rage in his look that Bonneton cowered away, clasping and +unclasping his hands and murmuring meekly: "Ah, yes, exactly." + + * * * * * + +So much for the humble influence that turned Paul Coquenil toward an +unbelievable decision and led him ultimately into the most desperate +struggle of his long and exciting career. A day of sinister portent this +must have been, for scarcely had Coquenil left Notre-Dame when another +scene was enacted there that should have been happy, but that, alas! showed +only a rough and devious way stretching before two lovers. And again it was +the girl who made trouble, this seller of candles, with her fine hands and +her 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 was +closing time, Mother Bonneton had shuffled off rheumatically after a +cutting word--she knew better than to ask what had happened--and the old +sacristan, lantern in hand and Caesar before him, was making his round of +the galleries, securing doors and windows. + +With a shiver of apprehension Alice turned away from the whispering shadows +and went to the Virgin's shrine, where she knelt and tried to pray. The +candles sputtered before her, and she shut her eyes tight, which made +colored patterns come and go behind the lids, fascinating geometrical +figures that changed and faded and grew stronger. And suddenly, inside a +widening green circle, she saw a face, the face of a young man with +laughing gray eyes, and her heart beat with joy. She loved him, she loved +him!--that was her secret and the cause of her unhappiness, for she must +hide her love, especially from him; she must give him some cold word, some +evasive reason, not the real one, when he should come presently for his +answer. Ah, that was the great fact, he was coming for his answer--he, her +hero man, her impetuous American with the name she liked so much, Lloyd +Kittredge--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 not +hope to make him understand--how could anyone understand?--and then, +perhaps, he would misjudge her, perhaps he would leave her in anger and not +come back any more. Not come back any more! The thought cut with a sharp +pang, and in her distress she moved her lips silently in the familiar +prayer 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 he +so impatient? Why was he not willing to let their friendship go on as it +had been all these months? Why must he ask this inconceivable question and +insist on having an answer? His wife! Her cheeks flamed at the word and her +heart throbbed wildly. His wife! How wonderful that he should have chosen +her, so poor and obscure, for such an honor, the highest he could pay a +woman! Whatever happened she would at least have this beautiful memory to +comfort her loneliness and sorrow. + +A descending step on the tower stairs broke in upon her meditations, and +she rose quickly from her knees. The sacristan had finished his rounds and +was coming to close the outer doors. It was time for her to go. And, with a +glance at her hair in a little glass and a touch to her hat, she went out +into the garden back of Notre-Dame, where she knew her lover would be +waiting. There he was, strolling along the graveled walk near the fountain, +switching his cane impatiently. He had not seen her yet, and she stood +still, looking at him fondly, dreading what was to come, yet longing to +hear 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, boyish +smile. His face was ruddy and clean shaven, the twinkling eyes and humorous +lines about the mouth suggesting some joke or drollery always ready on his +lips. Yet his was a frank, manly face, easily likable. He was a man of +twenty-seven, slender of build, but carrying himself well. In dress he had +the quiet good taste that some men are born with, besides a willingness to +take pains about shirts, boots, and cravats--in short, he looked like a +well-groomed Englishman. Unlike the average Englishman, however, he spoke +almost perfect French, owing to the fact that his American father had +married into one of the old Creole families of New Orleans. + +"How is your royal American constitution?" She smiled, repeating in +excellent English one of the nonsensical phrases he was fond of using. She +tried to say it gayly, but he was not deceived, and answered seriously in +French: + +"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 a +friendly sycamore tree. "Now, then." + +She faced him with troubled eyes, searching vainly for words and finding +nothing. The crisis had come, and she did not know how to meet it. Her red +lips trembled, her eyes grew melting, and she sat there silent and +delicious in her perplexity. Kittredge thrilled under the spell of her +beauty; 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 this +old stone barn and took a turn around it. He saw the treasure and the fake +relics and the white marble French gentleman trying to get out of his +coffin. And he didn't care a hang about any of 'em until he saw you. Then +he began to take notice. The next day he came back and you sold him a +little red guidebook that told all about the twenty-five chapels and the +seven 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 of +the Candles. She had the most beautiful hands in the world, and all day +long she sat at a table making stitches on cloth of gold. Which was bad for +her eyes, by the way." + +"Ah, yes!" sighed Alice. + +"There are all kinds of miracles in Notre-Dame," he went on playfully, "but +the greatest miracle is how this saint with the eyes and the hands and the +hair ever dropped down at that little table. Nobody could explain it, so +the young fellow with the fur overcoat kept coming back and coming back to +see 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 all +blown in, overcoat up the spout, nothing ahead, and a whole year of--of +damned foolishness behind. Excuse _me_, but that's what it was. Well, he +blew in that day and--he walked over to where you were sitting, you darling +little saint!" + +"No, no," murmured Alice, "not a saint, only a poor girl who saw you were +unhappy and--and was sorry." + +Their eyes met tenderly, and for a moment neither spoke. Then Kittredge +went 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. I +said to myself: 'Lloyd Kittredge, if you're any good you'll cut out this +thing that's been raising hell with you'--excuse _me_, but that's what it +was--'and you'll make a new start, right now.' And I did it. There's a lot +you don't know, but you can bet all your rosaries and relics that I've made +a fair fight since then. I've worked and--been decent and--I did it all for +you." His voice was vibrant now with passion; he caught her hand in his +and repeated the words, leaning closer, so that she felt his warm breath on +her cheek. "All for you. You know that, don't you, Alice?" + +What a moment for a girl whose whole soul was quivering with fondness! What +a proud, beautiful moment! He loved her, he loved her! Yet she drew her +hand away and forced herself to say, as if reprovingly: "You mustn't do +that!" + +He looked at her in surprise, and then, with challenging directness: "Why +not?" + +"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 pronouncing +her 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 can +never be your wife." + +"But why? Why?" + +"I--I cannot tell you," she faltered. + +He was about to speak impatiently, but before her evident distress he +checked 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, if +you say so. God knows I was a fool, but I've kept straight since I knew +you, I'll swear to that." + +"I believe you, dear." + +"You believe me, you call me 'dear,' you look at me out of those wonderful +eyes 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 reminds +me of a verse I read," and drawing a small volume from his pocket he turned +the pages quickly. "Ah, here it is," and he marked some lines with a +pencil. "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 the +sight 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; say +that in six months or--or even a year you will be my own +sweetheart--promise me that and I'll wait patiently. Can't you promise me +that?" + +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? No +matter 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 I +don't understand; but there's no use talking any more. I'll take my +medicine 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 pull +a string and make me dance? Well, I guess not. Leave you? Of course I'll +leave you. I wish I had never seen you; I'm sorry I ever came inside this +blooming church!" + +"Oh!" she gasped, in sudden pain. + +"You don't play fair," he went on recklessly. "You haven't played fair at +all. You knew I loved you, and--you led me on, and--this is the end of +it." + +"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 would +have 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, if +it's all I have in life? How about that, Lloyd?" Under their dark lashes +her violet eyes were burning on him, but he hardened his heart to their +pleading. + +"It sounds well, but there's no sense in it. I can't stand for this +let-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. I +didn'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 some +stories. I've _got_ to go. Besides, I wouldn't come to you, anyway. What's +the use? I've said all I can, and you've said 'No.' So it's all off--that's +right, Alice, _it's all off_." His eyes were kinder now, but he spoke +firmly. + +"Lloyd," she begged, "come _after_ the banquet." + +"No!" + +"I ask it for _you_. I--I feel that something is going to happen. Don't +laugh. Look at the sky, there beyond the black towers. It's red, red like +blood, and--Lloyd, I'm afraid." + +Her eyes were fixed in the west with an enthralled expression, as if she +saw something there besides the masses of red and purple that crowned the +setting sun, something strange and terrifying. And in her agitation she +took the book and pencil from the bench, and nervously, almost +unconsciously 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 the +book and giving him her own little hand. + +As he turned to go he picked up the volume and his eye fell on the fly +leaf. + +"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 a +puzzled look: "See here, I guess I've been too previous. I'll cut out that +banquet to-night--that is, I'll show up for soup and fish, and then I'll +come 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 the +blood-red western sky. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +COQUENIL'S GREATEST CASE + + +After leaving Notre-Dame, Paul Coquenil directed his steps toward the +prefecture of police, but halfway across the square he glanced back at the +church 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 walked +quickly to a little wine shop with flowers in the windows, the Tavern of +the Three Wise Men, an interesting fragment of old-time Paris that offers +its cheery but battered hospitality under the very shadow of the great +cathedral. + +"Ah, I thought so!" he muttered, as he recognized Papa Tignol at one of the +tables 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. Paul +again!" + +"I must see M. Pougeot," continued the detective. "It's important. Go to +his office. If he isn't there, go to his house. Anyhow, find him and tell +him 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 tell +Bonneton that he needn't come either." + +"I knew it, I knew it," chuckled Papa Tignol, as he trotted off. "There's +something 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 a +horse that could not possibly make more than four miles an hour. Behind +this deliberate animal he seated himself, and giving the driver his +address, he charged him gravely not to go too fast, and settled back +against the cushions to comfortable meditations. "There is no better way to +think out a tough problem," he used to insist, "than to take a very long +drive in a very slow cab." + +It may have been that this horse was not slow enough, for forty minutes +later Coquenil's frown was still unrelaxed when they drew up at the Villa +Montmorency, really a collection of villas, some dozens of them, in a +private park near the Bois de Boulogne, each villa a garden within a +garden, and the whole surrounded by a great stone wall that shuts out +noises and intrusions. They entered by a massive iron gateway on the Rue +Poussin and moved slowly up the ascending Avenue des Tilleuls, past lawns +and trees and vine-covered walls, leaving behind the rush and glare of the +city and entering a peaceful region of flowers and verdure where Coquenil +lived. + +The detective occupied a wing of the original Montmorency chateau, a +habitation of ten spacious rooms, more than enough for himself and his +mother and the faithful old servant, Melanie, who took care of them, +especially during these summer months, when Madame Coquenil was away at a +country place in the Vosges Mountains that her son had bought for her. Paul +Coquenil had never married, and his friends declared that, besides his +work, 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 room +to a meal that was waiting when he arrived and that Melanie served with +solicitous care, remarking sadly that her master scarcely touched anything, +his eyes roving here and there among painted mountain scenes that covered +the four walls above the brown-and-gold wainscoting, or out into the +garden through the long, open windows; he was searching, searching for +something, she knew the signs, and with a sigh she took away her most +tempting dishes untasted. + +At eight o'clock the detective rose from the table and withdrew into his +study, a large room opening off the dining room and furnished like no other +study in the world. Around the walls were low bookcases with wide tops on +which were spread, under glass, what Coquenil called his criminal museum. +This included souvenirs of cases on which he had been engaged, wonderful +sets of burglars' tools, weapons used by murderers--saws, picks, jointed +jimmies of tempered steel, that could be taken apart and folded up in the +space of a thick cigar and hidden about the person. Also a remarkable +collection of handcuffs from many countries and periods in history. Also a +collection of letters of criminals, some in cipher, with confessions of +prisoners and last words of suicides. Also plaster casts of hands of famous +criminals. And photographs of criminals, men and women, with faces often +distorted to avoid recognition. And various grewsome objects, a card case +of human skin, and the twisted scarf used by a strangler. + +As for the shelves underneath, they contained an unequaled special library +of subjects interesting to a detective, both science and fiction being +freely drawn upon in French, English, and German, for, while Coquenil was a +man 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 his +comfortable study thinking, thinking. + +Melanie entered presently with coffee and cigarettes, which she placed on a +table near the green-shaded lamp, within easy reach of the great +red-leather chair where M. Paul was seated. Then she stole out +noiselessly. It was five minutes past eight, and for an hour Coquenil +thought and smoked and drank coffee. Occasionally he frowned and moved +impatiently, and several times he took off his glasses and stroked his +brows over the eyes. + +Finally he gave a long sigh of relief, and shutting his hands and throwing +out 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, one +of these taken in the exact attitude and costume of the painting of +Whistler's mother in the Luxembourg gallery. M. Paul was proud of the +striking resemblance between the two women. For some moments he stood +before the fine, kindly face, and then he said aloud, as if speaking to +her: "It looks like a hard fight, little mother, but I'm not afraid." And +almost as he spoke, which seemed like a good omen, there came a clang at +the iron gate in the garden and the sound of quick, crunching steps on the +gravel walk. M. Pougeot had arrived. + +M. Lucien Pougeot was one of the eighty police commissaries who, each in +his own quarter, oversee the moral washing of Paris's dirty linen. A +commissary of police is first of all a magistrate, but, unless he is a +fool, he soon becomes a profound student of human nature, for he sees all +sides of life in the great gay capital, especially the darker sides. He +knows the sins of his fellow men and women, their follies and hypocrisies, +he receives incredible confessions, he is constantly summoned to the scenes +of revolting crime. Nothing, _absolutely nothing_, surprises him, and he +has no illusions, yet he usually manages to keep a store of grim pity for +erring humanity. M. Pougeot was one of the most distinguished and +intelligent members of this interesting body. He was a devoted friend of +Paul Coquenil. + +The newcomer was a middle-aged man of strong build and florid face, with a +brush of thick black hair. His quick-glancing eyes were at once cold and +kind, but the kindness had something terrifying in it, like the politeness +of an executioner. As the two men stood together they presented absolutely +opposite types: Coquenil, taller, younger, deep-eyed, spare of build, with +a certain serious reserve very different from the commissary's outspoken +directness. M. Pougeot prided himself on reading men's thoughts, but he +used to say that he could not even imagine what Coquenil was thinking or +fathom the depths of a nature that blended the eagerness of a child with +the austerity of a prophet. + +"Well," remarked the commissary when they were settled in their chairs, "I +suppose it's the Rio Janeiro thing? Some parting instructions, eh?" And he +turned 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 this +foreign offer, with its extraordinary money advantages; he had rejoiced in +his friend's good fortune after two unhappy years, and now--now Coquenil +informed 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 only +person in the world who _will_ know--everything. So listen! This afternoon +I went into Notre-Dame church and I saw a young girl there who sells +candles. I didn't know her, but she looked up in a queer way, as if she +wanted to speak to me, so I went to her and--well, she told me of a dream +she 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; I +know 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 the +two 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 a +man with a beard was talking to a woman and a little girl. Then she saw me +on 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 that +kept looking down at me. She says she often dreams of this wicked face, she +sees it first in a distant star that comes nearer and nearer, until it gets +to 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 if +the face ever reached her _before_ she awoke. That's about all." + +For some moments the commissary did not speak. "Did she try to interpret +this 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 over +his friend, "in that forest scene she brought up something that isn't +known, 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 was +discharged._" + +M. Pougeot stared in bewilderment, as if words failed him, and finally he +repeated weakly: "Discharged! Paul Coquenil discharged!" + +[Illustration: "'I _didn't_ resign; _I was discharged_.'"] + +"Yes, sir, discharged from the Paris detective force for refusing to arrest +a 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. I +don'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 over +France. We were clean off the track, and I made up my mind the only way to +get him was through his wife and child. They lived in a little house in the +woods not far from the place of the shooting. I went there as a peddler in +hard luck, and I played my part so well that the woman consented to take me +in as a boarder." + +"Wonderful man!" exclaimed the commissary. + +"For weeks it was a waiting game. I would go away on a peddling tour and +then come back as boarder. Nothing developed, but I could not get rid of +the 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 fear +from me_, and she did things more openly. One day I saw her put some food +in a basket and give it to the little girl. And the little girl went off +with the basket into the forest. Then I knew I was right, and the next day +I followed the little girl, and, sure enough, she led me to a rough cave +where her father was hiding. I hung about there for an hour or two, and +finally the man came out from the cave and I saw him talk to his wife and +child 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 over +and 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 wife +and child. The woman had been kind to me and trusted me, and--well, it was +a 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 to +man. 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 were +technically in the wrong, but it was a slight offense, and, after all, you +got 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, and +then, as if not satisfied with this, he clasped the detective's hand and +added heartily: "I'm proud of you, old friend, I honor you." + +Coquenil looked at Pougeot with an odd little smile. "You take it just as +I thought you would, just as I took it myself--until to-day. It seems like +a stupid blunder, doesn't it? Well, it wasn't a blunder; _it was a +necessary move in the game_." His face lighted with intense eagerness as he +waited 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 you +know the plan? You have evidence?" + +"I have what is perfectly clear evidence _to me_, so clear that I wonder I +never saw it before. Lucien, suppose you were a great criminal, I don't +mean the ordinary clever scoundrel who succeeds for a time and is finally +caught, 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 swindling +schemes, but he had no stability, no big purpose, and he finally came to +grief. There have been greater criminals than Vautrin, men whose crimes +have brought them _everything_--fortune, social position, political +supremacy--_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 very +few; I have documents to prove it"--he pointed to his bookcases; "but we +haven't time for that. Come back to my question: Suppose _you_ were such a +criminal, and suppose there was one person in this city who was thwarting +your purposes, perhaps jeopardizing your safety. What would you naturally +do?" + +"I'd try to get rid of him." + +"Exactly." Coquenil paused, and then, leaning closer to his friend, he said +with extraordinary earnestness: "Lucien, for over two years _some one has +been 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 the +dream and nothing on the girl. She simply brought together two facts that +belong together. Why she did it doesn't matter; she did it, and my reason +did the rest. There is a connection between this Rio Janeiro offer and my +discharge from the force. I know it. I'll show you other links in the +chain. Three times in the past two years I have received offers of business +positions away from Paris, tempting offers. Notice that--_business +positions away from Paris!_ Some one has extraordinary reasons for wanting +me out of this city and _out of detective work_." + +"And you think this 'some one' was responsible for your discharge from the +force?" + +"I tell you I know it. M. Giroux, the chief at that time, was distressed at +the order, he told me so himself; he said it came from _higher up_." + +The commissary raised incredulous eyebrows. "You mean that Paris has a +criminal able to overrule the wishes of a chief of police?" + +"Is that harder than to influence the Brazilian Government? Do you think +Rio Janeiro offered me a hundred thousand francs a year just for my +beautiful eyes?" + +"You're a great detective." + +"A great detective repudiated by his own city. That's another point: why +should the police department discharge me two years ago and recommend me +now 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 crime +is 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 of +France. Why? There can be only one reason--because I have been successful +in unraveling intricate crimes, more successful than other men on the +force. Is that saying too much?" + +The commissary replied impatiently: "It's conceded that you are the most +skillful detective in France; but you're off the force already. So why +should this person send you to Brazil?" + +M. Paul thought a moment. "I've considered that. It is because this crime +will be of so startling and unusual a character that it _must_ attract my +attention if I am here. And if it attracts my attention as a great criminal +problem, it is certain that I will try to solve it, whether on the force or +off it." + +"Well answered!" approved the other; he was coming gradually under the +spell of Coquenil's conviction. "And when--when do you think this crime may +be committed?" + +"Who can say? There must be great urgency to account for their insisting +that I sail to-morrow. Ah, you didn't know that? Yes, even now, at this +very moment, I am supposed to be on the steamer train, for the boat goes +out early in the morning _before the Paris papers can reach Cherbourg_." + +M. Pougeot started up, his eyes widening. "What!" he cried. "You mean +that--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 been +followed by a violent storm. + +Coquenil paid no heed to this, but answered quietly: "I mean that a great +fight is ahead, and I shall be in it. Somebody is playing for enormous +stakes, somebody who disposes of fortune and power and will stop at +_nothing_, somebody who will certainly crush me unless I crush him. It will +be a great case, Lucien, my greatest case, perhaps my last case." He +stopped and looked intently at his mother's picture, while his lips moved +inaudibly. + +"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 came +one of the strange coincidences of this extraordinary case. On the silence +of this room, with its tension of overwrought emotion, broke the sharp +summons of the telephone. + +"My God!" shivered the commissary. "What is that?" Both men sat +motionless, their eyes fixed on the ominous instrument. + +Again came the call, this time more strident and commanding. M. Pougeot +aroused 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 he +put the receiver to his ear. "Yes, this is M. Pougeot.... What?... The +Ansonia?... You say he's shot?... In a private dining room?... Dead?... +_Quel malheur!_"... Then he gave quick orders: "Send Papa Tignol over with +a doctor and three or four _agents_. Close the restaurant. Don't let anyone +go in or out. Don't let anyone leave the banquet room. I'll be there in +twenty 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, the +automobile is waiting." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +PRIVATE ROOM NUMBER SIX + + +The night was black and rain was falling in torrents as Paul Coquenil and +the commissary rolled away in response to this startling summons of crime. +Up the Rue Mozart they sped with sounding horn, feeling their way carefully +on account of troublesome car tracks, then faster up the Avenue Victor +Hugo, their advance being accompanied by vivid lightning flashes. + +"He was in luck to have this storm," muttered Coquenil. Then, in reply to +Pougeot's look: "I mean the thunder, it deadened the shot and gained time +for him." + +"Him? How do you know a man did it? A woman was in the room, and she's +gone. They telephoned that." + +The detective shook his head. "No, no, you'll find it's a man. Women are +not original in crime. And this is--_this is different_. How many murders +can you remember in Paris restaurants, I mean smart restaurants?" + +M. Pougeot thought a moment. "There was one at the Silver Pheasant and one +at the Pavillion and--and----" + +"And one at the Café Rouge. But those were stupid shooting cases, not +murders, 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 him +they would have told you, wouldn't they?" + +"Why--er----" + +"Of course they would. Well, think what it means to commit murder in a +crowded restaurant and get away. It means _brains_, Lucien. Ah, we're +nearly there!" + +They had reached Napoleon's arch, and the automobile, swinging sharply to +the right, started at full speed down the Champs Elysées. + +"It's bad for Gritz," reflected the commissary; then both men fell silent +in 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 the +rich and hungry wayfarer. He owned the famous Palace restaurant at Monte +Carlo, the Queen's in Piccadilly, London, and the Café Royal in Brussels. +Of all his ventures, however, this recently opened Ansonia (hotel and +restaurant) was by far the most ambitious. The building occupied a full +block on the Champs Elysées, just above the Rond Point, so that it was in +the center of fashionable Paris. It was the exact copy of a well-known +Venetian palace, and its exquisite white marble colonnade made it a real +adornment to the gay capital. Furthermore, M. Gritz had spent a fortune on +furnishings and decorations, the carvings, the mural paintings, the rugs, +the chairs, everything, in short, being up to the best millionaire +standard. He had the most high-priced chef in the world, with six chefs +under him, two of whom made a specialty of American dishes. He had his own +farm for vegetables and butter, his own vineyards, his own permanent +orchestra, and his own brand of Turkish coffee made before your eyes by a +salaaming Armenian in native costume. For all of which reasons the present +somber happening had particular importance. A murder anywhere was bad +enough, but a murder in the newest, the _chic_-est, and the costliest +restaurant in Paris must cause more than a nine days' wonder. As M. Pougeot +remarked, it was certainly bad for Gritz. + +Drawing up before the imposing entrance, they saw two policemen on guard at +the doors, one of whom, recognizing the commissary, came forward quickly to +the automobile with word that M. Gibelin and two other men from +headquarters had already arrived and were proceeding with the +investigation. + +"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-school +methods, and--he and I never got on very well. He has been sent to take +charge of the case, so--be tactful with him." + +"He can't object," answered Pougeot. "After all, I'm the commissary of this +quarter, 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 of +sensation seekers that blocked the sidewalk, he disappeared inside the +building. + +M. Pougeot's moment was prolonged to five full minutes, and when he +reappeared 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 from +headquarters.' 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 a +better 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. "When +shall I see you again?" + +Coquenil eyed his friend mysteriously. "I _think_ you'll see me before the +night is over. Now get to work, and," he smiled mockingly, "give M. Gibelin +the 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 going +on as usual, the orchestra was playing in its best manner and few of the +brilliant company suspected that anything was wrong. Those who started to +go out were met by M. Gritz himself, and, with a brief hint of trouble +upstairs, were assured that they would be allowed to leave shortly after +some necessary formalities. This delay most of them took good-naturedly and +went back to their tables. + +As M. Pougeot mounted to the first floor he was met at the head of the +stairs by a little yellow-bearded man, with luminous dark eyes, who came +toward him, hand extended. + +"Ah, Dr. Joubert!" said the commissary. + +The doctor nodded nervously. "It's a singular case," he whispered, "a very +singular 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, his +manners brusque, but there was no denying his intelligence. In a spirit of +conciliation he began to give M. Pougeot some details of the case, +whereupon the latter said stiffly: "Excuse me, sir, I need no assistance +from you in making this investigation. Come, doctor! In the field of his +jurisdiction a commissary of police is supreme, taking precedence even over +headquarters men." So Gibelin could only withdraw, muttering his +resentment, while Pougeot proceeded with his duties. + +In general plan the Ansonia was in the form of a large E, the main part of +the second floor, where the tragedy took place, being occupied by public +dining rooms, but the two wings, in accordance with Parisian custom, +containing a number of private rooms where delicious meals might be had +with discreet attendance by those who wished to dine alone. In each of the +wings were seven of these private rooms, all opening on a dark-red +passageway lighted by soft electric lamps. It was in one of the west wing +private rooms that the crime had been committed, and as the commissary +reached the wing the waiters' awe-struck looks showed him plainly enough +_which_ was the room--there, on the right, the second from the end, where +the patient policeman was standing guard. + +M. Pougeot paused at the turn of the corridor to ask some question, but he +was interrupted by a burst of singing on the left, a roaring chorus of +hilarity. + +"It's a banquet party," explained the doctor, "a lot of Americans. They +don'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 him +about the crime. It had been discovered half an hour before, more precisely +at ten minutes to nine, by a waiter Joseph, who was serving a couple in +Number Six, a dark-complexioned man and a strikingly handsome woman. They +had arrived at a quarter before eight and the meal had begun at once. Oddly +enough, after the soup, the gentleman told the waiter not to bring the next +course until he rang, at the same time slipping into his hand a ten-franc +piece. Whereupon Joseph had nodded his understanding--he had seen impatient +lovers before, although they usually restrained their ardor until after the +fish; still, _ma foi_, this was a woman to make a man lose his head, and +the night was to be a jolly one--how those young American devils were +singing!... so _vive l'amour_ and _vive la jeunesse!_ With which simple +philosophy and a twinkle of satisfaction Joseph had tucked away his gold +piece--and waited. + +Ten minutes! Fifteen minutes! An unconscionably _long time when you have a +delicious sole à la Regence_ getting cold on your hands. Joseph knocked +discreetly, then again after a decent pause, and finally, weary of waiting, +he opened the door with an official cough of warning and stepped inside the +room. 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 before +this, while I was waiting. She asked where the telephone was, and I told +her it was on the floor below. Then she went downstairs--at least I +suppose she did, for she never came back." + +"Did anyone see her leave the hotel?", demanded Pougeot sharply, looking at +the others. + +"It's extraordinary," answered the doctor, "but no one seems to have seen +this woman go out. M. Gibelin made inquiries, but he could learn nothing +except that she really went to the telephone booth. The girl there +remembers 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 a +stunner! Eyes and--shoulders and--um-m!" He described imaginary feminine +curves 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 his +men. + +Dr. Joubert, bowing gravely, opened the door of Number Six, and the +commissary entered, followed by his scribe, a very bald and pale young man, +and by the two policemen. Last came the doctor, closing the door carefully +behind him. + +It was the commissary's custom on arriving at the scene of a crime to +record his first impressions immediately, taking careful note of every fact +and detail in the picture that seemed to have the slightest bearing on the +case. These he would dictate rapidly to his secretary, walking back and +forth, searching everywhere with keen eyes and trained intelligence, +especially for signs of violence, a broken window, an overturned table, a +weapon, and noting all suspicious stains--mud stains, blood stains, the +print of a foot, the smear of a hand and, of course, describing carefully +the appearance of a victim's body, the wounds, the position, the expression +of the face, any tearing or disorder of the garments. Many times these +quick, haphazard jottings, made in the precious moments immediately +following a crime, had proved of incalculable value in the subsequent +investigation. + +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 and +flashing glasses, chairs in their places, pictures smiling down from the +white-and-gold walls, shaded electric lights diffusing a pleasant glow--in +short, no disorder, no sign of struggle, yet, there, stretched at full +length 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 evidently +dead. + +"Has anything been disturbed here? Has anyone touched this body?" demanded +Pougeot sharply. + +"No," said the doctor; "Gibelin came in with me, but neither of us touched +anything. 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 and +that 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 shot +in the right eye, a ball having penetrated the brain, killing him +instantly. The face showed marks of flame and powder, proving that the +weapon--undoubtedly a pistol--had been discharged from a very short +distance. + +This certainly looked like suicide, although the absence of the pistol +pointed to murder. The man's face was perfectly calm, with no suggestion of +fright or anger; his hands and body lay in a natural position and his +clothes were in no way disordered. Either he had met death willingly, or it +had come to him without warning, like a lightning stroke. + +"Doctor," asked the commissary, glancing at the open window, "if this man +shot himself, could he, in your opinion, with his last strength have thrown +the pistol out there?" + +"Certainly not," answered Joubert. "A man who received a wound like this +would 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 has +been found." + +"It must be murder," muttered Pougeot. "Was there any quarreling with the +woman?" + +"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 out +who this poor fellow was." + +[Illustration: "On the floor lay a man."] + +These instructions were carefully carried out, and it straightway became +clear that robbery, at any rate, had no part in the crime. In the dead +man's pockets was found a considerable sum of money, a bundle of five-pound +notes of the Bank of England, besides a handful of French gold. On his +fingers were several valuable rings, in his scarf was a large ruby set +with diamonds, and attached to his waistcoat was a massive gold medal that +at once established his identity. He was Enrico Martinez, a Spaniard widely +known as a professional billiard player, and also the hero of the terrible +Charity Bazaar fire, where, at the risk of his life, he had saved several +women from the flames. For this bravery the city of Paris had awarded him a +gold medal and people had praised him until his head was half turned. + +So familiar a figure was Martinez that there was no difficulty in finding +witnesses in the restaurant able to identify him positively as the dead +man. Several had seen him within a few days at the Olympia billiard +academy, where he had been practicing for a much-advertised match with an +American rival. All agreed that Martinez was quite the last man in Paris to +take his own life, for the simple reason that he enjoyed it altogether too +much. He was scarcely thirty and in excellent health, he made plenty of +money, he was fond of pleasure, and particularly fond of the ladies and had +no reason to complain of bad treatment at their hands; in fact, if the +truth must be told, he was ridiculously vain of his conquests among the +fair sex, and was always saying to whoever would listen: "Ah, _mon cher_, I +have met a woman! But _such_ a woman!" Then his dark eyes would glow and he +would snap his thumb nail under an upper tooth, with an expression of +ravishing joy that only a Castilian billiard player could assume. And, of +course, 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 examination +outside." + +With this they removed to the adjoining private room, Number Five, leaving +a policeman at the door of Number Six until proper disposal of the body +should be made. + +In the further questioning of Joseph the commissary brought out several +important facts. The waiter testified that, after serving the soup to +Martinez and the lady, he had not left the corridor outside the door of +Number Six until the moment when he entered the room and discovered the +crime. During this interval of perhaps a quarter of an hour he had moved +down the corridor a short distance, but not farther than the door of Number +Four. He was sure of this because one of the doors to the banquet room was +just opposite the door of Number Four, and he had stood there listening to +a Fourth-of-July speaker who was discussing the relations between France +and America. Joseph, being something of a politician, was greatly +interested 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 led +Joseph to the banquet-room door. + +"Like this," answered the waiter, and he placed himself so that his back +was turned to Number Six. + +"So you would not have seen anyone who might have come out of Number Six at +that time or gone into Number Six?" + +"I suppose not." + +"And if the door of Number Six had opened while your back was turned, would +you have heard it?" + +Joseph shook his head. "No, sir; there was a lot of applauding--like +that," 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 less +noise. And be careful no one leaves the banquet room _on any excuse_. I'll +be there presently." Then to the waiter: "Did you hear any sound from +Number Six? Anything like a shot?" + +"No, sir." + +"Hm! It must have been the thunder. Now tell me this, could anyone have +passed you in the corridor while you stood at the banquet-room door without +your 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 fill +it up, don't I, sir?" + +"You certainly do. Give me a sheet of paper." And with a few rapid pencil +strokes the commissary drew a rough plan of the banquet room, the corridor, +and the seven private dining rooms. He marked carefully the two doors +leading from the banquet room into the corridor, the one where Joseph +listened, opposite Number Four, and the one opposite Number Six. + +"Here you are, blocking the corridor at Number Four"; he made a mark on the +plan at that point. "By the way, are there any other exits from the banquet +room except these two corridor doors?" + +"No, sir." + +"Good! Now pay attention. While you were listening at this door--I'll mark +it _A_--with your back turned to Number Six, a person _might_ have left the +banquet room by the farther door--I'll mark it _B_--and stepped across the +corridor 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 or +Number 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 at +Fourth-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 in +corridor 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 minutes +he 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 the +hotel, 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, he +was 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 commissary +cried out with a startled expression: "A thousand thunders! Wait! That +woman--what did she wear?" + +The waiter turned eagerly. "Why, a beautiful evening gown, sir, cut low +with a lot of lace and----" + +"No, no. I mean, what did she wear outside? Her wraps? Weren't they in +Number 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 his +massive body down the stairs, and a few moments later returned, panting but +happy, with news that the lady in Number Six had left a cloak and leather +bag in the cloakroom. These articles were still there. + +"Ah, that is something!" murmured the commissary, and he hurried down to +see the things for himself. + +The cloak was of yellow silk, embroidered in white, a costly garment from a +fashionable maker; but there was nothing to indicate the wearer. The bag +was 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 some +samples of dress goods, a little money, and an unmarked handkerchief. + +"Don't move these things," directed M. Pougeot. "It's possible some one +will call for them, and if anyone _should_ call, why--that's Gibelin's +affair. Now we'll see these Americans." + +It was a quarter past ten, and the hilarity of proceedings at the +Fourth-of-July banquet (no ladies present) had reached its height. A very +French-looking student from Bridgeport, Connecticut, had just started an +uproarious rendering of "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean," with Latin-Quarter +variations, when there came a sudden hush and a turning of heads toward the +half-open door, through which a voice was heard in peremptory command. +Something had happened, something serious, if one could judge by the face +of François, the head waiter, who stood at the corridor entrance. + +"Not so fast," he insisted, holding the young men back, and a moment later +there entered a florid-faced man with authoritative mien, closely followed +by two policemen. + +"Horns of a purple cow!" muttered the Bridgeport art student, who loved +eccentric oaths. "The house is pulled!" + +"Gentlemen," began M. Pougeot, while the company listened in startled +silence, "I am sorry to interrupt this pleasant gathering, especially as I +understand that you are celebrating your national holiday; unfortunately, I +have a duty to perform that admits of no delay. While you have been +feasting and singing, as becomes your age and the occasion, an act of +violence has taken place within the sound of your voices--I may say under +cover of your voices." + +He paused and swept his eyes in keen scrutiny over the faces before him, as +if trying to read in one or the other of them the answer to some question +not yet asked. + +"My friends," he continued, and now his look became almost menacing, "I am +here as an officer of the law because I have reason to believe that a guest +at this banquet is connected with a crime committed in this restaurant +within the last hour or two." + +So extraordinary was this accusation and so utterly unexpected that for +some moments no one spoke. Then, after the first dismay, came indignant +protests; this man had a nerve to break in on a gathering of American +citizens with a fairy tale like that! + +"Silence!" rang out the commissary's voice sharply. "Who sat there?" He +pointed to a vacant seat at the long central table. + +All eyes turned to this empty chair, and heads came together in excited +whispers. + +"Bring me a plan of the tables," he continued, and when this was spread +before him: "I will read off the names marked here, and each one of you +will 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 know +why he went out, I must know when he went out--exactly when; I must know +how he acted before he left, what he said--in short, I must know all you +can tell me about him. Remember, the best service you can render your +friend 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 their +fellow-countryman and all that concerned him. It must have been about nine +o'clock when he went out, perhaps a few minutes earlier. No, there had been +nothing peculiar in his actions or manner; in fact, most of the guests had +not even noticed his absence. + +As to Kittredge's life and personality the result was scarcely more +satisfactory. He had appeared in Paris about a year before, just why was +not known, and had passed as a good fellow, perhaps a little wild and +hot-headed. Strangely enough, no one could say where Kittredge lived; he +had left rather expensive rooms near the boulevards that he had occupied at +first, and since then he had almost disappeared from his old haunts. Some +said that his money had given out and he had gone to work, but this was +only vague rumor. + +These facts having been duly recorded, the banqueters were informed that +they might depart, which they did in silence, the spirit of festivity +having vanished. + +Inquiries were now made in the hotel about Kittredge's movements, but +nothing came to light except the statement of a big, liveried doorkeeper, +who remembered distinctly the sudden appearance at about nine o'clock of a +young man who was very anxious to get a cab. The storm was then at its +height, and the doorkeeper had advised the young man to wait, feeling sure +the 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 he +would find a cab himself, and turning up his collar so that his face was +almost 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 the +policemen burst in to say that some one had called for the lady's cloak and +bag. It was a young man with a check for the things; he was waiting for +them 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 know +this?" + +"Yes, sir, we just told him." + +"Send Joseph here--quick." And to the waiter when he appeared: "Tell the +woman in the cloakroom to let this young man have the things. Don't let him +see 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 the +young 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 bag +left by the mysterious woman of Number Six had now been called for by the +very man against whom suspicion was rapidly growing--Lloyd Kittredge +himself. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +"IN THE NAME OF THE LAW" + + +When Kittredge, with cloak and bag, stepped into his waiting cab and, for +the second time on this villainous night, started down the Champs Elysées +he was under no illusion as to his personal safety. He knew that he would +be followed and presently arrested, he knew this without even glancing +behind him, he had understood the whispers and searching looks in the +hotel; it was _certain_ that his moments of liberty were numbered, so he +must make a clean job of this thing that had to be done while still there +was time. He had told the driver to cross the bridge and go down the +Boulevard St. Germain, but now he changed the order and, half opening the +door, he bade the man turn to the right and drive on to the Rue de +Vaugirard. He knew that this was a long, ill-lighted street, one of the +longest 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 back +through the front window, he saw his eccentric fare absorbed in examining a +white leather bag. He could see him distinctly by the yellow light of his +two side lanterns. The young man had opened one of the inner pockets of the +bag, drawing out a flap of leather under which a name was stamped quite +visibly in gilt letters. Presently he took out a pocket knife and tried to +scrape off the name, but the letters were deeply marked and could not be +removed so easily. After a moment's hesitation the young man carefully drew +his blade across the base of the flap, severing it from the bag, which he +then threw back on the seat, holding the flap in apparent perplexity. + +All this the driver observed with increasing interest until presently +Kittredge looked up and caught his eye. + +"You've got a nerve," the young man muttered. "I'll fix you." And, drawing +the two black curtains, he shut off the driver's view. + +As they neared the end of the Rue de Vaugirard, the American opened the +door again and told the man to turn and drive back, he wanted to have a +look at Notre-Dame, three full miles away. The driver swore softly, but +obeyed, and back they went, passing another cab just behind them which also +turned immediately and followed, as Kittredge noticed with a gloomy smile. + +On the way to Notre-Dame, Kittredge changed their direction half a dozen +times, acting on accountable impulses, going by zigzags through narrow, +dark streets, instead of by the straight and natural way, so that it was +after midnight when they entered the Rue du Cloitre Notre-Dame, which runs +just beside the cathedral, and drew up at a house indicated by the +American. The other cab drew up behind them. + +"Tell your friend back there," remarked Kittredge to his driver as he got +out, "that I have important business here. There'll be plenty of time for +him to get a drink." Then, with a nervous tug at the bell, he disappeared +in the house, leaving the cloak and bag in the cab. + +And now two important things happened, one of them unexpected. The expected +thing was that M. Gibelin came forward immediately from the second cab +followed by Papa Tignol and a policeman. The shadowing detective was in a +vile humor which was not improved when he got the message left by the +flippant American. + +"Time for a drink! Infernal impudence! We'll teach him manners at the +depot! This farce is over," he flung out. "See where he went, ask the +_concierge_," he said to Tignol. And to the policeman: "Watch the +courtyard. 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 your +fare. You can go. I'm from headquarters. I have a warrant for this man's +arrest." 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 the +unexpected happening): "Well, I'll tell you one thing, my friend, _this is +the 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, waving +his hand in derision, he called back: "Ask Beau Cocono!" And then to his +horse: "_Hue, cocotte!_" + +Meantime Kittredge had climbed the four flights of stairs leading to the +sacristan's modest apartment. And, in order to explain how he happened to +be making so untimely a visit it is necessary to go back several hours to a +previous visit here that the young American had already made on this +momentous evening. + +After leaving the Ansonia banquet at about nine o'clock in the singular +manner noted by the big doorkeeper, Kittredge, in accordance with his +promise to Alice, had driven directly to the Rue du Cloitre Notre-Dame, and +at twenty minutes past nine by the clock in the Tavern of the Three Wise +Men he had drawn up at the house where the Bonnetons lived. Five minutes +later the young man was seated in the sacristan's little _salon_ assuring +Alice 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 and +reasonable little girl. + +[Illustration: "'Ask Beau Cocono,' he called back."] + +Alice welcomed her lover eagerly. She had been anxious about him, she did +not know why, and when the storm came she had been more anxious. But now +she 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 his +friends, left this fine banquet and, in spite of the pain she had given +him, 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 Alice +had never seemed so adorable, but for the sudden and ominous entrance of +Mother Bonneton. She eyed the visitor with frank unfriendliness and, +without mincing her words, proceeded to tell him certain things, notably +that his attentions to Alice must cease and that his visits here would +henceforth be unwelcome. + +In vain the poor girl protested against this breach of hospitality. Mother +Bonneton held her ground grimly, declaring that she had a duty to perform +and would perform it. + +"What duty?" asked the American. + +"A duty to M. Groener." + +At this name Alice started apprehensively. Kittredge knew that she had a +cousin named Groener, a wood carver who lived in Belgium, and who came to +Paris occasionally to see her and to get orders for his work. On one +occasion he had met this cousin and had judged him a well-meaning but +rather stupid fellow who need not be seriously considered in his efforts to +win Alice. + +"Do you mean that M. Groener does not approve of me?" pursued Kittredge. + +"M. Groener knows nothing about you," answered Mother Bonneton, "except +that you have been hanging around this foolish girl. But he understands his +responsibility as the only relation she has in the world and he knows she +will 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, he +asked me and my husband to make inquiries about _you_, and see what we +could find out." + +"It's abominable!" exclaimed Alice. + +"Abominable? Why is it abominable? Your cousin wants to know if this young +man 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 a +strangely anxious look. + +Mother Bonneton half closed her eyes and threw out her thick lips in an +ugly 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 by +gambling. 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 a +brazen 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 on +account of a certain person. I thought I loved her and--I made a fool of +myself. I gave up a good position in New York and--after I had been here a +while 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 alone +with 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 a +lady, and the proof of it is I--I wanted her to get a divorce and--and +marry me." + +"Oh!" winced Alice. + +"You see what he is," triumphed the sacristan's wife, "running after a +married woman." + +But Kittredge went on doggedly: "You've got to hear the rest now. One day +something 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 devil +with me. She did that good and plenty, so at last I decided to break away +and I did. It wasn't exactly a path of roses for me those weeks, but I +stuck to it, because--because I had some one to help me," he paused and +looked tenderly at Alice, "and--well, I cut the whole thing out, gambling +and all. That was six months ago." + +"And the lady?" sneered Mother Bonneton. "Do you mean to tell us you +haven'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. Groener +to-night and tell him the facts. Meantime--" She rose and pointed to the +door. + +Alice and Kittredge rose also, the one indignant and aggrieved at this +wanton affront to her lover, the other gloomily resigned to what seemed to +be his fate. + +"Well," said he, facing Alice with a discouraged gesture, "things are +against us. I'm grateful to you for believing in me and I--I'd like to know +why you turned me down this afternoon. But I probably never shall. I--I'll +be going now." + +He was actually moving toward the door, and she, almost fainting with +emotion, was rallying her strength for a last appeal when the bell in the +hall tinkled sharply. Mother Bonneton answered the call and returned a +moment later followed by the doorkeeper from below, a cheery little woman +who bustled in carrying a note. + +"It's for the gentleman," she explained, "from a lady waiting in a +carriage. It's very important." With this she delivered a note to Kittredge +and added in an exultant whisper to the sacristan's wife that the lady had +given her a franc for her trouble. + +"A lady waiting in a carriage!" chuckled Mother Bonneton. "What kind of a +lady?" + +"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 read +it again, then he crumpled it in his hand, muttering: "O God!" And his face +was white. + +"Good-by!" he said to Alice in extreme agitation. "I don't know what you +think of this, I can't stop to explain, I--I must go at once!" And taking +up 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_ come +back. 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 and +beautiful beyond words. + +"It may be very late," he stammered. + +"I'll wait until you come," she said simply, "no matter what time. I'll +wait. But you'll surely come, Lloyd?" + +He hesitated a moment and then, before the power of her eyes: "I'll surely +come," he promised, and a moment later he was gone. + +Then the hours passed, anxious, ominous hours! Ten, eleven, twelve! And +still Alice waited for her lover, silencing Mother Bonneton's grumblings +with a look that this hard old woman had once or twice seen in the girl's +face and had learned to respect. At half past twelve a carriage sounded in +the quiet street, then a quick step on the stairs. Kittredge had kept his +word. + +The door was opened by Mother Bonneton, very sleepy and arrayed in a +wrapper of purple and gold pieced together from discarded altar coverings. +She eyed the young man sternly but said nothing, for Alice was at her back +holding the lamp and there was something in the American's face, something +half reckless, half appealing, that startled her. She felt the cold breath +of a sinister happening and regretted Bonneton's absence at the church. + +"Well, I'm here," said Kittredge with a queer little smile. "I couldn't +come 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 a +matter of fact, _it_ hasn't begun yet. If you have any questions you'd +better ask 'em." + +Alice turned and said quietly: "Was the woman who came in the carriage the +one 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. I +haven't lied to you. I hadn't seen that woman for over six months. I didn't +know 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 growing +agitation which he tried vainly to control. + +Alice looked at him steadily for a moment and then in a low voice she spoke +the words that were pressing on her heart: "_What_ have you done?" + +"There's no use going into that," he answered unsteadily. "I can only ask +you to trust me." + +"I trust you, Lloyd," she said. + +While they were talking Mother Bonneton had gone to the window attracted by +sounds from below, and as she peered down her face showed surprise and +then intense excitement. + +"Kind saints!" she muttered. "The courtyard is full of policemen." Then +with sudden understanding she exclaimed: "Perhaps we will know now what he +has been doing." As she spoke a heavy tread was heard on the stairs and the +murmur 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 those +terrifying words: "_Open in the name of the law_." + +With a mingling of alarm and satisfaction Mother Bonneton obeyed the +summons, and a moment later, as she unlatched the door, a fat man with a +bristling red mustache and keen eyes pushed forward into the room where the +lovers were waiting. Two burly policemen followed him. + +"Ah!" exclaimed Gibelin with a gesture of relief as his eye fell on +Kittredge. Then producing a paper he said: "I am from headquarters. I am +looking for"--he studied the writing in perplexity--"for M. Lo-eed +Keetredge. 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 showed +the 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 know +what he's done, _he's charged with murder_." + +"Murder!" echoed the sacristan's wife. "Holy angels! A murderer in my +house!" + +"Take him," ordered the detective, and the two policemen laid hold of +Kittredge on either side. + +"Alice!" cried the young man, and his eyes yearned toward her. "Alice, I am +innocent." + +"Come," said the men gruffly, and Kittredge felt a sickening sense of shame +as he realized that he was a prisoner. + +"Wait! One moment!" protested the girl, and the men paused. Then, going +close to her lover, Alice spoke to him in low, thrilling words that came +straight from her soul: + +"Lloyd, I believe you, I trust you, I love you. No matter what you have +done, I love you. It was because my love is so great that I refused you +this 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 a +little. "I'm the happiest man in Paris, but--" He could say no more except +with a last longing look: "Good-by." + +Wildly, fiercely she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him +passionately 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 is +a land of infinite red tape where even such simple things as getting born +or getting married lead to endless formalities. Judge, then, of the +complicated procedure involved in so serious a matter as getting +murdered--especially in a fashionable restaurant! Long before the +commissary had finished his report there arrived no less a person than M. +Simon, the chief of police, round-faced and affable, a brisk, dapper man +whose ready smile had led more than one trusting criminal into regretted +confidences. + +And a little later came M. Hauteville, the judge in charge of the case, a +cold, severe figure, handsome in his younger days, but soured, it was said, +by social disappointments and ill health. He was in evening dress, having +been summoned posthaste from the theater. Both of these officials went over +the case with the commissary and the doctor, both viewed the body and +studied its surroundings and, having formed a theory of the crime, both +proceeded to draw up a report. And the doctor drew up _his_ report. And +already Gibelin (now at the prison with Kittredge) had made elaborate notes +for _his_ report. And outside the hotel, with eager notebooks, were a score +of reporters all busy with _their_ reports. No doubt that, in the matter of +paper and ink, full justice would be done to the sudden taking off of this +gallant billiard player! + +Meantime the official police photographer and his assistants had arrived +(this was long after midnight) with special apparatus for photographing the +victim and the scene of the crime. And their work occupied two full hours +owing largely to the difficult manipulation of a queer, clumsy camera that +photographed the body _from above_ as it lay on the floor. + +In the intervals of these formalities the officials discussed the case with +a wide variance in opinions and conclusions. The chief of police and M. +Pougeot were strong for the theory of murder, while M. Hauteville leaned +toward 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 was +fired 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 murderer +to get so close to him without a struggle. But there is not the slightest +sign of a struggle, no disorder in the room, no disarrangement of the man's +clothing. It's evidently suicide." + +"If it's suicide," objected Pougeot, "where is the weapon? The man died +instantly, 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 suspicion +on herself? Besides, I'll show you another reason why it's not suicide. The +man 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, there +is not one case where a man has shot himself in the eye. Did you ever hear +of 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 shrinking +from 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 must +understand the rôle of this American." + +"No woman ever fired that shot or planned this crime," declared the +commissary, unconsciously echoing Coquenil's opinion. + +"There's better reason to argue that the American never did it," retorted +the judge. + +"What reason?" + +"The woman ran away, didn't she? And the American didn't. If he had killed +this man, do you think _anything_ would have brought him back here for that +cloak 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 for +the 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 our +talk brings us back to this, _we must find that woman_." + +At half past one Gibelin appeared to announce the arrest of Kittredge. He +had tried vainly to get from the American some clew to the owner of cloak +and bag, but the young man had refused to speak and, with sullen +indifference, had allowed himself to be locked up in the big room at the +depot. + +"I'll see what _I_ can squeeze out of him in the morning," said Hauteville +grimly. There was no judge in the _parquet_ who had his reputation for +breaking down the resistance of obstinate prisoners. + +"You've got your work cut out," snapped the detective. "He's a stubborn +devil." + +In the midst of these perplexities and technicalities a note was brought in +for M. Pougeot. The commissary glanced at it quickly and then, with a word +of excuse, left the room, returning a few minutes later and whispering +earnestly to M. Simon. + +"You say _he_ is here?" exclaimed the latter. "I thought he was sailing +for----" + +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, that +is, all except Gibelin, whose curt nod and suspicious glances showed that +he found anything but satisfaction in the presence of this formidable +rival. + +"My dear Coquenil!" said Simon warmly. "This is like the old days! If you +were 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 help +you crack it." He spoke with that quiet but confident seriousness which +always carried conviction, and M. Simon and the judge, feeling the man's +power, waited his further words with growing interest; but Gibelin blinked +his small eyes and muttered under his breath: "The cheek of the fellow!" + +"As you know," explained Coquenil briefly, "I resigned from the force two +years ago. I need not go into details; the point is, I now ask to be taken +back. That is why I am here." + +"But, my dear fellow," replied the chief in frank astonishment, "I +understood 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 man +refuse a salary of a hundred thousand francs? The commissary watched his +friend 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 this +case." + +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 he +added with all the authority of his fine, grave face: "It's more than +interesting, _it's the most important criminal case Paris has known for +three generations_." + +Again they stared at him. + +"My dear Coquenil, you exaggerate," objected M. Simon. "After all, we have +only the shooting of a billiard player." + +M. Paul shook his head and replied impressively: "The billiard player was a +pawn in the game. He became troublesome and was sacrificed. He is of no +importance, but there's a greater game than billiards here with a master +player 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 the +Bon Marché was a notorious criminal, wanted by two countries? Why did I +think we should find the real clew to that Bordeaux counterfeiting gang in +a Passy wine shop? Why did I think it necessary to-night to be _on_ the cab +this young American took and not _behind_ it in another cab?" He shot a +quick glance at Gibelin. "Because a good detective _knows_ certain things +before he can prove them and acts on his knowledge. That is what +distinguishes 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 the +driver who took this American away from here to-night?" + +Coquenil smiled. "I was not _with_ the driver, I _was the driver_ and I had +the honor of receiving five francs from my distinguished associate." He +bowed mockingly to Gibelin and held up a silver piece. "I shall keep this +among my curiosities." + +"It was a foolish trick, a perfectly useless trick," declared Gibelin, +furious. + +"Perhaps not," answered the other with aggravating politeness; "perhaps it +was 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 the +most 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 a +real 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 had +discovered this name and address in the last few hours with nothing but his +wits to help him; in fact, with everything done to hinder him." He looked +meaningly 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 from +the 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 lantern +light and I saw exactly what he was doing. He opened the lady's bag and cut +out a leather flap that had her name and address stamped on it." + +"No," contradicted Gibelin, "there was _no_ name in the bag. I examined it +myself." + +"The name was on the _under side_ of the flap," laughed the other, "in gilt +letters." + +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, for +he 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 by +one as we drove through dark little streets. And I noted where he dropped +the 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 I +took 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, I +promise that." + +Coquenil drew an envelope from his breast pocket and from it he took a +number of white-leather fragments. And he showed the chief that most of +these fragments were stamped in gold letters or parts of letters. + +"I'm satisfied," declared Simon after examining several of the fragments +and returning them. "_Bon Dieu!_" he stormed at Gibelin. "And you had that +bag 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. What +are your terms?" + +"I told you," said Coquenil, "I want to be put back on the force. I want to +handle this case." + +M. Simon thought a moment. "That ought to be easily arranged. I will see +the _préfet de police_ about it in the morning." + +But the other demurred. "I ask you to see him to-night. It's ten minutes to +his house in an automobile. I'll wait here." + +The chief smiled. "You're in a hurry, aren't you? Well, so are we. Will you +come with me, Hauteville?" + +"If you like." + +"And I'll go, if you don't mind," put in the commissary. "I may have some +influence with the _préfet_." + +"He won't refuse me," declared Simon. "After all, I am responsible for the +pursuit of criminals in this city, and if I tell him that I absolutely need +Paul Coquenil back on the force, as I do, he will sign the commission at +once. Come, gentlemen." + +A moment later the three had hurried off, leaving Coquenil and Gibelin +together. + +"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, as +he lighted a cigarette. His companion did the same and the two smoked in +silence, Gibelin gnawing savagely at his little red mustache. + +"See here," broke in the latter, "wouldn't you be ugly if somebody butted +into a case that had been given to you?" + +"Why," smiled Coquenil, "if he thought he could handle it better than I +could, 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 out +of 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. And +you'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 moved +toward the door. Then he turned sharply: "Say, how much did you pay that +driver?" + +"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't +forget that it was raining and dark and you had that rubber cape pulled up +over 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 you +don'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," snarled +the other. + +"Nonsense!" laughed Coquenil. "You're a good soldier, Gibelin; you like to +kick and growl, but you do your work. Tell you what I'll do as soon as I'm +put 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, "or +I'll do some work on this case you'll wish I hadn't done." With this he +flung himself out of the room, slamming the door behind him. + +"What did he mean by that?" muttered M. Paul, and he sat silent, lost in +thought, until the others returned. In a glance, he read the answer in +their 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 view +at 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 see +that you have every possible assistance. I expect you to be on deck +to-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 deck +to-night--now." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE WEAPON + + +Right across from the Ansonia on the Rue Marboeuf was a little wine shop +that remained open all night for the accommodation of cab drivers and +belated pedestrians and to this Coquenil and the commissary now withdrew. +Before anything else the detective wished to get from M. Pougeot his +impressions of the case. And he asked Papa Tignol to come with them for a +fortifying glass. + +"By the way," said the commissary to Tignol when they were seated in the +back room, "did you find out how that woman left the hotel without her +wraps and without being seen?" + +The old man nodded. "When she came out of the telephone booth she slipped +on a long black rain coat that was hanging there. It belonged to the +telephone girl and it's missing. The rain coat had a hood to it which the +woman pulled over her head. Then she walked out quietly and no one paid any +attention 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, Coquenil +listening with intense concentration, interrupting now and then with a +question or to consult the rough plan drawn by Pougeot. + +"Are you sure there is no exit from the banquet room and from these private +rooms 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, this +case 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 he +made 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 commissary +a little nettled. + +Coquenil shook his head. + +"My dear Lucien, you have given me _some_ of the facts; before morning I +hope we'll have others and--hello!" + +He stopped abruptly to look at a comical little man with a very large +mouth, the owner of the place, who had been hovering about for some moments +as 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 was +something on her conscience and she couldn't sleep without telling it. + +"Well?" broke in Pougeot impatiently, but Coquenil gave the woman a +reassuring look and she went on to explain that she was a spinster living +in a little attic room of the next house, overlooking the Rue Marboeuf. She +worked as a seamstress all day in a hot, crowded _atelier_, and when she +came home at night she loved to go out on her balcony, especially these +fine summer evenings. She would stand there and brush her hair while she +watched the sunset deepen and the swallows circle over the chimney tops. It +was an excellent thing for a woman's hair to brush it a long time every +night; she always brushed hers for half an hour--that was why it was so +thick and glossy. + +"But, my dear woman," smiled Coquenil, "what has that to do with me? I have +very little hair and no time to brush it." + +The seamstress begged his pardon, the point was that on the previous +evening, just as she had nearly finished brushing her hair, she suddenly +heard 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 and +watched where it fell beyond the high wall that separated the Ansonia Hotel +from an adjoining courtyard. She had not thought much about it at the +moment, but, having heard that something dreadful had happened---- + +Coquenil could contain himself no longer and, taking the woman's arm, he +hurried her to the door. + +"Now," he said, "show me just _where_ you saw this glittering object thrown +over the wall." + +"There," she replied, pointing, "it lies to the left of that heavy doorway +on 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 quick +instructions, whereupon the old man hurried across the street and pulled +the 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 swung +open and Papa Tignol disappeared within. + +"Did you happen to see the person who threw this thing?" continued M. Paul +gently. + +"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 detective +looked at her anxiously. + +"Yes, indeed, it is easy to remember; it's the end window, on the first +floor of the hotel. There!" + +Coquenil felt a thrill of excitement, for, unless he had misunderstood the +commissary's diagram, the seamstress was pointing not to private room +Number Six, _but to private room Number Seven!_ + +"Lucien!" he called, and, taking his friend aside, he asked: "Does that end +window 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 shall +speak of you to the chief." + +"Oh, sir," she murmured in confusion. + +"But one point is not quite clear. Just look across again. You see two +open windows, the end window and the one next to it. Isn't it possible that +this 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 a +mistake." + +She shook her head positively. "I have made no mistake, _it was the end +window_." + +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. Nothing +could make me touch it." + +"Good! Papa Tignol, I want you to stay here until I come back. Things are +marching along." + +Again he rejoined the seamstress and, with his serious, friendly air, he +began: "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 thousand +pardons, 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 room +and don't breathe a word of this to anyone." + +"But," she stammered, "would monsieur be so kind as to say what the bright +object was?" + +The detective bent nearer and whispered mysteriously: "It was a comb, a +silver comb!" + +"_Mon Dieu!_ A silver comb!" exclaimed the unsuspecting spinster. + +"Now back to your room and finish brushing your hair," he urged, and the +woman hurried away trembling with excitement. + +A few moments later Coquenil and the commissary and Papa Tignol were +standing in the courtyard near two green tubs of foliage plants between +which the pistol had fallen. The doorkeeper of the house, a crabbed +individual who had only become mildly respectful when he learned that he +was dealing with the police, had joined them, his crustiness tempered by +curiosity. + +"See here," said the detective, addressing him, "do you want to earn five +francs?" The doorkeeper brightened. "I'll make it ten", continued the +other, "if you do exactly what I say. You are to take a cab, here is the +money, and drive to Notre-Dame. At the right of the church is a high iron +railing around the archbishop's house. In the railing is an iron gate with +a night bell for Extreme Unction. Ring this bell and ask to see the +sacristan Bonneton, and when he comes out give him this." Coquenil wrote +hastily on a card. "It's an order to let you have a dog named Caesar--my +dog--he's guarding the church with Bonneton. Pat Caesar and tell him he's +going to see M. Paul, that's me. Tell him to jump in the cab and keep +still. He'll understand--he knows more than most men. Then drive back here +as quick as you can." + +The doorkeeper touched his cap and departed. + +Coquenil turned to Tignol. "Watch the pistol. When the doorkeeper comes +back 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 after +three o'clock?" + +"Never mind, I must see him. A lot depends on it. Get him out of bed for +me, Lucien, and--then you can go home." + +"I'll try," grumbled the other, "but what in Heaven's name are you going to +do with that dog?" + +"_Use him,_" answered Coquenil. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE FOOTPRINTS + + +One of the great lessons Coquenil had learned in his long experience with +mysterious crimes was to be careful of hastily rejecting any evidence +because it conflicted with some preconceived theory. It would have been +easy now, for instance, to assume that this prim spinster was mistaken in +declaring that she had seen the pistol thrown from the window of Number +Seven. That, of course, seemed most unlikely, since the shooting was done +in Number Six, yet how account for the woman's positiveness? She seemed a +truthful, well-meaning person, and the murderer _might_ have gone into +Number Seven after committing the crime. It was evidently important to get +as 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 thin +black hair, rather curly and oily, and a rapacious nose. He appeared +(having been induced to come down by the commissary) in a richly +embroidered blue-silk house garment, and his efforts at affability were +obviously based on apprehension. + +Coquenil began at once with questions about private room Number Seven. We +had 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 an +old client, who, at the last moment, had sent a _petit bleu_ to say that he +had changed his plans and would not require the room. The _petit bleu_ did +not arrive until after the crime was discovered, so the room remained +empty. 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 and +entered Number Seven?" + +"It is possible," admitted M. Gritz, "but very improbable. The room was +dark, and an ordinary person seeing a door locked and a room dark----" + +"We are not talking about an ordinary person," retorted the detective, "we +are talking about a murderer. Come, we must look into this," and he led the +way down the corridor, nodding to the policeman outside Number Six and +stopping 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 adjoining +room of the tragedy, then, turning the key in Number Seven, he tried to +open the door. + +"Hello! It's locked on the inside, too!" + +"_Tiens!_ You're right," said Gritz, and he rumpled his scanty locks in +perplexity. + +"Some one has been inside, some one may be inside now." + +The proprietor shook his head and, rather reluctantly, went on to explain +that Number Seven was different from the other private rooms in this, that +it had a separate exit with separate stairs leading to an alleyway between +the hotel and a wall surrounding it. A few habitues knew of this exit and +used it occasionally for greater privacy. The alleyway led to a gate in the +wall opening on the Rue Marboeuf, so a particularly discreet couple, let us +say, could drive up to this gate, pass through the alleyway, and then, by +the private stairs, enter Number Seven without being seen by anyone, +assuming, of course, that they had a key to the alleyway door. And they +could leave the restaurant in the same unobserved manner. + +As Coquenil listened, his mouth drew into an ominous thin line and his deep +eyes burned angrily. + +"M. Gritz," he said in a cold, cutting voice, "you are a man of +intelligence, you must be. This crime was committed last night about nine +o'clock; it's now half past three in the morning. Will you please tell me +how it happens that this fact _of vital importance_ has been concealed from +the 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 Number +Seven?" + +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 have +many clients who do not give us their names, they have their own reasons +for that; some of them are married, and, as a man of the world, _I_ respect +their reserve." M. Gritz prided himself on being a man of the world. He had +started as a penniless Swiss waiter and had reached the magnificent point +where broken-down aristocrats were willing to owe him money and sometimes +borrow it--and he appreciated the honor. + +"But what do you call him?" persisted Coquenil. "You must call him +something." + +"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 he +didn't come to-night?" + +"How do you know he didn't come? He had a key to the alleyway door, didn't +he?" + +"Yes, but I tell you he sent a _petit bleu_." + +The detective shrugged his shoulders. "_Some one_ has been here and locked +this 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, the +proprietor assuring M. Paul that only a single key was ever given out for +the alleyway door and this to none but trusted clients, who returned it the +same 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 into +Rue Marboeuf when the _concierge_ from across the way met them with word +that Caesar had arrived. + +"Caesar?" questioned Gritz. + +"He's my dog. Ph-h-eet! Ph-h-eet! Ah, here he is!" and out of the shadows +the splendid animal came bounding. At his master's call he had made a +mighty plunge and broken away from Papa Tignol's hold. + +"Good old fellow!" murmured M. Paul, holding the dog's eager head with his +two 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 connected +with 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 murderer +once three miles across rough country near Liége and found him hidden in a +barn. But he had better conditions there. We'll see." + +They had entered the courtyard now and Coquenil led Caesar to the spot +where the weapon lay still undisturbed. + +"_Cherche!_" he ordered, and the dog nosed the pistol with concentrated +effort. Then silently, anxiously, one would say, he darted away, circling +the courtyard back and forth, sniffing the ground as he went, pausing +occasionally or retracing his steps and presently stopping before M. Paul +with a little bark of disappointment. + +"Nothing, eh? Quite right. Give me the pistol, Papa Tignol. We'll try +outside. There!" He pointed to the open door where the _concierge_ was +waiting. "Now then, _cherche!_" + +In an instant Caesar was out in the Rue Marboeuf, circling again and again +in larger and larger arcs, as he had been taught, back and forth, until he +had covered a certain length of street and sidewalk, every foot of the +space between opposite walls, then moving on for another length and then +for another, looking up at his master now and then for a word of +encouragement. + +[Illustration: "'_Cherche!_' he ordered."] + +"It's a hard test," muttered Coquenil. "Footprints and weapons have lain +for hours in a drenching rain, but--Ah!" Caesar had stopped with a little +whine and was half crouching at the edge of the sidewalk, head low, eyes +fiercely 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 opposite +sidewalk _away_ from the Champs Elysées, running easily, nose down, past +the Rue François Premier, past the Rue Clement-Marot, then out into the +street again and stopping suddenly. + +"He's lost it," mourned Papa Tignol. + +"Lost it? Of course he's lost it," triumphed the detective. And turning to +M. Gritz: "There's where your murderer picked up a cab. It's perfectly +clear. No one has touched that pistol since the man who used it threw it +from 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 see +where he left the hotel." And hurrying toward his dog, he called: "Back, +Caesar!" + +Obediently the dog trotted back along the trail, recrossing the street +where he had crossed it before, and presently reaching the point where he +had 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 and +fondled the panting animal. "We wouldn't sell our best friend, would we, +Caesar?" + +Evidently Caesar did not think this the moment for sentiment; he growled +impatiently, straining toward the scent. + +"He knows there's work to be done and he's right." Then quickly he gave the +word again and once more Caesar was away, darting back along the sidewalk +_toward_ the Champs Elysées, moving nearer and nearer to the houses and +presently stopping at a gateway, against which he pressed and whined. It +was a gateway in the wall surrounding the Ansonia Hotel. + +"The man came out here," declared Coquenil, and, unlatching the gate, he +looked inside, the dog pushing after him. + +"Down Caesar!" ordered M. Paul, and unwillingly the ardent creature +crouched at his feet. + +The wall surrounding the Ansonia was of polished granite about six feet +high, and between this wall and the hotel itself was a space of equal width +planted with slim fir trees that stood out in decorative dignity against +the 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 a +switch, he threw upon the ground a strong white ray; whereupon a confusion +of footprints became visible, as if a number of persons had trod back and +forth here. + +"What does this mean?" he cried. + +Papa Tignol explained shamefacedly: "_We_ did it looking for the pistol; it +was Gibelin's orders." + +"_Bon Dieu!_ What a pity! We can never get a clean print in this mess. But +wait! How far along the alleyway did you look?" + +"As far as that back wall. Poor Gibelin! He never thought of looking on the +other side of it. Eh, eh!" + +Coquenil breathed more freely. "We may be all right yet. Ah, yes," he +cried, going quickly to this back wall where the alleyway turned to the +right along the rear of the hotel. Again he threw his white light before +him and, with a start of satisfaction, pointed to the ground. There, +clearly marked, was a line of footprints, _a single line_, with no breaks +or imperfections, the plain record on the rain-soaked earth that one +person, 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 row +of trees where the trail was confused, and then, at the corner, dashing +ahead swiftly, only to stop again after a few yards and stand scratching +uneasily 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 the +top 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 was +empty. + +"Let me turn up the electrics," said the proprietor, and he did so, showing +furnishings like those in Number Six except that here the prevailing tint +was 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 the +courtyard and examined it with extreme care, then he unlocked the corridor +door and looked out. The policeman was still on guard before Number Six. + +"I shall want to go in there shortly," said the detective. The policeman +saluted 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, but +I'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 tell +me you make wonderful Turkish coffee here. Do you suppose I could have +some?" + +"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 beady +eyes, he said: "So you're going in _there?_" and he jerked his fat thumb +toward 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, beyond +which 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 his +blue-silk garments, wagging his heavy head and muttering to himself: "More +important than _that! Mon Dieu!_" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THROUGH THE WALL + + +Coquenil's examination of the pistol showed that it was a weapon of good +make and that only a single shot had been fired from it; also that this +shot had been fired within a few hours. Which, with the evidence of the +seamstress and the dog, gave a strong probability that the instrument of +the crime had been found. If the ball in the body corresponded with balls +still in the pistol, this probability would become a practical certainty. +And yet, the detective knit his brows. Suppose it was established beyond a +doubt that this pistol killed the billiard player, there still remained the +question _how_ the shooting was accomplished. The murderer was in Number +Seven, he could not and did not go into the corridor, for the corridor door +was locked. But the billiard player was in Number Six, he was shot in +Number Six, and he died in Number Six. How were these two facts to be +reconciled? The seamstress's testimony alone might be put aside but not the +dog's testimony. _The murderer certainly remained in Number Seven_. + +Holding this conviction, the detective entered the room of the tragedy and +turned up the lights, all of them, so that he might see whatever was to be +seen. He walked back and forth examining the carpet, examining the walls, +examining the furniture, but paying little heed to the body. He went to the +open 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 behind +him. It was just as the commissary had said _with the exception of one +thing_. + +When he returned to Number Seven, M. Paul found that Gritz had kept his +promise and sent him a pot of fragrant Turkish coffee, steaming hot, and a +box of the choicest Egyptian cigarettes. Ah, that was kind! This was +something like it! And, piling up cushions in the sofa corner, Coquenil +settled back comfortably to think and dream. This was the time he loved +best, these precious silent hours when the city slept and his mind became +most active--this was the time when chiefly he received those flashes of +inspiration or intuition that had so often and so wonderfully guided him. + +For half an hour or so the detective smoked continuously and sipped the +powdered delight of Stamboul, his gaze moving about the room in friendly +scrutiny as if he would, by patience and good nature, persuade the walls +or, chairs to give up their secret. Presently he took off his glasses and, +leaning farther back against the cushions, closed his eyes in pleasant +meditation. Or was it a brief snatch of sleep? Whichever it was, a discreet +knock at the corridor door shortly ended it, and Papa Tignol entered to say +that he had finished the footprint molds. + +M. Paul roused himself with an effort and, sitting up, his elbow resting +against the sofa back, motioned his associate to a chair. + +"By the way," he asked, "what do you think of _that?_" He pointed to a +Japanese 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," muttered +the old _agent_. + +Coquenil laughed at this candid judgment. "All the same, it has a bearing +on 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 this +crime, but I haven't verified it. I am now going to give myself an +intellectual treat." + +"Wha-at?" + +"I am going to prove practically whether my mind has grown rusty in the +last two years." + +"I wish you'd say things so a plain man can understand 'em," grumbled the +other. + +"You understand that we are in private room Number Seven, don't you? On the +other side of that wall is private room Number Six where a man has just +been 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 went +out through _that_ door into the alleyway and then into the street. He +couldn't have gone into the corridor because the door was locked on the +outside." + +"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 the +outside, not on the inside; but when we came in here, _it was locked on the +inside_. No, sir, that door to the corridor has not been used this +evening. The murderer bolted it on the inside when he entered from the +alleyway 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 is +the problem I have been working at for an hour. And I believe I have solved +it. Listen. Between these rooms is a solid wooden partition with no door in +it--no passageway of any kind. Yet the man in there is dead, we're sure of +that. The pistol was here, the bullet went there--somehow. _How_ did it go +there? _Think_." + +The detective paused and looked fixedly at the wall near the heavy +sideboard. Tignol, half fascinated, stared at the same spot, and then, as a +new idea took form in his brain, he blurted out: "You mean it went _through +the wall?_" + +"Is there any other way?" + +The old man laid a perplexed forefinger along his illuminated nose. "But +there is no hole--through the wall," he muttered. + +"There is either a hole or a miracle. And between the two, I conclude that +there _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 a +heavy piece covered with plates and glasses. Besides, if the sideboard had +been moved, there would be marks on the floor and there are none. Now you +understand 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 the +picture, I know nothing about the picture, but unless there is some flaw in +my reasoning----" + +"I'll give my tongue to the cats to eat!" burst out the other, "if ever I +saw a man lie on a sofa and blow blue circles in the air and spin pretty +theories 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 darn +thing off its nail." + +Coquenil smiled. "I've thought of that," he drawled, "but I like the +suspense. Half the charm of life is in suspense, Papa Tignol. However, you +have a practical mind, so go ahead, lift it off." + +The old man did not wait for a second bidding, he stepped forward quickly +and 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 holes +about an inch in diameter and something less than three inches apart. +Around the left hole, which was close to the sideboard, were black dots +sprinkled over the painted woodwork like grains of pepper. + +"Powder marks!" muttered Coquenil, examining the hole. "He fired at close +range 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, the +detective made a long and careful examination of the holes while Papa +Tignol watched him with unqualified disgust. + +"Asses! Idiots! That's what we are," muttered the old man. "For half an +hour 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 did +everything 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 a +paper and showed a few grains of coarse brownish powder. "You see there are +only board partitions between these rooms, the boards are about an inch +thick, so a sharp auger would make the holes quickly. But there would be +dust and chips." + +"Of course." + +"Well, this is some of the dust. The woman probably threw the chips out of +the window." + +"The woman?" + +Coquenil nodded. "She helped Martinez while he bored the holes." + +Tignol listened in amazement. "You think Martinez bored those holes? The +man who was murdered?" + +"Undoubtedly. The spirals from the auger blade inside the holes show +plainly 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 his +head. "You're a fine detective, M. Paul, but I was a carpenter for six +years before I went on the force and I know more about auger holes than you +do. I say you can't be sure which side of the wall this hole was bored +from. You talk about spirals, but there's no sense in that. They're the +same either way. You _might_ tell by the chipping, but this is hard wood +covered 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 into +Number Six. + +The old man drew back the sofa hangings and exposed two holes exactly like +the others--in fact, the same holes. "You see," he went on, "the edges are +clean, without a sign of chipping. There is no more reason to say that +these holes were bored this side than from that." + +M. Paul made no reply, but going to the sofa he knelt down by it, and using +his glass, proceeded to go over its surface with infinite care. + +"Turn up all the lights," he said. "That's better," and he continued his +search. "Ah!" he cried presently. "You think there is no reason to say the +holes were bored from this side. I'll give you a reason. Take this piece of +white 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 that +silver bird. Do you see? Now compare the heel prints." + +Papa Tignol knelt down as directed and examined the sofa seat, which was +covered 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 are +five feet above the floor. And I'm enough of a carpenter, Papa Tignol," he +smiled, "to know that a man cannot work an auger at that height without +standing on something. And here was the very thing for him to stand on, a +sofa just in place. So, _if_ Martinez bored these holes, he stood on this +sofa to do it, and, in that case, the marks of his heels must have remained +on the delicate satin. And here they are." + +"Yes, here they are, nails and all," admitted Tignol admiringly. "I'm an +old fool, but--but----" + +"Well?" + +"Tell me _why Martinez did it_." + +Coquenil's face darkened. "Ah, that's the question. We'll know that when we +talk to the woman." + +The old man leaned forward eagerly: "_Why do you think the woman helped +him?_" + +"_Somebody_ helped him or the chips would still be there, _somebody_ held +back those hangings while he worked the auger, and somebody carried the +auger 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 into +place and covered the holes?" + +"That's it," replied the detective absently. + +"And the man in Number Seven, the murderer, lifted that picture from its +nail 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 of +thought, while the other was still grappling with his first surprise. + +"Then this murderer must have _known_ that the billiard player was going to +bore these holes," went on Papa Tignol half to himself. "He must have been +waiting in Number Seven, he must have stood there with his pistol ready +while the holes were coming through, he must have let Martinez finish one +hole and then bore the other, he must have kept Number Seven dark so they +couldn't see him----" + +"A good point, that," approved Coquenil, paying attention. "He certainly +kept Number Seven dark." + +"And he _probably_ looked into Number Six through the first hole while +Martinez was boring the second. I suppose _you_ can tell which of the two +holes was bored first?" chuckled Tignol. + +M. Paul started, paused in a flash of thought, and then, with sudden +eagerness: "I see, _that's it!_" + +"What's it?" gasped the other. + +"He bored _this_ hole first," said Coquenil rapidly, "it's the right-hand +one when you're in this room, the left-hand one when you're in Number +Seven. As you say, the murderer looked through the first hole while he +waited for the second to be bored; so, naturally, he fired through the hole +where his eye was. _That was his first great mistake_." + +Tignol screwed up his face in perplexity. "What difference does it make +which hole the man fired through so long as he shot straight and got away?" + +"What difference? Just this difference, that, by firing through the +left-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 had +returned to Number Seven, he continued: "Take the pistol. Pretend you are +the murderer. You've been waiting your moment, holding your breath on one +side of the wall while the auger grinds through from the other. The first +hole is finished. You see the point of the auger as it comes through the +second, now the wood breaks and a length of turning steel shoves toward +you. You grip your pistol and look through the left-hand hole, you see the +woman holding back the curtains, you see Martinez draw out the auger from +the right-hand hole and lay it down. Now he leans forward, pressing his +face to the completed eyeholes, you see the whites of his eyes, not three +inches 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 this +left-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 sight +along 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 hand +and I couldn't hit a cow that way." + +Coquenil looked at Tignol steadily. "_You could if you were a left-handed +man_." + +"You mean to say--" The other stared. + +"I mean to say that _this_ man, at a critical moment, fired through that +awkward hole near the sideboard when he might just as well have fired +through the other hole away from the sideboard. Which shows that it was an +easy and natural thing for him to do, consequently----" + +"Consequently," exulted the old man, "we've got to look for a left-handed +murderer, is that it?" + +"What do _you_ think?" smiled the detective. + +Papa Tignol paused, and then, bobbing his head in comical seriousness: "I +think, if I were this man, I'd sooner have the devil after me than Paul +Coquenil." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +COQUENIL MARKS HIS MAN + + +It was nearly four o'clock when Coquenil left the Ansonia and started up +the Champs Elysées, breathing deep of the early morning air. The night was +still dark, although day was breaking in the east. And what a night it had +been! How much had happened since he walked with his dog to Notre-Dame the +evening before! Here was the whole course of his life changed, yes, and his +prospects put in jeopardy by this extraordinary decision. How could he +explain what he had done to his wise old mother? How could he unsay all +that he had said to her a few days before when he had shown her that this +trip to Brazil was quite for the best and bade her a fond farewell? Could +he explain it to anyone, even to himself? Did he honestly believe all the +plausible 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 he +acted on? A girl's dream and an odd coincidence. Was that enough? Was that +enough 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 and +fascinate him? What was there in this crime that made it different from +many other crimes on which he had been engaged? Those holes through the +wall? Well, yes, he had never seen anything quite like that. And the +billiard player's motive in boring the holes and the woman's rôle and the +intricacy and ingenuity of the murderer's plan--all these offered an +extraordinary problem. And it certainly was strange that this +candle-selling girl with the dreams and the purplish eyes had appeared +again as the suspected American's sweetheart! He had heard this from Papa +Tignol, and how Alice had stood ready to brave everything for her lover +when 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 by +it, his commission was signed, his duty lay before him. By nine o'clock he +must be at the Palais de Justice to report to Hauteville. No use going +home. Better have a rubdown and a cold plunge at the _haman_, then a turn +on the mat with the professional wrestler, and then a few hours sleep. That +would put him in shape for the day's work with its main business of running +down this woman in the case, this lady of the cloak and leather bag, whose +name and address he fortunately had. Ah, he looked forward to his interview +with her! And he must prepare for it! + +Coquenil was just glancing about for a cab to the Turkish bath place, in +fact he was signaling one that he saw jogging up the Avenue de la Grande +Armée, when he became aware that a gentleman was approaching him with the +intention of speaking. Turning quickly, he saw in the uncertain light a man +of medium height with a dark beard tinged with gray, wearing a loose black +cape overcoat and a silk hat. The stranger saluted politely and said with a +slight foreign accent: "How are you, M. Louis? I have been expecting you." + +The words were simple enough, yet they contained a double surprise for +Coquenil. He was at a loss to understand how he could have been expected +here where he had come by the merest accident, and, certainly, this was the +first time in twenty years that anyone, except his mother, had addressed +him as Louis. He had been christened Louis Paul, but long ago he had +dropped the former name, and his most intimate friends knew him only as +Paul Coquenil. + +"How do you know that my name is Louis?" answered the detective with a +sharp glance. + +"I know a great deal about you," answered the other, and then with +significant emphasis: "_I know that you are interested in dreams_. May I +walk along with you?" + +"You may," said Coquenil, and at once his keen mind was absorbed in this +new 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 your +decision." His voice was harsh and he spoke in a quick, brusque way, as one +accustomed 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 bored +these 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 unaccountable +frankness. And more than ever the detective was on his guard. + +"I see you know something about the affair," he said dryly. "What do you +want with me?" + +"The persons I represent----" + +"Say the _person_ you represent," interrupted Coquenil. "A criminal of this +type 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, yet +there was something vaguely formidable in the stranger's tone, as if a +great person had spoken, one absolutely sure of himself and of his power to +command. + +"Naturally," retorted Coquenil. + +"Why do you say naturally?" + +"It's natural for a criminal to wish that an effort against him should +cease. Tell your friend or employer that I am only mildly interested in his +wishes." + +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 fastened +with an elastic band and handed it to the detective. "Whatever your time is +worth," he said in a rasping voice, "I will pay for it. Please look at +this." + +Coquenil's curiosity was stirred. Here was no commonplace encounter, at +least it was a departure from ordinary criminal methods. Who was this +supercilious man? How dared he come on such an errand to him, Paul +Coquenil? 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 it +contained 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 you +the day you sail for Brazil. Just a moment--let me finish. This sum is a +bonus in addition to the salary already fixed. And, remember, you have a +life position there with a brilliant chance of fame. That is what you care +about, 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 to +work out this case for the sheer joy of doing it." + +"You will _never_ work out this case!" The man spoke so sternly and with +such a menacing ring in his voice that M. Paul felt a chill of +apprehension. + +"Why not?" he asked. + +"Because you will not be allowed to; it's doubtful if you _could_ work it +out, but there's a chance that you could and we don't purpose to take that +chance. You're a free agent, you can persist in this course, but if you +do----" + +He paused as if to check too vehement an utterance, and M. Paul caught a +threatening gleam in his eyes that he long remembered. + +"Why?" + +"If you do, you will be thwarted at every turn, you will be made to suffer +in ways you do not dream of, through those who are dear to you, through +your dog, through your mother----" + +"You dare--" cried Coquenil. + +"We dare _anything_," flashed the stranger. "I'm daring something now, am I +not? Don't you suppose I know what you are thinking? Well, I take the risk +because--_because you are intelligent_." + +There was something almost captivating in the very arrogance and +recklessness of this audacious stranger. Never in all his experience had +Coquenil known a criminal or a person directly associated with crime, as +this man must be, to boldly confront the powers of justice. Undoubtedly, +the fellow realized his danger, yet he deliberately faced it. What plan +could he have for getting away once his message was delivered? It must be +practically delivered already, there was nothing more to say, he had +offered a bribe and made a threat. A few words now for the answer, the +refusal, the defiance, and--then what? Surely this brusque individual did +not imagine that he, Coquenil, would be simple enough to let him go now +that he had him in his power? But wait! Was that true, _was_ this man in +his power? + +As if answering the thought, the stranger said: "It is hopeless for you to +struggle against our knowledge and our resources, quite hopeless. We have, +for example, the _fullest_ information about you and your life down to the +smallest detail." + +"Yes?" answered Coquenil, and a twinkle of humor shone in his eyes. "What's +the 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 eyes +faded. + +"We know the important things, too, all that concerns you, from your +_forced resignation_ two years ago down to your talk yesterday with the +girl at Notre-Dame. So how can you fight us? How can you shadow people who +shadow you? Who watch your actions from day to day, from hour to hour? Who +know _exactly_ the moment when you are weak and unprepared, as I know now +that 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, I +will give you a glimpse of it, just the briefest glimpse. Suppose you try +to arrest me. You have been thinking of it, _now act_. I'm a suspicious +character, I ought to be investigated. Well, do your duty. I might point +out that such an arrest would accomplish absolutely nothing, for you +haven't the slightest evidence against me and can get none, but I waive +that point because I want to show you that, even in so simple an effort +against 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 distinct +advantage in position, here on the Champs Elysées with policemen all about +us, _you cannot arrest me_." + +"We'll see about that," answered M. Paul, a grim purpose showing in his +deep-set eyes. + +"I say this in no spirit of bravado," continued the other with irritating +insolence, "but so that you may remember my words and this warning when I +am gone." Then, with a final fling of defiance: "This is the first time you +have seen me, M. Coquenil, and you will probably never see me again, but +you will hear from me. _Now blow your whistle!_" + +Coquenil was puzzled. If this was a bluff, it was the maddest, most +incomprehensible bluff that a criminal ever made. But if it was _not_ a +bluff? Could there be a hidden purpose here? Was the man deliberately +making some subtle move in the game he was playing? The detective paused to +think. They had come down the Champs Elysées, past the Ansonia, and were +nearing the Rond Point, the best guarded part of Paris, where the shrill +summons of his police call would be answered almost instantly. And yet he +hesitated. + +"There is no hurry, I suppose," said the detective. "I'd like to ask a +question or two." + +"As many as you please." + +With all the strength of his mind and memory Coquenil was studying his +adversary. That beard? Could it be false? And the swarthy tone of the skin +which he noticed now in the improving light, was that natural? If not +natural, then wonderfully imitated. And the hands, the arms? He had watched +these from the first, noting every movement, particularly the _left_ hand +and the _left_ arm, but he had detected nothing significant; the man used +his hands like anyone else, he carried a cane in the right hand, lifted his +hat with the right hand, offered the envelope with the right hand. There +was 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 stirred +by this cynical avowal, but because just then there shot around the corner +from the Avenue Montaigne a large red automobile which crossed the Champs +Elysées slowly, past the fountain and the tulip beds, and, turning into the +Avenue Gabrielle, stopped under the chestnut trees, its engines throbbing. +Like a flash it came into the detective's mind that the same automobile had +passed them once before some streets back. Ah, here was the intended way of +escape! On the front seat were two men, strong-looking fellows, +accomplices, no doubt. He must act at once while the wide street was still +between them. + +"I ask because--" began M. Paul with his indifferent drawl, then swiftly +drawing his whistle, he sounded a danger call that cut the air in sinister +alarm. The stranger sprang away, but Coquenil was on him in a bound, +clutching him by the throat and pressing him back with intertwining legs +for a sudden fall. The bearded man saved himself by a quick turn, and with +a great heave of his shoulders broke the detective's grip, then suddenly +_he_ attacked, smiting for the neck, not with clenched fist but with the +open hand held sideways in the treacherous cleaving blow that the Japanese +use when they strike for the carotid. Coquenil ducked forward, saving +himself, 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 and +rejoiced, for he knew the deadly Jitsu reply to this. Hardening his neck +muscles 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 the +wrist, one at the elbow, and as his trained fingers sought the painful +pressure points, his two free arms started a resistless torsion movement on +the captured arm. There is no escape from this movement, no enduring its +excruciating pain; to a man taken at such a disadvantage one of two things +may happen. He may yield, and in that case he is hurled helpless over his +adversary's shoulder, or he may resist, with the result that the tendons +are torn from his lacerated arm and he faints in agony. + +Such was the master hold gained by M. Paul in the first minute of the +struggle; long and carefully he had practiced this coup with a wrestling +professional. It never failed, it could not fail, and, in savage triumph, +he prolonged his victory, slowly increasing the pressure, slowly as he felt +the tendons stretching, the bones cracking in this helpless right arm. A +few seconds more and the end would come, a few seconds more and--then a +crashing, shattering pain drove through Coquenil's lower heart region, his +arms relaxed, his hands relaxed, his senses dimmed, and he sank weakly to +the ground. His enemy had done an extraordinary thing, had delivered a +blow 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 in +Yokohama style but in the best manner of the old English prize ring, his +clenched fist falling full on the point of the heart, full on the unguarded +solar-plexus nerves which God put there for the undoing of the vainglorious +fighters. And Coquenil dropped like a smitten ox with this thought humming +in 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 his +opponent by the leg, he held him desperately with his failing strength; but +the spasms of pain overcame him, his muscles would not act, and with a +furious sense of helplessness and failure, he felt the clutched leg +slipping from his grasp. Then, as consciousness faded, the brute instinct +in him rallied in a last fierce effort and _he bit the man deeply under the +knee_. + +When Coquenil came to himself he was lying on the ground and several +policemen were bending over him. He lifted his head weakly and looked about +him. The stranger was gone. The automobile was gone. And it all came back +to him in sickening memory, the flaunting challenge of this man, the fierce +struggle, his own overconfidence, and then his crushing defeat. Ah, what a +blow that last one was with the conquering left! + +And suddenly it flashed through his mind that he had been outwitted from +the 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 and +planned for, because--_because_--In feverish haste Coquenil felt in his +breast pocket for the envelope with the precious leather fragments. It was +not 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 it +was called. The newspapers printed long accounts of it with elaborate +details, and various conjectures were made as to the disappearance of +Martinez's fair companion. More or less plausible theories were also put +forth touching the arrested American, prudently referred to as "Monsieur +K., a well-known New Yorker." It was furthermore dwelt upon as significant +that the famous detective, Paul Coquenil, had returned to his old place on +the force for the especial purpose of working on this case. And M. Coquenil +was reported to have already, by one of his brilliant strokes, secured a +clew that would lead shortly to important revelations. Alas, no one knew +under what distressing circumstances this precious clew had been lost! + +Shortly before nine by the white clock over the columned entrance to the +Palais de Justice, M. Paul passed through the great iron and gilt barrier +that fronts the street and turning to the left, mounted the wide stone +stairway. He had had his snatch of sleep at the _haman_, his rubdown and +cold plunge, but not his intended bout with the wrestling professional. He +had had wrestling enough for one day, and now he had come to keep his +appointment with Judge Hauteville. + +Two flights up the detective found himself in a spacious corridor off which +opened seven doors leading to the offices of seven judges. Seven! Strange +this resemblance to the fatal corridor at the Ansonia! And stranger still +that Judge Hauteville's office should be Number Six! + +Coquenil moved on past palace guards in bright apparel, past sad-faced +witnesses and brisk lawyers of the court in black robes with amusing white +bibs at their throats. And presently he entered Judge Hauteville's private +room, where an amiable _greffier_ asked him to sit down until the judge +should arrive. + +There was nothing in the plain and rather businesslike furnishings of this +room to suggest the somber and sordid scenes daily enacted here. On the +dull leather of a long table, covered with its usual litter of papers, had +been spread the criminal facts of a generation, the sinister harvest of +ignorance and vice and poverty. On these battered chairs had sat and +twisted hundreds of poor wretches, innocent and guilty, petty thieves, +shifty-eyed scoundrels, dull brutes of murderers, and occasionally a +criminal of a higher class, summoned for the preliminary examinations. +Here, under the eye of a bored guard, they had passed miserable hours while +the judge, smiling or frowning, hands in his pockets, strode back and forth +over the shabby red-and-green carpet putting endless questions, sifting out +truth from falsehood, struggling against stupidity and cunning, studying +each new case as a separate problem with infinite tact and insight, never +wearying, never losing his temper, coming back again and again to the +essential point until more than one stubborn criminal had broken down and, +from sheer exhaustion, confessed, like the assassin who finally blurted +out: "Well, yes, I did it. I'd rather be guillotined than bothered like +this." + +Such was Judge Hauteville, cold, patient, inexorable in the pursuit of +truth. 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 chair +he proceeded to relate the events of the night, ending with a frank account +of his misadventure on the Champs Elysées. + +The judge listened with grave attention. This was a more serious affair +than 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 most +dangerous type and one possessed of extraordinary resources. + +"You believe it was the assassin himself who met you?" questioned +Hauteville. + +"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. How +did he know that you hadn't copied the name and given it to one of us--say +to me?" + +"Ah, if I only had," sighed the detective. + +"How did he know that you wouldn't remember the name? Can't you remember +it--at all?" + +"That's what I've been trying to do," replied the other gloomily, "I've +tried and tried, but the name won't come back. I put those pieces together +and read the words distinctly, the name and the address. It was a foreign +name, English I should say, and the street was an avenue near the Champs +Elysées, the Avenue d'Eylau, or the Avenue d'Iena, I cannot be sure. I +didn't fix the thing in my mind because I had it in my pocket, and in the +work of the night it faded away." + +"A great pity! Still, this man could neither have known that nor guessed +it. He took the address from you on a chance, but his chief purpose must +have been to impress you with his knowledge and his power." + +Coquenil stared at his brown seal ring and then muttered savagely: "How did +he know the name of that infernal canary bird?" + +The judge smiled. "He has established some very complete system of +surveillance that we must try to circumvent. For the moment we had better +decide upon immediate steps." + +With this they turned to a fresh consideration of the case. Already the +machinery of justice had begun to move. Martinez's body and the weapon had +been taken to the morgue for an autopsy, the man's jewelry and money were +in the hands of the judge, and photographs of the scene of the tragedy +would be ready shortly as well as plaster impressions of the alleyway +footprints. An hour before, as arranged the previous night, Papa Tignol had +started out to search for Kittredge's lodgings, since the American, when +questioned by Gibelin at the prison, had obstinately refused to tell where +he lived and an examination of his quarters was a matter of immediate +importance. + +It was not Papa Tignol, however, who was to furnish this information, but +the discomfited Gibelin whose presence in the outer office was at this +moment 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 fairly +bristle in triumph. + +"Ah, you have news for us!" exclaimed the judge. + +Gibelin beamed. "I haven't wasted my time," he nodded. Then, with a +sarcastic glance at Coquenil: "The old school has its good points, after +all." + +"No doubt," agreed Coquenil curtly. + +"Although I am no longer in charge of this case," rasped the fat man, "I +suppose 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 I +just looked in there." + +"Ah!" said the judge, and Coquenil rubbed his glasses nervously. There is +no detective big-souled enough not to tingle with resentment when he finds +that a rival has scored a point. + +"Our friend lives at the Hôtel des Étrangers, near the corner of the +Boulevard St. Michel," went on Gibelin. "I _happened_ to be talking with +the man who sent out the banquet invitations and he told me. M. Kittredge +has 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!" His +small eyes brightened. + +"You examined his things?" + +"_Pour sûr!_ I spent an hour there. And talked the soul out of the +chambermaid. 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, after +all.'"] + +Gibelin lifted his pudgy hands deprecatingly. "For one thing I discovered a +photograph 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 and +address." He shot a keen glance at his rival. + +M. Paul was silent. What humiliation was this! No doubt Gibelin had heard +the 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 quite +a story. I suppose you know that when this woman slipped out of the +Ansonia, 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 remembers +perfectly a lady in an evening gown with a rain coat over it like the one +this woman escaped in. This lady sent a note by the _concierge_ up to the +apartment of that she-dragon, the sacristan's wife, where M. Kittredge was +calling 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 the +lady. Fifteen minutes later they stopped at his hotel and he went up to his +room, 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 had +often 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 the +photograph and a lot of letters--_her_ letters, probably. The fireplace was +full of fresh ashes. Rose says it was clean before he went up, so I picked +out the best fragments--here they are." He drew a small package from his +pocket, and opening it carefully, showed a number of charred or half-burned +pieces of paper on which words in a woman's handwriting could be plainly +read. + +"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 is +something." And, turning to the judge: "Wouldn't it be a good idea to send +a man to London with this? You can make out part of a lace skirt and the +tip of a slipper. It might be enough." + +"That's true," agreed Hauteville. + +"Whoever goes," continued Coquenil, "had better carry him the five-pound +notes found on Martinez and see if he can trace them through the Bank of +England. They often take the names of persons to whom their notes are +issued." + +"Excellent. I'll see to it at once," and, ringing for his secretary, the +judge gave orders to this effect. + +To all of which Gibelin listened with a mocking smile. "But why so much +trouble," 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 few +words 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 seen +this lady before?" + +"Yes, but not recently. It seems that Kittredge moved to the Hôtel des +Étrangers about seven months ago, and soon after that the lady came to see +him. 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 she +remembers." + +"Hm! Have you anything else to report?" + +Gibelin chuckled harshly. "I have kept the most important thing for the +last. I'm afraid it will annoy my distinguished colleague even more than +the 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 mean +that your début in this case hasn't been exactly--ha, ha!--well, not +exactly brilliant." + +"Here, here!" reproved the judge. "Let us have the facts." + +"Well," continued the red-haired man, "I have found the owner of the pistol +that 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 are +identical with the ball extracted from the body. The autopsy proves it, so +Dr. Joubert says. And this pistol belongs in a leather holster that I +found in Mr. Kittredge's room. Dr. Joubert let me take the pistol for +verification and--there, you can see for yourselves." + +With this he produced the holster and the pistol and laid them before the +judge. 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 as +the property of the American. He always kept it in a certain drawer, she +noticed it there a few days ago, but yesterday it was gone and the holster +was 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 solve +problems in _difficult_ ways. We don't reject a solution merely because +it'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 truth +turns out to be the truth, then you ought to be in charge of this case and +I'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 last +night." + +"How do you know he didn't change his boots when he burned the letters? Go +back to his hotel and see if they noticed a muddy pair in his room this +morning. Bring me whatever boots of his you find. Also stop at the depot +and get the pair he had on when arrested. Be quick!" + +"I will," answered Gibelin, and he went out, pausing at the door to salute +M. Paul mockingly. + +"Ill-tempered brute!" said Hauteville. "I will see that he has nothing more +to do with this case." Then he touched an electric bell. + +"That American, Kittredge, who was arrested last night?" he said to the +clerk. "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 preliminary +examination. Make out his commitment papers for the Santé. He is to be _au +secret_." + +"Yes, sir." The clerk bowed and withdrew. + +"You really think this young man innocent, do you?" remarked the judge to +Coquenil. + +"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. The +amiable lover becomes a desperate criminal able to conceive and carry out +the most intricate murder of our time. I don't believe it. If he is guilty +he must have had the key to that alleyway door. How did he get it? He must +have known, that the 'tall blonde' who had engaged Number Seven would not +occupy it. How did he know that? And he must have relations with the man +who met me on the Champs Elysées. How could that be? Remember, he's a poor +devil of a foreigner living in a Latin-Quarter attic. The thing isn't +reasonable." + +"But the pistol?" + +"The pistol may not really be his. Gibelin's whole story needs looking +into." + +The judge nodded. "Of course. I leave that to you. Still, I shall feel +better satisfied when we have compared the soles of his boots with the +plaster casts of those alleyway footprints." + +"So shall I," said Coquenil. "Suppose I see the workman who is finishing +the casts?" he suggested; "it won't take long, and perhaps I can bring them +back with me." + +"Excellent," approved Hauteville, and he bowed with grave friendliness as +the detective left the room. + +Then, for nearly an hour, the judge buried himself in the details of this +case, turning his trained mind, with absorbed concentration, upon the +papers at hand, reviewing the evidence, comparing the various reports and +opinions, and, in the light of clear reason, searching for a plausible +theory of the crime. He also began notes of questions that he wished to ask +Kittredge, and was deep in these when the clerk entered to inform him that +Coquenil and Gibelin had returned. + +"Let them come in at once," directed Hauteville, and presently the two +detectives were again before him. + +"Well?" he inquired with a quick glance. + +Coquenil was silent, but Gibelin replied exultingly: "We have found a pair +of Kittredge's boots that absolutely correspond with the plaster casts of +the 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 measured +tones: "It makes a _strong_ chain now. What do you think?" + +Coquenil hesitated, and then with a frown of perplexity and exasperation he +snapped 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 the +torturing scene of her lover's arrest. She would almost have preferred her +haunting dreams to this pitiful reality. What had Lloyd done? Why had this +woman come for him? And what would happen now? Again and again, as +weariness brought slumber, the sickening fact stirred her to +wakefulness--they had taken Kittredge away to prison charged with an +abominable crime. And she loved him, she loved him now more than ever, she +was absolutely his, as she never would have been if this trouble had not +come. Ah, there was her only ray of comfort that just at the last she had +made him happy. She would never forget his look of gratitude as she cried +out 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 the +darkness of her chamber her cheeks flamed at the thought. + +Soon after five she rose and dressed. This was Sunday, her busiest day, she +must be in Notre-Dame for the early masses. There was a worn place in a +chasuble that needed some touches of her needle; Father Anselm had asked +her to see to it. And this duty done, there was the special Sunday sale of +candles and rosaries and little red guidebooks of the church to keep her +busy. + +Alice was in the midst of all this when, shortly before ten, Mother +Bonneton approached, cringing at the side of a visitor, a lady of striking +beauty whose dress and general air proclaimed a lavish purse. In a first +glance 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 with +a cunning wink at the girl. "I tell her it's hard for you to leave your +candles, especially now when people are coming in for high mass, but I can +take 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 great +disgust. "I love the towers on a day like this." + +So they started up the winding stone stairs of the Northern tower, the lady +going first with lithe, nervous steps, although Alice counseled her not to +hurry. + +"It's a long way to the top," cautioned the girl, "three hundred and +seventy 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, past +narrow slips of fortress windows through the massive walls, round and round +in narrowing circles until finally, with sighs of relief, they came out +into the first gallery and stood looking down on Paris laughing under the +yellow sun. + +"Ouf!" panted the lady, "it _is_ a climb." + +They were standing on the graceful stone passageway that joins the two +towers at the height of the bells and were looking to the west over the +columned balustrade, over the Place Notre-Dame, dotted with queer little +people, tinkling with bells of cab horses, clanging with gongs of yonder +trolley cars curving from the Pont Neuf past old Charlemagne astride of his +great bronze horse. Then on along the tree-lined river, on with widening +view 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 of +the Sainte Chapelle, the square of the Louvre, the gilded dome of +Napoleon's tomb, the crumbling Tour Saint Jacques, disfigured now with +scaffolding for repairs, and the Sacré Cour, shining resplendent on the +Montmartre hill. + +To all of which the lady listened indifferently. She was plainly thinking +of 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 one +toward which her thoughts were tending, the _conciergerie_, the grim prison +where her lover was! + +"It is there," she replied, struggling with her emotion, "behind that +cupola 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 strange +insistence. + +"Why, yes," stammered the girl, "I think so--that is, the depot is part of +the _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, I +know _why_ you are thinking about that prison." + +Alice stared at her with widening eyes and heaving bosom. The woman's tone +was kind, her look almost appealing, yet the girl drew back, guided by an +instinct of danger. + +"Who are you?" she demanded. + +"Don't you _know_ who I am?" answered the other, and now her emotion broke +through the mask of calm. "I am the lady who--who called for M. Kittredge +last 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'm +going down." And she started for the stairs. + +"Wait!" cried the visitor. "You _shall_ hear me. I have come to help the +man you love." + +"The man _you_ love," blazed the girl. "The man whose life you have +ruined." + +"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, he +didn't tell your name, he _never_ would tell it. But I know enough, I +know that you tortured him and--when he got free from you, after struggling +and--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 her +dark 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 this +wicked, 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 to +know." + +"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 to +search 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. She +sells postal cards up here. Unless you tell me the truth, I shall ask her +to 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 Papa +Bonneton to come here at once. Say it's important. Hurry!" + +With an understanding nod Valentine disappeared inside the tower and the +quick 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 know +what it was, I haven't read the papers, but he has." + +"Do you want to ruin me?" cried the woman; then, with a supplicating +gesture: "Spare me this shame; I will give you money, a large sum. See +here!" and, opening her gold bag, she drew out some folded notes. "I'll +give you a thousand francs--five thousand. Don't turn away! I'll give you +more--my jewels, my pearls, my rings. Look at them." She held out her +hands, flashing with precious stones. + +Suddenly she felt the girl's eyes on her in utter scorn. "You are not even +intelligent," Alice flung back; "you were a fool to come here; now you are +stupid enough to think you can buy my silence. _Mon Dieu_, what a base +soul!" + +"Forgive me, I don't know what I am saying," begged the other. "Don't be +angry. Listen; you say I was a fool to come here, but it isn't true. I +realized 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 because +there 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 beg +your pardon sincerely for offering you money. I know you are loyal and kind +and--I'm ashamed of myself. I have suffered so much since last night +that--as you say, I must be mad." + +It was a strange picture--this brilliant beauty, forgetful of pride and +station, humbling herself to a poor candle seller. Alice looked at her in +wonder. + +"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 and +will never come into it again. I want to save him because it's right that I +should, because he has been accused of this crime through me and I know he +is innocent." + +"Ah," murmured Alice joyfully, "you know he is innocent." + +"Yes; and, if necessary, I will give evidence to clear him. I will tell +exactly what happened." + +"What happened where?" + +"In the room where this man was--was shot. Ugh!" She pressed her hands over +her 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't +you 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 the +girl. + +"You don't understand. There is no case against Lloyd. He is bound to be +released for want of evidence against him. I only ask you to be patient a +few 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 bank +notes." 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 him +in 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 it +mean? 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! To +make him suffer!" + +"Suffer?" + +"Why not? Don't you suppose he will suffer to find that you have no +sympathy 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 he +wanted to be saved that way, wouldn't he denounce me himself? He knows my +name, he knows the whole story. Wouldn't he tell it himself if he wanted it +told?" + +The girl hesitated, taken aback at this new view. "I suppose he thinks it a +matter of honor." + +"Exactly. And you who pretend to love him have so little heart, so little +delicacy, that you care nothing for what he thinks a matter of honor. A +pretty thing _your_ sense of honor must be!" + +"Oh!" shrank Alice, and the woman, seeing her advantage, pursued it +relentlessly. "Did you ever hear of a _debt_ of honor? How do you know that +your lover doesn't owe _me_ such a debt and isn't paying it now down +there?" + +So biting were the words, so fierce the scorn, that Alice found herself +wavering. After all, she knew nothing of what had happened, nor could she +be sure of Lloyd's wishes. He had certainly spoken of things in his life +that he regretted. Could it be that he was bound in honor to save this +woman _at any cost?_ As she stood irresolute, there came up from below the +sound of steps on the stairs, ascending steps, nearer and nearer, then +distinctly the clatter of Valentine's wooden shoes, then another and a +heavier tread. The sacristan was coming. + +"Here is your chance," taunted the lady; "give me up, denounce me, and then +remember what Lloyd will remember _always_, that when a distressed and +helpless 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 torture +of this former rival; and now the loud breathing of the sacristan was +plainly heard on the stairs. + +"Remember," flung out the other in a final defiance that was also a final +appeal, "remember that nothing brought me here but the sacredness of a love +that is gone, a sacredness that _I_ respect and _he_ respects but that _you +trample on_." + +As she said this Valentine emerged from the tower door followed wearily by +Papa Bonneton, in full regalia, his mild face expressing all that it could +of severity. + +"What has happened?" he said sharply to Alice. Then, with a habit of +deference, he lifted his three-cornered hat to the lady: "Madam will +understand that it was difficult for me to leave my duties." + +Madam stood silent, ghastly white, hands clinched so hard that the gems cut +into 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 the +great bell. She asked me to strike it with the hammer, but I told her that +is forbidden during high mass. Madam offered ten francs--twenty francs--she +is going away and is very anxious to hear the bell; she has read about its +beautiful tone. When madam offered twenty francs, I thought it my duty to +let you know." All this with a self-possession that the daughters of Eve +have acquired through centuries of practice. + +"Twenty francs!" muttered the guileless Bonneton. "You were right, my +child, perfectly right. That rule was made for ordinary visitors, but with +madam it is different. I myself will strike the bell for madam." And with +all 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 bless +you!" + +Alice tried to speak, but the words choked her, and, leaning over the +balustrade, she looked yearningly toward the prison, her lips moving in +silence: "Lloyd! Lloyd!" Then the great bell struck and she turned with a +start, brushing away the tears that dimmed her eyes. + +A moment later Papa Bonneton reappeared, scarcely believing that already he +had earned his louis and insisting on telling madam various things about +the bell--that it was presented by Louis XIV, and weighed over seventeen +tons; that eight men were required to ring it, two poised at each corner of +the rocking framework; that the note it sounded was _fa diese_--did madam +understand that? _Do, re, mi, fa?_ And more of the sort until madam assured +him that she was fully satisfied and would not keep him longer from his +duties. Whereupon, with a torrent of thanks, the old man disappeared in the +tower, looking unbelievingly at the gold piece in his hand. + +"And now what?" asked Alice with feverish eagerness when they were alone +again. + +"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 over +her 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 a +dignity to her rather selfish beauty. "Or, rather, we will save him +together. First, I want you to take this money--you will take it now _for +him?_ That's right, put it in your dress. Ah," she smiled as Alice obeyed +her. "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 that +would involve explanations. We need a man to advise us, some one who knows +about 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 of +it." + +Alice shook her head. "That doesn't matter, does it? He would tell us +exactly what to do. I saw him in Notre-Dame only yesterday and--and he +spoke to me so kindly. You know, M. Coquenil is a friend of Papa +Bonneton's; he lends him his dog Caesar to guard the church." + +"It seems like providence," murmured the lady. "Yes, that is the thing to +do, you must go to M. Coquenil at once. Tell the old sacristan I have sent +you 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 if +necessary. Tell him what has happened between us and then put yourself in +his 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 no +mistake. Here is a pencil and here is a piece of paper." With nervous haste +she tore a page from a little memorandum book. "Now, then," and she +dictated the following statement which Alice took down carefully: "_Tell M. +Kittredge that the lady who called for him in the carriage knows now that +the person she thought guilty last night is NOT guilty. She knows this +absolutely, 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 and +start for the Villa Montmorency--in fact, it was nearly five when, with +mingled feelings of confidence and shrinking, she opened the iron gate in +the ivy-covered wall of Coquenil's house and advanced down the neat walk +between the double hedges to the solid gray mass of the villa, at once +dignified and cheerful. Melanie came to the door and showed, by a jealous +glance, that she did not approve of her master receiving visits from young +and good-looking females. + +"M. Paul is resting," she grumbled; "he worked all last night and he's +worked 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 in +Notre-Dame." + +"Huh! I'll tell him. Wait here," and with scant courtesy the old servant +left Alice standing in the blue-tiled hallway, near a long diamond-paned +window. A moment later Melanie reappeared with mollified countenance. "M. +Paul says will you please take a seat in here." She opened the study door +and pointed to one of the big red-leather chairs. "He'll be down in a +moment." + +Left alone, Alice glanced in surprise about this strange room. She saw a +photograph of Caesar and his master on the wall and went nearer to look at +it. Then she noticed the collection of plaster hands and was just bending +over it when Coquenil entered, wearing a loosely cut house garment of pale +yellow with dark-green braid around the jacket and down the legs of the +trousers. He looked pale, almost haggard, but his face lighted in welcome +as 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 a +little finger as long as this one?" + +"Yes; it's as long as the third finger and square at the end. I've often +noticed it." + +"Then you have seen something very uncommon, mademoiselle, something _I_ +have never seen. That is the most remarkable hand in my collection; it is +the hand of a man who lived nearly two hundred years ago. He was one of the +greatest criminals the world has ever known." + +"Really?" cried Alice, her eyes wide with sudden fright. "I--I must have +been mistaken." + +But now the detective's curiosity was aroused. "Would you mind telling me +the 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 name +after 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 a +strange, 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 bring +it in. Then we can talk comfortably. By the way, you haven't told me your +name." + +"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 a +wood carver, in Brussels. He has been very kind to me and would pay my +board with the Bonnetons, but I don't want to be a burden, so I work at the +church." + +"I see," he said approvingly. + +The girl was seated in the full light, and as they talked, Coquenil +observed her attentively, noting the pleasant tones of her voice and the +charming lights in her eyes, studying her with a personal as well as a +professional interest; for was not this the young woman who had so suddenly +and so unaccountably influenced his life? Who was she, what was she, this +dreaming candle seller? In spite of her shyness and modest ways, she was +brave and strong of will, that was evident, and, plain dress or not, she +looked the aristocrat every inch of her. Where did she get that unconscious +air of quiet poise, that trick of the lifted chin? And how did she learn to +use 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 at +Notre-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?" she +asked anxiously, and it seemed to him that her emotion was out of all +proportion to its cause. + +"I suppose not," he answered kindly. "I thought you might have +some--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 say +something more, but she checked the impulse, if it was there, and Coquenil +did not press his demand. + +"There's one other thing," he went on reassuringly. "I'm asking this in the +interest of M. Kittredge. Tell me if you know anything about this crime of +which he is accused?" + +"Why, no," she replied with evident sincerity. "I haven't even read the +papers." + +"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 question +almost 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 said +all 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, "but +aren't you keeping something back?" + +"No, no," she insisted. "I just thought of--of a little thing that made me +unhappy, but it has nothing to do with this case. You believe me, don't +you?" + +She spoke with pleading earnestness, and again M. Paul followed an +intuition that told him he might get everything from this girl by going +slowly and gently, whereas, by trying to force her confidence, he would get +nothing. + +"Of course I believe you," he smiled. "Now I'm going to give you some of +this tea; I'm afraid it's getting cold." + +And he proceeded to do the honors in so friendly a way that Alice was +presently quite at her ease again. + +"Now," he resumed, "we'll settle down comfortably and you can tell me what +brought you here, tell me all about it. You won't mind if I smoke a +cigarette? Be sure to tell me _everything_--there is plenty of time." + +So Alice began and told him about the mysterious lady and their agitated +visit to the tower, omitting nothing, while M. Paul listened with startled +interest, nodding and frowning and asking frequent questions. + +"This is very important," he said gravely when she had finished. "What a +pity 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 is +absolutely 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 colors +than French ladies, more embroideries, more things on their hats; I've +often noticed it in church. I even know them by their shiny finger nails +and 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. Kittredge +that the lady who called for him in the carriage knows now that the person +she thought guilty last night is NOT guilty. She knows this absolutely, 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_." + +"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 she +drop 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 his +pockets, head forward, eyes on the floor, back and forth several times +without a word. Then he stopped before Alice, eying her intently as if +making up his mind about something. + +"I'm going to trust you, mademoiselle, with an important mission. You're +only a girl, but--you've been thrown into this tragic affair, and--you'll +be glad to help your lover, won't you?" + +"Oh, yes," she answered eagerly. + +"You may as well know that we are facing a situation not +altogether--er--encouraging. I believe M. Kittredge is innocent and I hope +to prove it, but others think differently and they have serious things +against him." + +"What things?" she demanded, her cheeks paling. + +"No matter now." + +"There can be _nothing_ against him," declared the girl, "he is the soul of +honor." + +"I hope so," answered the detective dryly, "but he is also in prison, and +unless 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. The +quickest way to do that is through Kittredge himself. He knows all about +her, if we can make him speak. So far he has refused to say a word, but +there is one person who ought to unseal his lips--that is the girl he +loves." + +"Oh, yes," exclaimed Alice, her face lighting with new hope, "I think I +could, 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 I +think----" + +"You mean the director of the depot?" + +"No, for M. Kittredge was transferred from the depot this morning. You know +the depot is only a temporary receiving station, but the Santé is one of +the regular French prisons. It's there they send men charged with murder." + +Alice shivered at the word. "Yes," she murmured, "and--what were you +saying?" + +"I say that I know the director of the Santé and I think, if I send you to +him 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 and +quickly 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, and +assuring him that, by so doing, he would confer upon Paul Coquenil a +deeply appreciated favor. Alice watched him with a sense of awe, and she +thought uneasily of her dream about the face in the angry sun and the land +of the black people. + +"There," he said, handing her the note. "Now listen. You are to find out +certain 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 and +your 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 honorable +for him to tell her name?" + +"You must make him see that it _is_ honorable. The lady herself says she is +ready to testify if necessary. At first she was afraid of implicating some +person 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 a +few days whether he tells us or not, so he may as well save us valuable +time. 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 or +short? Does Kittredge know him? Has he ever had words with him or any +trouble? 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 him +say he likes it better than golf." + +"Ah! Then ask him--see here. I'll show you," and going to a corner between +the bookcase and the wall, M. Paul picked out a tennis racket among a +number of canes. "Now, then," he continued while she watched him with +perplexity, "I hold my racket _so_ in my right hand, and if a ball comes on +my left, I return it with a back-hand stroke _so_, using my right hand; but +there 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 or +only the one hand. And I want to know _which_ hand he uses chiefly, that +is, 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 for +the 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 my +friend 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 preparing +a--a little surprise." + +"Oh! And what about the chest of drawers?" + +"It's about one particular drawer, the small upper one on the right-hand +side--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 be +a methodical person, and I want to know if he remembers opening it a few +days ago and finding, it unlocked. Have you got that?" + +"Yes." + +"Good! Oh, one thing more. Find out if M. Kittredge ever suffers from +rheumatism or gout." + +The girl smiled. "Of course he doesn't; he is only twenty-eight." + +"Please do not take this lightly, mademoiselle," the detective chided +gently. "It is perhaps the most important point of all--his release from +prison may depend on it." + +"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not taking it lightly, indeed I'm not," and, with tears +in her eyes, Alice assured M. Paul that she fully realized the importance +of 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 was +not only to see her lover but to serve him. + +It was after six when Alice left the circular railway at the Montrouge +station. She was in a remote and unfamiliar part of Paris, the region of +the catacombs and the Gobelin tapestry works, and, although M. Paul had +given her precise instructions, she wandered about for some time among +streets of hospitals and convents until at last she came to an open place +where she recognized Bartholdi's famous Belfort lion. Then she knew her +way, and hurrying along the Boulevard Arago, she came presently to the +gloomy mass of the Santé prison, which, with its diverging wings and +galleries, spreads out like a great gray spider in the triangular space +between the Rue Humboldt, the Rue de la Santé and the Boulevard Arago. + +A kind-faced policeman pointed out a massive stone archway where she must +enter, and passing here, beside a stolid soldier in his sentry box, she +came presently to a black iron door in front of which were waiting two +yellow-and-black prison vans, windowless. In this prison door were four +glass-covered observation holes, and through these Alice saw a guard +within, who, as she lifted the black iron knocker, drew forth a long brass +key and turned the bolt. The door swung back, and with a shiver of +repulsion the girl stepped inside. This was the prison, these men standing +about 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 endure +for his sake. + +No sooner had the guard heard that she came with a note from M. Paul +Coquenil (that was a name to conjure with) than he showed her politely to a +small waiting room, assuring her that the note would be given at once to +the director of the prison. And a few moments later another door opened and +a 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 speak +with him alone. + +The jailer snapped his teeth and narrowed his brows in a hard stare. "Did +Paul Coquenil send you here for _that?_" he questioned. + +"Yes, sir," answered the girl, and her heart began to sink. "You see, it's +a very special case and----" + +"Special case," laughed the other harshly; "I should say so--it's a case of +murder." + +"But he is innocent, perfectly innocent," pleaded Alice. + +"Of course, but if I let every murderer who says he's innocent see his +sweetheart--well, this would be a fine prison. No, no, little one," he went +on with offensive familiarity, "I am sorry to disappoint you and I hate to +refuse M. Paul, but it can't be done. This man is _au secret_, which means +that he must not see _anyone_ except his lawyer. You know they assign a +lawyer 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 her +hands appealingly. "If you only knew the circumstances, if I could only +make you understand." + +"Haven't time to listen," he said impatiently, "there's no use whining. I +can't do it and that's the end of it. If I let you talk with this man and +the thing were known, I might lost my position." He rose abruptly as if to +dismiss her. + +Alice did not move. She had been sitting by a table on which a large sheet +of pink blotting paper was spread before writing materials. And as she +listened to the director's rough words, she took up a pencil and twisted it +nervously in her fingers. Then, with increasing agitation, as she realized +that her effort for Lloyd had failed, she began, without thinking, to make +little marks on the blotter, and then a written scrawl--all with a +singular fixed look in her eyes. + +"You'll have to excuse me," said the jailer gruffly, seeing that she did +not 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 that +even this calloused man felt a thrill of pity and stepped forward to assist +her. 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 a +printed form, filled it out quickly and handed it to her. + +"There," he said, and his voice was almost gentle, "I guess I don't quite +understand 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 asked +for, 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 through +the horrors of his first night at the depot, which he passed with the scum +of Paris streets, thieves, beggars, vagrants, the miserable crop of +Saturday-night police takings, all herded into one foul room on filthy +bunks so close together that a turn either way brought a man into direct +contact with his neighbor. + +Lloyd lay between an old pickpocket and a drunkard. He did not sleep, but +passed the hours thinking. And when he could think no longer, he listened +to the pickpocket who was also wakeful, and who told wonderful yarns of his +conquests among the fair sex in the time of the Commune, when he was a +strapping artilleryman. + +"You're a pretty poor pickpocket, old chap," reflected Kittredge, "but +you're an awful good liar!" + +In spite of little sleep, he was serene and good-natured when they took +him, handcuffed, before Judge Hauteville the next morning for his +preliminary examination--a mere formality to establish the prisoner's +identity. Kittredge gave the desired facts about himself with perfect +willingness; his age, nationality, occupation, and present address. He +realized that there was no use hiding these. When asked if he had money to +employ a lawyer, he said "no"; and when told that the court would assign +Maître Pleindeaux for his defense, he thanked the judge and went off +smiling 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 Bertillon +measuring department and stood him up against the wall, bare as a babe, +arms extended, and noted down his dimensions one by one, every limb and +feature being precisely described in length and breadth, every physical +peculiarity recorded, down to the impression of his thumb lines and the +precise location of a small mole on his left arm. + +All this happened Sunday morning, and in the afternoon other experiences +awaited 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 took +calmly, as well as the prison dress and food and the hard bed, for he had +known rough camping in the Maine woods and was used to plain fare, but he +winced a little at the regulation once a week prison shave, and the +regulation bath once a month! And what disturbed him chiefly was the +thought that now he would have absolutely nothing to do but sit in his cell +and wait wearily for the hours to pass. Prisoners under sentence may be put +to work, but one _au secret_ is shut up not only from the rest of the +world, 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 were +invented for until now. Let me have part of a pack, just enough to play +old-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 from +wildest Bohemia to primest Presbyterian tea parties, Lloyd added: "That's a +hell of a way to treat a murderer!" + +The Sunday morning service was just ending when Kittredge reached the +prison, and he got his first impressions of the place as he listened to +resounding Gregorian tones chanted, or rather shouted, by tiers on tiers of +prisoners, each joining in the unison with full lung power through cell +doors chained ajar. The making of this rough music was one of the pleasures +of the week, and at once the newcomer's heart was gripped by the +indescribable sadness of it. + +[Illustration: "And when he could think no longer, he listened to the +pickpocket."] + +Having gone through the formalities of arrival and been instructed as to +various detail of prison routine, Lloyd settled down as comfortably as +might 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 as +popular among French convicts as the translated works of Fenimore Cooper. +"Good old Stars and Stripes!" murmured Kittredge, but he stared at the same +page for a long time before he began to read. And once he brushed a quick +hand across his eyes. + +Scarcely had Lloyd finished a single chapter when one of the guards +appeared with as much of surprise on his stolid countenance as an +overworked under jailer can show; for an unprecedented thing had +happened--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 order +from the director of the prison. Moreover, he was to see her in the private +parlor, 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 the +open door with instructions not to interfere except for serious reasons. In +the memory of the oldest inhabitant such a thing had not been known! + +Kittredge, however, was not surprised, first, because nothing could +surprise him, and, also, because he had no idea what an extraordinary +exception had been made in his favor. So he walked before the guard +indifferently enough toward the door indicated, but when he crossed the +threshold he started back with a cry of amazement. + +"Alice!" he gasped, and his face lighted with transfiguring joy. It was a +bare room with bare floors and bare yellow painted walls, the only +furnishings being two cane chairs and a cheap table, but to Kittredge it +was a marvelous and radiantly happy place, for Alice was there; he stared +at her almost unbelieving, but it was true--by some kind miracle Alice, his +Alice, was there! + +Then, without any prelude, without so much as asking for an explanation or +giving her time to make one, Lloyd sprang forward and caught the trembling +girl in his arms and drew her close to him with tender words, while the +guard 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 her +lover's arms about her and his warm breath on her face, she forgot the +message that she brought and the questions she was to ask, she forgot his +danger and her own responsibility, she forgot everything but this one +blessed fact of their great love, his and hers, the love that had drawn +them together and was holding them together now here, together, close +together, she and her Lloyd. + +"You darling," he whispered, "you brave, beautiful darling! I love you! I +love you!" And he would have said it still again had not his lips been +closed by her warm, red lips. So they stood silent, she limp in his arms, +gasping, thrilling, weeping and laughing, he feasting insatiable on her +lips, 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," and +with an effort she freed herself. "I can only stay here half an hour, and I +don't know how much of it we have wasted already." She tried to look at him +reproachfully, but her eyes were swimming with tenderness. + +"It wasn't wasted, dear," he answered fondly. "To have held you in my arms +like that will give me courage for whatever is to come." + +"But, Lloyd," she reasoned, "nothing bad will come if you do what I say. I +am 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 some +questions. 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 I +can." + +"Good. I'll begin with the easiest question," she said, consulting her +list. "Sit down here--that's right. Now, then, have you ever had gout or +rheumatism? 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 the +left?" + +"I use both hands," he answered, and she wrote it down. + +"Now," she continued, "you have a chest of drawers in your room with two +brass 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't +you?" + +"That's true." + +"Do you remember going to this drawer any time lately and finding it +unlocked?" + +He thought a moment. "No, I don't." + +Alice hesitated, and then, with a flush of embarrassment, she went on +bravely: "Now, Lloyd, I come to the hardest part. You must help me and--and +not 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--so +naturally 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 at +the church. "And I have this message for you from her and--and _this_." She +handed him the note and the folded bank notes. + +Lloyd's face clouded. "She sent me money?" he said in a changed voice, and +his 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 he +handed 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 in +perplexity. + +"Return them." + +"Ah, yes," she agreed, snatching at a new idea. "I will return them, I will +say that you thank her, that _we_ thank her, Lloyd, but we cannot accept +the money. Is that right?" + +"Exactly." + +"I will go to her apartment in the morning. Let me see, it's on the +Avenue--Where did I put her address?" and she went through the form of +searching in her pocketbook. + +"The Avenue Kleber," he supplied, unsuspecting. + +"Of course, the Avenue Kleber. Where _is_ that card? I've forgotten the +number, too. Do you remember it, dear?" + +Poor child, she tried so hard to speak naturally, but her emotion betrayed +her. Indeed, it seemed to Alice, in that moment of suspense, that her lover +must hear the loud beating of her heart. + +"Ah, I see," he cried, eying her steadily, "she did not give you her +address 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 out +of this hole, but--we've got to play fair, eh? Now let's drop all that +and--do you want to make me the happiest man in the world? I'm the happiest +man in Paris already, even here, but if you will tell me one +thing--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 if +it's going to make you feel badly, but, you see, I've got some lonely hours +to get through here and--well, I think of you most of the time and--" He +took 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't +mind, why--er----" + +Alice started to her feet, and Lloyd noticed, as she faced him, that the +pupils of her eyes widened and then grew small as if from fright or violent +emotion. + +"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't +anything, just say so, and if there is, what's the matter with telling a +chap who loves you and worships you and whose love wouldn't change for +fifty 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 when +they arrested me and put me in prison? Yes, by Jove, it _did_ change, it +grew 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 was +reassured, 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 come +between us, why--it would just kill me." + +"Nothing will come between us," he said simply, and then after a pause: "So +there _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 all +I've had to do here, and--for instance, I said to myself: 'How the devil +does she happen to speak English without any accent?' You can't tell me +that the cousin of a poor wood carver in Belgium would know English as you +do. 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 those +corking fine embroideries that the priests are so stuck on? But how did you +learn? And how does it come that you look like a dead swell? And where did +you 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 kind +of mystery you think, Lloyd; I--I can't tell you about it very +well--because--" She hesitated. + +"Don't you worry, little sweetheart. I don't care what it is, I don't care +if you're the daughter of a Zulu chief." Then, seeing her distress, he said +tenderly: "Is it something you don't understand?" + +"That's it," she answered in a low voice, "it's something I don't +understand." + +"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 widening +and 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, the +girl was almost fainting under the strain of these questions. + +"You dear, darling child," said Lloyd, as a wave of pity took him, "I'm a +brute to make you talk about this." + +But Alice answered anxiously: "You understand it's nothing I have done that +is wrong, nothing I'm ashamed of?" + +"Of course," he assured her. "Let's drop it. We'll never speak of it +again." + +"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 and +that--frightens me--especially at night." + +"What do you expect?" he answered in a matter-of-fact tone, "when you spend +all your time in a cold, black church full of bones and ghosts? Wait till I +get you away from there, wait till we're over in God's country, living in a +nice 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 happy +you'll never think about your soul--no, sir, and you won't be afraid +nights, either! Oh, you beauty, you little beauty!" he burst out, and was +about to take her in his arms again when the guard came forward to warn +them 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 his +eyes. "It's tough, but never mind. You've made a man of me, little one, and +I'll prove it. I used to have a sort of religion and then I lost it, and +now I've got it again, a new religion and a new creed. It's short and easy +to say, but it's all I need, and it's going to keep me game through this +whole 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 that +woman'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, and +throwing her arms about him, she murmured: "Kiss me, kiss me as much as you +like. I am yours, yours." + +Then there was a long, delicious, agonizing moment of passion and pain +until the guard's gruff voice came between them. + +"One moment," Kittredge said, and then to the clinging girl: "Why do you +ask that woman's name when you know it already?" + +Wide-eyed, she faced him and shook her head. "I don't know her name, I +don't want to know it." + +"You don't know her name?" he repeated, and even in the tumult of their +last farewell her frank and honest denial lingered in his mind. + +She did not know the woman's name! Back in his lonely cell Kittredge +pondered this, and reaching for his little volume of De Musset, his +treasured pocket companion that the jailer had let him keep, he opened it +at 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 of +Alice's visit to the prison. This was merely one move in the game, and it +had 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 with +gout or rheumatism. This last point was of extreme importance. + +And the detective was speedily put in excellent humor by news awaiting him +at the Palais de Justice Monday morning that the man sent to London to +trace the burned photograph and the five-pound notes had already met with +success and had telegraphed that the notes in question had been issued to +Addison Wilmott, whose bankers were Munroe and Co., Rue Scribe. + +Quick inquiries revealed the fact that Addison Wilmott was a well-known New +Yorker, living in Paris, a man of leisure who was enjoying to the full a +large 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 and +most spectacular circle of the American Colony. They gave brilliant +dinners, they had several automobiles, they did all the foolish and +extravagant things that the others did and a few more. + +He was dull, good-natured, and a little fat; she was a beautiful woman with +extraordinary charm and a lithe, girlish figure of which she took infinite +care; he was supposed to kick up his heels in a quiet way while she did +the thing brilliantly and kept the wheels of American Colony gossip (busy +enough, anyway) turning and spinning until they groaned in utter weariness. + +What was there that Pussy Wilmott had not done or would not do if the +impulse seized her? This was a matter of tireless speculation in the +ultra-chic salons through which this fascinating lady flitted, envied and +censured. She was known to be the daughter of a California millionaire who +had left her a fortune, of which the last shred was long ago dispersed. +Before marrying Wilmott she had divorced two husbands, had traveled all +over the world, had hunted tigers in India and canoed the breakers, native +style, 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 swear +and love; she was altogether selfish, altogether delightful, altogether +impossible; in short, she was a law unto herself, and her brilliant +personality so far overshadowed Addison that, although he had the money and +most of the right in their frequent quarrels, no one ever spoke of him +except as "Pussy Wilmott's husband." + +In spite of her willfulness and caprices Mrs. Wilmott was full of generous +impulses and loyal to her friends. She was certainly not a snob, as witness +the fact that she had openly snubbed a certain grand duke, not for his +immoralities, which she declared afterwards were nobody's business, but +because of his insufferable stupidity. She rather liked a sinner, but she +couldn't stand a fool! + +Such was the information M. Paul had been able to gather from swift and +special police sources when he presented himself at the Wilmott _hôtel_, +about luncheon time on Monday. Addison was just starting with some friends +for a run down to Fontainebleau in his new Panhard, and he listened +impatiently to Coquenil's explanation that he had come in regard to some +English bank notes recently paid to Mr. Wilmott, and possibly clever +forgeries. + +"Really!" exclaimed Addison. + +Coquenil hoped that Mr. Wilmott would give him the notes in question in +exchange for genuine ones. This would help the investigation. + +"Of course, my dear sir," said the American, "but I haven't the notes, they +were spent long ago." + +Coquenil was sorry to hear this--he wondered if Mr. Wilmott could remember +where the notes were spent. After an intellectual effort Addison remembered +that he had changed one into French money at Henry's and had paid two or +three to a shirt maker on the Rue de la Paix, and the rest--he reflected +again, and then said positively: "Why, yes, I gave five or six of them, I +think there were six, I'm sure there were, because--" He stopped with a new +idea. + +"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 polite +assurances, whereupon the unsuspecting Addison tooted away complacently for +Fontainebleau. + +It was now about two o'clock, and the next three hours M. Paul spent with +his sources of information studying the career of Pussy Wilmott from +special points of view in preparation for a call upon the lady, which he +proposed to make later in the afternoon. + +He discovered two significant things: first, that, whatever her actual +conduct, Mrs. Wilmott had never openly compromised herself. Love affairs +she might have had, but no one could say when or where or with whom she had +had 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 connected +Mrs. Wilmott directly with Martinez. It appeared that, among her other +excitements, Pussy was passionately fond of gambling. She was known to have +won and lost large sums at Monte Carlo, and she was a regular follower of +the fashionable races in Paris. She had also been seen at the Olympia +billiard academy, near the Grand Hotel, where Martinez and other experts +played regularly before eager audiences, among whom betting on the games +was the great attraction. The detective found two bet markers who +remembered distinctly that, on several occasions, a handsome woman, +answering to the description of Mrs. Wilmott, had wagered five or ten louis +on Martinez and had shown a decided admiration for his remarkable skill +with the cue. + +"He used to talk about this lady," said one of the markers; "he called her +his 'belle Américaine,' but I am sure he did not know her real name." The +man smiled at Martinez's inordinate vanity over his supposed fascination +for women--he was convinced that no member of the fair sex could resist his +advances. + +With so much in mind Coquenil started up the Champs Elysées about five +o'clock. He counted on finding Mrs. Wilmott home at tea time, and as he +strolled along, turning the problem over in his mind, he found it +conceivable that this eccentric lady, in a moment of ennui or for the +novelty of the thing, might have consented to dine with Martinez in a +private room. It was certain no scruples would have deterred her if the +adventure had seemed amusing, especially as Martinez had no idea who she +was. With her, excitement and a new sensation were the only rules of +conduct, and her husband's opinion was a matter of the smallest possible +consequence. 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 women +extend to tradespeople. But presently when he explained that he was a +detective and began to question her about the Ansonia affair, she rose with +a haughty gesture that was meant to banish him in confusion from her +presence. Coquenil, however, did not "banish" so easily. He had dealt with +haughty ladies before. + +"My dear madam, please sit down," he said quietly. "I must ask you to +explain how it happens that a number of five-pound notes, given to you by +your 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 not +responsible 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 doing +with 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 you +to--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 the +Ansonia," pursued M. Paul. + +"It isn't true!" + +"Your name was found stamped in gold letters under a leather flap in the +bag." + +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 bag +and then cut it into small pieces and scattered the pieces from his cab +through 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 near +him, 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 in +my life, but this is the most foolish. I _did_ give Martinez the +five-pound notes. You see, he was to play a match this week with a Russian +and he offered to lay the money for me. He said he could get good odds and +he was sure to win." + +"But the dinner? The private room?" + +She shrugged her shoulders. "I went there for a perfectly proper reason. I +needed 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 me +and--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 she +did not see what bearing her purpose had on the case since it had not been +accomplished. + +"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, but +checked herself and simply insisted that she knew nothing about the +shooting. No one had entered the room except herself and Martinez and the +waiter who served them. They had finished the soup; Martinez had left his +seat for a moment; he was standing near her when--when the shot was fired +and he fell to the floor. She had no idea where the shot came from or who +fired 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 the +hotel in the telephone girl's rain coat." + +"You know that?" + +He nodded and went on: "This cab driver remembers that you had something +under 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 man +I 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 me +a cup of tea. The fact is, I have been so busy with this case I forgot to +eat and I--I feel a little faint." He pressed a hand against his forehead +and Pussy saw that he was very white. + +"You poor man!" she cried in concern. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? I'll +fix it myself. There! Take some of these toasted muffins. What an +extraordinary life you must lead! I can almost forgive you for being so +outrageous because you're so--so interesting." She let her siren eyes shine +on 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 every +lady who could throw a clumsy thing like an auger from a moving cab over a +wide roadway and a stone wall and land it in a river. I suppose you threw +it over on the right-hand side?" + +"Yes." + +"How far across the bridge had you got when you threw it? This may help the +divers." + +She thought a moment. "We were a little more than halfway across, I should +say." + +"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 I +knew 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 thought +your husband guilty?" + +"Yes, but afterwards I changed my mind. My husband had nothing to do with +it. If he had, do you suppose I would have told you this? No doubt he has +misconducted 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 ruse +or deceit, took refuge in simple truth and told quite charmingly how this +whole tragic adventure had grown out of a foolish fit of jealousy. + +"You see, I found a _petit bleu_ on my husband's dressing table one +morning--I wish to Heaven he would be more careful--and I--I read it. It +began '_Mon gros bebe_,' and was signed '_Ta petite Anita_,' and--naturally +I was furious. I have often been jealous of Addison, but he has always +managed 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 the +exact rendezvous was given, nine o'clock Saturday evening, in private room +Number Seven at the Ansonia. I had only to be there, but, of course, I +couldn't go alone, so I got this man, Martinez--he was a perfect fool, I'm +sorry he's been shot, but he was--I got him to take me, because, as I told +you, he didn't know me, and being such a fool, he would do whatever I +wished." + +"What day was it you found the _petit bleu?_" put in Coquenil. + +"It was Thursday. I saw Martinez that afternoon, and on Friday, he reserved +private 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 without +making a scandal, and I agreed with him; it was the first clever idea I +ever 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 not +accustomed to have men inattentive when she sat near them. + +"There's one thing that doesn't seem very clever, though," reflected the +detective. "Didn't Martinez think your husband or Anita would see those +holes in the wall?" + +"No, because he had prepared for that. There was a tall palm in Number +Seven 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 Friday +when 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 waiter +wouldn'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 palm +in Number Six_." + +"No?" + +"No." + +"That's strange!" + +"Yes, it _is_ strange," and again she felt that he was following a separate +train 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 have +done 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 him +moving about in his room and I was afraid to speak to him, the thing seemed +so awful; but, at last, I went in and asked him where he had been. He began +to lie in the usual way--you know any man will if he's in a hole like +that--but finally I couldn't stand it any longer and I said: 'Addison, for +God's sake, don't lie to me. I know something terrible has happened, and if +I 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 been +committed at the Ansonia in private room Number Seven. I wish you could +have seen his face. He never said a word, he just stared at me. 'Why don't +you speak?' I begged. 'Addison, it wasn't you, tell me it wasn't you. Never +mind this Anita woman, I'll forgive that if you'll only tell me where +you've been to-night.' + +"Well, it was the longest time before I could get anything out of him. You +see, it was quite a shock for Addison getting all this together, caught +with the woman and then the murder on top of it; I had to cry and scold and +get him whisky before he could pull himself together, but he finally did +and made a clean breast of everything." + +"'Pussy,' he said, 'you're all right, you're a plucky little woman, and I'm +a bad lot, but I'm not as bad as that. I wasn't in that room, I didn't go +to the Ansonia to-night, and I swear to God I don't know any more about +this murder than you do.' + +"Then he explained what had happened in his blundering way, stopping every +minute or so to tell me what a saint I am, and the Lord knows _that's_ a +joke, and the gist of it was that he had started for the Ansonia with this +woman, but she had changed her mind in the cab and they had gone to the +Café de Paris instead and spent the evening there. I was pretty sure he +was telling the truth, for Addison isn't clever and I usually know when +he's lying, although I don't tell him so; but this was such an awful thing +that I couldn't take chances, so I said: 'Addison, put your things right +on, we're going to the Café de Paris.' 'What for?' said he. 'To settle this +business,' said I. And off we went and got there at half past one; but the +waiters hadn't gone, and they all swore black and blue that Addison told +the truth, he had really been there all the evening with this woman. And +_that_," she concluded triumphantly, "is how I know my husband is +innocent." + +[Illustration: "'They all swore black and blue that Addison told the +truth.'"] + +"Hm!" reflected Coquenil. "I wonder why Anita changed her mind?" + +"I'm not responsible for Anita," answered Pussy with a dignified whisk of +her shoulders. + +"No, of course not, of course not," he murmured absently; then, after a +moment's thought, he said gravely: "I never really doubted your husband's +innocence, now I'm sure of it; unfortunately, this does not lessen your +responsibility; you were in the room, you witnessed the crime; in fact, you +were 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 characteristic +deliberation. "I hope you can prove it." + +"Of course I can prove it," she declared. "M. Kittredge was arrested +because he called for my things, but I asked him to do that. I was in +terrible trouble and--he was an old friend and--and I knew I could depend +on 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 ask +a 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 had +been _everything_ between you he couldn't have done more, could he? And he +couldn't have done less. So a jury might easily conclude, in the absence of +contrary evidence, that there was everything between you." + +"It's false," she cried, while Coquenil with keen discernment watched the +outward signs of her trouble, the clinching of her hands, the heaving of +her bosom, the indignant flashing of her eyes. + +"I beg your pardon for expressing such a thought," he said simply. "It's a +matter that concerns the judge, only ladies dislike going to the Palais de +Justice." + +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 questions +and--and then tell him. Go on, I don't mind. M. Kittredge was _not_ my +lover--there! Please make that perfectly clear. He was a dear, loyal +friend, 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 found +the lady he was dear and loyal to having supper with another man in a +private room, he _might_ be jealous." + +To which Pussy replied with an accent of finality but with a shade of +pique: "The best proof that M. Kittredge would not be jealous of me is that +he 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 am +going 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 your +friend, you gave money for a lawyer to defend him, you even said you would +come 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 to +tell you that your generous purposes have accomplished nothing. He refuses +to 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 better +evidence 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, and +for 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 hatred +of the Spaniard might be a motive, but if we can prove that there was no +such love and no such hatred, then we shall have rendered him a great +service and enormously improved his chances of getting out of prison. Do +you follow me?" + +"Perfectly. But how can we prove it?" + +The detective leaned closer and said impressively: "If these things are +true, 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 nodded +complacently. "He never wrote me letters--that is, not many, and--whatever +there were, I--I destroyed." + +Coquenil eyed her keenly and shook his head. "A woman like you would never +write to a man oftener than he wrote to her, and Kittredge had a thick +bundle 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 was +ghastly, it was positively uncanny the things this man had found out. She +looked at him in frightened appeal, and then, with a gesture of half +surrender: "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 in +that desk." He pointed to a charming piece of old mahogany inlaid with +ivory. He had made this last deduction by following her eyes through these +last tortured minutes. + +"It isn't true; I--I tell you I destroyed the letters." And he knew she was +lying. + +M. Paul glanced at his watch and then said quietly: "Would you mind asking +if some one is waiting for me outside?" + +So thoroughly was the agitated lady under the spell of Coquenil's power +that she now attached extraordinary importance to his slightest word or +act. It seemed to her, as she pressed the bell, that she was precipitating +some nameless catastrophe. + +"Is anyone waiting for this gentleman?" she asked, all in a tremble, when +the 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." And +when the valet had withdrawn: "They have come from the prefecture in regard +to these letters." + +Pussy rose and her face was deathly white. "You mean they are policemen? My +house 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 come +for the letters." + +"You told them to come?" + +"No, the judge told them to come. I hoped I might be able to spare you the +annoyance of a search." + +"A search?" she cried, and realizing her helplessness, she sank down on a +sofa and began to cry. "It will disgrace me, it will break up my home, it +will ruin my life!" She could hear the gossips of the American Colony +rolling this choice morsel under their tongues, Pussy Wilmott's house had +been searched by the police for letters from her lover! + +Then, suddenly, clutching at a last straw of hope, she yielded or seemed to +yield. "As long as a search must be made," she said with a sort of +half-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 believe +me, 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 drawers +in a raised part at the back, there was a long, wide drawer in front, and +over this a space like a drawer under a large inlaid cover, hinged at the +back. He searched everywhere here, but found no sign of the expected +letters. + +"I must have been mistaken," he muttered, and he continued his search in +other parts of the room, Pussy hovering about with changing expressions +that reminded M. Paul of children's faces when they play the game of "hot +or 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 relief +that he turned to her suddenly and said almost regretfully, as a generous +adversary might speak to one whom he hopelessly outclasses: "Madam, I hear +you are fond of gambling. You should study the game of poker, which teaches +us to hide our feelings. Now then," he walked back quickly to the desk, "I +want you to open this secret drawer." + +He spoke with a sudden sternness that quite disconcerted poor Pussy. She +stood before him frozen with fear, unable to lie any more, unable even to +speak. A big tear of weakness and humiliation gathered and rolled down her +cheek, and then, still silent, she took a hairpin from her hair, inserted +one leg of it into a tiny hole quite lost in the ornamental work at the +back of the desk, pushed against a hidden spring, and presto! a small +secret drawer shot forward. In this drawer lay a packet of letters tied +with 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 he +took the packet from the drawer. + +Then, seeing herself beaten at every point, Pussy Wilmott gave way entirely +and wept angrily, bitterly, her face buried in the sofa pillows. + +"I'm sorry," repeated M. Paul, and for the first time in the interview he +felt 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 the +best part of my life, the tenderest, the happiest. I've been a weak, wicked +woman!" + +"Any secrets in these letters will be scrupulously respected," he assured +her, "unless they have a bearing on this crime. Is there anything you wish +to say before I go?" + +"Are you going?" she said weakly. And then, turning to him with +tear-stained face, she asked for a moment to collect herself. "I want to +say this," she went on, "that I didn't tell you the truth about Kittredge +and Martinez. There _was_ trouble between them; he speaks about it in one +of 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 and +afraid of him at the same time. Martinez told me what an extraordinary +effect 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 those +letters." + +"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 break +his 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 the +mystery, Kittredge found himself, on Tuesday morning, facing an ordeal +worse than the solitude of a prison cell. The seventh of July! What a date +for the American! How little he realized what was before him as he bumped +along in a prison van breathing the sweet air of a delicious summer +morning! He had been summoned for the double test put upon suspected +assassins in France, a visit to the scene of the crime and a viewing of the +victim's body. In Lloyd's behalf there was present at this grim ceremony +Maître 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 a +dollar 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 had +never seen these holes through the wall, he had never been in the alleyway, +he was absolutely innocent. Maître Pleindeaux nodded in approval. At the +morgue, however, Lloyd showed a certain emotion when a door was opened +suddenly and he was pushed into a room where he saw Martinez sitting on a +chair and looking at him, Martinez with his shattered eye replaced by a +glass one, and his dead face painted to a horrid semblance of life. This +is one of the theatrical tricks of modern procedure, and the American was +not prepared for it. + +"My God!" he muttered, "he looks alive." + +Nothing was accomplished, however, by the questioning here, nothing was +extorted from the prisoner; he had known Martinez, he had never liked him +particularly, but he had never wished to do him harm, and he had certainly +not killed him. That was all Kittredge would say, however the questions +were turned, and he declared repeatedly that he had had no quarrel with +Martinez. 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. He +was told to sit down on a chair beside Maître Pleindeaux. A patient +secretary sat at his desk, a formidable guard stood before the door with a +saber sword in his belt. Then the examination began. + +So far Kittredge had heard the voice of justice only in mild and polite +questioning, 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 state +and 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." He +offered the pistol to Lloyd's manacled hands. Maître Pleindeaux took it +with a frown of surprise. + +"Excuse me, your honor," he bowed, "I would like to speak to my client +before he answers that question." + +But Kittredge waved him aside. "What's the use," he said. "That is my +pistol; I know it; there's no doubt about it." + +"Ah!" exclaimed Hauteville. "It is also the pistol that killed Martinez. It +was thrown from private room Number Seven at the Ansonia. A woman saw it +thrown, and it was picked up in a neighboring courtyard. One ball was +missing, and that ball was found in the body." + +"There's some mistake," objected Pleindeaux with professional asperity, at +the same time flashing a wrathful look at Lloyd that said plainly: "You see +what you have done!" + +"Now," continued the judge, "you say you have never been in the alleyway +that we showed you at the Ansonia. Look at these boots. Do you recognize +them?" + +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 always +keep 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 were +arrested." + +"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 by +the alleyway and left his footprints on the soft earth. We have made +plaster casts of them. There they are; our experts have examined them and +find that they correspond in every particular with the soles of these +boots. 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 back +and 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 his +counsel, 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 forth +a 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 the +judge 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, you +have so far refused to speak of the lady to whom you wrote this letter. Now +you must speak of her. It is evident she is the person who called for you +in 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's +prompting. + +"Ah!" shrugged the judge, and turning to his secretary: "_Ask the lady to +come in_." + +Then, in a moment of sickening misery, Kittredge saw the door open and a +black figure enter, a black figure with an ashen-white face and frightened +eyes. It was Pussy Wilmott, treading the hard way of the transgressor with +her 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 out +first, followed by the prisoner and then by the guard himself. At the +threshold 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 hour +he talked to her, questioned her, tortured her. He knew all that Coquenil +knew about her life, and more; all about her two divorces and her various +sentimental escapades. And he presented this knowledge with such startling +effectiveness that before she had been five minutes in his presence poor +Pussy 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 with +Kittredge, going back to their first acquaintance. This was in New York +about a year before, while she was there on business connected with some +property deeded to her by her second husband, in regard to which there had +been 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 seen +a good deal of M. Kittredge, who frequently spent the evenings with her at +the Hotel Waldorf, where she was stopping. She had met him through mutual +friends, for he was well connected socially in New York, and had soon grown +fond of him. He had been perfectly delightful to her, and--well, things +move rapidly in America, especially in hot weather, and before she realized +it or could prevent it, he was seriously infatuated, and--the end of it +was, when she returned to Paris he followed her on another steamer, an +extremely foolish proceeding, as it involved his giving up a fine position +and getting into trouble with his family. + +"You say he had a fine position in New York?" questioned the judge. "In +what?" + +"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, and +he 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 accepted +it, but this happened just as I was sailing for France. He sent it to the +steamer." + +"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 four +hundred dollars. When I saw M. Kittredge in Paris I told him he was a +foolish boy to have spent all that money, but he was so sweet about it and +said he was so glad to give me pleasure that I hadn't the heart to refuse +it." + +After a pause for dramatic effect the judge said impressively: "Madam, you +may be surprised to hear that M. Kittredge returned to France on the same +steamer that carried you." + +"No, no," she declared, "I saw all the passengers, and he was not among +them." + +"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 second +cabin, _he went in the steerage!_" + +"In the steerage!" she murmured aghast. + +"And during the five or six months here in Paris, while he was dancing +attendance on you, he was practically without resources." + +"I know better," she insisted; "he took me out all the time and spent money +freely." + +The judge shook his head. "He spent on you what he got by pawning his +jewelry, 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 have +been 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 every +possible way, but I _must_ have the truth. Was the trouble caused by this +other 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 moment +later Kittredge was again in his place beside Maître Pleindeaux, with the +woman a few feet distant. + +"Now," began Hauteville, addressing both Lloyd and Mrs. Wilmott, "I come to +an important point. I have here a packet of letters written by you, +Kittredge, to this lady. You have already identified the handwriting as +your own; and you, madam, will not deny that these letters were addressed +to you. You admit that, do you not?" + +"Yes," answered Pussy weakly. + +The judge turned over the letters and selected one from which he read a +passage full of passion. "Would any man write words like that to a woman +unless 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 letter +overwhelmingly compromising. There were references to the woman's physical +charm, to the beauty of her body, to the deliciousness of her caresses--it +was a letter that could only have been written by a man in a transport of +passion. Kittredge grew white as he listened, and Mrs. Wilmott burned with +shame. + +"Is there any doubt about it?" pursued the judge pitilessly. "And I have +only read two bits from two letters. There are many others. Now I want the +truth 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 will +give you five minutes. Unless you admit within that time what is perfectly +evident, namely, that you were this man's mistress, I shall continue the +reading 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 the +girl from Notre-Dame and let _her_ say what she thinks of this +correspondence." + +Lloyd staggered under the blow. He was fortified against everything but +this; he would endure prison, pain, humiliation, but he could not bear the +thought that this fine girl, his Alice, who had taught him what love really +was, this fond creature who trusted him, should be forced to hear that +shameful reading. + +"You wouldn't do that?" he pleaded. "I don't ask you to spare me--I've been +no saint, God knows, and I'll take my medicine, but you can't drag an +innocent girl into this thing just because you have the power." + +"Were you this woman's lover?" repeated the judge, and again he looked at +his watch. "Three minutes!" + +Kittredge was in torture. Once his eyes turned to Mrs. Wilmott in a message +of unspeakable bitterness. "You're a judge," he said in a strained, tense +voice, "and I'm a prisoner; you have all the power and I have none, but +there's something back of that, something we both have, I mean a common +manhood, and you know, if you have any sense of honor, that _no man_ has a +right 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 my +orders. He will get them by telephone, and will bring your husband here in +a 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 his +arm reached toward the electric bell, and Pussy Wilmott's heart almost +stopped 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 to +Kittredge. "I take your silence as consent, and, after all, the lady's +confession is sufficient. You were her lover. And the evidence shows that +you 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 a +cunning and intricate plan, you succeeded in killing the man you hated. We +have found the weapon of this murder, and it belongs to you; we have found +a letter written by you full of violent threats against the murdered man; +we have found footprints made by the assassin, and they absolutely fit +your boots; in short, we have the fact of the murder, the motive for the +murder, and the evidence that you committed the murder. What have you to +say for yourself?" + +Kittredge thought a moment, and then said quietly: "The fact of the murder +you have, of course; the evidence against me you seem to have, although it +is false evidence; but----" + +"How do you mean false evidence? Do you deny threatening Martinez with +violence?" + +"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 had +a motive for this crime. You're mistaken, I had _no_ motive." + +"Passion and jealousy have stood as motives for murder from the beginning +of time." + +"There was _no_ passion and _no_ jealousy," answered Lloyd steadily. + +"Are you mocking me?" cried the judge. "What is there in these letters," he +touched the packet before him, "but passion and jealousy? Didn't you give +up your position in America for this woman?" + +"Yes, but----" + +"Didn't you follow her to Europe in the steerage because of your +infatuation? 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 order +to refresh your memory?" + +"No," said Kittredge hoarsely, and his eye was beginning to flame, "my +memory needs no refreshing; I know what I did, I know what I endured. There +was passion enough and jealousy enough, but that was a year ago. If I had +found her then dining with a man in a private room, I don't know what I +might 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 deal +about passion, sir; did you ever hear that it can change into loathing?" + +"You mean--" began the judge with a puzzled look, while Mrs. Wilmott +recoiled in dismay. + +"I mean that I am fighting for my life, and now that _she_ has admitted +this 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 was +only a base imitation. I offered her my youth, my strength, my future, and +she would have taken them and--broken them and scattered them in my face +and--and laughed at me. When I found it out, I--well, never mind, but you +can bet all your pretty French philosophy I didn't go about Paris looking +for billiard players to kill on her account." + +It was not a gallant speech, but it rang true, a desperate cry from the +soul depths of this unhappy man, and Pussy Wilmott shrank away as she +listened. + +"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'd +fight fair, I wouldn't shoot through any hole in a wall." + +"Then you consider your love for this other woman--I presume you mean the +girl at Notre-Dame?" + +"Yes." + +"You consider your love for her a fine, pure love in contrast to the other +love?" + +"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 been +something like a man through love. I was selfish and reckless through +passion, I've been a little unselfish and halfway decent through love. I +was a gambler and a pleasure seeker through passion, I've gone to work at a +mean little job and stuck to it and lived on what I've earned--through +love. Do you think it's easy to give up gambling? Try it! Do you think it's +easy to live in a measly little room up six flights of black, smelly +stairs, with no fire in winter? Anyhow, it wasn't easy for me, but I did +it--through love, yes, sir, _pure_ love." + +As Hauteville listened, his frown deepened, his eyes grew harder. "That's +all very fine," he objected, "but if you hated this woman, why did you risk +prison and--worse, to get her things? You knew what you were risking, I +suppose?" + +"Yes, I knew." + +"Why did you do it?" + +Kittredge hesitated. "I did it for--for what she had been to me. It meant +ruin and disgrace for her and--well, if she could ask such a thing, I could +grant 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 love +you?" + +Pussy Wilmott, with her fine eyes to the floor, answered almost in a +whisper: "Yes, I knew it." + +"Do you know what he means by saying that you would have spoiled his life +and--and all that?" + +"N-not exactly." + +"You _do_ know!" cried the American. "You know I had given you my life in +sacred pledge, and you made a plaything of it. You told me you were +unhappy, married to a man you loathed, a dull brute; but when I offered you +freedom and my love, you drew back. When I begged you to leave him and +become my wife, with the law's sanction, you said no, because I was poor +and he was rich. You wanted a lover, but you wanted your luxury, too; and I +saw that what I had thought the call of your soul was only the call of your +body. Your beauty had blinded me, your eyes, your mouth, your voice, the +smell of you, the taste of you, the devilish siren power of you, all these +had blinded me. I saw that your talk about love was a lie. Love! What did +you know about love? You wanted me, along with your ease and your +pleasures, as a coarse creator of sensations, and you couldn't have me on +those terms. In my madness I would have done anything for you, borne +anything; I would have starved for you, toiled for you, yes, gladly; but +you didn't want that kind of sacrifice. You couldn't see why I worried +about money. There was plenty for us both where yours came from. God! Where +yours came from! Why couldn't I leave well enough alone and enjoy an easy +life in Paris, with a nicely furnished _rez de chaussée_ off the Champs +Elysées, where madam could drive up in her carriage after luncheon and +break the Seventh Commandment comfortably three of four afternoons a week, +and be home in time to dress for dinner! That was what you wanted," he +paused 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 of +the 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 him +for trial." + +Coquenil was not listening; he had drawn two squares of shiny paper from +his pocket, and was studying them with a magnifying glass. The judge looked +at 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 circumstantial +evidence," 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 he +sprang to his feet. "Great God of Heaven!" he cried in excitement, and +hurrying to the window he stood there in the full light, his eye glued to +the magnifying glass, his whole soul concentrated on those two pieces of +paper, 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's +boots." + +"But you said they were, the experts said they were." + +"We were mistaken; they are _almost_ identical, but not quite; in shape and +size they are identical, in the number and placing of the nails in the heel +they are identical, in the worn places they are identical, but when you +compare them under the magnifying glass, this photograph of the footprints +with this one of the boot soles, you see unmistakable differences in the +scratches on separate nails in the heel, unmistakable differences." + +Hauteville shrugged his shoulders. "That's cutting it pretty fine to +compare 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 his +comparison. "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 are +not the same set of nails; it's impossible. Look for yourself. Compare any +two 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 turn +studied the photographs. As he looked, his frown deepened. + +"It seems true, it certainly seems true," he grumbled, "but--how do you +account for it?" + +Coquenil smiled in satisfied conviction. "Kittredge told you he had three +pairs of boots; they were machine made and the same size; he says he kept +them all going, so they were all worn approximately alike. We have the pair +that he wore that night, and another pair found in his room, but the third +pair is missing. _It's the third pair of boots that made those alleyway +footprints!_" + +"Then you think--" began the judge. + +"I think we shall have found Martinez's murderer when we find the man who +stole 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 with +gout or rheumatism." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +"FROM HIGHER UP" + + +A great detective must have infinite patience. That is, the quality next to +imagination that will serve him best. Indeed, without patience, his +imagination will serve him but indifferently. Take, for instance, so small +a thing as the auger used at the Ansonia. Coquenil felt sure it had been +bought for the occasion--billiard players do not have augers conveniently +at hand. It was probably a new one, and somewhere in Paris there was a +clerk who _might_ remember selling it and _might_ be able to say whether +the purchaser was Martinez or some other man. M. Paul believed it was +another man. His imagination told him that the person who committed this +crime had suggested the manner of it, and overseen the details of it down +to even the precise placing of the eye holes. It must be so or the plan +would not have succeeded. The assassin, then, was a friend of +Martinez--that is, the Spaniard had considered him a friend, and, as it was +of the last importance that these holes through the wall be large enough +and not too large, this friend might well have seen personally to the +purchase of the auger, not leaving it to a rattle-brained billiard player +who, 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 of +this smallish object dropped into the Seine by Pussy Wilmott, and, betimes +on the morning after that lady's examination, a diver began work along the +Concorde bridge under the guidance of a young detective named Bobet, +selected for this duty by M. Paul himself. This was _one_ thread to be +followed, a thread that might lead poor Bobet through weary days and nights +until, among all the hardware shops in Paris, he had found the particular +one where that particular auger had been sold! + +Another thread, meanwhile, was leading another trustworthy man in and out +among friends of Martinez, whom he must study one by one until the false +friend had been discovered. And another thread was hurrying still another +man along the trail of the fascinating Anita, for Coquenil wanted to find +out _why_ she had changed her mind that night, and what she knew about the +key to the alleyway door. Somebody gave that key to the assassin! + +Besides all this, and more important, M. Paul had planned a piece of work +for Papa Tignol when the old man reported for instructions this same +Wednesday morning just as the detective was finishing his chocolate and +toast under the trees in the garden. + +"Ah, Tignol!" he exclaimed with a buoyant smile. "It's a fine day, all the +birds are singing and--we're going to do great things." He rubbed his hands +exultantly, "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, if +possible, 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 so +quickly in touch with his neighbors as a man learning to play the flute." + +"Ah!" grinned the other shrewdly. "You're after information from the sixth +floor?" + +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 the +flute!" + +"Meet me at nine to-night at the Three Wise Men and--good luck. I'm off to +the Santé." + +As he drove to the prison Coquenil thought with absorbed interest of the +test he was planning to settle this question of the footprints. He was +satisfied, from a study of the plaster casts, that the assassin had limped +slightly on his left foot as he escaped through the alleyway. The +impressions showed this, the left heel being heavily marked, while the ball +of the left foot was much fainter, as if the left ankle movement had been +hampered by rheumatism or gout. It was for this reason that Coquenil had +been at such pains to learn whether Kittredge suffered from these maladies. +It appeared that he did not. Indeed, M. Paul himself remembered the young +man's quick, springy step when he left the cab that fatal night to enter +Bonneton's house. So now he proposed to make Lloyd walk back and forth +several times in a pair of his own boots over soft earth in the prison yard +and then show that impressions of these new footprints were different _in +the pressure marks_, and probably in the length of stride, from those left +in the alleyway. This would be further indication, along with the +differences already noted in the nails, that the alleyway footprints were +not made by Kittredge. + +Not made by Kittredge, reflected the detective, but by a man wearing +Kittredge'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 he +had doubtless stolen the pistol, to throw suspicion on an innocent person. +No other conclusion was possible; yet, he had not returned the boots to +Kittredge's room after the crime. Why not? It was essential to his purpose +that they be found in Kittredge's room, he must have intended to return +them, 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's +private room, and he noticed that M. Dedet received him with a strange +mixture of surliness and suspicion. + +"What's the trouble?" asked the detective. + +"Everything," snarled the other, then he burst out: "What the devil did you +mean 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 some +envelopes, and producing a square of faded blotting paper, he opened it +before 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 what +this means," he declared. + +"You lie!" retorted the jailer. + +M. Paul sprang to his feet. "Take that back," he ordered with a look of +menace, and the rough man grumbled an apology. "Just the same," he +muttered, "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're +straight, after all, but--_how_ did she come to write that?" He scratched +his dull head in mystification. + +"I have no idea." + +"See here," went on Dedet, almost appealingly, "do you believe a girl I +never 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 think +I'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 these +words 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, and +then in a businesslike tone: "Well, I'd better get to work. I want that +prisoner 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 the +telephone, 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 more +discussion, 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 island +city, 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 the +auger." + +"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 your +orders 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 the +office of Judge Hauteville. On the stairs he met Gibelin, fat and +perspiring. + +"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 waste +time 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 derisive +thumb 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 and +concern. + +"My dear Coquenil," exclaimed Hauteville, with cordial hand extended. "I'm +glad 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 the +force. Your commission is canceled." + +"But--but why?" stammered the other. + +"For influencing Dedet to break a rule about a prisoner _au secret_; as a +matter 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 given +it to you, and then there would have been no trouble." + +"It was late and the matter was urgent. After all you approve of what I +did?" + +"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 as +unimportant, 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 his +office." + +"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 in +the 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 sudden +thought. "After all, what I do is not important, but I'll tell you what +Gibelin will do, and that _is_ important, _he will let this American go to +trial and be found guilty for want of evidence that would save him_." + +"Not if I can help it," replied Hauteville, ruffled at this reflection on +his judicial guidance of the investigation. + +"No offense," said M. Paul, "but this is a case where even as able a judge +as yourself must have special assistance and--Gibelin couldn't find the +truth 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't +mind 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 in +conference with one of the other judges and for some minutes he walked +slowly up and down the long corridor, smiling bitterly, until presently +one of the doors opened and the chief came out followed by a black bearded +judge, who was bidding him obsequious farewell. + +As M. Simon moved away briskly, his eye fell on the waiting detective, and +his genial face clouded. + +"Ah, Coquenil," he said, and with a kindly movement he took M. Paul's arm +in his. "I want a word with you--over here," and he led the way to a wide +window 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't +help it, I had nothing to do with it." + +Coquenil stared at him incredulously. "Aren't you chief of the detective +bureau?" + +"Yes," answered the other in a low tone, "but the order came from--from +higher up." + +"You mean from the _préfet de police?_" + +M. Simon laid a warning finger on his lips. "This is in strictest +confidence, 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 that +sinister meeting on the Champs Elysées, to that harsh voice and flaunting +defiance. + +"He said he had power, that left-handed devil," muttered the detective, "he +said 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 found +Papa Tignol waiting for him, his face troubled even to the tip of his +luminous purple nose. In vain the old man tried to show interest in a +neighboring game of dominoes; the detective saw at a glance that his +faithful friend had heard the bad news and was mourning over it. + +"Ah, M. Paul," cried Tignol. "This is a pretty thing they tell me. _Nom +d'un chien_, what a pack of fools they are!" + +"Not so loud," cautioned Coquenil with a quiet smile. "It's all right, Papa +Tignol, 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. Good +evening, Lucien," and he shook hands cordially with the commissary, whose +face wore a serious, inquiring look. "Will you have something, or shall we +move 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 up +to the ears in bushy gray furs, despite the mild night. There was a +leather bag beside him. + +"Is this your man?" asked Pougeot. + +"Yes," said M. Paul, "get in. If you don't mind I'll lower this front +window so that we can feel the air." Then, when the commissary and Tignol +were 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 were +running smoothly to the west, over the wooden pavement of the Rue de +Rivoli. + +"Now we can talk," said Coquenil with an air of relief. "I suppose you both +know what has happened?" + +The two men replied with sympathetic nods. + +"I regard you, Lucien, as my best friend, and you, Papa Tignol, are the +only man on the force I believe I can absolutely trust." + +Tignol bobbed his little bullet head back and forth, and pulled furiously +at his absurd black mustache. This, was the greatest compliment he had ever +received. The commissary laid an affectionate hand on Coquenil's arm. "You +know 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 have +thrown myself into it. This is Wednesday night, the crime was committed +last Saturday, and in these four days I haven't slept twelve hours. As to +eating--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 morning +that my commission was canceled, and I have reached an important +conclusion. In the first place, I am not sure that I haven't fallen into +the old error of allowing my judgment to be too much influenced by a +preconceived theory. I wouldn't admit this for the world to anyone but you +two. I'd rather cut my tongue out than let Gibelin know it. Careful, +there," he said sharply, as their wheels swung dangerously near a stone +shelter 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 the +commissary. + +"Never in the world!" grumbled Tignol. + +"I don't say he is guilty," answered M. Paul, "but I am not so sure he is +innocent. And, if there is doubt about that, then there is doubt whether +this case is really a great one. I have assumed that Martinez was killed by +an extraordinary criminal, for some extraordinary reason, but--I may have +been mistaken." + +"Of course," agreed Pougeot. "And if you were mistaken?" + +"Then I've been wasting my time on a second-class investigation that a +second-class man like Gibelin could have carried on as well as I; and +losing the Rio Janeiro offer besides." He leaned forward suddenly toward +the chauffeur. "See here, what are you trying to do?" As he spoke they +barely 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 automobile +descended the Avenue de la Grande Armée. + +"Are you thinking of accepting the Rio Janeiro offer?" asked the commissary +presently. + +"Very seriously; but I don't know whether it's still open. I thought +perhaps 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, my +dear Paul, aren't you a little on your nerves to-night; oughtn't you to +think the whole matter over before deciding?" + +"That's right," agreed Tignol. + +"What is there to think about?" said Coquenil. "If you've got anything to +say, either of you, say it now. Run on through the _bois_," he directed the +chauffeur, "and then out on the St. Cloud road. This air is doing me a lot +of good," he added, drawing in deep breaths. + +For some minutes they sat silent, speeding along through the Bois de +Boulogne, dimly beautiful under a crescent moon, on past crowded +restaurants with red-clad musicians on the terraces, on past the silent +lake and then through narrow and deserted roads until they had crossed the +great 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 to +me." + +Then, clearly and concisely, the commissary went over the situation, +considering his friend's problem from various points of view; and so +absorbed was he in fairly setting forth the advantages and disadvantages of +the Rio Janeiro position that he did not observe Coquenil's utter +indifference to what he was saying. But Papa Tignol saw this, and +gradually, as he watched the detective with his shrewd little eyes, it +dawned upon the old man that they were not speeding along here in the +night, a dozen miles out of Paris, simply for their health, but that +something special was preparing. + +"What in the mischief is Coquenil up to?" wondered Tignol. + +And presently, even Pougeot, in spite of his preoccupation, began to +realize that there was something peculiar about this night promenade, for +as they reached a crossroad, M. Paul ordered the chauffeur to turn into it +and go ahead as fast as he pleased. The chauffeur hesitated, muttered some +words 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 that +his spirits were reviving. + +They ran along this rough way for several miles, and presently came to a +small house standing some distance back from the road. + +"Stop here!" ordered the detective. "Now," he turned to Pougeot, "I shall +learn something that may fix my decision." Then, leaning forward to the +chauffeur, he said impressively: "Ten francs extra if you help me now." + +These words had an immediate effect upon the man, who touched his cap and +asked what he was to do. + +"Go to this house," pointed M. Paul, "ring the bell and ask if there is a +note 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 strode +away 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. Then +to the man: "There's a bad piece of ground in the yard; you'd better have +this," and, without warning, he flashed his electric lantern full in the +chauffeur's face. + +"_Merci, m'sieur,_" said the latter stolidly after a slight start, and +again 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 a +mustache! Only half of it was blacked." + +"Good; that's all I want," and, stepping out of the auto, Coquenil changed +quickly to the front seat. Then he drew the starting lever and the machine +began 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 a +rage. + +"Try to be more original in your detective work," called M. Paul. "_Au +revoir_." + +They shot away rapidly, while the outraged and discomfited fat man stood in +the middle of the road hurling after them torrents of blasphemous abuse +that 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 to +drive 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 Coquenil +drove cautiously; but they arrived safely, shortly after one, and left the +automobile at the company's garage, with the explanation (readily accepted, +since a police commissary gave it) that the man who belonged with the +machine had met with an accident; indeed, this was true, for the genuine +chauffeur had used Gibelin's bribe money in unwise libations and appeared +the next morning with a battered head and a glib story that was never fully +investigated. + +"Now," said Coquenil, as they left the garage, "where can we go and be +quiet? A café is out of the question--we mustn't be seen. Ah, that room you +were 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 have +something to eat sent in and--" he smiled indulgently at Tignol--"and +something to drink. Hey, _cocher!_" he called to a passing cab, and a +moment later the three men were rolling away to the Latin Quarter, with +Coquenil'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 to +imagine that all Paris was in a conspiracy to follow them. + +"I've been watched every minute since I started on this case," he said +thoughtfully. "My house has been watched, my servant has been watched, my +letters have been opened; there isn't one thing I've done that they don't +know." + +"They? Who?" asked the commissary. + +"Ah, who?" repeated M. Paul. "If I only knew. You saw what they did with +Gibelin to-night, set him after me when he is supposed to be handling this +case. 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 straight +in this thing. _It's some one above the chief_. Lucien, I told you this was +a great case and--it is." + +"Then you didn't mean what you were saying in the automobile about having +doubts?" + +"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 at +the last." + +"And you're _not_ thinking of going to Rio Janeiro?" + +Coquenil shut his teeth hard, and there came into his eyes a look of +indomitable purpose. "Not while the murderer of Martinez is walking about +this town laughing at me. I expect to do some laughing myself before I get +through 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 barely +begun." + +"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 with +the whole prefecture to help you?" + +Coquenil paused, and then said mysteriously: "That's the point, _did_ they +help me? Or hinder me? One thing is certain: that if I work alone, I won't +have 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 explaining +the facts. I was discharged for a trivial offense just as I had evidence +that would prove this American innocent. They don't _want_ him proved +innocent. And they are so afraid I will discover the truth that they let +the whole investigation wait while Gibelin shadows me. Well, he's off my +track now, and by to-morrow they can search Paris with a fine-tooth comb +and 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 in +the 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 go +for more. Besides, my old partner here is going to lay off for a few weeks +and 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 have +to call on you suddenly; you may get some strange message by some queer +messenger. Look at this ring. Will you know it? A brown stone marked with +Greek 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'll +listen to anyone who brings you this ring, old friend? Eh?" + +Pougeot grasped M. Paul's hand and wrung it affectionately. "And honor his +request to the half of my kingdom," he laughed, but his eyes were moist. He +had a vivid impression that his friend was entering on a way of great and +unknown peril. + +"Well," said Coquenil cheerfully, "I guess that's all for to-night. There's +a couple of hours' work still for Papa Tignol and me, but it's half past +two, Lucien, and, unless you think of something----" + +"No, except to wish you luck," replied the commissary, and he started to +go. + +"Wait," put in Tignol, "there's something _I_ think of. You forget I've +been 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 next +room. If it wasn't so late I'd bring him in. He's a little shrimp of a +photographer, 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 a +balcony running along the front of the hotel. + +"There! Let me tell you first how this floor is arranged. There are six +rooms opening on that balcony. See here," and taking a sheet of paper, he +made a rough diagram. + +[Illustration: Diagram of floor-plan of rooms.] + +"Now, then," continued Papa Tignol, surveying his handiwork with pride, "I +think that is clear. B, here, is the balcony just outside, and there are +the six rooms with windows opening on it. We are in this room D, and my +friend, the little photographer, is in the next room E, peacefully +sleeping; but he wasn't peaceful when he came home to-night and heard me +playing that flute, although I played in my best manner, eh, eh! He stood +it for about ten minutes, and then, eh, eh! It was another case of through +the wall, first one boot, bang! then another boot, smash! only there were +no holes for the boots to come through. And then it was profanity! For a +small 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 he +likes; then he apologized and told me his troubles. Poor fellow, I don't +wonder his nerves are unstrung! He's in love with a pretty dressmaker who +lives in this room C. She is fair but fickle--he tells me she has made him +unhappy by flirting with a medical student who lives in this room G. Just a +minute, I'm coming to the point. + +"It seems the little photographer has been getting more and more jealous +lately. He was satisfied that his lady love and the medical student used +this balcony as a lover's lane, and he began lying in wait at his window +for 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 a +patient 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 he +stood waiting and listening, he heard a cautious step coming along the +balcony from the direction of the medical student's room, G. Then he saw a +man pass his window, and he was sure it was the medical student. He stepped +out softly and followed him as far as the window of room C. Then, feeling +certain 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, for +the 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 hand +shut like a vise on the shrimp's throat and nearly choked the life out of +him. You can see the nail marks still on the cheek and neck; but he +remembers 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 they +were not wrapped up, he was going to leave 'em in Kittredge's room--here it +is, 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 he +shook him two or three times and dropped him back into his own room; _and +he never said a word_." + +"And the boots?" + +"He must have taken the boots with him. The shrimp peeped out and saw him +go back into this room F, which has been empty for several weeks. Then he +heard steps on the stairs and the slam of the heavy street door. The man +was gone." + +Coquenil's face grew somber. "It was the assassin," he said; "there's no +doubt 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 he +hasn't trusted anyone. Besides, the fierce way he turned on the +photographer 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 his +nail marks show?" + +Tignol shrugged his shoulders. "They show as little scratches, but not +enough for any funny business with a microscope." + +"Little scratches are all I want," said the other, snapping his fingers +excitedly. "It's simply a question which side of his throat bears the thumb +mark. We know the murderer is a left-handed man, and, being suddenly +attacked, he certainly used the full strength of his left hand in the first +desperate 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 the +photographer's throat, whereas if a right-handed man had done it, the thumb +mark 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 into +the hall. + +A few moments later they returned with a thin, sleepy little person wrapped +in 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 for +inspection, while Coquenil, holding a candle close, studied the marks on +his face. There, plainly marked _on the left side of the throat_ was a +single imprint, the curving red mark where a thumb nail had closed hard +against the jugular vein (this man knew the deadly pressure points), while +on 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 had +sharp nails!" + +"_Parbleu!_" mumbled the shrimp. + +"Here over the cheek bone is the mark of his first finger. And here, in +front of the ear, is his second finger, and here is his third finger, just +behind the ear, and here, way down on the neck, is his little finger. Lord +of 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 mark +of the little finger nail. I've got long fingers myself, but I can't come +within an inch of it. You try." + +[Illustration: "'Stand still, I won't hurt you.'"] + +Patiently the photographer stood still while the commissary and Tignol +tried to stretch their fingers over the red marks that scarred his +countenance. And neither of them succeeded. They could cover all the marks +except that of the little finger, which was quite beyond their reach. + +"He has a very long little finger," remarked the commissary, and, in an +instant, Coquenil remembered Alice's words that day as she looked at his +plaster casts. + +A very long little finger! Here it was! One that must equal the length of +that famous seventeenth-century criminal's little finger in his collection. +But _this_ man was living! He had brought back Kittredge's boots! He was +left-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 Hôtel +des Étrangers; he wore a soft black hat pulled down over his eyes, and a +shabby black coat turned up around his throat; and he carried the leather +bag taken from the automobile. The streets were silent and deserted, yet +the detective studied every doorway and corner with vigilant care, while a +hundred yards behind him, in exactly similar dress, came Papa Tignol, +peering into the shadows with sharpest watchfulness against human shadows +bent on harming M. Paul. + +So they moved cautiously down the Boulevard St. Michel, then over the +bridge and along the river to Notre-Dame, whose massive towers stood out in +mysterious beauty against the faintly lighted eastern sky. Here the leader +paused 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, thinking +over 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 his +capture except the fact of the long little finger. The man had left +absolutely nothing in his room at the hotel (this they verified with the +help 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 of +the 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 same +night 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 difference +of opinion between the hotel doorkeeper and the _garçon_, both of whom saw +him and spoke to him. The one declared he had light hair and a beard, the +other that he had dark hair and no beard; the one thought he was a +Frenchman, the other was sure he was a foreigner. Evidently the man was +disguised either coming or going, so this testimony was practically +worthless. + +Despite all this, Coquenil was pleased and confident as he rang the night +bell at the archbishop's house beside the cathedral, for he had one +precious clew, he had the indication of this extraordinarily long little +finger, and he did not believe that in all France there were two men with +hands like that. And he knew there was one such man, for Alice had seen +him. Where had she seen him? She said she had often noticed his long little +finger, so she must often have been close enough to him to observe such a +small 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 get +from the sacristan this information which the girl herself might withhold. +Hence this nocturnal visit to Notre Dame--it was of the utmost importance +that Coquenil have an immediate talk with Papa Bonneton. + +And presently, after a sleepy salutation from the archbishop's servant, and +a brief explanation, M. Paul was shown through a stone passageway that +connects the church with the house, and on pushing open a wide door covered +with red velvet, he found himself alone in Notre Dame, alone in utter +darkness save for a point of red light on the shadowy altar before the +Blessed Sacrament. + +As he stood uncertain which way to turn, the detective heard a step and a +low growl, and peering among the arches of the choir he saw a lantern +advancing, then a figure holding the lantern, then another crouching figure +moving 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 eager +head. "It's all right, Bonneton," and coming forward, he held out his hand +as the guardian lifted his lantern in suspicious scrutiny. + +"M. Paul, upon my soul!" exclaimed the sacristan. "What are you doing here +at this hour?" + +"It's a little--er--personal matter," coughed Coquenil discreetly, "partly +about Caesar. Can we sit down somewhere?" + +Still wondering, Bonneton led the way to a small room adjoining the +treasure chamber, where a dim lamp was burning; here he and his associates +got alternate snatches of sleep during the night. + +"Hey, François!" He shook a sleeping figure on a cot bed, and the latter +roused himself and sat up. "It's time to make the round." + +François looked stupidly at Coquenil and then, with a yawn and a shrug of +indifference, 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 have +many 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 who +sells 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 a +soul, least of all your wife." + +"You can trust me, M. Paul," declared Papa Bonneton rubbing his hands in +excitement. + +"To begin with, who is the man with the long little finger that she told me +about?" He put the questions carelessly, as if it were of no particular +moment. + +"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 to +you some day--and there's one with a long little finger that the candle +girl noticed. Is her cousin's little finger really very long?" + +"It's pretty long," said Bonneton. "I used to think it had been stretched +in some machine. You know he's a wood carver." + +"I know. Well, that's neither here nor there. The point is, this girl had a +dream that--why, what's the matter?" + +"Don't talk to me about her dreams!" exclaimed the sacristan. "She used to +have 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 surprising +vehemence. + +"Bonneton," continued the detective mysteriously, "I don't know whether +it's from her dreams or in some other way, but that girl knows things +that--that she has no business to know." + +Then, briefly and impressively, Coquenil told of the extraordinary +revelations that Alice had made, not only to him, but to the director of +the Santé prison. + +"_Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!_" muttered the old man. "I think she's possessed of +the devil." + +"She's possessed of dangerous knowledge, and I want to know where she got +it. 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 queer +thing 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 six +months and spends two nights with us--never more, never less. He eats his +meals, attends to his commissions for wood carving, takes Alice out once in +the afternoon or evening, gives my wife the money for her board, and +that's all. For five years it's been the same--you know as much about him +in one visit as you would in a hundred. There's nothing much to know; he's +just 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 nervous +just before his visits, and sort of sad after them. My wife says the girl +has 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 inhaled +long breaths of the fragrant smoke. "Not a word, Bonneton! I want to +think." 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 the +night 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 the +treasure. When do you expect this wood carver again?" + +"It's odd you should ask that, for my wife only told me this morning she's +had a letter from him. We didn't expect him for six weeks yet, but it +seems he'll be here next Wednesday. Something must have happened." + +"Next Wednesday," reflected Coquenil. "He always comes when he says he +will?" + +"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 want +François to have a little vacation; he looks tired. I want him to go into +the 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 and +I shall enjoy Mother Bonneton's cooking." + +"You will take your meals with us?" cried the sacristan aghast. "But they +all 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 my +wife has sharp eyes." + +"If she knows me, or if the candle girl knows me, I'll give you a thousand +francs instead of five hundred. Now, here is the money for François"--he +handed the sacristan a hundred-franc note--"and here are five hundred +francs for you. I shall come on Tuesday, ready for work. When do you want +me?" + +"At six o'clock," answered the sacristan doubtfully. "But what shall I say +if anyone asks me about it?" + +"Say François was sick, and you got your old friend Matthieu to replace him +for a few days. I'm Matthieu!" + +Papa Bonneton touched the five crisp bank notes caressingly; their clean +blue 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 you +anything but friendship? When old Max died and you asked me to lend you +Caesar I did it, didn't I? And you know what Caesar is to me. I _love_ that +dog, if anything happened to him--well, I don't like to think of it, but I +let you have him, didn't I? That proves my trust; now I want yours. I can't +explain my reasons; it isn't necessary, but I tell you that what I'm asking +cannot do you the least harm, and may do me the greatest good. There, it's +up 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 an +infernal tongue and----" + +"She will never know anything about this," smiled the other, "and, if she +should, give her one or two of these bank notes. It's wonderful how they +change a woman's point of view. Besides, you can prepare her by talking +about François's bad health." + +"A good idea!" brightened Bonneton. + +"Then it's understood. Tuesday, at six, your friend Matthieu will be here +to replace François. Remember--Matthieu!" + +"I'll remember." + +The detective rose to go. "Good night--or, rather, good morning, for the +day is shining through that rose window. Pretty, isn't it? Ouf, I wonder +when I'll get the sleep I need!" He moved toward the door. "Oh, I forgot +about the dog. Tignol will come for him Tuesday morning with a line from +me. 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_--until +Tuesday." + +M. Paul went through the side door and then through the high iron gateway +before the archbishop's house. He glanced at his watch and it was after +five. Across the square Papa Tignol was waiting. + +"Things are marching along," smiled Coquenil some minutes later as they +rolled along toward the Eastern railway station. "You know what you have to +do. And I know what I have to do! _Bon Dieu!_ what a life! You'd better +have more money--here," and he handed the other some bank notes. "We meet +Tuesday at noon near the Auteuil station beneath the first arch of the +viaduct." + +"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 Tuesday +or speak to me or make any sign to me unless you are absolutely sure you +have not been followed. If you are in any doubt, put your message under +the dog's collar and let him find me. By the way, you'd better have Caesar +clipped. 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 nothing +more to say. You have my letter--_for her_. You'll explain that it isn't +safe for me to write through the post office. And she mustn't try to write +me. I'll come to her as soon as I can. You have the money for her; say I +want her to buy a new dress, a nice one, and if there's anything else she +wants, why, she must have it. Understand?" + +Tignol nodded. + +Then, dropping the cab window, M. Paul told the driver to stop, and they +drew up before the terraced fountains of the Trinité church. + +"Good-by and good luck," said Coquenil, clasping Tignol's hand, "and--don't +let her worry." + +The cab rolled on, and M. Paul, bag in hand, strode down a side street; but +just at the corner he turned and looked after the hurrying vehicle, and his +eyes were full of sadness and yearning. + + * * * * * + +Tuesday, the fourteenth of July! The great French holiday! All Paris in the +streets, bands playing, soldiers marching, everybody happy or looking +happy! And from early morning all trains, 'buses, cabs, automobiles, in +short, all moving things in the gay city were rolling a jubilant multitude +toward the Bois de Boulogne, where the President of the Republique was to +review the troops before a million or so of his fellow-citizens. Coquenil +had certainly chosen the busiest end of Paris for his meeting with Papa +Tignol. + +Their rendezvous was at noon, but two hours earlier Tignol took the train +at the St. Lazare station. And with him came Caesar, such a changed, +unrecognizable Caesar! Poor dog! His beautiful, glossy coat of brown and +white had been clipped to ridiculous shortness, and he crouched at the old +man's feet in evident humiliation. + +"It was a shame, old fellow," said Tignol consolingly, "but we had to obey +orders, eh? Never mind, it will grow out again." + +Leaving the train at Auteuil, they walked down the Rue La Fontaine to a +tavern near the Rue Mozart, where the old man left Caesar in charge of the +proprietor, a friend of his. It was now a quarter to eleven, and Tignol +spent the next hour riding back and forth on the circular railway between +Auteuil and various other stations; he did this because Coquenil had +charged him to be sure he was not followed; he felt reasonably certain that +he was not, but he wished to be absolutely certain. + +So he rode back to the Avenue Henri Martin, where he crossed the platform +and boarded a returning train for the Champs de Mars, telling the guard he +had made a mistake. Two other passengers did the same, a young fellow and a +man of about fifty, with a rough gray beard. Tignol did not see the young +fellow again, but when he got off at the Champs de Mars, the gray-bearded +man 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 to +return a few minutes later and buy another ticket for the Avenue Henri +Martin. There once more he crossed the platform and took a train for the +Champs de Mars, and this time he congratulated himself that no one had +followed him; but when he got off, as before, at the Champs de Mars and +crossed 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 was +seated alone. And, taking out pencil and paper, he proceeded to write a +note for Coquenil. Their meeting was now impossible, so he must fasten this +explanation, along with his full report, under Caesar's collar and let the +dog be messenger, as had been arranged. + +"I am sending this by Caesar," he wrote, "because I am watched. The man +following 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 corners +of 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 seizing +one of his yellow fangs between thumb and first finger he gave a quick +wrench. "There!" he said with a hideous grin, and he handed Tignol the +tooth. + +They were just coming into the Auteuil station as this extraordinary +maneuver was accomplished. + +"I'll be damned!" exclaimed Tignol. + +[Illustration: "'There!' he said with a hideous grin, and he handed Tignol +the tooth."] + +"Is it really as good as that?" asked the stranger, in a tone that made the +old man jump. + +Tignol leaned closer, and then in a burst of admiration he cried: "_Nom de +dieu! It's Coquenil!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE MEMORY OF A DOG + + +"It's a composition of rubber," laughed Coquenil. "You slip it on over your +own 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 as +the train stopped. + +"Yes, yes?" questioned M. Paul eagerly. "Tell me about my mother. Is she +well? Is she worried? Did you give her all my messages? Have you a letter +for me?" + +Tignol smiled. "There's a devoted son! But the old lady wouldn't like you +with those teeth. Eh, eh! Shades of Vidocq, what a make-up! We'd better get +out! I'll tell you about my visit as we walk along." + +"Where are you going?" asked the detective, as the old man led the way +toward 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. I +have a room on the Rue Poussin; I'll go back there first and take off some +of this." + +"As you please," said Tignol, and he proceeded to give Coquenil the latest +news 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 his +voice contrasted oddly with the ugliness of his disguise. + +"Suppose I get the dog while you are changing?" suggested Tignol. "You know +he's been clipped?" + +"Poor Caesar! Yes, get him. My room is across the street. Walk back and +forth along here until I come down." + +Half an hour later Coquenil reappeared almost his ordinary self, except +that he wore neither mustache nor eyeglasses, and, instead of his usual +neat dress he had put on the shabby black coat and the battered soft hat +that he had worn in leaving the Hôtel des Étrangers. + +"Ah, Caesar! Old fellow!" he cried fondly as the dog rushed to meet him +with barks of joy. "It's good to have a friend like that! Where is the man +who cares so much? Or the woman either--except one?" + +"There's one woman who seems to care a lot about this dog," remarked +Tignol. "I mean the candle girl. Such a fuss as she made when I went to get +him!" + +M. Paul listened in surprise. "What did she do?" + +"Do? She cried and carried on in a great way. She said something was going +to 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 back +to-night. When she had heard that she caught my two hands in hers and said +I must tell you she wanted to see you very much. There's something on her +mind or--or she's afraid of something." + +Coquenil frowned and twisted his seal ring, then he changed it deliberately +from 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 know +the truth about that girl. Papa Tignol, I want you to go right back to +Notre-Dame and keep an eye on her. If she is afraid of something, there's +something to be afraid of, _for she knows_. Don't talk to her; just hang +about 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." Then +yielding to his growing curiosity: "Have you found out much?" + +Coquenil's eyes twinkled. "You're dying to know what I've been doing these +last five days, eh?" + +"Nothing of the sort," said the old man testily. "If you want to leave me +in 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 to +tell you to-night, but Bonneton will be with us, so--come, we'll stroll +through the _bois_ as far as Passy, and I'll give you the main points. Then +you can take a cab." + +Papa Tignol was enormously pleased at this mark of confidence, but he +merely gave one of his jerky little nods and walked along solemnly beside +his brilliant associate. In his loyalty for M. Paul this tough old veteran +would have allowed himself to be cut into small pieces, but he would have +spluttered and grumbled throughout the operation. + +"Let's see," began Coquenil, as they entered the beautiful park, "I have +five days to account for. Well, I spent two days in Paris and three in +Brussels." + +"Where the wood carver lives?" + +"Exactly. I got his address from Papa Bonneton. I thought I'd look the man +over in his home when he was not expecting me. And before I started I put +in two days studying wood carving, watching the work and questioning the +workmen 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 decide +whether 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 away +on a trip when I got to Brussels, away on this trip that will bring him to +Paris 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, I +stopped there, and I talked to the woman who runs it, a sharp-eyed young +widow with a smooth tongue; and I saw the place where he works; it's a +wood-carving shop, all right, and I talked to the men there--two big strong +fellows with jolly red faces, and--well--" he hesitated. + +"Well?" + +The detective crossed his arms and faced the old man with a grim, searching +look. + +"Papa Tignol," he said impressively, "they all tell a simple, straight +story. His name _is_ Adolf Groener, he _does_ live in Brussels, he makes +his living at wood carving, and the widow who runs the confounded boarding +house 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 have +cussed 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 I +was ready to drop the thing, I admit it, only I went for a walk that +night--and there's a lot in walking. I wandered for hours through that nice +little town of Brussels, in the crowd and then alone, and the more I +thought the more I came back to the same idea, _he can't be a wood +carver!_" + +"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 people +and asked more questions, then I saw the same people again and tried to +trip 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 is +over and forgotten, when this man has gone where he belongs, and I know +where that is"--he brought his hand down sideways swiftly--"I shall have +the lesson of this Brussels search cut on a block of stone and set in my +study 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 he +gets inside himself!_" + +Tignol had never seen M. Paul more deeply stirred. "_Sacré matin!_" he +exclaimed. "Then you did find something?" + +"Ah, but I deserve no credit for it, I ought to have failed. I weakened; I +had my bag packed and was actually starting for Paris, convinced that +Groener 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 believing +in 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 fallen +into a hole you might have broken your leg! Well, you didn't fall into the +hole!" + +Coquenil smiled. "You're right, I ought to be pleased, I am pleased. After +all, it was a neat bit of work. You see, I was waiting in the parlor of +this boarding house for the widow to bring me my bill--I had spent two days +there--and I happened to glance at a photograph she had shown me when I +first came, a picture of Alice and herself, taken five years ago, when +Alice was twelve years old. There was no doubt about the girl, and it was a +good likeness of the widow. She told me she was a great friend of Alice's +mother, and the picture was taken when the mother died, just before Alice +went to Paris. + +"Well, as I looked at the picture now, I noticed that it had no +photographer's name on it, which is unusual, and it seemed to me there was +something queer about the girl's hand; I went to the window and was +studying the picture with my magnifying glass when I heard the woman's step +outside, so I slipped it into my pocket. Then I paid my bill and came +away." + +"You _needed_ that picture," approved Tignol. + +"As soon as I was outside I jumped into a cab and drove to the principal +photographers in Brussels. There were three of them, and at each place I +showed this picture and asked how much it would cost to copy it, and as I +asked the question I watched the man's face. The first two were perfectly +businesslike, but the third man gave a little start and looked at me in an +odd way. I made up my mind he had seen the picture before, but I didn't get +anything out of him--then. In fact, I didn't try very hard, for I had my +plan. + +"From here I drove straight to police headquarters and had a talk with the +chief. He knew me by reputation, and a note that I brought from Pougeot +helped, and--well, an hour later that photographer was ready to tell me the +innermost 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 weeks +ago_." + +"Six weeks ago!" stared the other. "But the widow told you it was taken +five 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 Alice +and a lady, perhaps her mother. This photographer had blotted out the lady +and printed in the widow without changing the pose. It's a simple trick in +photography." + +"You saw the genuine picture?" + +"Of course--that is, I saw a reproduction of it which the photographer made +on his own account. He suspected some crooked work, and he didn't like the +man who gave him the order." + +"You mean the wood carver?" + +Coquenil shrugged his shoulders. "Call him a wood carver, call him what you +like. He didn't go to the photographer in his wood-carver disguise, he +went as a gentleman in a great hurry, and willing to pay any price for the +work." + +Tignol twisted the long ends of his black mustache reflectively. "He was +covering his tracks in advance?" + +"Evidently." + +"And the smooth young widow lied?" + +"Lied?" snapped the detective savagely. "I should say she did. She lied +about this, and lied about the whole affair. So did the men at the shop. It +was manufactured testimony, bought and paid for, and a manufactured +picture." + +"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--" Coquenil +hesitated, 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 that +left-handed jolt under the heart, he's the man who choked your shrimp +photographer, 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 you +a good dinner against a box of those vile cigarettes you smoke that this +man who calls himself Alice's cousin has the marks of my teeth on the calf +of 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 desperate +and full of resources, I know that, but, with the precautions I have +taken, I don't see how he can escape--if he goes to Bonneton's house +to-morrow." + +Tignol scratched his head in perplexity. "Why in thunder is he such a fool +as 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 Brussels +photograph--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 and +her little Mary.' You notice it says _her_ little Mary. That one word +throws 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--that +she _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 a +mystery. 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. Paul +entered the quieter paths of the great park, and presently came to a +thickly wooded region that has almost the air of a natural forest. Here the +two romped delightedly together, and Coquenil put the dog through many of +his tricks, the fine creature fairly outdoing himself in eagerness and +intelligence. + +"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 out +comfortably at his feet. And so the one dozed as the other drifted far away +in smoke-laden reverie. + +What days these had been, to be sure! How tired he was! He hadn't noticed +it before, but now that everything was ready, now that he had finished his +preparations--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 that +were fretting him. Who was Groener? Why had he killed Martinez? How had he +profited by the death of this unfortunate billiard player? And why did he +hate Kittredge? Was it because the American loved Alice? And who was Alice, +this girl whose dreams and fears changed the lives of serious men? From +whichever side he studied the crime he always came back to her--Kittredge +loved her, Martinez knew her, he himself had started on the case on her +account. _Who was Alice?_ + +During these reflections Coquenil had been vaguely aware of gay sounds from +the neighboring woods, and now a sudden burst of laughter brought him back +to the consciousness of things about him. + +"We're too serious, my boy," he said with an effort at lightness; "this is +a 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 cool +glade, carpeted in gold and green as the sunbeams sprinkled down through +the trees upon the spreading moss. Here he came into plain view of a +company of ladies and gentlemen, who, having witnessed the review, had +chosen this delightful spot for luncheon. They were evidently rich and +fashionable people, for they had come as a coaching party on a very smart +break, with four beautiful horses, and some in a flashing red-and-black +automobile that was now drawn up beside the larger vehicle. + +With an idle eye M. Paul observed the details of the luncheon, red-coated +servants emptying bounteous hampers and passing tempting food from group to +group, others opening bottles of champagne, with popping corks, and filling +bubbling glasses, while the men of the party passed back and forth from +break to automobile with jests and gay words, or strolled under the trees +enjoying post-prandial cigars. + +Altogether it was a pleasing picture, and Coquenil's interest was +heightened when he overheard a passing couple say that these were the +guests of no less a person than the Duke of Montreuil, whose lavish +entertainments were the talk of Paris. There he was, on the break, this +favorite of fortune! What a brilliant figure of a man! Famous as a +sportsman, enormously rich, popular in society, at the head of vast +industrial enterprises, and known to have almost controlling power in +affairs 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 around +through 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 to +follow 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 the +ground before him, back and forth, in widening curves, as Coquenil had +taught him. + +"Have you found something--sure?" + +The animal barked joyously. + +M. Paul was puzzled. Evidently there was a scent here, but what scent? He +had made no experiments with Caesar since the night of the crime, when the +dog 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 had +never seen him more impatient for permission to be off. Could a dog +remember a scent for ten days? + +"After all, what harm can it do?" reflected the detective, becoming +interested 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 the +scent, moving carefully among the trees, and once or twice losing the +trail, but quickly finding it again, and, presently, as he reached more +open ground, running ahead swiftly, straight toward the coaching party. + +In a flash Coquenil realized the danger and called loudly to the dog, but +the distance was too great, and his voice was drowned by the cries of +ladies on the break, who, seeing the bounding animal, screamed their +fright. And no wonder, for this powerful, close-clipped creature, in his +sudden rush looked like some formidable beast of prey; even the men started +up in alarm. + +"Caesar!" shouted M. Paul, but it was too late. The dog was flying full at +the break, eyes fixed, body tense; now he was gathering strength to +spring, and now, with a splendid effort, he was actually hurling himself +through the air, when among the confused figures on the coach a man leaned +forward suddenly, and something flashed in his hand. There was a feather +of smoke, a sharp report, and then, with a stab of pain, Coquenil saw +Caesar fall back to the ground and lie still. + +"My dog, my dog!" he cried, and coming up to the stricken creature, he +knelt beside him with ashen face. + +One glance showed there was nothing to be done, the bullet had crashed into +the broad breast in front of the left shoulder and--it was all over with +Caesar. + +"My friend, my dear old friend!" murmured M. Paul in broken tones, and he +took the poor head in his arms. At the master's voice Caesar opened his +beautiful 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 no +business 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's +presentiment. + +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 gay +party 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 playing +his part, regardless of personal feelings. Sorrow brings him no reprieve +from duty, so the next morning after the last sad offices for poor Caesar, +Coquenil faced the emergency before him with steady nerve and calm +resolution. There was an assassin to be brought to justice and the time for +action had come. This was, perhaps, the most momentous day of his whole +career. + +Up to the very hour of luncheon M. Paul doubted whether the wood carver +would keep his appointment at the Bonnetons'. Why should he take such a +risk? 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 had +then walked calmly out again; but this time the detective promised himself +things should happen differently. His precautions were taken, and if +Groener came within his clutches to-day, he would have a lively time +getting out of them. There was a score to be settled between them, a heavy +score, and--let the wood carver beware! + +The wood carver kept his appointment. More than that, he seemed in +excellent spirits, and as he sat down to Mother Bonneton's modest luncheon +he nodded good-naturedly to Matthieu, the substitute watchman, whom the +sacristan introduced, not too awkwardly, then he fell to eating with a +hearty appetite and without any sign of embarrassment or suspicion. + +"It's a strong game he's playing," reflected the detective, "but he's going +to lose." + +The wood carver appeared to be a man approaching forty, of medium height +and 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. He +had thick, brown hair, a short, yellowish mustache, and a close-cut, +brownish beard. He was dressed like a superior workingman, in a flannel +shirt, a rough, blue suit, oil-stained and dust-sprinkled, and he wore +thick-soled boots. His hands were strong and red and not too clean, with +several broken nails and calloused places. In a word, he looked the wood +carver, every inch of him, and the detective was forced to admit that, if +this was a disguise, it was the most admirable one he had ever seen. If +this beard and hair and mustache were false, then his own make-up, the best +he had ever created, was a poor thing in comparison. + +During the meal Groener talked freely, speaking with a slight Belgian +accent, 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 American +girls in one compartment and a newly married couple in the next one, with a +little glass window between. Well, the young bridegroom wanted to kiss his +bride, naturally, ha, ha! It was a good chance, for they were alone, but he +was afraid some one might look through the little window and see him, so he +kept looking through it himself to make sure it was all right. Well, the +American 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 it +down. She thought it was a curtain cord; she wanted to cover the window so +the 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 great +relish of the joke, "it was the emergency signal, which, by the +regulations, must only be used in great danger, so the first thing we knew +the train drew up with a terrible jerk, and there was a great shouting and +opening of doors and rushing about of officials. And finally, ha, ha! they +discovered that the Brussels express had been stopped, ha, ha, ha! because +a bashful young fellow wanted to kiss his girl." + +M. Paul marveled at the man's self-possession. Not a tone or a glance or a +muscle betrayed him, he was perfectly at ease, buoyantly satisfied, one +would say, with himself and all the world--in short, he suggested nothing +so little as a close-tracked assassin. + +In vain Coquenil tried to decide whether Groener was really unconscious of +impending danger. Was he deceived by this Matthieu disguise? Or was it +possible, _could_ it be possible, that he was what he appeared to be, a +simple-minded wood carver free from any wickedness or duplicity? No, no, it +was marvelous acting, an extraordinary make-up, but this was his man, all +right. There was the long little finger, plainly visible, the identical +finger of his seventeenth-century cast. Yes, this was the enemy, the +murderer, delivered into his hands through some unaccountable fortune, and +now to be watched like precious prey, and presently to be taken and +delivered over to justice. It seemed too good to be true, too easy, yet +there was the man before him, and despite his habit of caution and his +knowledge that this was no ordinary adversary, the detective thrilled as +over a victory already won. + +The wood carver went on to express delight at being back in Paris, where +his work would keep him three or four days. Business was brisk, thank +Heaven, with an extraordinary demand for old sideboards with carved panels +of the Louis XV period, which they turned out by the dozen, ha, ha, ha! in +the Brussels shop. He described with gusto and with evident inside +knowledge how they got the worm holes in these panels by shooting fine shot +into them and the old appearance by burying them in the ground. Then he +told how they distributed the finished sideboards among farmhouses in +various 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 the +simple-minded farmers, working on commission, who had inherited these +treasures from their ancestors. + +Across the table Matthieu, with grinning yellow teeth, showed his +appreciation of this trick in art catering, and presently, when the coffee +was served, he made bold to ask M. Groener if there would be any chance for +a man like himself in a wood-carving shop. He was strong and willing +and--his present job at Notre-Dame was only for a few days. Papa Bonneton +nearly choked over his _demi tasse_ as he listened to this plea, but the +wood carver took it seriously. + +"I'll help you with pleasure," he said; "I'll take you around with me to +several shops to-morrow." + +"To-morrow, not to-day?" asked Matthieu, apparently disappointed. + +"To-day," smiled Groener, "I enjoy myself. This afternoon I escort my +pretty cousin to hear some music. Did you know that, Alice?" He turned +gayly to the girl. + +Since the meal began Alice had scarcely spoken, but had sat looking down at +her plate save at certain moments when she would lift her eyes suddenly and +fix them on Groener with a strange, half-frightened expression. + +"You are very kind, Cousin Adolf," she answered timidly, "but--I'm not +feeling well to-day." + +"Why, what's the matter?" he asked in a tone of concern that had just a +touch 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 riddance +it was." + +"You have no right to say that," flashed Alice. + +"I have a right to tell your cousin about this foolishness. I've tried my +best to look after you and be a mother to you, but when a girl won't listen +to 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 the +church 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 Papa +Bonneton warningly under the table. + +Groener looked straight at the detective and answered with perfect +simplicity: "No wonder you smile, M. Matthieu, but think how far away from +Paris 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 and +put 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 words +failed her; it seemed to Coquenil that her eyes met his in desperate +appeal, and then, with a glance at Groener, half of submission, half of +defiance, she turned and left the room. + +"Now Madam Bonneton," resumed Groener cheerfully, "while the young lady +gets into her finery we might have a little talk. There are a few +matters--er--" He looked apologetically at the others. "You and I will meet +to-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 they +descended the four flights in silence. + +"Now, Bonneton," ordered the detective sharply, when they were in the lower +hallway, "don't ask questions, just do what I say. I want you to go right +across to Notre-Dame, and when you get to the door take your hat off and +stand there for a minute or so fanning yourself. Understand?" + +The simple-minded sacristan was in a daze with all this mystery, but he +repeated the words resignedly: "I'm to stand at the church door and fan +myself with my hat. Is that it?" + +"That's it. Then Tignol, who's watching in one of these doorways, the sly +old fox, will come across and join you. Tell him to be ready to move any +minute now. He'd better loaf around the corner of the church until he gets +a 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 the +few 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 some +eager purpose. + +"Oh, M. Matthieu!" exclaimed the girl in apparent surprise. Then going +close to him she said in a low tone that quivered with emotion: "I came +after 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 widened +and then grew small. "I'm afraid so," she murmured, and then added these +singular words: "_He knows everything_." + +M. Paul laid a soothing hand on her arm and said kindly: "Are you afraid of +him?" + +"Ye-es." Her voice was almost inaudible. + +"Is he planning something?" + +For a moment Alice hesitated, biting her red lips, then with a quick +impulse, she lifted her dark eyes to Coquenil. "I _must_ tell you, I have +no one else to tell, and I am so distressed, so--so afraid." She caught his +hands 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. I +overheard him just now telling Mother Bonneton to pack my trunk. He says he +will spend three or four days in Paris, but that may not be true, he may go +at once to-night. You can't believe him or trust him, and, if he takes me +away, I--I may never come back." + +"He won't take you away," said M. Paul reassuring, "that is, he won't +if--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. "Let +me think a moment," and he turned back and forth in the hall, brows +contracted, hands deep in his pockets. "I have it!" he exclaimed presently, +his face brightening. "Now listen," and speaking slowly and distinctly, the +detective 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 shivered +in alarm. + +Coquenil smiled confidently. "Don't worry about me." + +She shook her head anxiously. "You don't know, you can't understand what +a"--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 more +when we have time; we mustn't talk now, _we must act_." + +"Yes, of course," agreed Alice, "I will obey orders; you can depend on me +and"--she held out her slim hand in a grateful movement--"thank you." + +For a moment he pressed the trembling fingers in a reassuring clasp, then +he watched her wonderingly, as, with a brave little smile, she turned and +went back up the stairs. + +"She has the air of a princess, that girl," he mused, "Who is she? What is +she? I ought to know in a few hours now," and moving to the wide space of +the 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 buildings +of the square were outlined on the asphalt in sharp black shadows. A 'bus +lumbered sleepily over the bridge with three straining horses. A big +yellow-and-black automobile throbbed quietly before the hospital. Some +tourists passed, mopping red faces. A beggar crouched in the shade near the +entrance to the cathedral, intoning his woes. Coquenil took out his watch +and proceeded to wind it slowly. At which the beggar dragged himself lazily +out 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 all +right, I've fixed the doorkeeper." + +And a moment later the two associates were talking earnestly near the +doorkeeper's lodge. + +Meantime, Alice, with new life in her heart, was putting on her best dress +and hat as Groener had bidden her, and presently she joined her cousin in +the salon where he sat smoking a cheap cigar and finishing his talk with +Mother 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 to +leave them. + +"Now," he began kindly, when the woman had gone, "sit down here and tell me +what has made my little cousin unhappy." + +He spoke in a pleasant, sympathetic tone, and the girl approached him as if +trying to overcome an instinctive shrinking, but she did not take the +offered chair, she simply stood beside it. + +"It's only a little thing," she answered with an effort, "but I was afraid +you 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 past +three?" + +"Why--er--what's the matter?" + +Alice hesitated, then with pleading eyes: "I've been troubled about +different things lately, so I spoke to Father Anselm yesterday and he said +I 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'll +be here by ten minutes past three." + +He eyed her keenly. "You needn't trouble to come back, I'll go to the +church 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-eyed +but altogether lovely in flower-spread hat and a fleecy pink gown, entered +Notre-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 chair +would 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 various +recessed chapels, past various confessional boxes, each bearing the name of +the priest who officiated there. And presently as they came to a +confessional 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 go +along there back of the choir and down a little stairway, you will come to +the treasure room. It might interest you." + +He looked at her in frank amusement. "I'm interested already. I'll get +along very nicely here. Now go ahead and get through with it." + +The girl glanced about her with a helpless gesture, and then, sighing +resignedly, she entered the confessional. Groener seated himself on one of +the little chairs and leaned back with a satisfied chuckle. He was so near +the confessional that he could hear a faint murmur of voices--Alice's sweet +tones 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, saw +Matthieu polishing the carved stalls. Some ladies passed with a guide who +was showing them the church. Groener rose and paced back and forth +nervously. What a time the girl was taking! Then the door of the +confessional box opened and a black-robed priest came out and moved +solemnly away. _Enfin!_ It was over! And with a feeling of relief Groener +watched the priest as he disappeared in the passage leading to the +sacristy. + +Still Alice lingered, saying a last prayer, no doubt. But the hour was +advancing. 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 the +curtain. + +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 Alice +had vanished was one not in use at the moment, owing to repairs in the wall +behind it. These repairs had necessitated the removal of several large +stones, replaced temporarily by lengths of supporting timbers between which +a person might easily pass. Coquenil, with his habit of careful +observation, had remarked this fact during his night in the church, and now +he had taken advantage of it to effect Alice's escape. The girl had entered +the confessional in the usual way, had remained there long enough to let +Groener hear her voice, and had then slipped out through the open wall into +the sacristy passage beyond. _And the priest was Tignol!_ + +"I scored on him that time," chuckled Coquenil, rubbing away at the +woodwork and thinking of Alice hastening to the safe place he had chosen +for 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 has +happened. Look at that!" and he opened the door of the confessional. "She +has gone--run away!" + +Matthieu stared in blank surprise. "Name of a pipe!" he muttered. "Not your +cousin?" + +Groener nodded with half-shut eyes in which the detective caught a flash of +black rage, but only a flash. In a moment the man's face was placid and +good-natured as before. + +"Yes," he said quietly, "my cousin has run away. It makes me sad +because--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 later +the two men were seated under the awning of the Three Wise Men. + +"Now," began Groener, with perfect simplicity and friendliness, "I'll +explain the trouble between Alice and me. I've had a hard time with that +girl, M. Matthieu, a very hard time. If it wasn't for her mother, I'd have +washed my hands of her long ago; but her mother was a fine woman, a noble +woman. It's true she made one mistake that ruined her life and practically +killed her, still----" + +"What mistake was that?" inquired Matthieu with sympathy. + +"Why, she married an American who was--the less we say about him the +better. The point is, Alice is half American, and ever since she has been +old enough to take notice, she has been crazy about American men." He +leaned closer and, lowering his voice, added: "That's why I had to send her +to 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 in +Brussels, 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 horrible +crime. Think of that! As soon as Mother Bonneton wrote me about it, I saw +I'd have to take the girl away again. I told her this morning she must pack +up her things and go back to Brussels with me, and that made the trouble." + +"Ah!" exclaimed Matthieu with an understanding nod. "Then she knew at +luncheon that you would take her back to Brussels?" + +"Of course she did. You know how she acted; she had made up her mind she +wouldn't go. Only she was tricky about it. She knew I had my eye on her, so +she 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 Father +Anselm has been encouraging the girl for months, filling her up with +nonsense 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 wood +carver closely. "Did _you_ see his face?" + +"Certainly I did. He passed within ten feet of me. I saw his face +distinctly." + +"Are you sure it was he? I don't doubt you, M. Groener, but I'm a sort of +official here and this is a serious charge, so I ask if you are _sure_ it +was Father Anselm?". + +"I'm absolutely sure it was Father Anselm," answered the wood carver +positively. He paused a moment while the detective wondered what was the +meaning of this extraordinary statement. Why was the man giving him these +details about Alice, and how much of them was true? Did Groener know he was +talking to Paul Coquenil? If so, he knew that Coquenil must know he was +lying 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 must +find 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 think +Groener had really been deceived by the Matthieu disguise. After all, why +not? 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, I +won't leave you." + +"Good! Now then!" He threw down some money for the drinks, then he hailed a +passing carriage. + +"Rue Tronchet, near the Place de la Madeleine," he directed, and as they +rolled away, he added: "Stop at the nearest telegraph office." + +The adventure was taking a new turn. Groener, evidently, had some definite +plan which he hoped to carry out. Coquenil felt for cigarettes in his coat +pocket and his hand touched the friendly barrel of a revolver. Then he +glanced back and saw the big automobile, which had been waiting for hours, +trailing discreetly behind with Tignol (no longer a priest) and two sturdy +fellows, making four men with the chauffeur, all ready to rush up for +attack or defense at the lift of his hand. There must be some miraculous +interposition if this man beside him, this baby-faced wood carver, was to +get 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 the +noisy traffic of the Rue de Rivoli, "I'll tell you how I expect to find +Alice. 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 a +hairdresser on the Rue Tronchet, kind-hearted woman with children of her +own. She comes to see the Bonnetons and is fond of Alice. Well, she'll know +where 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 her +brother. Hello! Here's the telegraph office! Just a minute." + +He sprang lightly from the cab and hurried across the sidewalk. At the same +moment Coquenil lifted his hand and brought it down quickly, twice, in the +direction of the doorway through which Groener had passed. And a moment +later Tignol was in the telegraph office writing a dispatch beside the wood +carver. + +"I've telegraphed the Paris agent of a big furniture dealer in Rouen," +explained the latter as they drove on, "canceling an appointment for +to-morrow. He was coming on especially, but I can't see him--I can't do any +business until I've found Alice. She's a sweet girl, in spite of +everything, and I'm very fond of her." There was a quiver of emotion in his +voice. + +"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 her +with you to back me up." He smiled meaningly. + +"I? What can I do?" + +"Everything, my friend. You can testify that Father Anselm planned Alice's +escape, 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 me +and my friend, M. Matthieu--he's waiting outside, in a cab--you're not +going to force us to charge your reverend brother with abducting a young +lady? That wouldn't be a nice story to tell the commissary of police, would +it? 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 drive +right back with us to Notre-Dame and put a little sense into her brother's +shaven head. It's four o'clock now," he concluded gayly; "I'll bet you we +have 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 in +his glib chatter that, in spite of himself, Coquenil kept a last lingering +wonder if Groener _could_ be telling the truth. If not, what was his motive +in this elaborate fooling? He must know that his hypocrisy and deceit would +presently be exposed. So what did he expect to gain by it? What could he be +driving at? + +"Stop at the third doorway in the Rue Tronchet," directed the wood carver +as they entered the Place de la Madeleine, and pointing to a hairdresser's +sign, he added: "There is her place, up one flight. Now, if you will be +patient 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 seizing +him 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 house +there was no chance of the fellow escaping, and it was possible his visit +here might reveal something. Besides, a detective has the sportsman's +instinct, he likes to play his fish before landing it. + +"All right," nodded M. Paul, "I'll be patient," and as the wood carver +disappeared, 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 from +that you can go out either into the Place de la Madeleine or the Rue de +l'Arcade. I've got a man at each exit but"----he shook his head +dubiously--"one man may not be enough." + +"_Tonnere de Dieu_, it's Madam Cecile's!" cried Coquenil. Then he gave +quick orders: "Put the chauffeur with one of your men in the Rue de +l'Arcade, bring your other man here and we'll double him up with this +driver. Listen," he said to the jehu; "you get twenty francs extra to help +watch this doorway for the man who just went in. We have a warrant for his +arrest. You mustn't let him get past. Understand?" + +"Twenty francs," grinned the driver, a red-faced Norman with rugged +shoulders; "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 straightway +stationed in the courtyard. + +"Now," went on Coquenil, "you and I will take the exit on the Place de la +Madeleine. 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 on +the white stone floor and the glimpse of an imposing stairway. + +"Of course, of course," muttered M. Paul. "To think that I had forgotten +it! After all, one loses some of the old tricks in two years." + +"Remember that blackmail case," whispered Tignol, "when we sneaked the +countess 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 followed +her 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, all +right, 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 up +Dubois," and he put the paper in his pocket. "Better go in now and locate +this fellow. Look over the two courtyards, have a word with the +doorkeepers, see if he really went into the hairdresser's; if not, find out +where he did go. Tell our men at the other exits not to let a yellow dog +slip 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 it +seemed a long time. Two ladies arrived in carriages and passed inside +quickly with exaggerated self-possession. A couple came down the stairs +smiling and separated coldly at the door. Then a man came out alone, and +the detective's eyes bored into him. It wasn't Groener. + +Finally, Tignol returned and reported all well at the other exits; no one +had gone out who could possibly be the wood carver. Groener had not been +near the hairdresser; he had gone straight through into the second +courtyard, 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 to +me, 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 to +have nailed him when I had him. He's too dangerous a man to take chances +with 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'll +give him five minutes more. If he isn't out then, we'll search the whole +block from roof to cellar. Papa Tignol, it will break my heart if this +fellow 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 handsome +couple advanced toward them, both dressed in the height of fashion, the +woman 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 the +better light he could see no resemblance between the wood carver and this +gentleman with his smart clothes, his glossy silk hat, and his haughty +eyeglass. 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 was +clean shaven--finally, the wood carver was shorter and heavier than this +man. + +While the detective wavered, the gentleman stepped forward courteously and +opened the door of a waiting _coupé_. The lady caught up her silken skirts +and was about to enter when Coquenil brushed against her, as if by +accident, and her purse fell to the ground. + +"Stupid brute!" exclaimed the gentleman angrily, as he bent over and +reached for the purse with his gloved hand. + +At the same moment Coquenil seized the extended wrist in such fierce and +sudden attack that, before the man could think of resisting, he was held +helpless with his left arm bent behind him in twisted torture. + +"No nonsense, or you'll break your arm," he warned his captive as the +latter made an ineffectual effort against him. "Call the others," he +ordered, and Tignol blew a shrill summons. "Rip off this glove. I want to +see his hand. Come, come, none of that. Open it up. No? I'll _make_ you +open it. There, I thought so," as an excruciating wrench forced the +stubborn fist to yield. "Now then, off with that glove! Ah!" he cried as +the bare hand came to view. "I thought so. It's too bad you couldn't hide +that long little finger! Tignol, quick with the handcuffs! There, I think +we 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 of +withering 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 at +the Palais de Justice, hurrying through a meal that had been brought in +from a restaurant. + +"There," he muttered, wiping his mouth, "that will keep me going for a few +hours," 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 and +I'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 let +that go. Remember, you have no standing in this case. The work has been +done by Tignol, the warrant was served by Tignol, and the witnesses have +been summoned by Tignol. Is that understood?" + +"Of course." + +"That is my official attitude," smiled Hauteville, unbending a little; "I +needn't add that, between ourselves, I appreciate what you have done, and +if this affair turns out as I hope it will, I shall do my best to have your +services 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 bedside +of a dying woman, but we have his signed statement that he had nothing to +do 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 the +witnesses." + +"Quite right. He'd better not see them when he comes through the outer +office. You attend to that." + +"_Bien!_" + +"Is there anything else before I send for him? Oh, the things he wore? Did +you find them?" + +The detective nodded. "We found that he has a room on the fifth floor, over +Madam Cecile's. He keeps it by the year. He made his change there, and we +found everything that he took off--the wig, the beard, and the rough +clothes." + +The judge rubbed his hands. "Capital! Capital! It's a great coup. We may as +well 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 of +sight and then bring in the man." + +A few moments later the prisoner entered, walking with hands manacled, at +the 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 seemed +to regard both handcuffs and guard as petty details unworthy of his +attention, and he eyed the judge and Coquenil with almost patronizing +scrutiny. + +"Sit there," said Hauteville, pointing to a chair, and the newcomer obeyed +indifferently. + +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 you +have money to employ a lawyer?" + +"Possibly, but I wish no lawyer." + +"That is not the question. You are under suspicion of having committed a +crime and----" + +"What crime?" asked the prisoner sharply. + +"Murder," said the judge; then impressively, after a pause: "We have reason +to 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 Hauteville +grimly. "The law requires that a prisoner have the advantage of counsel +during 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 to +come in," he directed the clerk. + +"It's quite useless," shrugged the prisoner with careless arrogance, "I +will 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 questions +as 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 his +services, and established himself comfortably in a corner of the room as an +interested spectator. + +Then the magistrate resumed sternly: "You were arrested, sir, this +afternoon 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 sneering +answer. + +"Groener," said Hauteville sternly, "you say this woman is a person of your +acquaintance. 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 too +red to be real. She bowed to the judge with excessive affability and sat +down. + +"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 him +before?" + +"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 a +lady he wanted, and he said he wanted a real lady, not a fake. I told him I +had 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 hundred +francs 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 is +a 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 left +the room. + +"What do you say to that, Groener?" questioned the judge. + +"She's a disreputable person and her testimony has no value," answered the +prisoner 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 this +man," 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 was +almost fainting with fright. + +The judge rose courteously and pointed to a chair. "Sit down, madam. Try to +control yourself. I shall detain you only a minute. Now--what is your +name?" + +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 the +records--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 him +inaudibly. + +"Really!" he exclaimed, eying her in surprise as she stood before him, face +down, the picture of shame. + +"I have only two questions to ask," he proceeded. "Look at this man and +tell 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 this +afternoon." + +"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 of +money, 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. You +may go." + +Staggering, gasping for breath, clinging weakly to the guard's arm, the +lady 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 truth +in such a predicament, wouldn't she?" + +At this the judge leaned over to Coquenil and, after some low words, he +spoke to the clerk who bowed and went out. + +"You denied a moment ago," resumed the questioner, "that your name is +Groener. Also that you were disguised this afternoon as a wood carver. Do +you deny that you have a room, rented by the year, in the house where Madam +Cecile has her apartment? Ah, that went home!" he exclaimed. "You thought +we 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 at +Madam Cecile's?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Call Jules," said Hauteville to the sleepy guard standing at the door, and +straightway the clerk reappeared with a large leather bag. + +"Open it," directed the magistrate. "Spread the things on the table. Let +the prisoner look at them. Now then, my stubborn friend, what about these +garments? What about this wig and false beard?" + +Groener rose wearily from his chair, walked deliberately to the table and +glanced at the exposed objects without betraying the slightest interest or +confusion. + +"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 all +right!" + +The judge sat silent, playing with his lead pencil, then he folded a sheet +of paper and proceeded to mark it with a series of rough geometrical +patterns, afterwards going over them again, shading them carefully. Finally +he 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 socks +and 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 legs +bare 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 are +taken." Then to the guard: "Do what I said." + +Again the guard obeyed, and Coquenil stood by in eager watchfulness as the +prisoner's lower legs were uncovered. + +"Ah!" he cried in triumph, "I knew it, I was sure of it! There!" he pointed +to an egg-shaped wound on the right calf, two red semicircles plainly +imprinted in the white flesh. "It's the first time I ever marked a man with +my teeth and--it's a jolly good thing I did." + +"How about this, Groener?" questioned the judge. "Do you admit having had a +struggle 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 spoke +three words that came to him by lightning intuition, three simple words +that, nevertheless, seemed to smite the prisoner with sudden fear: "_Oh, +nothing, Raoul!_" + +So evident was the prisoner's emotion that Hauteville turned for an +explanation to the detective, who said something under his breath. + +"Very strange! Very important!" reflected the magistrate. Then to the +accused: "In the morning we'll have that wound studied by experts who will +tell us whether it was made by a dog or a man. Now I want you to put on the +things that were in that bag." + +For the first time a sense of his humiliation seemed to possess the +prisoner. He clinched his hands fiercely and a wave of uncontrollable anger +swept 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 a +breakdown, but they rejoiced too soon, for by a marvelous effort of the +will, the man recovered his self-mastery and calm. + +"After all," he corrected himself, "what does it matter? I'll put the +things 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 wood +carver. 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 elaborate +collection of paints, powders, and brushes that were in the bag, he +presently had accomplished a startling change in the unresisting +prisoner--he had literally transformed him into the wood carver. + +"If you're not Groener now," said Coquenil, surveying his work with a +satisfied smile, "I'll swear you're his twin brother. It's the best +disguise I ever saw, I'll take my hat off to you on that." + +"Extraordinary!" murmured the judge. "Groener, do you still deny that this +disguise belongs to you?" + +[Illustration: "'It's the best disguise I ever saw, I'll take my hat off to +you 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 the +magistrate, and Alice herself had entered the room. + +"Turn around!" ordered the judge sharply, and as the accused obeyed he came +suddenly 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 in +any 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--am +I?" + +Alice shook her head in perplexity. "It's not my cousin's voice," she +admitted. + +"And it's _not_ your cousin," declared the prisoner. Then he faced the +judge. "Is it reasonable that I could have lived with this girl for years +in 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. Did +you ever suspect that your cousin wore a wig or a false beard?" he asked +Alice. + +"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 her +cousin, for the excellent reason that I'm not her cousin. You can't change +a man's personality by making him wear another man's clothes and false +hair. 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 unless +you 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 is +correct," he said. + +Here Coquenil whispered to the judge. + +"Certainly," nodded the latter, and, turning to Alice, who sat wondering +and trembling through this agitated scene, he said: "Thank you, +mademoiselle, you may go." + +The girl rose and, bowing gratefully and sweetly, left the room, followed +by M. Paul. + +"Groener, you say that we have not yet shown you guilty of any crime. Be +patient and we will overcome that objection. Where were you about midnight +on 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 the +bell. + +Coquenil entered, followed by the shrimp photographer, who was evidently +much depressed. + +"Do you recognize this man?" questioned Hauteville, studying the prisoner +closely. + +"No," came the answer with a careless shrug. + +The shrimp turned to the prisoner and, at the sight of him, started forward +accusingly. + +"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 the +sixth floor?" + +"I _was_ engaged to her," said Alexander sorrowfully, "but there's a +medical student on the same floor and----" + +"No matter. You were suspicious of this young person. And on the night of +July 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 is +he--he--" Alexander stroked his neck ruefully. + +"I understand, he turned and nearly choked you. The marks of his nails are +still 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 you +were 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 the +nails 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! And +now the little finger! Don't cramp it up, reach it out. Ah!" + +With breathless interest Coquenil watched the test, and, as the long little +finger slowly extended to its full length, he felt a sudden mad desire to +shout or leap in the pure joy of victory, for the nails of the prisoner's +left hand corresponded exactly with the nail marks on the shrimp +photographer's neck! + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THIRTY IMPORTANT WORDS + + +"Now, Groener," resumed the magistrate after the shrimp had withdrawn, "why +were 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 better +defense 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 the +hand that made them is abnormally, extraordinarily long. Experts say that +in a hundred thousand hands you will not find one with so long a little +finger, perhaps not one in a million. It happens that _you_ have such a +hand 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 try +to fit their fingers in those finger marks, there would be only two or +three 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 positively +identified as the man who choked the photographer _and that one is +yourself_. There is the point; we have against you the evidence of Godin +who _saw_ you that night and _remembers_ you, and the evidence of your own +hand." + +So clearly was the charge made that, for the first time, the prisoner +dropped 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 a +strong probability that you killed Martinez." + +"How so?" + +"The photographer saw you stealing toward Kittredge's room carrying a pair +of 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 to +throw suspicion on an innocent man. They were stolen when the pistol was +stolen, and the murderer tried to return them so that they might be +discovered in Kittredge's room and found to match the alleyway footprints +and damn Kittredge." + +"I don't know who Kittredge is, and I don't know what alleyway you refer +to," put in Groener. + +Hauteville ignored this bravado and proceeded: "In order to steal these +boots and be able to return them the murderer must have had access to +Kittredge's room. How? The simplest way was to take a room in the same +hotel, on the same floor, opening on the same balcony. _Which is exactly +what 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 the +day of the crime." + +"My dear sir, all this is away from the point. Granting that I choked the +photographer, which I don't grant, and that I carried a pair of boots along +a balcony and rented a room which I didn't occupy, how does that connect me +with 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 prisoner +facetiously. "What had I to gain by his death? Can you make that clear? Can +you even prove that I was at the place where he was murdered at the +critical moment? By the way, where _was_ the gentleman murdered? If I'm to +defend myself I ought to have some details of the affair." + +The judge and Coquenil exchanged some whispered words. Then the magistrate +said quietly: "I'll give you one detail about the murderer; he is a +left-handed man." + +"Yes? And _am_ I left-handed?" + +"We'll know that definitely in the morning when you undergo the Bertillon +measurements. In the meantime M. Coquenil can testify that you use your +left hand with wonderful skill." + +"Referring, I suppose," sneered the prisoner, "to our imaginary encounter +on the Champs Elysées, when M. Coquenil claims to have used his teeth on my +leg." + +Quick as a flash M. Paul bent toward the judge and said something in a low +tone. + +"Ah, yes!" exclaimed Hauteville with a start of satisfaction. Then to +Groener: "How do you happen to know that this encounter took place on the +Champs Elysées?" + +"Why--er--he said so just now," answered the other uneasily. + +"I think not. Was the Champs Elysées mentioned, Jules?" he turned to the +clerk. + +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 exact +street where the encounter took place. You couldn't have done better if you +had known it." + +"You see what comes of talking without the advice of counsel," remarked +Maître 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, his +whole manner changed. + +"Groener," he said, and his voice rang sternly, "I've been patient with you +so far, I've tolerated your outrageous arrogance and impertinence, partly +to entrap you, as I have, and partly because I always give suspected +persons a certain amount of latitude at first. Now, my friend, you've had +your little fling and--it's my turn. We are coming to a part of this +examination that you will not find quite so amusing. In fact you will +realize 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 swept +with furious anger. + +"Mark my words, Judge Hauteville," he threatened fiercely, "you have +ordered 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 last +time_.'"] + +But almost instantly Groener had become calm again. "I beg your pardon," he +said, "I'm a little on my nerves. I'll behave myself now, I'm ready for +those 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 they +did not understand. + +"Groener," demanded the magistrate impressively, "do you still deny any +connection 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 impression +about Kittredge--the evidence seemed strong against him, and I should +certainly have committed him for trial had it not been for the remarkable +work on the case done by M. Coquenil." + +"I realize that," replied Groener with a swift and evil glance at the +detective, "but even M. Coquenil might make a mistake." + +Back of the quiet-spoken words M. Paul felt a controlled rage and a +violence of hatred that made him mutter to himself: "It's just as well this +fellow is where he can't do any more harm!" + +"I warned you," pursued the judge, "that we are coming to an unpleasant +part of this examination. It is unpleasant because it forces a guilty +person to betray himself and reveal more or less of the truth that he tries +to hide." + +The prisoner looked up incredulously. "You say it _forces_ him to betray +himself?" + +"That's practically what it does. There may be men strong enough and +self-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 thoroughly +tested, but so far we have had wonderful results and--it's just the thing +for your case." + +Groener was listening carefully. "Why?" + +"Because, if you are guilty, we shall know it, and can go on confidently +looking 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--if +you _are_ innocent, Groener, here is your chance to prove it." + +If the prisoner's fear was stirred he did not show it, for he answered +mockingly: "How convenient! I suppose you have a scales that registers +innocent or guilty when the accused stands on it?" + +Hauteville shook his head. "It's simpler than that. We make the accused +register 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 paper +ruled in squares. Then he took out his watch. + +"On these sheets," he explained, "M. Coquenil and I have written down about +a hundred words, simple, everyday words, most of them, such as 'house,' +'music,' 'tree,' 'baby,' that have no particular significance; among these +words, however, we have introduced thirty that have some association with +this crime, words like 'Ansonia,' 'billiards,' 'pistol.' Do you +understand?" + +"Yes." + +"I shall speak these words slowly, one by one, and when I speak a word I +want 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.' Of +course you are free to say any word you please, but you will find yourself +irresistibly drawn toward certain ones according as you are innocent or +guilty. + +"For instance, Martinez, the Spaniard, was widely known as a billiard +player. Now, if I should say 'billiard player,' and you had no personal +feeling about Martinez, you might easily, by association of ideas, say +'Spaniard'; but, if you had killed Martinez and wished to conceal your +crime then, when I said 'billiard player' you would _not_ say 'Spaniard,' +but would choose some innocent word like table or chalk. That is a crude +illustration, 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 a +quarter or even more for his reply; each person has his or her average time +for the thought process, some longer, some shorter. But that time process +is always lengthened after one of the critical or emotional words, I mean +if the person is guilty. Thus, if I say, 'Ansonia' to you, and you are the +murderer of Martinez, it will take you one or two or three seconds longer +to 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. Do +you 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 a +wonderful 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 smile +flickered about his mouth, "that if I were guilty of this crime I could +not 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 of +two things," he said; "either that you are innocent or that you are a man +of extraordinary mental power. I don't believe the latter so--yes, I should +think you innocent." + +"Let me understand this," laughed the prisoner; "you say over a number of +words and I answer with other words. You note the exact moment when you +speak your word and the exact moment when I speak mine, then you see how +many 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 you +willing 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 your +little game. It rather amuses me." + +And, without more difficulty, the test began, Hauteville speaking the +prepared words and handling the stop watch while Coquenil, sitting beside +him, wrote down the answered words and the precise time intervals. + +First, they established Groener's average or normal time of reply when +there was no emotion or mental effort involved. The judge said "milk" and +Groener 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 four +fifths of a second to a second and a fifth, which was taken as the +prisoner'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 entire +list which included thirty important words scattered among seventy +unimportant 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 carefully +recorded, which took nearly an hour; then they turned back to the beginning +and 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 the +same, especially in the seventy unimportant words. Thus both times he +answered "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 same +unimportant word at the second questioning that he had given at the first +questioning. + +It was different, however, with the important words, as Hauteville pointed +out when the test was finished, in over half the cases the accused had +answered different words in the two questionings. + +"You made up your mind, Groener," said the judge as he glanced over the +sheets, "that you would answer the critical words within your average time +of reply and you have done it, but you have betrayed yourself in another +way, as I knew you would. In your desire to answer quickly you repeatedly +chose words that you would not have chosen if you had reflected longer; +then, in going through the list a second time, you realized this and +improved on your first answers by substituting more innocent words. For +example, the first time you answered 'hole' when I said 'auger,' but the +second time you answered 'hammer.' You said to yourself: 'Hole is not a +good answer because he will think I am thinking, of those eyeholes, so +I'll change it to "hammer" which, means nothing.' For the same reason when +I 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. And +when I said 'watchdog' you answered first 'scent' and then 'tail'; when I +said 'Brazil' you answered first 'ship' and then 'coffee,' when I said +'dreams' you answered first 'fear' and then 'sleep'; you made these changes +with the deliberate purpose to get as far away as possible from +associations with the crime." + +"Not at all," contradicted Groener, "I made the changes because every word +has 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 to +remember the answers I had given the first time." + +"Ah, but that is just the point," insisted the magistrate, "in the seventy +unimportant words you _did_ remember and you _did_ answer practically the +same words both times, your memory only failed in the thirty important +words. Besides, in spite of your will power, the test reveals emotional +disturbance." + +"In me?" scoffed the prisoner. + +"Precisely. It is true you kept your answers to the important words within +your normal tone of reply, but in at least five cases you went beyond this +normal time in answering the _unimportant_ words." + +Groener shrugged his shoulders. "The words are unimportant and so are the +answers." + +"Do you think so? Then explain this. You were answering regularly at the +rate of one answer in a second or so when suddenly you hesitated and +clenched your hands and waited _four and two fifths seconds_ before +answering 'feather' to the simple word 'hat.'" + +"Perhaps I was tired, perhaps I was bored." + +The magistrate leaned nearer. "Yes, and perhaps you were inwardly disturbed +by the shock and strain of answering the _previous_ word quickly and +unconcernedly. I didn't warn you of that danger. Do you know what the +previous 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 quickly +and wait _six and one fifth seconds_ before answering 'violin' when I gave +you the word 'music'?" + +"I'm sure I don't know." + +"Then I'll tell you; it was because you were again deeply agitated by the +previous word 'coaching party' which you had answered instantly with +'horses.'" + +"I don't see anything agitating in the word 'coaching party,'" said +Groener. + +Hauteville measured the prisoner for a moment in grim silence, then, +throwing into his voice and manner all the impressiveness of his office and +his stern personality he said: "And why did you start from your seat and +tremble nervously and wait _nine and four fifths seconds_ before you were +able 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 head +throbbing, your whole mental machinery was clogged and numbed by the shock +of 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 no +right to torture me like this!" His face was deathly white, his eyes were +staring. + +"We've got him going now," muttered Coquenil. + +"Sit down!" ordered the judge. "You can stop this examination very easily +by telling the truth." + +The prisoner dropped back weakly on his chair and sat with eyes closed and +head fallen forward. He did not speak. + +"Do you hear, Groener?" continued Hauteville. "You can save yourself a +great 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 face +was 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 several +swallows. + +"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 that +clock and you'll see what was the matter. It's after ten, you've had me +here for five hours and--I've had no food since noon. It doesn't make a man +a 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 eaten +and he could not quite believe in this sudden exhaustion. Several times, +furthermore, he fancied he had caught Groener's eye fixed anxiously on the +clock. Was it possible the fellow was trying to gain time? But why? How +could that serve him? What could he be waiting for? + +As the detective puzzled over this there shot through his mind an idea for +a move against Groener's resistance, so simple, yet promising such dramatic +effectiveness that he turned quickly to Hauteville and said: "I _think_ it +might be as well to let him have some supper." + +The judge nodded in acquiescence and directed the guard to take the +prisoner into the outer office and have something to eat brought in for +him. + +"Well," he asked when they were alone, "what is it?" + +Then, for several minutes Coquenil talked earnestly, convincingly, while +the 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 about +finish him." + +"Possibly, possibly," reflected the judge. "Anyhow it's worth trying," and +he 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 it +costs. 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 and +stood there for a long time blowing contemplative smoke rings into the +quiet summer night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +THE MOVING PICTURE + + +"Are you feeling better?" asked the judge an hour later when the accused +was led back. + +"Yes," answered Groener with recovered self-possession, and again the +detective noticed that he glanced anxiously at the clock. It was a quarter +past eleven. + +"We will have the visual test now," said Hauteville; "we must go to another +room. Take the prisoner to Dr. Duprat's laboratory," he directed the guard. + +Passing down the wide staircase, strangely silent now, they entered a long +narrow passageway leading to a remote wing of the Palais de Justice. First +went the guard with Groener close beside him, then twenty paces, behind +came M. Paul and the magistrate and last came the weary clerk with Maître +Curé. Their footsteps, echoed ominously along the stone floor, their +shadows danced fantastically before them and behind them under gas jets +that flared through the tunnel. + +"I hope this goes off well," whispered the judge uneasily. "You don't think +they have forgotten anything?" + +"Trust Papa Tignol to obey orders," replied Coquenil. "Ah!" he started and +gripped his companion's arm. "Do you remember what I told you about those +alleyway footprints? About the pressure marks? Look!" and he pointed ahead +excitedly. "I knew it, he has gout or rheumatism, just touches that come +and go. He had it that night when he escaped from the Ansonia and he has +it now. See!" + +The judge observed the prisoner carefully and nodded in agreement. There +was no doubt about it, as he walked _Groener was limping noticeably on his +left foot!_ + +Dr. Duprat was waiting for them in his laboratory, absorbed in recording +the results of his latest experiments. A kind-eyed, grave-faced man was +this, who, for all his modesty, was famous over Europe as a brilliant +worker in psychological criminology. Bertillon had given the world a method +of identifying criminals' bodies, and now Duprat was perfecting a method of +recognizing their mental states, especially any emotional disturbances +connected 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 a +sheet stretched at the other end. The light reflected from this sheet +showed the dim outlines of a tiered amphitheater before which was a long +table spread with strange-looking instruments, electrical machines and +special apparatus for psychological experiments. On the walls were charts +and diagrams used by the doctor in his lectures. + +"Everything ready?" inquired the magistrate after an exchange of greetings +with Dr. Duprat. + +"Everything," answered the latter. "Is this the--er--the subject?" he +glanced 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." Then +he spoke gently to Groener: "Now, my friend, we are not going to do +anything that will cause you the slightest pain or inconvenience. These +instruments look formidable, but they are really good friends, for they +help us to understand one another. Most of the trouble in this world comes +because half the people do not understand the other half. Please turn +sideways to the light." + +For some moments he studied the prisoner in silence. + +"Interesting, _ve_-ry interesting," murmured the doctor, his fine student's +face alight. "Especially the lobe of this ear! I will leave a note about it +for Bertillon himself, he mustn't miss the lobe of this ear. Please turn a +little for the back of the head. Thanks! Great width! Extraordinary +fullness. 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 is +even more remarkable. I must study this head when we have time--_ve_-ry +remarkable. Tell me, my friend, do you suffer from sudden shooting +pains--here, over your eyes?" + +"No," said Groener. + +"No? I should have thought you might. Well, well!" he proceeded kindly, "we +must have a talk one of these days. Perhaps I can make some suggestions. I +see so _many_ heads, but--not many like yours, no, no, not many like +yours." + +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," he +pointed to the handcuffs. "Also the coat. Don't be alarmed! You will +experience nothing unpleasant--nothing. There! Now I want the right arm +bare above the elbow. No, no, it's the left arm, I remember, I want the +left arm bare above the elbow." + +When these directions had been carried out, Dr. Duprat pointed to a heavy +wooden chair with a high back and wide arms. + +"Please sit here," he went on, "and slip your left arm into this leather +sleeve. It's a little tight because it has a rubber lining, but you won't +mind it after a minute or two." + +Groener walked to the chair and then drew back. "What are you going to do +to me?" he asked. + +"We are going to show you some magic lantern pictures," answered the +doctor. + +"Why must I sit in this chair? Why do you want my arm in that leather +thing?" + +"I told you, Groener," put in the judge, "that we were coming here for the +visual test; it's part of your examination. Some pictures of persons and +places will be thrown on that sheet and, as each one appears, I want you to +say 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. Sit +down!" + +Groener hesitated and the guard pushed him toward the chair. "Wait!" he +said. "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 the +pulsations of your heart and the blood pressure in your arteries +are registered--automatically. Now then! I warn you if you don't +sit 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 and +then--then Groener sat down. + +Quickly and skillfully the assistant adjusted the leather sleeve over the +bared left arm and drew it close with straps. + +"Not too tight," said Duprat. "You feel a sense of throbbing at first, but +it is nothing. Besides, we shall take the sleeve off shortly. Now then," he +turned toward the lantern. + +Immediately a familiar scene appeared upon the sheet, a colored photograph +of 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, the +Tuileries 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 same +moment a point of light appeared in the headpiece back of the chair. It was +shaded so that the prisoner could not see it and it illumined a graduated +white dial on which was a glass tube about thirty inches long, the whole +resembling a barometer. Inside the tube a red column moved regularly up and +down, up and down, in steady beats and Coquenil understood that this column +was registering the beating of Groener's heart. Standing behind the chair, +the doctor, the magistrate, and the detective could at the same time watch +the pulsating column and the pictures on the sheet; but the prisoner could +not 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 he +answered 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's +pulse was slow; at each beat the liquid in the tube shot up six inches and +then dropped six inches, but, at the view of Notre-Dame, the column rose +only 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 the +beating of red blood. + +"_And this?_" + +As the picture changed there was a quiver in the pulsating column, a +hesitation with a quick fluttering at the bottom of the stroke, then the +red line shot up full nine inches. + +M. Paul glanced at the sheet and saw a perfect reproduction of private room +Number Six in the Ansonia. Everything was there as on the night of the +crime, 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 shape +took form upon the floor, more and more distinctly until the dissolving +lens brought a man's body into clear view, a body stretched face downward +in a dark red pool that grew and widened, slowly straining and wetting the +polished wood. + +"Groener," said the magistrate, his voice strangely formidable in the +shadows, "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 regained +his self-possession. + +"You are lying, Groener," accused the judge. "You remember this man +perfectly. 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 leaped +forth on the sheet the head of Martinez, the murdered, mutilated head with +shattered eye and painted cheeks and the greenish death pallor showing +underneath. A ghastly, leering cadaver in collar and necktie, dressed up +and photographed at the morgue, and now flashed hideously at the prisoner +out of the darkness. Yet Groener's heart pulsed on steadily with only a +slight quickening, with less quickening than Coquenil felt in his own +heart. + +"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 seemed +thrown into frightful agitation, not Groener as he sat on the chair, cold +and self-contained, but Groener as revealed by the unsuspected dial. Up and +down in mad excitement leaped the red column with many little breaks and +quiverings at the bottom of the beats and with tremendous up-shootings as +if the frightened heart were trying to burst the tube with its spurting red +jet. + +The doctor put his mouth close to Coquenil's ear and whispered: "It's the +shock showing now, the shock that he held back after the body." + +Then he leaned over Groener's shoulder and asked kindly: "Do you feel your +heart 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. "It +shows 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 in +Brussels, 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 have +betrayed nothing--nothing," and, once more, while the doctor marveled, his +pulse steadied and strengthened and grew normal. + +"What a man!" muttered Coquenil. + +"We know the facts," went on Hauteville sternly, "we know why you killed +Martinez 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 your +impudence. Look at the girl in this _false_ picture which you had cunningly +made 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 about +this girl_." + +Now the prisoner's pulse was running wild, faster and faster, but with no +more violent spurtings and leapings; the red column throbbed swiftly and +faintly 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 had +Martinez come upon it? Who was Martinez? A billiard player, a shallow +fellow, vain of his conquests over silly women. The last man in Paris, one +would say, to interfere with your high purposes or penetrate the barriers +of wealth and power that surrounded you." + +"You--you flatter me! What am I, pray, a marquis or a duke?" chaffed the +other, but the trembling dial belied his gayety, and even from the side +Coquenil could see that the man's face was as tense and pallid as the sheet +before him. + +"As I said, the key to this murder," pursued the magistrate, "is the secret +that Martinez held. Without that nothing can be understood and no justice +can be done. The whole aim of this investigation has been to get the secret +and _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 read +them, we know what Martinez knew when you took his life, we know the story +of 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 the +prisoner. + +"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 saving +lives at the terrible Charity Bazaar fire. You have heard of the Charity +Bazaar fire, Groener?" + +"Yes, I--I have heard of it." + +"But perhaps you never heard the details or, if you did, you may have +forgotten them. _Have_ you forgotten the details of the Charity Bazaar +fire?" + +Charity Bazaar fire! Three times, with increasing emphasis, the magistrate +had spoken those sinister words, yet the dial gave no sign, the red column +throbbed 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 and +children! Our noblest families plunged into grief and bereavement! +Princesses burned to death! Duchesses burned to death! Beautiful women +burned 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 moving +pictures that the French make after a catastrophe, giving to the imitation +even greater terrors than were in the genuine happening. Here before them +now leaped redder and fiercer flames than ever crackled through the real +Charity Bazaar; here were women and children perishing in more savage +torture than the actual victims endured; here were horrors piled on +horrors, exaggerated horrors, manufactured horrors, until the spectacle +became unendurable, until one all but heard the screams and breathed the +sickening 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 had +sent Papa Tignol off for it posthaste, during the supper intermission. If +the mere word "Charity Bazaar" had struck this man dumb with fear what +would the thing itself do, the revolting, ghastly thing? + +That was the question now, what would this hideous moving picture do to a +fire-fearing assassin already on the verge of collapse? Would it break the +last resistance of his overwrought nerves or would he still hold out? + +Silently, intently the three men waited, bending over the dial as the test +proceeded, 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 and +down, now a little higher, now a little quicker, but--for a minute, for two +minutes--nothing decisive happened, nothing that they had hoped for; yet +Coquenil felt, he knew that something was going to happen, he _knew_ it by +the agonized tension of the room, by the atmosphere of _pain_ about them. +If Groener had not spoken, he himself, in the poignancy of his own +distress, 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 tormentors +desperately, eyes blazing, features convulsed: + +"No, no, no!" he shrieked. "You dogs! You cowards!" + +"Lights up," ordered Hauteville. Then to the guard: "Put the handcuffs on +him." + +[Illustration: "'No, no, no!' he shrieked. 'You dogs! You cowards!'"] + +But the prisoner would not be silenced. "What does all this prove?" he +screamed in rage. "Nothing! Nothing! You make me look at disgusting, +abominable pictures and--why _shouldn't_ my heart beat? Anybody's heart +would beat--if he had a heart." + +The judge paid no attention to this outburst, but went on in a tone as keen +and cold as a knife: "Before you go to your cell, Groener, you shall hear +what we charge against you. Your wife perished in the Charity Bazaar fire. +She was a very rich woman, probably an American, who had been married +before and who had a daughter by her previous marriage. That daughter is +the girl you call Alice. Her true name is Mary. She was in the fire with +her mother and was rescued by Martinez, but the shock of seeing her mother +burned to death _and, perhaps, the shock of seeing you refuse to save her +mother----_" + +"It's a lie!" yelled the prisoner. + +"All this terror and anguish caused a violent mental disturbance in the +girl and resulted in a failure of her memory. When she came out of the fire +it was as if a curtain had fallen over her past life, she had lost the +sense of her own personality, she did not know her own name, she was +helpless, you could do as you pleased with her. _And she was a great +heiress!_ If she lived, she inherited her mother's fortune; if she died, +this fortune reverted to you. So shrinking, perhaps, from the actual +killing 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 stolen +fortune 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 went +down and the picture of Alice and the widow appeared again. "There is the +girl whom you have wronged and defrauded. Now watch the woman, your +Brussels accomplice, watch her carefully--carefully," he motioned to the +operator and the smooth young widow faded gradually, while the face and +form of another woman took her place beside the girl. "Now we have the +picture 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 the +love 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 Charity +Bazaar unfortunates? It is a matter of a few hours' record searching. What +must we look for? A rich American lady who married a Frenchman. Her name is +Margaret. She had a daughter named Mary. The Frenchman's name is Raoul and +he probably has a title. We have, also, the lady's photograph and the +daughter's photograph and a specimen of the lady's handwriting. Could +anything be simpler? The first authority we meet on noble fortune hunters +will tell us all about it. And then, M. Adolf Groener, we shall know +whether it is a, marquis or a duke whose name _must be added to the list of +distinguished assassins_." + +He paused for a reply, but none came. The guard moved suddenly in the +shadows and called for help. + +"Lights!" said the doctor sharply and, as the lamps shone out, the prisoner +was 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 the +strong 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. The +white-faced prisoner started and listened eagerly. Nearer and nearer came +the rapid hoof beats, echoing through the deserted streets. Now the horse +was crossing the little bridge near the hospital, now he was coming madly +down the Boulevard du Palais. Who was this rider dashing so furiously +through the peaceful night? + +As they all turned wondering, the horse drew up suddenly before the palace +and a voice was heard in sharp command. Then the great iron gates swung +open and the horse stamped in. + +Hauteville hurried to the open window and stood there listening. Just below +him in the courtyard he made out of the flashing helmet and imposing +uniform of a mounted _garde de Paris_. And he caught some quick words that +made him start. + +"A messenger from the Prime Minister," muttered the judge, "on urgent +business _with me_." + +Groener heard and, with a long sigh, sank back against the chair and closed +his eyes, but Coquenil noticed uneasily that just a flicker of the old +patronizing smile was playing about his pallid lips. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +COQUENIL'S MOTHER + + +In accordance with orders, Papa Tignol appeared at the Villa Montmorency +betimes the next morning. It was a perfect summer's day and the old man's +heart was light as he walked up the Avenue des Tilleuls, past vine-covered +walls and smiling gardens. + +"Eh, eh!" he chuckled, "it's good to be alive on a day like this and to +know what _I_ know." + +He was thinking, with a delicious thrill, of the rapid march of events in +the 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. _Bon +dieu_, what a day! + +And now the chase was over! The murderer was tucked away safely in a cell +at 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 down +to him now. And Gibelin! Eh, eh! Gibelin! + +Tignol closed the iron gate carefully behind him and walked down the +graveled walk with as little crunching as possible. He had an idea that +Coquenil might still be sleeping and if anyone in Paris had earned a long +sleep it was Paul Coquenil. + +To his surprise, however, the detective was not only up and dressed, but he +was on his knees in the study before a large leather bag into which he was +hastily throwing various garments brought down by the faithful Melanie, +whose joy at having her master home again was evidently clouded by this +prospect of an imminent departure. + +"Ah, Papa Tignol!" said M. Paul as the old man entered, but there was no +heartiness 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 not +say 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 he +threw 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 the +trouble? What had happened? He had never seen M. Paul like this, so broken +and--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 days +of strain, yes that was it. + +M. Paul opened his eyes and said in a dull tone: "Did you take the girl to +Pougeot last night?" + +"Yes, she's all right. The commissary says he will look after her as if she +were 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's +nothing for her to worry about now--is there?" + +Coquenil's face darkened. "You'd better let me have the ring before I +forget it." + +"Thanks!" He slipped the old talisman on his finger, and then, after a +troubled 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's +guilty." + +"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 a +cigarette. + +"_By order of the Prime Minister_," he said quietly, and blew out a long +white 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 was +too 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 of +Justice." + +"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 to +the lowest, will suffer. We all made a frightful mistake, they say, in +daring to arrest and persecute this most distinguished and honorable +citizen. 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't +possible?" + +"He is more important than a cabinet minister, far more important." + +"Holy snakes!" gasped Tignol. "I don't see anything left except the Prime +Minister himself." + +"This man is so highly placed," declared Coquenil gravely, "he is so +powerful that----" + +"Stop!" interrupted the other. "I know. He was in that coaching party; he +killed the dog, it was--it was the Duke de Montreuil." + +"No, it was not," replied Coquenil. "The Duke de Montreuil is rich and +powerful, as men go in France, but this man is of international +importance, his fortune amounts to a thousand million francs, at least, and +his 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 red +book? It's the _Annuaire de la Noblesse Française_. You'll find his name +there--marked with a pencil." + +Tignol went eagerly to the table, then, as he glanced at the printed page +there 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 and +tugging at his sweeping black mustache. Then slowly in awe-struck tones he +read 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's +name was Margaret. She died in the Charity Bazaar fire, and his +stepdaughter 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 face +screwed 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 they +weren't, do you suppose it would be possible to convict the Baron de +Heidelmann-Bruck of _any_ crime? Nonsense! He's the most powerful man in +France. He controls the banks, the bourse, the government. He can cause a +money panic by lifting his hand. He can upset the ministry by a word over +the telephone. He financed the campaign that brought in the present radical +government, 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 lighted +another 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 the +man." + +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, all +right--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 reflectively +on 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 ten +minutes." + +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," grinned +the old man. + +The detective eyed his friend keenly. "Papa Tignol, that's the prettiest +compliment anyone ever paid me. In spite of all I have said you have +confidence that I could do this man up--_somehow_, eh?" + +"Sure!" + +"I don't know, I don't know," reflected Coquenil, and a shadow of sadness +fell over his pale, weary face. "Perhaps I could, but--I'm not going to +try." + +"You--you're not going to try?" + +"No, I'm through, I wash my hands of the case. The Baron de +Heidelmann-Bruck can sleep easily as far as I am concerned." + +Tignol bounded to his feet and his little eyes flashed indignantly. "I +don't believe it," he cried. "I won't have it. You can't tell me Paul +Coquenil 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 saying +you 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 good +opinion." + +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 in +quick 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 Prime +Minister, but the Prime Minister was away inaugurating a statue; he didn't +return until after midnight. That is why the man wasn't set at liberty +sooner. 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 they +have struck at my mother." He bent down his head on his hands. "She's all +I'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 under +his breath. + +"And the insurance?" he asked presently. "What does that mean?" + +"I sent the renewal money to this lawyer Abel," answered Coquenil in a dull +tone. "They have used him against me to--to take my savings. I had put +about all that I had into this home for my mother. You see they want to +break my heart and--they've just about done it." + +He was silent a moment, then glanced quickly at his watch. "Come, we have +no time to lose. My train leaves in an hour. I have important things to +explain--messages for Pougeot and the girl--I'll tell you in the carriage." + +Five minutes later they were speeding swiftly in an automobile toward the +Eastern railway station. + + * * * * * + +There followed three days of pitiful anxiety for Coquenil. His mother's +health was feeble at the best, and the shock of this catastrophe, the +sudden awakening in the night to find flames roaring about her, the +difficult rescue, and the destruction of her peaceful home, all this was +very serious for the old lady; indeed, there were twenty-four hours during +which the village doctor could offer small comfort to the distracted son. + +Madam Coquenil, however, never wavered in her sweet faith that all was +well. She was comfortable now in the home of a hospitable neighbor and +declared she would soon be on her feet again. It was this faith that saved +her, vowed Ernestine, her devoted companion; but the doctor laughed and +said it was the presence of M. Paul. + +At any rate, within the week all danger was past and Coquenil observed +uneasily that, along with her strength and gay humor, his mother was +rapidly recovering her faculty of asking embarrassing questions and of +understanding things that had not been told her. In the matter of keen +intuitions it was like mother like son. + +So, delay as he would and evade as he would, the truth had finally to be +told, the whole unqualified truth; he had given up this case that he had +thought so important, he had abandoned a fight that he had called the +greatest of his life. + +"Why have you done it, my boy?" the old lady asked him gently, her +searching 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 told +her all that had happened from the crime to the capture, then of the +assassin's release and his own baffling failure at the very moment of +success. + +His mother listened with absorbed interest, she thrilled, she radiated, she +sympathized; and she shivered at the thought of such power for evil. + +When he had finished, she lay silent, thinking it all over, not wishing to +speak hastily, while Paul stroked her white hand. + +"And the young man?" she asked presently. "The one who is innocent? What +about _him?_" + +"He is in prison, he will be tried." + +"And then? They have evidence against him, you said so--the footprints, the +pistol, perhaps more that this man can manufacture. Paul, he will be found +guilty?" + +"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 be +found 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 me +than the lives of fifty young men." + +The old lady paused a moment, holding his firm hand in her two slender +ones, then she said sweetly, yet in half reproach: "My son, do you think +your 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 the +picture 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 is +how 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, I +shall be glad, but I don't want you to drop it because you are afraid--for +me, or--for anything." + +"But mother----" + +"Listen, Paul; I know how you love me, but you mustn't put me first in this +matter, you must put your honor first, and the honor of your father's +name." + +"I've decided the thing"--he frowned--"it's all settled. I have sent word +by Tignol to the Brazilian embassy that I will accept that position in Rio +Janeiro. It's still open, and--mother," he went on eagerly, "I'm going to +take you with me." + +Her face brightened under its beautiful crown of silver-white hair, but she +shook her head. + +"I couldn't go, Paul; I could never bear that long sea journey, and I +should be unhappy away from these dear old mountains. If you go, you must +go 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 a +guilty 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 in +her 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't +understand this man's power, mother; I might as well try to conquer the +devil." + +"I don't ask you to do that," she laughed, "but--isn't there _anything_ you +can think of? You've always won out in the past, and--what is this man's +intelligence 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 been +done you. I want the Government to make amends for putting you off the +force. I want them to publicly recognize your splendid services. And they +will, my son, they must, if you will only go ahead now, and--there I'm +getting foolish." She brushed away some springing tears. "Come, we'll talk +of something else." + +Nothing more was said about the case, but the seed was sown, and as the +evening passed, the wise old lady remarked that her son fell into moody +silences and strode about restlessly. And, knowing the signs, she left him +to his thoughts. + +When bedtime came, Paul kissed her tenderly good night and then turned to +withdraw, but he paused at the door, and with a look that she remembered +well from the days of his boyhood transgressions, a look of mingled +frankness and shamefacedness, he came back to her bedside. + +"Mother," he said, "I want to be perfectly honest about this thing; I told +you 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 the +odds 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 have +you think this thing over alone, and--decide alone. Good night, Paul! God +bless 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 buoyant +smile, and after loving greetings, he said simply: "It's all right, little +mother, I see my way. I'm going to take the chance, and," he nodded +confidently, "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 than +the means is of moment. + +The detective began by admitting the practical worthlessness of the +evidence in hand against this formidable adversary, and he abandoned, for +the moment, his purpose of proving that De Heidelmann-Bruck had killed +Martinez. Under the circumstances there was no way of proving it, for how +can the wheels of justice be made to turn against an individual who +absolutely controls the manner of their turning, who is able to remove +annoying magistrates with a snap of his fingers, and can use the full power +of government, the whole authority of the Prime Minister of France and the +Minister of Justice for his personal convenience and protection? + +The case was so extraordinary and unprecedented that it could obviously be +met only (if at all) by extraordinary and unprecedented measures. Such +measures Coquenil proceeded to conceive and carry out, realizing fully +that, in so doing, he was taking his life in his hands. His first intuition +had come true, he was facing a great criminal and must either destroy or be +destroyed; it was to be a ruthless fight to a finish between Paul Coquenil +and the Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck. + +And, true to his intuitions, as he had been from the start, M. Paul +resolved to seek the special and deadly arm that he needed against this +sinister enemy in the baron's immediate _entourage;_ in fact, in his own +house 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 de +Varennes, the very center of the ancient nobility of Paris. + +In this purpose he finally succeeded, after what wiles and pains need not +be stated, being hired at moderate wages as a stable helper, with a small +room over the carriage house, and miscellaneous duties that included much +drudgery in cleaning the baron's numerous automobiles. It may truthfully be +said that no more willing pair of arms ever rubbed and scrubbed their +aristocratic brasses. + +The next thing was to gain the confidence, then the complicity of one of +the men servants in the _hôtel_ itself, so that he might be given access to +the baron's private apartments at the opportune moment. In the horde of +hirelings about a great man there is always one whose ear is open to +temptation, 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 stockings +who was not above accepting some hundred-franc notes in return for sure +information as to the master's absences from home and for necessary +assistance in the way of keys and other things. + +Thus it came to pass that on a certain night in August, about two in the +morning, Paul Coquenil found himself alone in the baron's spacious, silent +library before a massive safe. The opening of this safe is another matter +that need not be gone into--a desperate case justifies desperate risk, and +an experienced burglar chaser naturally becomes a bit of a burglar +himself; at any rate, the safe swung open in due course, without accident +or interference, and the detective stood before it. + +All this Coquenil had done on a chance, without positive knowledge, save +for the assurance of the black-whiskered valet that the baron wrote +frequently in a diary which he kept locked in the safe. Whether this was +true, and, if so, whether the baron had been mad enough to put down with +his own hand a record of his own wickedness, were matters of pure +conjecture. Coquenil was convinced that this journal would contain what he +wanted; he did not believe that a man like De Heidelmann-Bruck would keep a +diary simply to fill in with insipidities. If he kept it at all, it would +be because it pleased him to analyze, fearlessly, his own extraordinary +doings, good or bad. The very fact that the baron was different from +ordinary men, a law unto himself, made it likely that he would disregard +what ordinary men would call prudence in a matter like this; there is no +such word as imprudence for one who is practically all-powerful, and, if it +tickled the baron's fancy to keep a journal of crime, it was tolerably +certain 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 book +bound in black leather and fastened with heavy gold clasps. It was the +diary. + +With a thrill of triumph, Coquenil seized upon the volume, then, closing +the safe carefully, without touching anything else, he returned to his room +in the stable. His purpose was accomplished, and now he had only one +thought--to leave the _hôtel_ as quickly as possible; it would be a matter +of a few moments to pack his modest belongings, then he could rouse the +doorkeeper and be off with his bag and the precious record. + +As he started to act on this decision, however, and steal softly down to +the courtyard, the detective paused and looked at his watch. It was not yet +three o'clock, and M. Paul, in the real burglar spirit, reflected that his +departure with a bag, at this unseasonable hour, might arouse the +doorkeeper's suspicion; whereas, if he waited until half past five, the +gate 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 one +would enter the library before seven or eight. + +While he waited, Coquenil opened the diary and began to read. There were +some four hundred neatly written pages, brief separate entries without +dates, separate thoughts as it were, and, as he turned through them he +found himself more and more absorbed until, presently, he forgot time, +place, danger, everything; an hour passed, two hours, and still the +detective read on while his candle guttered down to the stick and the +brightening day filled his mean stable room; he was absolutely lost in a +most extraordinary human document, in one of those terrible utterances, +shameless and fearless, that are flung out, once in a century or so, from +the 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 through +the pages, utterly oblivious to everything, when a harsh voice broke in +upon him: "You seem to have an interesting book, my friend?" + +Looking up with a start, M. Paul saw De Heidelmann-Bruck himself standing +in the open doorway. His hands were thrust carelessly in his coat pockets +and a mocking smile played about his lips, the smile that Coquenil had +learned to fear. + +"It's more than interesting, it's marvelous, it's unbelievable," answered +the detective quietly. "Please shut that door. There's a draught coming +in." + +As he spoke he sneezed twice and reached naturally toward his coat as if +for a handkerchief. + +"No, no! None of that!" warned the other sharply. "Hands up!" And Coquenil +obeyed. "My pistol is on you in this side pocket. If you move, I'll shoot +through 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! Now +keep still!" + +Coquenil did as he was bidden. He stood against the wall while quick +fingers went through his clothes, he felt his pistol taken from him, then +something soft and wet pressed under his nostrils. He gasped and a +sweetish, sickening breath filled his lungs, he tried to struggle, but +iron arms held him helpless. He felt himself drifting into unconsciousness +and strove vainly against it. He knew he had lost the battle, there was +nothing to hope for from this man--nothing. Well--it had been a finish +fight and--one or the other had to go. _He_ was the one, he was +going--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--a +man 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 his +mother's face and, looking at it through the eyes of his soul, he spoke to +her 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 the +adventure had brought him no pain; he moved his arms and legs and +discovered no injury, then he reached out a hand and found that he was +lying on a cold stone floor with his head on a rough sack filled apparently +with shavings. + +He did not open his eyes, but tried to think where he could be and to +imagine what had happened. It was not conceivable that his enemy would let +him escape, this delay was merely preliminary to something else and--he was +certainly a prisoner--somewhere. + +Reasoning thus he caught a sound as of rustling paper, then a faint +scratching. With eyes still shut, he turned his face toward the scratching +sound, then away from it, then toward it, then away from it. Now he sniffed +the air about him, now he rubbed a finger on the floor and smelled it, now +he lay quiet and listened. He had found a fascinating problem, and for a +long time he studied it without moving and without opening his eyes. + +Finally he spoke aloud in playful reproach: "It's a pity, baron, to write +in 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 the +orange." + +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 seeds +drop." + +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 of +shavings." + +"How do you know we are underground?" + +"By the smell of the floor and because you need a candle when it's full +daylight 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 earlier +than 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 windowless +chamber. By the uncertain light of the baron's candle he made out an arched +passageway at one side and around the walls piles of logs carefully roped +and 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 breakfast +orange. 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 for +unusual cleverness, but if you tell me you have any inkling what I am +waiting for----" + +"It's more than inkling," answered the detective quietly, "I _know_ that +you 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 is +gone. 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 bring +her, though _how_ you knew it is more than I can understand." + +"Gibelin heard you speak of the ring to Pougeot that night in the +automobile." + +"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, cruel +smile: "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 this +candle and you don't care particularly about lying on that bag of +shavings." + +With this he led the way through the arched passageway into another stone +chamber very much like the first, only smaller, and lined in the same way +with piled-up logs. In the middle of the floor was a rough table spread +with food, and two rough chairs. On the table lay the diary. + +"Sit down," continued the baron. "Later on you can eat, but first we'll +have 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've +given 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 glanced +wonderingly across the table. + +"Thanks," he said simply. + +"It's a pity you couldn't see things my way. I wanted to be your friend, I +wanted to help you. Just think how many times I've gone out of my way to +give you chances, fine business chances." + +"I know." + +"And that night on the Champs Elysées! Didn't I warn you? Didn't I almost +plead 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; it +cuts me up, Coquenil." He spoke with real sadness. + +"I understand," answered M. Paul. "I appreciate what you say. There's a +bond between a good detective and----" + +"A _great_ detective!" put in the baron admiringly, "the greatest detective +Paris has known in fifty years or will know in fifty more. Yes, yes, it's a +pity!" + +"I was saying," resumed the other, "that there is a bond between a +detective and a criminal--I suppose it gets stronger between a--a great +detective," 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 Ludovico +Schertzi--you know he had your identical little finger." + +"Really!" + +"Yes. And your absolute lack of feeling about crime. Never a tremor! Never +a qualm of remorse! Just cold intelligence!" + +"Of course." The baron held his left hand close to the candle and looked at +it critically. "Strange about that little finger! And _pretty_ the way you +caught 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 few +years, 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 of +your 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? My +cook makes rather good dressing." + +"No, thanks! Speaking of cooks, how did you know the name of that canary +bird?" + +"Ha, ha! Pete? I knew it from the husband of the woman who opens the big +gate of the Villa Montmorency. He cleans your windows, you know, and--he +was 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 out +orders; he never knows what they mean. Anything else?" + +Coquenil thought a moment. "Oh! Did you know that private room Number Seven +would 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 half +past 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 showed +him." + +"Had you no direct dealings with Anita?" + +The baron shook his head. "I never saw the girl. The thing just happened +and--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? Too +complicated? Why didn't you get rid of this billiard player in some simpler +way?" + +"A natural question," agreed De Heidelmann-Bruck. "I could have done it +easily in twenty ways--twenty stupid safe ways. But don't you see that is +what I didn't want? It was necessary to suppress Martinez, but, in +suppressing him as I did, there was also good sport. And when a man has +everything, Coquenil, good sport is mighty rare." + +"I see, I see," murmured the detective. "And you let Alice live all these +years for the same reason?" + +"Yes." + +"The wood-carver game diverted you?" + +"Precisely. It put a bit of ginger into existence." He paused, and half +closing his eyes, added musingly: "I'll miss it now. And I'll miss the zest +of fighting you." + +"Ah!" said Coquenil. "By the way, how long have you known that I was +working 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 you +read my diary I should be protected." + +"I don't understand." + +"Of course not, but--" Suddenly his voice grew harsher and M. Paul thought +of the meeting on the Champs Elysées. "Do you realize, sir," the baron went +on, and his voice was almost menacing, "that not once but half a dozen +times 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 trembling +on my lips? Because I admire you, I'm interested in the workings of your +mind, I, yes, by God, in spite of your stubbornness and everything, I like +you, Coquenil, and I don't want to harm you. + +"You may not believe it," he went on, "but when you sent word to the +Brazilian Embassy the other day that you would accept the Rio Janeiro +offer, after all, I was honestly happy _for you_, not for myself. What did +it matter to me? I was relieved to know that you were out of danger, that +you had come to your senses. Then suddenly you went mad again and, and did +this. So I said to myself: 'All right, he wants it, he'll get it,' and, I +let you read the diary." + +"Why?" + +"Why?" cried the baron hoarsely. "Don't you _see_ why? You know everything +now, _everything_. It isn't guesswork, it isn't deduction, it's absolute +certainty. You have _seen_ my confession, you _know_ that I killed +Martinez, that I robbed this girl of her fortune, that I am going to let an +innocent 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 one +of us can draw back. We _cannot_ draw back if we would. Suppose I said to +you: 'Coquenil, I like you, I'm going to let you go free.' What would you +reply? You would say: 'Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck, I'm much obliged, but, as +an honest man, I tell you that, as soon as I am free, I shall proceed to +have this enormous fortune you have been wickedly enjoying taken from you +and 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, I +shall not only take this fortune from you and make you very poor instead of +very rich, but I shall denounce you as a murderer and shall do my best to +have 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 together +and your shirt cut away at the back of the neck and then to have you bound +against an upright plank and tipped forward gently under a forty-pound +knife'--you see I know the details--and then, phsst! the knife falls and +behold the head of De Heidelmann-Bruck in one basket and his body in +another! 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 my +own 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 would +have been a little dulled for this--business." He motioned meaningly toward +the 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 a +delicate compliment. + +For some moments the two were silent, then M. Paul asked gravely: "How soon +will the girl be here?" + +"She's undoubtedly here now. She is waiting outside." He pointed to a +heavily 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 an +effort: "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 little +signs, as brokers in a great stock-exchange battle dispose of fortunes with +a 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 about +it 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 you +want to ask?" + +The detective reflected a moment. "Was it you personally who killed my +dog?" + +"Yes." + +"And my mother?" His face was very white and his voice trembled. "Did +you--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 that +heart machine, and--now you'll take yours. Good-by, Coquenil," he held out +his hand, "I'm sorry." + +"Good-by," answered the detective with quiet dignity. "If it's all the same +to 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 served +its purpose, I'm tired of it. Don't be alarmed, _it will not be found_." He +glanced with grim confidence at the stacked wood. "You'll have fifteen or +twenty 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-clad +figure among the shadows, and Alice, with beautiful, frightened eyes, +staggered toward him. Then the door clanged shut and the sound of grating +bolts 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 and +I came at once, but, in the automobile, I felt something was wrong and--you +know _he_ is outside?" Her eyes widened anxiously. + +"I know. Sit down here." He pointed to the table. "Does Pougeot know about +this?" + +She shook her head. "The man came for M. Pougeot first. I wasn't down at +breakfast 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 man +came back and said M. Pougeot was with you and that he had been sent to +bring 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 of +helplessness. + +"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--in +trouble--but--wait a minute." + +Taking the candle, Coquenil went through the arched opening into the +larger chamber and made a hurried inspection. The room was about fifteen +feet square and ten feet high, with everything of stone--walls, floor, and +arched ceiling. Save for the passage into the smaller room, there was no +sign 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 large +underground chamber. + +B. Table and two chairs in smaller chamber where de Heidelmann-Bruck was +writing. + +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 built +a 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 six +feet, and at the archway the pile ran straight through into the smaller +room. The logs were in two-foot lengths, and as the archway was about four +feet wide, the passage between the two rooms was half blocked with wood. + +Coquenil walked slowly around the chamber, peering carefully into cracks +between the logs, as if searching for something. As he went on he held the +candle lower and lower, and presently got down upon his hands and knees and +crept along the base of the pile. + +"What _are_ you doing?" asked Alice, watching him in wonder from the +archway. + +Without replying, the detective rose to his feet, and holding the candle +high above his head, examined the walls above the wood pile. Then he +reached 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 and +smelled 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 with +quick decision: "I'm going to set you to work," he said. "By the way, have +you 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 high +wall?" + +"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. He +will get Tignol and Tignol knows I was here. But can they find us? Can they +find 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 our +lives 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 by +blocking the passageway. Let's see!" He searched through his pockets. "He +has taken my knife. Ah, this will do!" and lifting a plate from the table +he broke it against the wall. "There! Take one of these pieces and see if +you 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 section +of the wood piled in the smaller chamber from the restraining ropes and +stakes. + +"Now then," directed Coquenil, "you carry the logs to me and I'll make a +barricade in the passageway." + +The word passageway is somewhat misleading--there was really a distance of +only three feet between the two chambers, this being the thickness of the +massive stone wall that separated them. Half of this opening was already +filled 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 from +chamber to chamber, and then laying other logs on top of these, and so on +as rapidly as the girl brought wood. + +They worked with all speed, Alice carrying the logs bravely, in spite of +splintered hands and weary back, and soon the passageway was solidly walled +with closely fitted logs to the height of six feet. Above this, in the +arched part, Coquenil worked more slowly, selecting logs of such shape and +size 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 a +draught, and a draught meant the spreading of the fire. + +"Now," said M. Paul, surveying the blocked passageway, "that is the best we +can do--with wood. We must stop these cracks with something else. What did +you wear?" He glanced at the chair where Alice had thrown her things. "A +white 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 and +vest. 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 upper +logs and floated away, another came below it, then another, each widening +and strengthening as it came. Somewhere, perhaps in his sumptuous library, +De Heidelmann-Bruck had pressed an electric button and, under the logs +piled 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 stick +that he had wrenched from one of the logs, he met each feather of smoke +with a strip of cloth, stuffing the cracks with shreds of garments, with +Alice's veil and hat ribbon, with the lining of his coat, then with the +body of it, with the waist of her dress, with his socks, with her +stockings, 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. The +smoke seemed to come more slowly, but--it came. + +"We must have more cloth," he said gravely. "It's our only chance, little +friend. I'll put out the candle! There! Let me have--whatever you can +and--be quick!" + +Again he worked with frantic haste, stuffing in the last shreds and rags +that could be spared from their bodies, whenever a dull glow from the other +side revealed a crack in the barricade. For agonized moments there was no +sound in that tomblike chamber save Alice's quick breathing and the +shrieking tear of garments, and the ramming thud of the stick as Coquenil +wedged 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. There +were no more points in the barricade that showed a glow beyond and to +Coquenil, 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 final +touch I'll hang that cloak of yours over the whole thing," and, very +carefully, he tucked the white garment over the topmost logs and then at +the sides so that it covered most of the barricade. + +"You understand that a fire cannot burn without air," he explained, "and it +must be air that comes in from below to replace the hot air that rises. Now +I couldn't find any openings in that large room except two little +ventilators near the ceiling, so if that fire is going to burn, it must get +air 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--there +must be ventilating shafts besides. Anyhow, the point is, if we have +blocked this passage between the rooms we have stopped the fire from +turning, or, anyhow, from burning enough to do us any harm. You see these +logs are quite cold. Feel them." + +Alice groped forward in the darkness toward the barricade and, as she +touched the logs, her bare arm touched Coquenil's bare arm. + +Suddenly a faint sound broke the stillness and the detective started +violently. He was in such a state of nervous tension that he would have +started at the rustle of a leaf. + +"Hark! What is that?" + +It was a low humming sound that presently grew stronger, and then sang on +steadily 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 nowhere +and--everywhere! What _is_ it?" + +As he moved about in perplexity it seemed to him that he felt a current of +air. He put one hand in it, then the other hand, then he turned his face to +it; there certainly was a current of air. + +"Alice, come here!" he called. "Stand where I am! That's right. Now put out +your hand! Do you feel anything?" + +"I feel a draught," she answered. + +"There's no doubt about it," he muttered, "but--how _can_ there be a +draught here?" + +As he spoke the humming sound strengthened and with it the draught blew +stronger. + +"Merciful God!" cried Coquenil in a flash of understanding, "it's a +blower!" + +"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 a +blower, I tell you, and----" + +"What _is_ a blower?" put in Alice. + +At her frightened tone Coquenil calmed himself and answered gently: "It's +like a big electric fan, it's drawing air out of this room very fast, with +a powerful suction, and I'm afraid--unless----" + +Just then there came a sharp pop followed by a hissing noise as if some one +were 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 blowing +through _toward_ us? The blower has sucked out one of our cloth plugs. +There goes another!" he said, as the popping sound was repeated. "And +another! It's all off with our barricade, little girl!" + +"You--you mean the fire will come through now?" she gasped. He could hear +her 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 whirling +blower was literally dragging the flames toward them through the dry wood +pile. Already the heat was increasing, it would soon be unbearable; at this +rate their hold on life was a matter of minutes. + +"The fire may come through--a little," he answered comfortingly, "but +I--I'll fix it so you will be--all right. Come! We'll build another +barricade. You know wood is a bad conductor of heat, and--if you have wood +all 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. Now +bring me logs from that side pile! That's right!" + +He glanced at the old barricade and saw, with a shudder, that it was +already pierced with countless open cracks that showed the angry fire +beyond. And through these cracks great volumes of smoke were pouring. + +Fortunately, most of this smoke, especially at first, was borne away upward +by the blower's suction, and for some minutes Alice was able to help +Coquenil with the new barricade. They built this directly in front of the +iron door, with only space enough between it and the door to allow them to +crouch 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 had +to do the last part of the work alone, for Alice sank back overcome by the +smoke. + +"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 the +door. You'll have plenty of cool, sweet air. See? That's right. Now I'll +fix a roof over this thing and pretty soon, if it gets uncomfortable up +here, I'll crawl in beside you. It's better not to look at the silly old +barricade. Just shut your eyes and--rest. Understand little friend?" + +"Ye-es," she murmured faintly, and with sinking heart, he realized that +already she was drifting toward unconsciousness. Ah, well, perhaps that was +the best thing! + +He looked down at the fair young face and thought of her lover languishing +in prison. What a wretched fate theirs had been! What sufferings they had +borne! 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 so +much pains for so paltry a result? + +He turned toward the barricade and saw that the flames were licking their +way through the wall of logs, shooting and curling their hungry red tongues +through many openings. The heat was becoming unbearable. Well, they were at +the last trench now, he was surprised at the clearness and calmness of his +mind. Death did not seem such a serious thing after all! + +Coquenil crawled in behind the shelter of logs and crouched down beside the +girl. She was quite unconscious now, but was breathing peacefully, +smilingly, with face flushed and red lips parted. The glorious masses of +her reddish hair were spread over the girls white shoulders, and it seemed +to M. Paul that he had never seen so beautiful a picture of youth and +innocence. + +Suddenly there was a crumbling of logs at the passageway and the chamber +became light as day while a blast of heat swept over them. Coquenil looked +out around the end of the shelter and saw flames a yard long shooting +toward 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 would +rage hotter and hotter for hours until the stones themselves would be red +hot 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 a +line--still she would know that her boy had fallen in a good cause, as his +father had fallen. He needn't worry about his mother--she would know. + +Now another log crumbled with a sharp crackling. Alice stirred uneasily and +opened her eyes. Then she sat up quickly, and there was something in her +face Coquenil had never seen there, something he had never seen in any +face. + +"Willie, you naughty, naughty boy!" she cried. "You have taken my beautiful +dolly. 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 the +shelter 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 her +finger, Coquenil saw, what he had not noticed before, a massive stone shelf +jutting 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 here +and--I'll get your dolly." + +She stamped her foot in displeasure. "Not at all; I don't _like_ this +place. It's a hot, _nasty_ place and--come"--she caught Coquenil's +hand--"we'll go out where the fairies are. That's a _much_ nicer place to +play, Willie." + +Here there came to M. Paul an urging of mysterious guidance, as if an +inward 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 do +we 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 it +open." + +"Silly!" She stamped her foot again. "You push on that stone thing under +the shelf." + +Shading his eyes against the glare, Coquenil looked at the shelf and saw +that 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 this +side 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 actually +blistering the skin, but to his surprise he found her suddenly limp in his +arms. Having spoken these strange words of wisdom or of folly, she had gone +back into unconsciousness. + +Coquenil believed that they were words of wisdom, and without a moment's +hesitation, he acted on that belief. The wall underneath the shelf was half +covered with piled-up logs and these must be removed; which meant that he +must work there for several minutes with the fierce breath of the fire +hissing over him. + +It was the work of a madman, or of one inspired. Three times Coquenil fell +to the floor, gasping for breath, blinded by the flames that were roaring +all about him, poisoned by deadly fumes. The skin on his arms and neck was +hanging away in shreds, the pain was unbearable, yet he bore it, the task +was 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 the +left-hand bracket in his two bruised hands and pressed it with all his +might. + +Instantly a door underneath, cunningly hidden in the wall, yawned open on a +square black passage. + +"It's here that the fairies play," muttered M. Paul, "and it's a mighty +good place for us!" + +With a bound he was back at the shelter and had Alice in his arms, smiling +again, as she slept--as she dreamed. And a moment later he had carried her +safely through flames that actually singed her hair, and laid her tenderly +in the cool passage. _And beside her he laid the baron's diary!_ + +[Illustration: "And a moment later he had carried her safely through the +flames."] + +Then he went back to close the door. It was high time, for the last +obstructing logs of the old barricade had fallen and the chamber was a +seething mass of fire. + +"I feel pretty rotten," reflected Coquenil with a whimsical smile. "My hair +is burned off and my eyebrows are gone and about half my skin, but--I guess +I'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 hot +stone shelf, brought down a scorched and battered and dust-covered little +figure 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 the +minds of Alice and her rescuer. There was, first, a period of utter blank +when Coquenil, overcome by the violence of his struggle and the agony of +his burns, fell unconscious near the unconscious girl. How long they lay +thus in the dark playground of the fairies, so near the raging fire, yet +safe from it, was never known exactly; nor how long they wandered +afterwards through a strange subterranean region of passages and cross +passages, that widened and narrowed, that ascended and descended, that were +sometimes smooth under foot, but oftener blocked with rough stones and +always black as night. The fairies must have been sorry at their plight, +for, indeed, it was a pitiable one; bruised, blistered, covered with grime +and with little else, they stumbled on aimlessly, cutting their bare feet, +falling often in sheer weakness, and lying for minutes where they fell +before they could summon strength to stumble on. Surely no more pathetic +pair 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 of +darkness and weakness and pain there presently came hope--flickering +torches in the distance, then faint voices and the presence of friends, +some workingmen, occupied with drainage repairs, who produced stimulants +and rough garments and showed them the way to the upper world, to the +blessed sunshine. + +Then it was a matter of temporary relief at the nearest pharmacy, of +waiting until Pougeot, summoned by telephone, could arrive with all haste +in an automobile. + +An hour later M. Paul and Alice were in clean, cool beds at a private +hospital near the commissary's house, with nurses and doctors bending over +them. And on a chair beside the girl, battered and blackened, sat +Esmeralda, while under the detective's pillow was the scorched but unharmed +diary of De Heidelmann-Bruck! + +"Both cases serious," was the head doctor's grave judgment. "The man is +frightfully burned. The girl's injuries are not so bad, but she is +suffering from shock. We'll know more in twenty-four hours." Then, turning +to Pougeot: "Oh, he insists on seeing you alone. Only a minute mind!" + +With a thrill of emotion the commissary entered the silent, darkened room +where his friend lay, swathed in bandages and supported on a water bed to +lessen 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 to +pull through--I've got to, but--if anything should go wrong, I want you to +have the main points. Come nearer." + +The commissary motioned to the nurse, who withdrew. Then he bent close to +the injured man and listened intently while Coquenil, speaking with an +effort 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 able +to 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. You +must--make sure of these--nurses." + +"Yes, Paul, I will." + +"And--watch the girl! Something has happened to--her mind. She's forgotten +or--_remembered!_ Get the best specialist in Paris and--get Duprat. Do +whatever 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 a +warning 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 out +of the room, turning at the door for an anxious glance toward the white +bed. + +This was the first of many visits to the hospital by the devoted commissary +and of many anxious hours at that distressed bedside. Before midnight +Coquenil was in raging delirium with a temperature of one hundred and five, +and the next morning, when Pougeot called, the doctor looked grave. They +were in for a siege of brain fever with erysipelas to be fought off, if +possible. + +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 the +fire, he rescued Alice, he played with the fairies, he went back after the +doll. Over and over again! + +And when the fever fell and his mind grew calm, there followed a period of +nervous exhaustion when his stomach refused to do its work, when his heart, +for nothing at all, would leap into fits of violent beating. Pougeot could +not even see him now, and the doctor would make no promise as to how soon +it 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 the +murder of Martinez and the evidence seemed overwhelmingly against him; in +fact, the general opinion was that the young American would be found +guilty. + +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 a +serious talk with the patient. A few days! Unfortunately, the trial began +to march along during these days--they dispose of murder cases +expeditiously in France--and, to make matters worse, Coquenil suffered a +relapse, 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 suddenly +developed his old keen interest in the case, and one morning insisted on +knowing how things were going and what the prospects were. In vain doctor +and nurse objected and reasoned; the patient only insisted the more +strongly, he wished to have a talk with M. Pougeot at once. And, as the +danger of opposing him was felt to be greater than that of yielding, it +resulted that M. Paul had his way, Pougeot came to his bedside and stayed +an hour--two hours, until the doctor absolutely ordered him away; but, +after luncheon, the detective took the bit in his teeth and told the doctor +plainly that, with or without permission, he was going to do his work. He +had learned things that he should have known long ago and there was not an +hour to lose. A man's life was at stake, and--his stomach, his nerves, his +heart, and his other organs might do what they pleased, he proposed to save +that life. + +Before this uncompromising attitude the doctor could only bow gracefully, +and when he was told by Pougeot (in strictest confidence) that this gaunt +and irascible patient, whom he had known as M. Martin, was none other than +the 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 and +floods of sunshine. Since early morning the streets about the Palais de +Justice had been, blocked with carriages and automobiles, and the courtyard +with clamorous crowds eager to witness the final scene in this celebrated +murder trial. The case would certainly go to the jury before night. The +last pleas would be made, the judge's grave words would be spoken, and +twelve solemn citizens would march out with the fate of this cheerful young +American in their hands. It was well worth seeing, and all Paris that could +get tickets, especially the American Colony, was there to see it. Pussy +Wilmott, in a most fetching gown, with her hair done ravishingly, sat near +the 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 the +end, and ready always with his good-natured smile. All the ladies liked +him. He had such nice teeth and such well-kept hands! A murderer with those +kind, jolly eyes? Never in the world! they vowed, and smiled and stared +their encouragement. + +A close observer would have noticed, however, that Lloyd's eyes were +anxious 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 had +she sent him no word? Was she ill? Had any harm befallen her? _Where was +Alice?_ + +So absorbed was Kittredge in these reflections that he scarcely heard the +thundering denunciations hurled at him by the public prosecutor in his +fierce and final demand that blood be the price of blood and that the +extreme penalty of the law be meted out to this young monster of wickedness +and dissimulation. + +Nor did Lloyd notice the stir when one of the court attendants made way +through the crush for a distinguished-looking man, evidently a person of +particular importance, who was given a chair on the platform occupied by +the three black-robed judges. + +"The Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck!" whispered eager tongues, and straightway +the awe-inspiring name was passed from mouth to mouth. The Baron de +Heidelmann-Bruck! He had dropped in in a dilettante spirit to hear the +spirited debate, and the judges were greatly honored. + +Alas for the baron! It was surely some sinister prompting that brought him +here to-day, so coldly complacent as he nodded to the presiding judge, so +quietly indifferent as he glanced at the prisoner through his single +eyeglass. The gods had given Coquenil a spectacular setting for his +triumph! + +And now, suddenly, the blow fell. As the prosecuting officer soared along +in his oratorial flight, a note was passed unobtrusively to the presiding +judge, a modest little note folded on itself without even an envelope to +hold it. For several minutes the note lay unnoticed; then the judge, with +careless eye, glanced over it; then he started, frowned, and his quick +rereading showed that a spark of something had flashed from that scrap of +paper. + +The presiding judge leaned quickly toward his associate on the right and +whispered earnestly, then toward his associate on the left, and, one after +another, the three magistrates studied this startling communication, +nodding learned heads and lowering judicial eyebrows. The public prosecutor +blazed through his peroration to an inattentive bench. + +No sooner had the speaker finished than the clerk of the court announced a +brief recess, during which the judges withdrew for deliberation and the +audience buzzed their wonder. During this interval the Baron de +Heidelmann-Bruck looked frankly bored. + +On the return of the three, an announcement was made by the presiding judge +that important new evidence in the case had been received, evidence of so +unusual a character that the judges had unanimously decided to interrupt +proceedings for a public hearing of the evidence in question. It was +further ordered that no one be allowed to leave the courtroom under any +circumstances. + +"Call the first witness!" ordered the judge, and amidst the excitement +caused by these ominous words a small door opened and a woman entered +leaning 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 in +incomprehensible singsong. + +The woman came forward to the witness stand and lifted her veil. As she did +so, three distinct things happened: the audience murmured its admiration at +a vision of strange beauty, Kittredge stared in a daze of joy, and De +Heidelmann-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! Alice +here 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 to +gain 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: "The +Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck." + +There was something in the girl's tone, in her manner, in the fearless +poise of her head, that sent a shiver of apprehension through the audience. +Every man and woman waited breathless for the next question. In their +absorbed interest in the girl they scarcely looked at the aristocratic +visitor. + +"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 answered +in 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 the +Charity 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 us +through which some people were climbing. My mother and I got to this window +and would have been able to escape through it, but the Baron de +Heidelmann-Bruck pushed us back and climbed through himself." + +"It's a lie!" cried the baron hoarsely, while a murmur of dismay arose from +the courtroom. + +"Silence!" warned the clerk. + +"And after that?" + +The girl shook her head and there came into her face a look of terrible +sadness. + +"I don't know what happened after that for a long time. I was very ill +and--for years I did not remember these things." + +"You mean that for years you did not remember what you have just +testified?" + +"Yes, that is what I mean." + +The room was so hushed in expectation that the tension was like physical +pain. + +"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, and +looked at De Heidelmann-Bruck. The baron's face was ghastly white, but by a +supreme 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--I +nearly lost my life there." + +The witness had reached the end of her strength; she was twisting and +untwisting her white fingers piteously, while the pupils of her eyes +widened and contracted in terror. She staggered as if she would faint or +fall, and the guard was starting toward her when, through the anguished +silence, a clear, confident voice rang out: + +"_Alice!_" + +It was the prisoner who had spoken, it was the lover who had come to the +rescue and whose loyal cry broke the spell of horror. Instantly the girl +turned to Lloyd with a look of infinite love and gratitude, and before the +outraged 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 you +nearly lost your life a second time in a fire." + +In a low voice, but steadily, Alice began her story. She spoke briefly of +her humble life with the Bonnetons, of her work at Notre-Dame, of the +occasional visits of her supposed cousin, the wood carver; then she came to +the recent tragic happenings, to her flight from Groener, to the kindness +of M. Pougeot, to the trick of the ring that lured her from the +commissary'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--to +perish. + +As she described their desperate struggle for life in that living furnace +and their final miraculous escape, the effect on the audience was +indescribable. Women screamed and fainted, men broke down and wept, even +the judges wiped pitying eyes as Alice told how Paul Coquenil built the +last barricade with fire roaring all about him, and then how he dashed +among leaping flames and, barehanded, all but naked, cleared a way to +safety. + +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 you +say?" + +"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, then +she turned formidably with the fires of slumbering vengeance burning in her +wonderful eyes--vengeance for her mother, for her lover, for her rescuer, +for herself--she turned slowly toward the cowering nobleman and said +distinctly: "I accuse the Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck." + +So monstrous, so unthinkable was the charge, that the audience sat stupidly +staring at the witness as if they doubted their own ears, and some +whispered that the thing had never happened, the girl was mad. + +Then all eyes turned to the accused. He struggled to speak but the words +choked in his throat. If ever a great man was guilty in appearance, the +Baron 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's +voice was heard summoning M. Pougeot. + +The commissary appeared forthwith and, with all the authority of his +office, testified in confirmation of Alice's story. There was no possible +doubt that the girl would have perished in the flames but for the heroism +of Paul Coquenil. + +Pougeot was followed by Dr. Duprat, who gave evidence as to the return of +Alice's memory. He regarded her case as one of the most remarkable +psychological phenomena that had come under his observation, and he +declared, as an expert, that the girl's statements were absolutely worthy +of belief. + +"Call the next witness," directed the judge, and the clerk of the court +sang out: + +"_Paul Coquenil!_" + +A murmur of sympathy and surprise ran through the room as the small door +opened, just under the painting of justice, and a gaunt, pallid figure +appeared, a tall man, wasted and weakened. He came forward leaning on a +cane and his right hand was bandaged. + +"I would like to add, your Honor," said Dr. Duprat, "that M. Coquenil has +risen from a sick bed to come here; in fact, he has come against medical +advice to testify in favor of this young prisoner." + +The audience was like a powder mine waiting for a spark. Only a word was +needed 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! Never +in modern times had a Paris courtroom witnessed a scene like that which +followed. Pussy Wilmott, who spent her life looking for new sensations, had +one now. And Kittredge manacled in the dock, yet wildly happy! And Alice +outside, almost fainting between hope and fear! And De Heidelmann-Bruck +with his brave eyeglass and groveling soul! They _all_ had new sensations! + +As Coquenil spoke, there went up a great cry from the audience, an +irresistible tribute to his splendid bravery. It was spontaneous, it was +hysterical, it was tremendous. Men and women sprang to their feet, shouting +and waving and weeping. The crowd, crushed in the corridor, caught the cry +and passed it along. + +"Coquenil! Coquenil!" + +The down in the courtyard it sounded, and out into the street, where a +group 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 moment +to these frantic people as the symbol of what they most admired in a +man--resourcefulness before danger and physical courage and the readiness +to die for a friend. For these three they seldom had a chance to shout and +weep, so they wept and shouted now! + +"Coquenil! Coquenil!" + +There had been bitter moments in the great detective's life, but this made +up for them; there had been proud, intoxicating moments, but this surpassed +them. Coquenil, too, had a new sensation! + +When at length the tumult was stilled and the panting, sobbing audience had +settled back in their seats, the presiding judge, lenient at heart to the +disorder, proceeded gravely with his examination. + +"Please state what you know about this case," he said, and again the +audience waited in deathlike stillness. + +"There is no need of many words," answered M. Paul; then pointing an +accusing arm at De Heidelmann-Bruck, "I know that this man shot Enrico +Martinez on the night of July 4th, at the Ansonia Hotel." + +The audience gave a long-troubled sigh, the nobleman sat rigid on his +chair, 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." He +drew 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 sprang +toward the rich man, but Papa Tignol was there before him. With a bound the +old fox had leaped forward from the audience and reached the accused in +time to seize and stay his hand. + +"Excuse me, your Honor," apologized the detective, "the man was going to +kill 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 women +shrieking. + +The judge turned gravely to De Heidelmann-Bruck. "I have a painful duty to +perform, sir. Take this man out--_under arrest_, and--clear the room." + +M. Paul sank weakly into a chair and watched idly while the attendants led +away the unresisting millionaire, watched keenly as the judge opened the +baron's diary and began to read. He noted the magistrate's start of +amazement, the eager turning of pages and the increasingly absorbed +attention. + +"Astounding! Incredible!" muttered the judge. "A great achievement! I +congratulate you, M. Coquenil. It's the most brilliant coup I have ever +known. 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 baron +wished a word with M. Paul. + +"By all means," consented the judge. + +Haltingly, on his cane, Coquenil made his way to an adjoining room where +De Heidelmann-Bruck was waiting under guard. + +As he glanced at the baron, M. Paul saw that once more the man had +demonstrated his extraordinary self-control, he was cold and composed as +usual. + +"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 you +were sorry when you left me in that hot cellar. Now you're in a fairly hot +place 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 toward +his coat pocket. + +With a quick gesture Coquenil stopped the movement. + +"_I don't like smoke_," he said with grim meaning. "If there is anything +you want to say, sir, you had better say it." + +"I have only this to say, Coquenil," proceeded the baron, absolutely +unruffled; "we had had our little fight and--I have lost. We both did our +best with the weapons we had for the ends we hoped to achieve. I stood for +wickedness, you stood for virtue, and virtue has triumphed; but, between +ourselves"--he smiled and shrugged his shoulders--"they're both only words +and--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 this +sort of thing is--found out. I am perfectly willing to pay it, not in the +least afraid to pay it, and, above all, not in the least sorry for +anything. I want you to remember that and repeat it. I have no patience +with cowardly canting talk about remorse. I have never for one moment +regretted anything I have done, and I regret nothing now. Nothing! I have +had five years of the best this world can give--power, fortune, social +position, pleasure, _everything_, and whatever I pay, I'm ahead of the +game, way ahead. If I had it all to do over again and knew that this would +be the end, _I would change nothing_." + +"Except that secret door under the stone shelf--you might change that," put +in 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 was +genuine when I said I liked you. I was ready to destroy you, but I liked +you. I like you now, Coquenil, and--this is perhaps our last talk, they +will take me off presently, and--you collect odd souvenirs--here is one--a +little good-by--from an adversary who was--game, anyway. You don't mind +accepting 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 handed +him, 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 from +prisoners and--thank you." + +He handed back the ring. + +The baron's face darkened; he made an angry gesture as if he would dash the +trinket 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, but +never unkind before. It's only a bauble, Coquenil, and----" + +De Heidelmann-Bruck stopped suddenly and M. Paul caught a savage gleam in +his eyes; then, swiftly, the baron put the ring to his mouth, and sucking +in 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 bandaged +hand, and the prisoner sank to the floor. + +"I--I won the last trick, anyhow," the baron whispered as M. Paul bent over +him. + +Coquenil picked up the ring that had fallen from a nerveless hand. He put +it 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 de +Heidelmann-Bruck, unafraid and unrepentant, had gone to his last long +sleep. His face was calm, and even in death his lips seemed set in a +mocking smile of triumph. + + * * * * * + +And so it all ended, as the baron remarked, with virtue rewarded and right +triumphant over wrong. Only the doctors agreed that many a day must pass +before Coquenil could get back to his work, if, indeed, he ever went back +to it. There were reasons, independent of M. Paul's health, that made this +doubtful, reasons connected with the happiness of the lovers, for, after +all, it was to Coquenil that they owed everything; Kittredge owed him his +liberty and established innocence, Alice (we should say Mary) owed him her +memory, her lover, and her fortune; for, as the sole surviving heir of her +mother, the whole vast inheritance came to her. And, when a sweet young +girl finds herself in such serious debt to a man and at the same time one +of the richest heiresses in the world, she naturally wishes to give some +substantial form to her gratitude, even to the extent of a few odd millions +from her limitless store. + +At any rate, Coquenil was henceforth far beyond any need of following his +profession; whatever use he might in the future make of his brilliant +talents would be for the sheer joy of conquest and strictly in the spirit +of art for its own sake. + +On the other hand, if at any time he wished to undertake a case, it was +certain that the city of Paris or the government of France would tender him +their commissions on a silver salver, for now, of course, his justification +was complete and, by special arrangement, he was given a sort of roving +commission from headquarters with indefinite leave of absence. Best of all, +he was made chevalier of the Legion of Honor "_for conspicuous public +service_." What a day it was, to be sure, when Madam Coquenil first caught +sight 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 their +mountain home. + +"You did your work, Paul, and I'm proud of you," the old lady said when she +heard the tragic tale, "but don't forget, my boy, it was the hand of God +that saved you." + +"Yes, mother," he said fondly, and added with a mischievous smile, "don't +forget that you had a little to do with it, too." + +As for the lovers, there is only this to be said: that they were +ridiculously, indescribably happy. The mystery of Alice's strange dreams +and clairvoyant glimpses (it should be Mary) was in great part accounted +for, so Dr. Duprat declared, by certain psychological abnormalities +connected with her loss of memory; these would quickly disappear, he +thought, with a little care and a certain electrical treatment that he +recommended. Lloyd was positive kisses would do the thing just as well; at +any 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 himself +to hustle for a poor candle seller to change her into a howling +millionaire. 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 he +threatened to begin the treatment forthwith. + +"You darling!" he cried. "My little Alice! Hanged if I can _ever_ call you +anything 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 and +pressing 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 her +soul, she whispered: "The nicest name in the world _for me_ is--_Mrs. Lloyd +Kittredge!_" + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Through the Wall, by Cleveland Moffett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THROUGH THE WALL *** + +***** This file should be named 11373-8.txt or 11373-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/3/7/11373/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Through the Wall + +Author: Cleveland Moffett + +Release Date: February 29, 2004 [EBook #11373] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THROUGH THE WALL *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>THROUGH THE WALL</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>CLEVELAND MOFFETT</h2> + +<h4>AUTHOR OF</h4> + +<h3>THE BATTLE, ETC.</h3> + +<h4>With Illustrations by</h4> + +<h3>H. HEYER</h3> + +<h5>NEW YORK 1909</h5> + +<a name="image-1"><!-- Image 1 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/001.jpg" height="159" width="100" +alt="COVER"> +</center> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<h4>TO</h4> + +<h3>MY WIFE</h3> + +<h4>AND OUR DELIGHTFUL PARIS HOME IN THE</h4> + +<h4>VILLA MONTMORENCY, WHERE THIS</h4> + +<h4>BOOK WAS WRITTEN</h4> + +<h4>C. M.</h4> + +<h5>NEW YORK, AUGUST 1, 1909.</h5> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CONTENTS"></a><h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> + <a href="#LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"><b>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>CHAPTER I.—A BLOOD-RED SKY</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>CHAPTER II.—COQUENIL'S GREATEST CASE</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>CHAPTER III.—PRIVATE ROOM NUMBER SIX</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>CHAPTER IV.—"IN THE NAME OF THE LAW"</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>CHAPTER V.—COQUENIL GETS IN THE GAME</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>CHAPTER VI.—THE WEAPON</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>CHAPTER VII.—THE FOOTPRINTS</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b>CHAPTER VIII.—THROUGH THE WALL</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b>CHAPTER IX.—COQUENIL MARKS HIS MAN</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b>CHAPTER X.—GIBELIN SCORES A POINT</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><b>CHAPTER XI.—THE TOWERS OF NOTRE-DAME</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><b>CHAPTER XII.—BY SPECIAL ORDER</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><b>CHAPTER XIII.—LLOYD AND ALICE</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><b>CHAPTER XIV.—THE WOMAN IN THE CASE</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><b>CHAPTER XV.—PUSSY WILMOTT'S CONFESSION</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><b>CHAPTER XVI.—THE THIRD PAIR OF BOOTS</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><b>CHAPTER XVII.—"FROM HIGHER UP"</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><b>CHAPTER XVIII.—A LONG LITTLE FINGER</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><b>CHAPTER XIX.—TOUCHING A YELLOW TOOTH</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><b>CHAPTER XX.—THE MEMORY OF A DOG</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><b>CHAPTER XXI.—THE WOOD CARVER</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><b>CHAPTER XXII.—AT THE HAIRDRESSER'S</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><b>CHAPTER XXIII.—GROENER AT BAY</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"><b>CHAPTER XXIV.—THIRTY IMPORTANT WORDS</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXV"><b>CHAPTER XXV.—THE MOVING PICTURE</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI"><b>CHAPTER XXVI.—COQUENIL'S MOTHER</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII"><b>CHAPTER XXVII.—THE DIARY</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII"><b>CHAPTER XXVIII.—A GREAT CRIMINAL</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX"><b>CHAPTER XXIX.—THE LOST DOLLY</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHAPTER_XXX"><b>CHAPTER XXX.—MRS. LLOYD KITTREDGE</b></a><br> + +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"></a><h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<a href="#image-1"><b>Cover</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-2"><b>"'We'll show 'em, eh, Cæsar?'"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-3"><b>"'Alice,' he cried ... 'Say it isn't true'"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-4"><b>"'I want you,' he said in a low voice"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-5"><b>"'I didn't <i>resign</i>; I was discharged'"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-6"><b>"On the floor lay a man"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-7"><b>"'Ask Beau Cocono,' he called back"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-8"><b>"'Alice, I am innocent'"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-9"><b>"'Have one?' said M. Paul, offering his cigarette case"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-10"><b>"'There it lies to the left of that heavy doorway'"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-11"><b>"'<i>Cherche!</i>' he ordered"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-12"><b>"He prolonged his victory, slowly increasing the pressure"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-13"><b>"Gibelin beamed. 'The old school has its good points, after all'"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-14"><b>"'I know <i>why</i> you are thinking about that prison'"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-15"><b>"She was just bending over it when Coquenil entered"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-16"><b>"'Did you write this?'"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-17"><b>"And when he could think no longer, he listened to the pickpocket"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-18"><b>"'They all swore black and blue that Addison told the truth'"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-19"><b>"A door was opened suddenly and he was pushed into a room"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-20"><b>"'Stand still, I won't hurt you'"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-21"><b>"'There!' he said with a hideous grin, and he handed Tignol the tooth"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-22"><b>"'My dog, my dog!'"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-23"><b>"The confessional box was empty—<i>Alice was gone!</i>"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-24"><b>"'You mean that Father Anselm helped her to run away?' gasped Matthieu"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-25"><b>"'No nonsense, or you'll break your arm'"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-26"><b>"'It's the best disguise I ever saw, I'll take my hat off to you on that'"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-27"><b>"'You have ordered handcuffs put on a prisoner <i>for the last time</i>'"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-28"><b>"'No, no, no!' he shrieked. 'You dogs! You cowards!'"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-29"><b>"'What's the matter? Your eyes are shut'"</b></a><br> +<a href="#image-30"><b>"And a moment later he had carried her safely through the flames"</b></a><br> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_I"></a><h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>A BLOOD-RED SKY</h3> + +<p>It is worthy of note that the most remarkable criminal case in which the +famous French detective, Paul Coquenil, was ever engaged, a case of more +baffling mystery than the Palais Royal diamond robbery and of far greater +peril to him than the Marseilles trunk drama—in short, a case that ranks +with the most important ones of modern police history—would never have +been undertaken by Coquenil (and in that event might never have been +solved) but for the extraordinary faith this man had in certain strange +intuitions or forms of half knowledge that came to him at critical moments +of his life, bringing marvelous guidance. Who but one possessed of such +faith would have given up fortune, high position, the reward of a whole +career, <i>simply because a girl whom he did not know spoke some chance words +that neither he nor she understood</i>. Yet that is exactly what Coquenil did.</p> + +<p>It was late in the afternoon of a hot July day, the hottest day Paris had +known that year (1907) and M. Coquenil, followed by a splendid +white-and-brown shepherd dog, was walking down the Rue de la Cité, past the +somber mass of the city hospital. Before reaching the Place Notre-Dame he +stopped twice, once at a flower market that offered the grateful shade of +its gnarled polenia trees just beyond the Conciergerie prison, and once +under the heavy archway of the Prefecture de Police. At the flower market +he 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 a +smile and friendly word. She wondered if it was true, as people said, that +M. Coquenil always wore glasses with a slightly bluish tint so that no one +could see his eyes.</p> + +<p>The detective walked on, busy with pleasant thoughts. This was the hour of +his triumph and justification, this made up for the cruel blow that had +fallen two years before and resulted, no one understood why, in his leaving +the Paris detective force at the very moment of his glory, when the whole +city was praising him for the St. Germain investigation. <i>Beau Cocono!</i> +That was the name they had given him; he could hear the night crowds +shouting it in a silly couplet: + +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Il nous faut-o</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Beau Cocono-o!</span><br> + +<p>And then what a change within a week! What bitterness and humiliation! M. +Paul Coquenil, after scores of brilliant successes, had withdrawn from the +police force for personal reasons, said the newspapers. His health was +affected, some declared; he had laid by a tidy fortune and wished to enjoy +it, thought others; but many shook their heads mysteriously and whispered +that there was something queer in all this. Coquenil himself said nothing.</p> + +<p>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, +<i>on the recommendation of the Paris police department</i>, to organize the +detective service of a foreign capital, with a life position at the head +of this service and a much larger salary than he had ever received, a +larger salary, in fact, than Paris paid to its own chief of police.</p> + +<p>M. Coquenil had reached this point in his musings when he caught sight of a +red-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.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Papa Tignol!" he said briskly. "How goes it?"</p> + +<p>The old man saluted deferentially, and then, half shutting his small gray +eyes, replied with an ominous chuckle, as one who enjoys bad news: "Eh, +well enough, M. Paul; but I don't like <i>that</i>." And, lifting an unshaven +chin, he pointed over his shoulder with a long, grimy thumb to the western +sky.</p> + +<p>"Always croaking!" laughed the other. "Why, it's a fine sunset, man!"</p> + +<p>Tignol answered slowly, with objecting nod: "It's too red. And it's barred +with purple!"</p> + +<p>"Like your nose. Ha, ha!" And Coquenil's face lighted gaily. "Forgive me, +Papa Tignol."</p> + +<p>"Have your joke, if you will, but," he turned with sudden directness, +"don't you <i>remember</i> when we had a blood-red sky like that? Ah, you don't +laugh now!"</p> + +<p>It was true, Coquenil's look had deepened into one of somber reminiscence.</p> + +<p>"You mean the murders in the Rue Montaigne?"</p> + +<p>"Pre-cisely."</p> + +<p>"Pooh! A foolish fancy! How many red sunsets have there been since we found +those two poor women stretched out in their white-and-gold <i>salon</i>? Well, I +must get on. Come to-night at nine. There will be news for you."</p> + +<p>"News for me," echoed the old man. "<i>Au revoir</i>, M. Paul," and he watched +the slender, well-knit figure as the detective moved across the Place +Notre-Dame, snapping his fingers playfully at the splendid animal that +bounded beside him and speaking to the dog in confidential friendliness.</p> + +<p>"We'll show 'em, eh, Cæsar?" And the dog answered with eager barking and +quick-wagging tail.</p> + +<a name="image-2"><!-- Image 2 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/002.jpg" height="300" width="382" +alt=""'We'll show 'em, eh, Cæsar?'""> +</center> + +<h5>"'We'll show 'em, eh, Cæsar?'"</h5> + +<p>So these two companions advanced toward the great cathedral, directing +their steps to the left-hand portal under the Northern tower. Here they +paused before statues of various saints and angels that overhang the +blackened doorway while Coquenil said something to a professional beggar, +who straightway disappeared inside the church. Cæsar, meantime, with +panting tongue, was eying the decapitated St. Denis, asking himself, one +would say, how even a saint could carry his head in his hands.</p> + +<p>And presently there appeared a white-bearded sacristan in a three-cornered +hat of blue and gold and a gold-embroidered coat. For all his brave apparel +he was a small, mild-mannered person, with kindly brown eyes and a way of +smiling sadly as if he had forgotten how to laugh.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Bonneton, my friend!" said Coquenil, and then, with a quizzical +glance: "My decorative friend!"</p> + +<p>"Good evening, M. Paul," answered the other, while he patted the dog +affectionately. "Shall I take Cæsar?"</p> + +<p>"One moment; I have news for you." Then, while the other listened +anxiously, he told of his brilliant appointment in Rio Janeiro and of his +imminent departure. He was sailing for Brazil in three days.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mon Dieu!</i>" murmured Bonneton in dismay. "Sailing for Brazil! So our +friends leave us. Of course I'm glad for you; it's a great chance, +but—<i>will</i> you take Cæsar?"</p> + +<p>"I couldn't leave my dog, could I?" smiled Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"Of course not! Of course not! And <i>such</i> a dog! You've been kind to let +him guard the church since old Max died. Come, Cæsar! Just a moment, M. +Paul." And with real emotion the sacristan led the dog away, leaving the +detective all unconscious that he had reached a critical moment in his +destiny.</p> + +<p>How the course of events would have been changed had Paul Coquenil remained +outside Notre-Dame on this occasion it is impossible to know; the fact is +he did not remain outside, but, growing impatient at Bonneton's delay, he +pushed open the double swinging doors, with their coverings of leather and +red velvet, and entered the sanctuary. <i>And immediately he saw the girl</i>.</p> + +<p>She was in the shadows near a statue of the Virgin before which candles +were burning. On the table were rosaries and talismans and candles of +different lengths that it was evidently the girl's business to sell. In +front of the Virgin's shrine was a <i>prie dieu</i> at which a woman was +kneeling, but she presently rose and went out, and the girl sat there +alone. She was looking down at a piece of embroidery, and Coquenil noticed +her shapely white hands and the mass of red golden hair coiled above her +neck. When she lifted her eyes he saw that they were dark and beautiful, +though tinged with sadness. He was surprised to find this lovely young +woman selling candles here in Notre-Dame Church.</p> + +<p>And suddenly he was more surprised, for as the girl glanced up she met his +gaze fixed on her, and immediately there came into her face a look so +strange, so glad, and yet so frightened that Coquenil went to her quickly +with reassuring smile. He was sure he had never seen her before, yet he +realized that somehow she was equally sure that she knew him.</p> + +<p>What followed was seen by only one person, that is, the sacristan's wife, a +big, hard-faced woman with a faint mustache and a wart on her chin, who sat +by the great column near the door dispensing holy water out of a cracked +saucer and whining for pennies. Nothing escaped the hawklike eyes of Mother +Bonneton, and now, with growing curiosity, she watched the scene between +Coquenil and the candle seller. What interest could a great detective have +in this girl, Alice, whom she and her husband had taken in as a +half-charity boarder? Such airs as she gave herself! What was she saying +now? Why should he look at her like that? The baggage!</p> + +<p>"Holy saints, how she talks!" grumbled the sacristan's wife. "And see the +eyes she makes! And how he listens! The man must be crazy to waste his time +on 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 seems +afraid of her! He says something and starts to come away. Ah, now he turns +and stares at her as if he had seen a ghost! <i>Mon Dieu, quelle folie!</i>"</p> + +<p>This whole incident occupied scarcely five minutes, yet it wrought an +extraordinary change in Coquenil. All his buoyancy was gone, and he looked +worn, almost haggard, as he walked to the church door with hard-shut teeth +and face set in an ominous frown.</p> + +<p>"There's some devil's work in this," he muttered, and as his eyes caught +the fires of the lurid sky he thought of Papa Tignol's words.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked the sacristan, approaching timidly.</p> + +<p>The detective faced him sharply. "Who is the girl in there? Where did she +come 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 the +brows over his closed eyes as if he were combing away error. "No, no!" he +changed, "don't tell me yet. I must be alone; I must think. Come to me at +nine to-night."</p> + +<p>"I—I'll try to come," said Bonneton, with visions of an objecting wife.</p> + +<p>"You <i>must</i> come," insisted the detective. "Remember, nine o'clock," and he +started to go.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, quite so," murmured the sacristan, following him. "But, M. +Paul—er—which day do you sail?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil turned and snapped out angrily: "I may not sail at all."</p> + +<p>"But the—the position in Rio Janeiro?"</p> + +<p>"A thousand thunders! Don't talk to me!" cried the other, and there was +such black rage in his look that Bonneton cowered away, clasping and +unclasping his hands and murmuring meekly: "Ah, yes, exactly."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<p>So much for the humble influence that turned Paul Coquenil toward an +unbelievable decision and led him ultimately into the most desperate +struggle of his long and exciting career. A day of sinister portent this +must have been, for scarcely had Coquenil left Notre-Dame when another +scene was enacted there that should have been happy, but that, alas! showed +only a rough and devious way stretching before two lovers. And again it was +the girl who made trouble, this seller of candles, with her fine hands and +her 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 was +closing time, Mother Bonneton had shuffled off rheumatically after a +cutting word—she knew better than to ask what had happened—and the old +sacristan, lantern in hand and Cæsar before him, was making his round of +the galleries, securing doors and windows.</p> + +<p>With a shiver of apprehension Alice turned away from the whispering shadows +and went to the Virgin's shrine, where she knelt and tried to pray. The +candles sputtered before her, and she shut her eyes tight, which made +colored patterns come and go behind the lids, fascinating geometrical +figures that changed and faded and grew stronger. And suddenly, inside a +widening green circle, she saw a face, the face of a young man with +laughing gray eyes, and her heart beat with joy. She loved him, she loved +him!--that was her secret and the cause of her unhappiness, for she must +hide her love, especially from him; she must give him some cold word, some +evasive reason, not the real one, when he should come presently for his +answer. Ah, that was the great fact, he was coming for his answer—he, her +hero man, her impetuous American with the name she liked so much, Lloyd +Kittredge—how often she had murmured that name in her lonely hours!--<i>he</i> +would be here shortly for his answer.</p> + +<p>And alas! she must say "No" to him, she must give him pain; she could not +hope to make him understand—how could anyone understand?—and then, +perhaps, he would misjudge her, perhaps he would leave her in anger and not +come back any more. Not come back any more! The thought cut with a sharp +pang, and in her distress she moved her lips silently in the familiar +prayer printed before her:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p>O Marie, souvenez vous du moment supreme où Jesus votre divin Fils, + expirant sur la croix, nous confia à votre maternelle solicitude.</p></div> + +<p>Her thoughts wandered from the page and flew back to her lover; Why was he +so impatient? Why was he not willing to let their friendship go on as it +had been all these months? Why must he ask this inconceivable question and +insist on having an answer? His wife! Her cheeks flamed at the word and her +heart throbbed wildly. His wife! How wonderful that he should have chosen +her, so poor and obscure, for such an honor, the highest he could pay a +woman! Whatever happened she would at least have this beautiful memory to +comfort her loneliness and sorrow.</p> + +<p>A descending step on the tower stairs broke in upon her meditations, and +she rose quickly from her knees. The sacristan had finished his rounds and +was coming to close the outer doors. It was time for her to go. And, with a +glance at her hair in a little glass and a touch to her hat, she went out +into the garden back of Notre-Dame, where she knew her lover would be +waiting. There he was, strolling along the graveled walk near the fountain, +switching his cane impatiently. He had not seen her yet, and she stood +still, looking at him fondly, dreading what was to come, yet longing to +hear the sound of his voice. How handsome he was! What a nice gray suit, +and—then Kittredge turned.</p> + +<p>"Ah, at last!" he exclaimed, springing toward her with a mirthful, boyish +smile. His face was ruddy and clean shaven, the twinkling eyes and humorous +lines about the mouth suggesting some joke or drollery always ready on his +lips. Yet his was a frank, manly face, easily likable. He was a man of +twenty-seven, slender of build, but carrying himself well. In dress he had +the quiet good taste that some men are born with, besides a willingness to +take pains about shirts, boots, and cravats—in short, he looked like a +well-groomed Englishman. Unlike the average Englishman, however, he spoke +almost perfect French, owing to the fact that his American father had +married into one of the old Creole families of New Orleans.</p> + +<p>"How is your royal American constitution?" She smiled, repeating in +excellent English one of the nonsensical phrases he was fond of using. She +tried to say it gayly, but he was not deceived, and answered seriously in +French:</p> + +<p>"Hold on. There's something wrong. We've been sad, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Why—er—" she began, "I—er——"</p> + +<p>"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 a +friendly sycamore tree. "Now, then."</p> + +<p>She faced him with troubled eyes, searching vainly for words and finding +nothing. The crisis had come, and she did not know how to meet it. Her red +lips trembled, her eyes grew melting, and she sat there silent and +delicious in her perplexity. Kittredge thrilled under the spell of her +beauty; he longed to take her in his arms and comfort her.</p> + +<p>"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 this +old stone barn and took a turn around it. He saw the treasure and the fake +relics and the white marble French gentleman trying to get out of his +coffin. And he didn't care a hang about any of 'em until he saw you. Then +he began to take notice. The next day he came back and you sold him a +little red guidebook that told all about the twenty-five chapels and the +seven hundred and ninety-two saints. No, seven hundred and ninety-three, +for there was one saint with wonderful eyes and glorious hair and——"</p> + +<p>"Please don't," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"Why not? You don't know which saint I was talking about. It was My Lady of +the Candles. She had the most beautiful hands in the world, and all day +long she sat at a table making stitches on cloth of gold. Which was bad for +her eyes, by the way."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes!" sighed Alice.</p> + +<p>"There are all kinds of miracles in Notre-Dame," he went on playfully, "but +the greatest miracle is how this saint with the eyes and the hands and the +hair ever dropped down at that little table. Nobody could explain it, so +the young fellow with the fur overcoat kept coming back and coming back to +see if he could figure it out. Only soon he came without his overcoat."</p> + +<p>"In bitter cold weather," she said reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"He was pretty blue that day, wasn't he? Dead sore on the game. Money all +blown in, overcoat up the spout, nothing ahead, and a whole year of—of +damned foolishness behind. Excuse <i>me</i>, but that's what it was. Well, he +blew in that day and—he walked over to where you were sitting, you darling +little saint!"</p> + +<p>"No, no," murmured Alice, "not a saint, only a poor girl who saw you were +unhappy and—and was sorry."</p> + +<p>Their eyes met tenderly, and for a moment neither spoke. Then Kittredge +went 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. I +said to myself: 'Lloyd Kittredge, if you're any good you'll cut out this +thing that's been raising hell with you'—excuse <i>me</i>, but that's what it +was—'and you'll make a new start, right now.' And I did it. There's a lot +you don't know, but you can bet all your rosaries and relics that I've made +a fair fight since then. I've worked and—been decent and—I did it all for +you." His voice was vibrant now with passion; he caught her hand in his +and repeated the words, leaning closer, so that she felt his warm breath on +her cheek. "All for you. You know that, don't you, Alice?"</p> + +<p>What a moment for a girl whose whole soul was quivering with fondness! What +a proud, beautiful moment! He loved her, he loved her! Yet she drew her +hand away and forced herself to say, as if reprovingly: "You mustn't do +that!"</p> + +<p>He looked at her in surprise, and then, with challenging directness: "Why +not?"</p> + +<p>"Because I cannot be what you—what you want me to be," she answered, +looking down.</p> + +<p>"I want you to be my wife."</p> + +<p>"I know."</p> + +<p>"And—and you refuse me?"</p> + +<p>For a moment she did not speak. Then slowly she nodded, as if pronouncing +her own doom.</p> + +<p>"Alice," he cried, "look up here! You don't mean it. Say it isn't true."</p> + +<p>She lifted her eyes bravely and faced him. "It <i>is</i> true, Lloyd; I can +never be your wife."</p> + +<p>"But why? Why?"</p> + +<p>"I—I cannot tell you," she faltered.</p> + +<p>He was about to speak impatiently, but before her evident distress he +checked the words and asked gently: "Is it something against me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" she answered quickly.</p> + +<p>"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, if +you say so. God knows I was a fool, but I've kept straight since I knew +you, I'll swear to that."</p> + +<p>"I believe you, dear."</p> + +<p>"You believe me, you call me 'dear,' you look at me out of those wonderful +eyes as if you cared for me."</p> + +<p>"I do, I do," she murmured.</p> + +<a name="image-3"><!-- Image 3 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/003.jpg" height="300" width="433" +alt=""'Alice,' he cried ... 'Say it isn't true.'""> +</center> + +<h5>"'Alice,' he cried ... 'Say it isn't true.'"</h5> + +<p>"You care for me, and yet you turn me down," he said bitterly. "It reminds +me of a verse I read," and drawing a small volume from his pocket he turned +the pages quickly. "Ah, here it is," and he marked some lines with a +pencil. "There!"</p> + +<p>Alice took the volume and began to read in a low voice: + +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Je n'aimais qu'elle au monde, et vivre un jour sans elle</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Me semblait un destin plus affreux que la mort.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Je me souviens pourtant qu'en cette nuit cruelle</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Pour briser mon lien je fis un long effort.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Je la nommai cent fois perfide et déloyale,</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Je comptai tous les maux qu'elle m'avait causés."</span><br> + +<p>She stopped suddenly, her eyes full of pain.</p> + +<p>"You don't think that, you <i>can't</i> think that of me?" she pleaded.</p> + +<p>"I'd rather think you a coquette than—" Again he checked himself at the +sight of her trouble. He could not speak harshly to her.</p> + +<p>"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; say +that in six months or—or even a year you will be my own +sweetheart—promise me that and I'll wait patiently. Can't you promise me +that?"</p> + +<p>But again she shook her head, while her eyes filled slowly with tears.</p> + +<p>And now his face darkened. "Then you will never be my wife? Never? No +matter what I do or how long I wait? Is that it?"</p> + +<p>"That's it," she repeated with a little sob.</p> + +<p>Kittredge rose, eying her sternly. "I understand," he said, "or rather I +don't understand; but there's no use talking any more. I'll take my +medicine and—good-by."</p> + +<p>She looked at him in frightened supplication. "You won't leave me? Lloyd, +you won't leave me?"</p> + +<p>He laughed harshly. "What do you think I am? A jumping jack for you to pull +a string and make me dance? Well, I guess not. Leave you? Of course I'll +leave you. I wish I had never seen you; I'm sorry I ever came inside this +blooming church!"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she gasped, in sudden pain.</p> + +<p>"You don't play fair," he went on recklessly. "You haven't played fair at +all. You knew I loved you, and—you led me on, and—this is the end of +it."</p> + +<p>"No," she cried, stung by his words, "it's <i>not</i> the end of it. I <i>won't</i> +be judged like that. I <i>have</i> played fair with you. If I hadn't I would +have accepted you, for I love you, Lloyd, I love you with all my heart!"</p> + +<p>"I like the way you show it," he answered, unrelenting.</p> + +<p>"Haven't I helped you all these months? Isn't my friendship something?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head. "It isn't enough for me."</p> + +<p>"Then how about <i>me</i>, if I want <i>your</i> friendship, if I'm hungry for it, if +it's all I have in life? How about that, Lloyd?" Under their dark lashes +her violet eyes were burning on him, but he hardened his heart to their +pleading.</p> + +<p>"It sounds well, but there's no sense in it. I can't stand for this +let-me-be-a-sister-to-you game, and I won't."</p> + +<p>He turned away impatiently and glanced at his watch.</p> + +<p>"Lloyd," she said gently, "come to the house to-night."</p> + +<p>He shook his head. "Got an appointment."</p> + +<p>"An appointment?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a banquet."</p> + +<p>She looked at him in surprise. "You didn't tell me!"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>She was silent a moment. "Where is the banquet?"</p> + +<p>"At the Ansonia. It's a new restaurant on the Champs Elysées, very swell. I +didn't tell you because—well, because I didn't."</p> + +<p>"Lloyd," she whispered, "don't go to the banquet."</p> + +<p>"Don't go? Why, this is our national holiday. I'm down to tell some +stories. I've <i>got</i> to go. Besides, I wouldn't come to you, anyway. What's +the use? I've said all I can, and you've said 'No.' So it's all off—that's +right, Alice, <i>it's all off</i>." His eyes were kinder now, but he spoke +firmly.</p> + +<p>"Lloyd," she begged, "come <i>after</i> the banquet."</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"I ask it for <i>you</i>. I—I feel that something is going to happen. Don't +laugh. Look at the sky, there beyond the black towers. It's red, red like +blood, and—Lloyd, I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were fixed in the west with an enthralled expression, as if she +saw something there besides the masses of red and purple that crowned the +setting sun, something strange and terrifying. And in her agitation she +took the book and pencil from the bench, and nervously, almost +unconsciously wrote something on one of the fly leaves.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Alice," he said, holding out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Lloyd," she answered in a dull, tired voice, putting down the +book and giving him her own little hand.</p> + +<p>As he turned to go he picked up the volume and his eye fell on the fly +leaf.</p> + +<p>"Why," he started, "what is this?" He looked more closely at the words, +then sharply at her.</p> + +<p>"I—I'm <i>so</i> sorry," she stammered. "Have I spoiled your book?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind the book, but—how did you come to write this?"</p> + +<p>"I—I didn't notice what I wrote," she said, in confusion.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say that you don't <i>know</i> what you wrote?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know at all," she replied with evident sincerity.</p> + +<p>"It's the damnedest thing I ever heard of," he muttered. And then, with a +puzzled look: "See here, I guess I've been too previous. I'll cut out that +banquet to-night—that is, I'll show up for soup and fish, and then I'll +come to you. Do I get a smile now?"</p> + +<p>"O Lloyd!" she murmured happily.</p> + +<p>"I'll be there about nine."</p> + +<p>"About nine," she repeated, and again her eyes turned anxiously to the +blood-red western sky.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_II"></a><h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>COQUENIL'S GREATEST CASE</h3> + +<p>After leaving Notre-Dame, Paul Coquenil directed his steps toward the +prefecture of police, but halfway across the square he glanced back at the +church clock that shows its white face above the grinning gargoyles, and, +pausing, he stood a moment in deep thought.</p> + +<p>"A quarter to seven," he reflected; then, turning to the right, he walked +quickly to a little wine shop with flowers in the windows, the Tavern of +the Three Wise Men, an interesting fragment of old-time Paris that offers +its cheery but battered hospitality under the very shadow of the great +cathedral.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I thought so!" he muttered, as he recognized Papa Tignol at one of the +tables on the terrace. And approaching the old man, he said in a low tone: +"I want you."</p> + +<p>Tignol looked up quickly from his glass, and his face lighted. "Eh, M. Paul +again!"</p> + +<p>"I must see M. Pougeot," continued the detective. "It's important. Go to +his office. If he isn't there, go to his house. Anyhow, find him and tell +him to come to me <i>at once</i>. Hurry on; I'll pay for this."</p> + +<p>"Shall I take an auto?"</p> + +<p>"Take anything, only hurry."</p> + +<p>"And you want <i>me</i> at nine o'clock?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil shook his head. "Not until to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"But the news you were going to tell me?"</p> + +<p>"There'll be bigger news soon. Oh, run across to the church and tell +Bonneton that he needn't come either."</p> + +<p>"I knew it, I knew it," chuckled Papa Tignol, as he trotted off. "There's +something doing!"</p> + +<a name="image-4"><!-- Image 4 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/004.jpg" height="300" width="303" +alt=""'I want you,' he said in a low voice.""> +</center> + +<h5>"'I want you,' he said in a low voice."</h5> + +<p>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 a +horse that could not possibly make more than four miles an hour. Behind +this deliberate animal he seated himself, and giving the driver his +address, he charged him gravely not to go too fast, and settled back +against the cushions to comfortable meditations. "There is no better way to +think out a tough problem," he used to insist, "than to take a very long +drive in a very slow cab."</p> + +<p>It may have been that this horse was not slow enough, for forty minutes +later Coquenil's frown was still unrelaxed when they drew up at the Villa +Montmorency, really a collection of villas, some dozens of them, in a +private park near the Bois de Boulogne, each villa a garden within a +garden, and the whole surrounded by a great stone wall that shuts out +noises and intrusions. They entered by a massive iron gateway on the Rue +Poussin and moved slowly up the ascending Avenue des Tilleuls, past lawns +and trees and vine-covered walls, leaving behind the rush and glare of the +city and entering a peaceful region of flowers and verdure where Coquenil +lived.</p> + +<p>The detective occupied a wing of the original Montmorency chateau, a +habitation of ten spacious rooms, more than enough for himself and his +mother and the faithful old servant, Melanie, who took care of them, +especially during these summer months, when Madame Coquenil was away at a +country place in the Vosges Mountains that her son had bought for her. Paul +Coquenil had never married, and his friends declared that, besides his +work, he loved only two things in the world—his mother and his dog.</p> + +<p>It was a quarter to eight when M. Paul sat down in his spacious dining room +to a meal that was waiting when he arrived and that Melanie served with +solicitous care, remarking sadly that her master scarcely touched anything, +his eyes roving here and there among painted mountain scenes that covered +the four walls above the brown-and-gold wainscoting, or out into the +garden through the long, open windows; he was searching, searching for +something, she knew the signs, and with a sigh she took away her most +tempting dishes untasted.</p> + +<p>At eight o'clock the detective rose from the table and withdrew into his +study, a large room opening off the dining room and furnished like no other +study in the world. Around the walls were low bookcases with wide tops on +which were spread, under glass, what Coquenil called his criminal museum. +This included souvenirs of cases on which he had been engaged, wonderful +sets of burglars' tools, weapons used by murderers—saws, picks, jointed +jimmies of tempered steel, that could be taken apart and folded up in the +space of a thick cigar and hidden about the person. Also a remarkable +collection of handcuffs from many countries and periods in history. Also a +collection of letters of criminals, some in cipher, with confessions of +prisoners and last words of suicides. Also plaster casts of hands of famous +criminals. And photographs of criminals, men and women, with faces often +distorted to avoid recognition. And various grewsome objects, a card case +of human skin, and the twisted scarf used by a strangler.</p> + +<p>As for the shelves underneath, they contained an unequaled special library +of subjects interesting to a detective, both science and fiction being +freely drawn upon in French, English, and German, for, while Coquenil was a +man 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 his +comfortable study thinking, thinking.</p> + +<p>Melanie entered presently with coffee and cigarettes, which she placed on a +table near the green-shaded lamp, within easy reach of the great +red-leather chair where M. Paul was seated. Then she stole out +noiselessly. It was five minutes past eight, and for an hour Coquenil +thought and smoked and drank coffee. Occasionally he frowned and moved +impatiently, and several times he took off his glasses and stroked his +brows over the eyes.</p> + +<p>Finally he gave a long sigh of relief, and shutting his hands and throwing +out 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, one +of these taken in the exact attitude and costume of the painting of +Whistler's mother in the Luxembourg gallery. M. Paul was proud of the +striking resemblance between the two women. For some moments he stood +before the fine, kindly face, and then he said aloud, as if speaking to +her: "It looks like a hard fight, little mother, but I'm not afraid." And +almost as he spoke, which seemed like a good omen, there came a clang at +the iron gate in the garden and the sound of quick, crunching steps on the +gravel walk. M. Pougeot had arrived.</p> + +<p>M. Lucien Pougeot was one of the eighty police commissaries who, each in +his own quarter, oversee the moral washing of Paris's dirty linen. A +commissary of police is first of all a magistrate, but, unless he is a +fool, he soon becomes a profound student of human nature, for he sees all +sides of life in the great gay capital, especially the darker sides. He +knows the sins of his fellow men and women, their follies and hypocrisies, +he receives incredible confessions, he is constantly summoned to the scenes +of revolting crime. Nothing, <i>absolutely nothing</i>, surprises him, and he +has no illusions, yet he usually manages to keep a store of grim pity for +erring humanity. M. Pougeot was one of the most distinguished and +intelligent members of this interesting body. He was a devoted friend of +Paul Coquenil.</p> + +<p>The newcomer was a middle-aged man of strong build and florid face, with a +brush of thick black hair. His quick-glancing eyes were at once cold and +kind, but the kindness had something terrifying in it, like the politeness +of an executioner. As the two men stood together they presented absolutely +opposite types: Coquenil, taller, younger, deep-eyed, spare of build, with +a certain serious reserve very different from the commissary's outspoken +directness. M. Pougeot prided himself on reading men's thoughts, but he +used to say that he could not even imagine what Coquenil was thinking or +fathom the depths of a nature that blended the eagerness of a child with +the austerity of a prophet.</p> + +<p>"Well," remarked the commissary when they were settled in their chairs, "I +suppose it's the Rio Janeiro thing? Some parting instructions, eh?" And he +turned to light a cigar.</p> + +<p>Coquenil shook his head.</p> + +<p>"When do you sail?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not sailing."</p> + +<p>"Wha-at?"</p> + +<p>For once in his life M. Pougeot was surprised. He knew all about this +foreign offer, with its extraordinary money advantages; he had rejoiced in +his friend's good fortune after two unhappy years, and now—now Coquenil +informed him calmly that he was not sailing.</p> + +<p>"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 only +person in the world who <i>will</i> know—everything. So listen! This afternoon +I went into Notre-Dame church and I saw a young girl there who sells +candles. I didn't know her, but she looked up in a queer way, as if she +wanted to speak to me, so I went to her and—well, she told me of a dream +she had last night."</p> + +<p>"A dream?" snorted the commissary.</p> + +<p>"So she said. She may have been lying or she may have been put up to it; I +know 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 the +two most important events in my life."</p> + +<p>"Hm! What <i>was</i> the dream?"</p> + +<p>"She says she saw me twice, once in a forest near a wooden bridge where a +man with a beard was talking to a woman and a little girl. Then she saw me +on a boat going to a place where there were black people."</p> + +<p>"That was Brazil?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so. And there was a burning sun with a wicked face inside that +kept looking down at me. She says she often dreams of this wicked face, she +sees it first in a distant star that comes nearer and nearer, until it gets +to 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 if +the face ever reached her <i>before</i> she awoke. That's about all."</p> + +<p>For some moments the commissary did not speak. "Did she try to interpret +this dream?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Why did she tell you about it?"</p> + +<p>"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 over +his friend, "in that forest scene she brought up something that isn't +known, something I've never even told you, my best friend."</p> + +<p>"<i>Tiens!</i> What is that?"</p> + +<p>"You think I resigned from the police force two years ago, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"Everyone thinks so. Well, it isn't true. I didn't resign; <i>I was +discharged.</i>"</p> + +<p>M. Pougeot stared in bewilderment, as if words failed him, and finally he +repeated weakly: "Discharged! Paul Coquenil discharged!"</p> + +<a name="image-5"><!-- Image 5 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/005.jpg" height="300" width="304" +alt=""'I <i>didn't</i> resign; <i>I was discharged</i>.'""> +</center> + +<h5>"'I <i>didn't</i> resign; <i>I was discharged</i>.'"</h5> + +<p>"Yes, sir, discharged from the Paris detective force for refusing to arrest +a murderer—that's how the accusation read."</p> + +<p>"But it wasn't true?"</p> + +<p>"Judge for yourself. It was the case of a poacher who killed a guard. I +don't suppose you remember it?"</p> + +<p>M. Pougeot thought a moment—he prided himself on remembering everything. +"Down near Saumur, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly. And it was near Saumur I found him after searching all over +France. We were clean off the track, and I made up my mind the only way to +get him was through his wife and child. They lived in a little house in the +woods not far from the place of the shooting. I went there as a peddler in +hard luck, and I played my part so well that the woman consented to take me +in as a boarder."</p> + +<p>"Wonderful man!" exclaimed the commissary.</p> + +<p>"For weeks it was a waiting game. I would go away on a peddling tour and +then come back as boarder. Nothing developed, but I could not get rid of +the feeling that my man was somewhere near in the woods."</p> + +<p>"One of your intuitions. Well?"</p> + +<p>"Well, at last the woman became convinced that they had <i>nothing to fear +from me</i>, and she did things more openly. One day I saw her put some food +in a basket and give it to the little girl. And the little girl went off +with the basket into the forest. Then I knew I was right, and the next day +I followed the little girl, and, sure enough, she led me to a rough cave +where her father was hiding. I hung about there for an hour or two, and +finally the man came out from the cave and I saw him talk to his wife and +child near a bridge over a mountain torrent."</p> + +<p>"The picture that girl saw in the dream!"</p> + +<p>"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 over +and 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 wife +and child. The woman had been kind to me and trusted me, and—well, it was +a breach of duty and they punished me for it; but I couldn't do it, I +<i>couldn't</i> do it, and I didn't do it."</p> + +<p>"And you let the fellow go?"</p> + +<p>"I let him go <i>then</i>, but I got him a week later in a fair fight, man to +man. They gave him ten years."</p> + +<p>"And discharged you from the force?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. That is, in view of my past services, they <i>allowed</i> me to resign." +Coquenil spoke bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Outrageous! Unbelievable!" muttered Pougeot. "No doubt you were +technically in the wrong, but it was a slight offense, and, after all, you +got your man. A reprimand at the most, <i>at the most</i>, was called for, and +<i>not</i> with you, not with Paul Coquenil."</p> + +<p>The commissary spoke with deeper feeling than he had shown in years, and +then, as if not satisfied with this, he clasped the detective's hand and +added heartily: "I'm proud of you, old friend, I honor you."</p> + +<p>Coquenil looked at Pougeot with an odd little smile. "You take it just as +I thought you would, just as I took it myself—until to-day. It seems like +a stupid blunder, doesn't it? Well, it wasn't a blunder; <i>it was a +necessary move in the game</i>." His face lighted with intense eagerness as he +waited for the effect of these words.</p> + +<p>"The game? What game?" The commissary stared.</p> + +<p>"A game involving a great crime."</p> + +<p>"You are sure of that?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly sure."</p> + +<p>"You have the facts of this crime?"</p> + +<p>"No. It hasn't been committed yet."</p> + +<p>"Not committed yet?" repeated the other, with a startled glance. "But you +know the plan? You have evidence?"</p> + +<p>"I have what is perfectly clear evidence <i>to me</i>, so clear that I wonder I +never saw it before. Lucien, suppose you were a great criminal, I don't +mean the ordinary clever scoundrel who succeeds for a time and is finally +caught, but a <i>really great criminal</i>, the kind that appears once or twice, +in a century, a man with immense power and intelligence."</p> + +<p>"Like Vautrin in Napoleon's day?"</p> + +<p>"Vautrin was a brilliant adventurer; he made millions with his swindling +schemes, but he had no stability, no big purpose, and he finally came to +grief. There have been greater criminals than Vautrin, men whose crimes +have brought them <i>everything</i>—fortune, social position, political +supremacy—<i>and who have never been found out</i>."</p> + +<p>"Do you really think so?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil nodded. "There have been a few like that with master minds, a very +few; I have documents to prove it"—he pointed to his bookcases; "but we +haven't time for that. Come back to my question: Suppose <i>you</i> were such a +criminal, and suppose there was one person in this city who was thwarting +your purposes, perhaps jeopardizing your safety. What would you naturally +do?"</p> + +<p>"I'd try to get rid of him."</p> + +<p>"Exactly." Coquenil paused, and then, leaning closer to his friend, he said +with extraordinary earnestness: "Lucien, for over two years <i>some one has +been trying to get rid of me!</i>"</p> + +<p>"The devil!" started Pougeot. "How long have you known this?"</p> + +<p>"Only to-day," frowned the detective. "I ought to have known it long ago."</p> + +<p>"Hm! Aren't you building a good deal on that dream?"</p> + +<p>"The dream? Heavens, man," snapped Coquenil, "I'm building <i>nothing</i> on the +dream and nothing on the girl. She simply brought together two facts that +belong together. Why she did it doesn't matter; she did it, and my reason +did the rest. There is a connection between this Rio Janeiro offer and my +discharge from the force. I know it. I'll show you other links in the +chain. Three times in the past two years I have received offers of business +positions away from Paris, tempting offers. Notice that—<i>business +positions away from Paris!</i> Some one has extraordinary reasons for wanting +me out of this city and <i>out of detective work</i>."</p> + +<p>"And you think this 'some one' was responsible for your discharge from the +force?"</p> + +<p>"I tell you I know it. M. Giroux, the chief at that time, was distressed at +the order, he told me so himself; he said it came from <i>higher up</i>."</p> + +<p>The commissary raised incredulous eyebrows. "You mean that Paris has a +criminal able to overrule the wishes of a chief of police?"</p> + +<p>"Is that harder than to influence the Brazilian Government? Do you think +Rio Janeiro offered me a hundred thousand francs a year just for my +beautiful eyes?"</p> + +<p>"You're a great detective."</p> + +<p>"A great detective repudiated by his own city. That's another point: why +should the police department discharge me two years ago and recommend me +now to a foreign city? Don't you see the same hand behind it all?"</p> + +<p>M. Pougeot stroked his gray mustache in puzzled meditation. "It's queer," +he muttered; "but——"</p> + +<p>In spite of himself the commissary was impressed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Then the gist of it is," he resumed uneasily, "you think some great crime +is preparing?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you?" asked Coquenil abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Why—er—" hesitated the Other.</p> + +<p>"Look at the facts again. Some one wants me off the detective force, out of +France. Why? There can be only one reason—because I have been successful +in unraveling intricate crimes, more successful than other men on the +force. Is that saying too much?"</p> + +<p>The commissary replied impatiently: "It's conceded that you are the most +skillful detective in France; but you're off the force already. So why +should this person send you to Brazil?"</p> + +<p>M. Paul thought a moment. "I've considered that. It is because this crime +will be of so startling and unusual a character that it <i>must</i> attract my +attention if I am here. And if it attracts my attention as a great criminal +problem, it is certain that I will try to solve it, whether on the force or +off it."</p> + +<p>"Well answered!" approved the other; he was coming gradually under the +spell of Coquenil's conviction. "And when—when do you think this crime may +be committed?"</p> + +<p>"Who can say? There must be great urgency to account for their insisting +that I sail to-morrow. Ah, you didn't know that? Yes, even now, at this +very moment, I am supposed to be on the steamer train, for the boat goes +out early in the morning <i>before the Paris papers can reach Cherbourg</i>."</p> + +<p>M. Pougeot started up, his eyes widening. "What!" he cried. "You mean +that—that possibly—to-<i>night?</i>"</p> + +<p>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 been +followed by a violent storm.</p> + +<p>Coquenil paid no heed to this, but answered quietly: "I mean that a great +fight is ahead, and I shall be in it. Somebody is playing for enormous +stakes, somebody who disposes of fortune and power and will stop at +<i>nothing</i>, somebody who will certainly crush me unless I crush him. It will +be a great case, Lucien, my greatest case, perhaps my last case." He +stopped and looked intently at his mother's picture, while his lips moved +inaudibly.</p> + +<p>"Ugh!" exclaimed the commissary. "You've cast a spell over me. Come, come, +Paul, it may be only a fancy!"</p> + +<p>But Coquenil sat still, his eyes fixed on his mother's face. And then came +one of the strange coincidences of this extraordinary case. On the silence +of this room, with its tension of overwrought emotion, broke the sharp +summons of the telephone.</p> + +<p>"My God!" shivered the commissary. "What is that?" Both men sat +motionless, their eyes fixed on the ominous instrument.</p> + +<p>Again came the call, this time more strident and commanding. M. Pougeot +aroused 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 he +put the receiver to his ear. "Yes, this is M. Pougeot.... What?... The +Ansonia?... You say he's shot?... In a private dining room?... Dead?... +<i>Quel malheur!</i>"... Then he gave quick orders: "Send Papa Tignol over with +a doctor and three or four <i>agents</i>. Close the restaurant. Don't let anyone +go in or out. Don't let anyone leave the banquet room. I'll be there in +twenty minutes. Good-by."</p> + +<p>He put the receiver down, and turning, white-faced, said to his friend: +"<i>It has happened</i>."</p> + +<p>Coquenil glanced at his watch. "A quarter past nine. We must hurry." Then, +flinging open a drawer in his desk: "I want this and—<i>this</i>. Come, the +automobile is waiting."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_III"></a><h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>PRIVATE ROOM NUMBER SIX</h3> + +<p>The night was black and rain was falling in torrents as Paul Coquenil and +the commissary rolled away in response to this startling summons of crime. +Up the Rue Mozart they sped with sounding horn, feeling their way carefully +on account of troublesome car tracks, then faster up the Avenue Victor +Hugo, their advance being accompanied by vivid lightning flashes.</p> + +<p>"He was in luck to have this storm," muttered Coquenil. Then, in reply to +Pougeot's look: "I mean the thunder, it deadened the shot and gained time +for him."</p> + +<p>"Him? How do you know a man did it? A woman was in the room, and she's +gone. They telephoned that."</p> + +<p>The detective shook his head. "No, no, you'll find it's a man. Women are +not original in crime. And this is—<i>this is different</i>. How many murders +can you remember in Paris restaurants, I mean smart restaurants?"</p> + +<p>M. Pougeot thought a moment. "There was one at the Silver Pheasant and one +at the Pavillion and—and——"</p> + +<p>"And one at the Café Rouge. But those were stupid shooting cases, not +murders, not planned in advance."</p> + +<p>"Why do you think <i>this</i> was planned in advance?"</p> + +<p>"Because the man escaped."</p> + +<p>"They didn't say so."</p> + +<p>Coquenil smiled. "That's how I know he escaped. If they had caught him +they would have told you, wouldn't they?"</p> + +<p>"Why—er——"</p> + +<p>"Of course they would. Well, think what it means to commit murder in a +crowded restaurant and get away. It means <i>brains</i>, Lucien. Ah, we're +nearly there!"</p> + +<p>They had reached Napoleon's arch, and the automobile, swinging sharply to +the right, started at full speed down the Champs Elysées.</p> + +<p>"It's bad for Gritz," reflected the commissary; then both men fell silent +in the thought of the emergency before them.</p> + +<p>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 the +rich and hungry wayfarer. He owned the famous Palace restaurant at Monte +Carlo, the Queen's in Piccadilly, London, and the Café Royal in Brussels. +Of all his ventures, however, this recently opened Ansonia (hotel and +restaurant) was by far the most ambitious. The building occupied a full +block on the Champs Elysées, just above the Rond Point, so that it was in +the center of fashionable Paris. It was the exact copy of a well-known +Venetian palace, and its exquisite white marble colonnade made it a real +adornment to the gay capital. Furthermore, M. Gritz had spent a fortune on +furnishings and decorations, the carvings, the mural paintings, the rugs, +the chairs, everything, in short, being up to the best millionaire +standard. He had the most high-priced chef in the world, with six chefs +under him, two of whom made a specialty of American dishes. He had his own +farm for vegetables and butter, his own vineyards, his own permanent +orchestra, and his own brand of Turkish coffee made before your eyes by a +salaaming Armenian in native costume. For all of which reasons the present +somber happening had particular importance. A murder anywhere was bad +enough, but a murder in the newest, the <i>chic</i>-est, and the costliest +restaurant in Paris must cause more than a nine days' wonder. As M. Pougeot +remarked, it was certainly bad for Gritz.</p> + +<p>Drawing up before the imposing entrance, they saw two policemen on guard at +the doors, one of whom, recognizing the commissary, came forward quickly to +the automobile with word that M. Gibelin and two other men from +headquarters had already arrived and were proceeding with the +investigation.</p> + +<p>"Is Papa Tignol here?" asked Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," replied the man, saluting respectfully.</p> + +<p>"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-school +methods, and—he and I never got on very well. He has been sent to take +charge of the case, so—be tactful with him."</p> + +<p>"He can't object," answered Pougeot. "After all, I'm the commissary of this +quarter, and if I need your services——"</p> + +<p>"I know, but I'd sooner you spoke to him."</p> + +<p>"Good. I'll be back in a moment," and pushing his way through the crowd of +sensation seekers that blocked the sidewalk, he disappeared inside the +building.</p> + +<p>M. Pougeot's moment was prolonged to five full minutes, and when he +reappeared his face was black.</p> + +<p>"Such stupidity!" he stormed.</p> + +<p>"It's what I expected," answered Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"Gibelin says you have no business here. He's an impudent devil! 'Tell +<i>Beau Cocono</i>,' he sneered, 'to keep his hands off this case. Orders from +headquarters.' I told him you <i>had</i> business here, business for me, +and—come on, I'll show 'em."</p> + +<p>He took Coquenil by the arm, but the latter drew back. "Not yet. I have a +better idea. Go ahead with your report. Never mind me."</p> + +<p>"But I want you on the case," insisted the commissary.</p> + +<p>"I'll be on the case, all right."</p> + +<p>"I'll telephone headquarters at once about this," insisted Pougeot. "When +shall I see you again?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil eyed his friend mysteriously. "I <i>think</i> you'll see me before the +night is over. Now get to work, and," he smiled mockingly, "give M. Gibelin +the assurance of my distinguished consideration."</p> + +<p>Pougeot nodded crustily and went back into the restaurant, while Coquenil, +with perfect equanimity, paid the automobile man and dismissed him.</p> + +<p>Meantime in the large dining rooms on the street floor everything was going +on as usual, the orchestra was playing in its best manner and few of the +brilliant company suspected that anything was wrong. Those who started to +go out were met by M. Gritz himself, and, with a brief hint of trouble +upstairs, were assured that they would be allowed to leave shortly after +some necessary formalities. This delay most of them took good-naturedly and +went back to their tables.</p> + +<p>As M. Pougeot mounted to the first floor he was met at the head of the +stairs by a little yellow-bearded man, with luminous dark eyes, who came +toward him, hand extended.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Dr. Joubert!" said the commissary.</p> + +<p>The doctor nodded nervously. "It's a singular case," he whispered, "a very +singular case."</p> + +<p>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, his +manners brusque, but there was no denying his intelligence. In a spirit of +conciliation he began to give M. Pougeot some details of the case, +whereupon the latter said stiffly: "Excuse me, sir, I need no assistance +from you in making this investigation. Come, doctor! In the field of his +jurisdiction a commissary of police is supreme, taking precedence even over +headquarters men." So Gibelin could only withdraw, muttering his +resentment, while Pougeot proceeded with his duties.</p> + +<p>In general plan the Ansonia was in the form of a large E, the main part of +the second floor, where the tragedy took place, being occupied by public +dining rooms, but the two wings, in accordance with Parisian custom, +containing a number of private rooms where delicious meals might be had +with discreet attendance by those who wished to dine alone. In each of the +wings were seven of these private rooms, all opening on a dark-red +passageway lighted by soft electric lamps. It was in one of the west wing +private rooms that the crime had been committed, and as the commissary +reached the wing the waiters' awe-struck looks showed him plainly enough +<i>which</i> was the room—there, on the right, the second from the end, where +the patient policeman was standing guard.</p> + +<p>M. Pougeot paused at the turn of the corridor to ask some question, but he +was interrupted by a burst of singing on the left, a roaring chorus of +hilarity.</p> + +<p>"It's a banquet party," explained the doctor, "a lot of Americans. They +don't know what has happened."</p> + +<p>"Hah!" reflected the other. "Just across the corridor, too!"</p> + +<p>Then, briefly, the commissary heard what the witnesses had to tell him +about the crime. It had been discovered half an hour before, more precisely +at ten minutes to nine, by a waiter Joseph, who was serving a couple in +Number Six, a dark-complexioned man and a strikingly handsome woman. They +had arrived at a quarter before eight and the meal had begun at once. Oddly +enough, after the soup, the gentleman told the waiter not to bring the next +course until he rang, at the same time slipping into his hand a ten-franc +piece. Whereupon Joseph had nodded his understanding—he had seen impatient +lovers before, although they usually restrained their ardor until after the +fish; still, <i>ma foi</i>, this was a woman to make a man lose his head, and +the night was to be a jolly one—how those young American devils were +singing!... so <i>vive l'amour</i> and <i>vive la jeunesse!</i> With which simple +philosophy and a twinkle of satisfaction Joseph had tucked away his gold +piece—and waited.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes! Fifteen minutes! An unconscionably <i>long time when you have a +delicious sole à la Regence</i> getting cold on your hands. Joseph knocked +discreetly, then again after a decent pause, and finally, weary of waiting, +he opened the door with an official cough of warning and stepped inside the +room. A moment later he started back, his eyes fixed with horror.</p> + +<p>"<i>Grand Dieu!</i>" he cried.</p> + +<p>"You saw the body, the man's body?" questioned the commissary.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," answered the waiter, his face still pale at the memory.</p> + +<p>"And the woman? Where was the woman?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, I forgot," stammered Joseph. "She had come out of the room before +this, while I was waiting. She asked where the telephone was, and I told +her it was on the floor below. Then she went downstairs—at least I +suppose she did, for she never came back."</p> + +<p>"Did anyone see her leave the hotel?", demanded Pougeot sharply, looking at +the others.</p> + +<p>"It's extraordinary," answered the doctor, "but no one seems to have seen +this woman go out. M. Gibelin made inquiries, but he could learn nothing +except that she really went to the telephone booth. The girl there +remembers her."</p> + +<p>Again Pougeot turned to the waiter.</p> + +<p>"What sort of a woman was she? A lady or—or not?"</p> + +<p>Joseph clucked his tongue admiringly. "She was a lady, all right. And a +stunner! Eyes and—shoulders and—um-m!" He described imaginary feminine +curves with the unction of a male dressmaker. "Oh, there's one thing more!"</p> + +<p>"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 his +men.</p> + +<p>Dr. Joubert, bowing gravely, opened the door of Number Six, and the +commissary entered, followed by his scribe, a very bald and pale young man, +and by the two policemen. Last came the doctor, closing the door carefully +behind him.</p> + +<p>It was the commissary's custom on arriving at the scene of a crime to +record his first impressions immediately, taking careful note of every fact +and detail in the picture that seemed to have the slightest bearing on the +case. These he would dictate rapidly to his secretary, walking back and +forth, searching everywhere with keen eyes and trained intelligence, +especially for signs of violence, a broken window, an overturned table, a +weapon, and noting all suspicious stains—mud stains, blood stains, the +print of a foot, the smear of a hand and, of course, describing carefully +the appearance of a victim's body, the wounds, the position, the expression +of the face, any tearing or disorder of the garments. Many times these +quick, haphazard jottings, made in the precious moments immediately +following a crime, had proved of incalculable value in the subsequent +investigation.</p> + +<p>In the present case, however, M. Pougeot was fairly taken aback by the +<i>lack</i> of significant material. Everything in the room was as it should be, +table spread with snowy linen, two places set faultlessly among flowers and +flashing glasses, chairs in their places, pictures smiling down from the +white-and-gold walls, shaded electric lights diffusing a pleasant glow—in +short, no disorder, no sign of struggle, yet, there, stretched at full +length 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 evidently +dead.</p> + +<p>"Has anything been disturbed here? Has anyone touched this body?" demanded +Pougeot sharply.</p> + +<p>"No," said the doctor; "Gibelin came in with me, but neither of us touched +anything. We waited for you."</p> + +<p>"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 and +that the long double window opening on the Rue Marboeuf was standing open.</p> + +<p>"Now, doctor," he concluded, "we will look at the body."</p> + +<p>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 shot +in the right eye, a ball having penetrated the brain, killing him +instantly. The face showed marks of flame and powder, proving that the +weapon—undoubtedly a pistol—had been discharged from a very short +distance.</p> + +<p>This certainly looked like suicide, although the absence of the pistol +pointed to murder. The man's face was perfectly calm, with no suggestion of +fright or anger; his hands and body lay in a natural position and his +clothes were in no way disordered. Either he had met death willingly, or it +had come to him without warning, like a lightning stroke.</p> + +<p>"Doctor," asked the commissary, glancing at the open window, "if this man +shot himself, could he, in your opinion, with his last strength have thrown +the pistol out there?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," answered Joubert. "A man who received a wound like this +would be dead before he could lift a hand, before he could wink."</p> + +<p>"Ah!"</p> + +<p>"Besides, a search has been made underneath that window and no pistol has +been found."</p> + +<p>"It must be murder," muttered Pougeot. "Was there any quarreling with the +woman?"</p> + +<p>"Joseph says not. On the contrary, they seemed on the friendliest terms."</p> + +<p>"Hah! See what he has on his person. Note everything down. We must find out +who this poor fellow was."</p> + +<a name="image-6"><!-- Image 6 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/006.jpg" height="300" width="415" +alt=""On the floor lay a man.""> +</center> + +<h5>"On the floor lay a man."</h5> + +<p>These instructions were carefully carried out, and it straightway became +clear that robbery, at any rate, had no part in the crime. In the dead +man's pockets was found a considerable sum of money, a bundle of five-pound +notes of the Bank of England, besides a handful of French gold. On his +fingers were several valuable rings, in his scarf was a large ruby set +with diamonds, and attached to his waistcoat was a massive gold medal that +at once established his identity. He was Enrico Martinez, a Spaniard widely +known as a professional billiard player, and also the hero of the terrible +Charity Bazaar fire, where, at the risk of his life, he had saved several +women from the flames. For this bravery the city of Paris had awarded him a +gold medal and people had praised him until his head was half turned.</p> + +<p>So familiar a figure was Martinez that there was no difficulty in finding +witnesses in the restaurant able to identify him positively as the dead +man. Several had seen him within a few days at the Olympia billiard +academy, where he had been practicing for a much-advertised match with an +American rival. All agreed that Martinez was quite the last man in Paris to +take his own life, for the simple reason that he enjoyed it altogether too +much. He was scarcely thirty and in excellent health, he made plenty of +money, he was fond of pleasure, and particularly fond of the ladies and had +no reason to complain of bad treatment at their hands; in fact, if the +truth must be told, he was ridiculously vain of his conquests among the +fair sex, and was always saying to whoever would listen: "Ah, <i>mon cher</i>, I +have met a woman! But <i>such</i> a woman!" Then his dark eyes would glow and he +would snap his thumb nail under an upper tooth, with an expression of +ravishing joy that only a Castilian billiard player could assume. And, of +course, it was always a different woman!</p> + +<p>"Aha!" muttered the commissary. "There may be a husband mixed up in this. +Call that waiter again, and—er—we will continue the examination +outside."</p> + +<p>With this they removed to the adjoining private room, Number Five, leaving +a policeman at the door of Number Six until proper disposal of the body +should be made.</p> + +<p>In the further questioning of Joseph the commissary brought out several +important facts. The waiter testified that, after serving the soup to +Martinez and the lady, he had not left the corridor outside the door of +Number Six until the moment when he entered the room and discovered the +crime. During this interval of perhaps a quarter of an hour he had moved +down the corridor a short distance, but not farther than the door of Number +Four. He was sure of this because one of the doors to the banquet room was +just opposite the door of Number Four, and he had stood there listening to +a Fourth-of-July speaker who was discussing the relations between France +and America. Joseph, being something of a politician, was greatly +interested in this.</p> + +<p>"Then this banquet-room door was open?" questioned Pougeot.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, it was open about a foot—some of the guests wanted air."</p> + +<p>"How did you stand as you listened to the speaker? Show me." M. Pougeot led +Joseph to the banquet-room door.</p> + +<p>"Like this," answered the waiter, and he placed himself so that his back +was turned to Number Six.</p> + +<p>"So you would not have seen anyone who might have come out of Number Six at +that time or gone into Number Six?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose not."</p> + +<p>"And if the door of Number Six had opened while your back was turned, would +you have heard it?"</p> + +<p>Joseph shook his head. "No, sir; there was a lot of applauding—like +that," he paused as a roar of laughter came from across the hall.</p> + +<p>The commissary turned quickly to one of his men. "See that they make less +noise. And be careful no one leaves the banquet room <i>on any excuse</i>. I'll +be there presently." Then to the waiter: "Did you hear any sound from +Number Six? Anything like a shot?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"Hm! It must have been the thunder. Now tell me this, could anyone have +passed you in the corridor while you stood at the banquet-room door without +your knowing it?"</p> + +<p>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 fill +it up, don't I, sir?"</p> + +<p>"You certainly do. Give me a sheet of paper." And with a few rapid pencil +strokes the commissary drew a rough plan of the banquet room, the corridor, +and the seven private dining rooms. He marked carefully the two doors +leading from the banquet room into the corridor, the one where Joseph +listened, opposite Number Four, and the one opposite Number Six.</p> + +<p>"Here you are, blocking the corridor at Number Four"; he made a mark on the +plan at that point. "By the way, are there any other exits from the banquet +room except these two corridor doors?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"Good! Now pay attention. While you were listening at this door—I'll mark +it <i>A</i>—with your back turned to Number Six, a person <i>might</i> have left the +banquet room by the farther door—I'll mark it <i>B</i>—and stepped across the +corridor into Number Six without your seeing him. Isn't that true?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, it's possible."</p> + +<p>"Or a person might have gone into Number Six from either Number Five or +Number Seven without your seeing him?"</p> + +<center> +<img src="img/diag1.jpg" height="686" width="700" +alt="Diagram showing room layout in Ansonia Hotel"> +</center> + +<p>"Excuse me, there was no one in Number Five during that fifteen minutes, +and the party who had engaged Number Seven did not come."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Then if any stranger went into Number Six during that fifteen minutes +he must have come from the banquet room?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"By this door, <i>B?</i>"</p> + +<p>"That's the only way he could have come without my seeing him."</p> + +<p>"And if he went out from Number Six afterwards, I mean if he left the +hotel, he must have passed you in the corridor?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly." Joseph's face was brightening.</p> + +<p>"Now, <i>did</i> anyone pass you in the corridor, anyone except the lady?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," answered the waiter eagerly, "a young man passed me."</p> + +<p>"Going out?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Did you know where he came from?"</p> + +<p>"I supposed he came from the banquet room."</p> + +<p>"Did this happen before the lady went out, or after?"</p> + +<p>"Before."</p> + +<p>"Can you describe this young man, Joseph?"</p> + +<p>The waiter frowned and rubbed his red neck. "I think I should know him, he +was slender and clean shaven—yes, I'm sure I should know him."</p> + +<p>"Did anyone else pass you, either going out or coming in?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure?"</p> + +<p>"Absolutely sure."</p> + +<p>"That will do."</p> + +<p>Joseph heaved a sigh of relief and was just passing out when the commissary +cried out with a startled expression: "A thousand thunders! Wait! That +woman—what did she wear?"</p> + +<p>The waiter turned eagerly. "Why, a beautiful evening gown, sir, cut low +with a lot of lace and——"</p> + +<p>"No, no. I mean, what did she wear outside? Her wraps? Weren't they in +Number Six?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, they were downstairs in the cloakroom."</p> + +<p>"In the cloakroom!" He bounded to his feet. "<i>Bon sang de bon Dieu!</i> Quick! +Fool! Don't you understand?"</p> + +<p>This outburst stirred Joseph to unexampled efforts; he fairly hurled his +massive body down the stairs, and a few moments later returned, panting but +happy, with news that the lady in Number Six had left a cloak and leather +bag in the cloakroom. These articles were still there.</p> + +<p>"Ah, that is something!" murmured the commissary, and he hurried down to +see the things for himself.</p> + +<p>The cloak was of yellow silk, embroidered in white, a costly garment from a +fashionable maker; but there was nothing to indicate the wearer. The bag +was 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 some +samples of dress goods, a little money, and an unmarked handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"Don't move these things," directed M. Pougeot. "It's possible some one +will call for them, and if anyone <i>should</i> call, why—that's Gibelin's +affair. Now we'll see these Americans."</p> + +<p>It was a quarter past ten, and the hilarity of proceedings at the +Fourth-of-July banquet (no ladies present) had reached its height. A very +French-looking student from Bridgeport, Connecticut, had just started an +uproarious rendering of "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean," with Latin-Quarter +variations, when there came a sudden hush and a turning of heads toward the +half-open door, through which a voice was heard in peremptory command. +Something had happened, something serious, if one could judge by the face +of François, the head waiter, who stood at the corridor entrance.</p> + +<p>"Not so fast," he insisted, holding the young men back, and a moment later +there entered a florid-faced man with authoritative mien, closely followed +by two policemen.</p> + +<p>"Horns of a purple cow!" muttered the Bridgeport art student, who loved +eccentric oaths. "The house is pulled!"</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," began M. Pougeot, while the company listened in startled +silence, "I am sorry to interrupt this pleasant gathering, especially as I +understand that you are celebrating your national holiday; unfortunately, I +have a duty to perform that admits of no delay. While you have been +feasting and singing, as becomes your age and the occasion, an act of +violence has taken place within the sound of your voices—I may say under +cover of your voices."</p> + +<p>He paused and swept his eyes in keen scrutiny over the faces before him, as +if trying to read in one or the other of them the answer to some question +not yet asked.</p> + +<p>"My friends," he continued, and now his look became almost menacing, "I am +here as an officer of the law because I have reason to believe that a guest +at this banquet is connected with a crime committed in this restaurant +within the last hour or two."</p> + +<p>So extraordinary was this accusation and so utterly unexpected that for +some moments no one spoke. Then, after the first dismay, came indignant +protests; this man had a nerve to break in on a gathering of American +citizens with a fairy tale like that!</p> + +<p>"Silence!" rang out the commissary's voice sharply. "Who sat there?" He +pointed to a vacant seat at the long central table.</p> + +<p>All eyes turned to this empty chair, and heads came together in excited +whispers.</p> + +<p>"Bring me a plan of the tables," he continued, and when this was spread +before him: "I will read off the names marked here, and each one of you +will please answer."</p> + +<p>In tense silence he called the names, and to each one came a quick "Here!" +until he said "Kittredge!"</p> + +<p>There was no answer.</p> + +<p>"Lloyd Kittredge!" he repeated, and still no one spoke.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" he muttered and went on calling names, but no one else was missing.</p> + +<p>"All here but M. Kittredge. He <i>was</i> here, and—he went out. I must know +why he went out, I must know when he went out—exactly when; I must know +how he acted before he left, what he said—in short, I must know all you +can tell me about him. Remember, the best service you can render your +friend is to speak freely. If he is innocent, the truth will protect him"</p> + +<p>Then began a wearisome questioning of witnesses, not very fruitful, either, +for these Americans developed a surprising ignorance touching their +fellow-countryman and all that concerned him. It must have been about nine +o'clock when he went out, perhaps a few minutes earlier. No, there had been +nothing peculiar in his actions or manner; in fact, most of the guests had +not even noticed his absence.</p> + +<p>As to Kittredge's life and personality the result was scarcely more +satisfactory. He had appeared in Paris about a year before, just why was +not known, and had passed as a good fellow, perhaps a little wild and +hot-headed. Strangely enough, no one could say where Kittredge lived; he +had left rather expensive rooms near the boulevards that he had occupied at +first, and since then he had almost disappeared from his old haunts. Some +said that his money had given out and he had gone to work, but this was +only vague rumor.</p> + +<p>These facts having been duly recorded, the banqueters were informed that +they might depart, which they did in silence, the spirit of festivity +having vanished.</p> + +<p>Inquiries were now made in the hotel about Kittredge's movements, but +nothing came to light except the statement of a big, liveried doorkeeper, +who remembered distinctly the sudden appearance at about nine o'clock of a +young man who was very anxious to get a cab. The storm was then at its +height, and the doorkeeper had advised the young man to wait, feeling sure +the 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 he +would find a cab himself, and turning up his collar so that his face was +almost 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 +<i>fiacre</i> and drive away.</p> + +<p>At this point in the investigation the unexpected happened. One of the +policemen burst in to say that some one had called for the lady's cloak and +bag. It was a young man with a check for the things; he was waiting for +them now in the cloakroom and he seemed nervous.</p> + +<p>"Well?" snapped the commissary.</p> + +<p>"I was going to arrest him, sir," replied the other eagerly, "but——"</p> + +<p>"Will you never learn your business?" stormed Pougeot. "Does Gibelin know +this?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, we just told him."</p> + +<p>"Send Joseph here—quick." And to the waiter when he appeared: "Tell the +woman in the cloakroom to let this young man have the things. Don't let him +see that you are suspicious, but take a good look at him."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. And then?"</p> + +<p>"And then nothing. Leave him to Gibelin."</p> + +<p>A moment later Joseph returned to say that he had absolutely recognized the +young 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 bag +left by the mysterious woman of Number Six had now been called for by the +very man against whom suspicion was rapidly growing—Lloyd Kittredge +himself.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_IV"></a><h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>"IN THE NAME OF THE LAW"</h3> + +<p>When Kittredge, with cloak and bag, stepped into his waiting cab and, for +the second time on this villainous night, started down the Champs Elysées +he was under no illusion as to his personal safety. He knew that he would +be followed and presently arrested, he knew this without even glancing +behind him, he had understood the whispers and searching looks in the +hotel; it was <i>certain</i> that his moments of liberty were numbered, so he +must make a clean job of this thing that had to be done while still there +was time. He had told the driver to cross the bridge and go down the +Boulevard St. Germain, but now he changed the order and, half opening the +door, he bade the man turn to the right and drive on to the Rue de +Vaugirard. He knew that this was a long, ill-lighted street, one of the +longest streets in Paris.</p> + +<p>"There's no number," he called out. "Just keep going."</p> + +<p>The driver grumbled and cracked his whip, and a moment later, peering back +through the front window, he saw his eccentric fare absorbed in examining a +white leather bag. He could see him distinctly by the yellow light of his +two side lanterns. The young man had opened one of the inner pockets of the +bag, drawing out a flap of leather under which a name was stamped quite +visibly in gilt letters. Presently he took out a pocket knife and tried to +scrape off the name, but the letters were deeply marked and could not be +removed so easily. After a moment's hesitation the young man carefully drew +his blade across the base of the flap, severing it from the bag, which he +then threw back on the seat, holding the flap in apparent perplexity.</p> + +<p>All this the driver observed with increasing interest until presently +Kittredge looked up and caught his eye.</p> + +<p>"You've got a nerve," the young man muttered. "I'll fix you." And, drawing +the two black curtains, he shut off the driver's view.</p> + +<p>As they neared the end of the Rue de Vaugirard, the American opened the +door again and told the man to turn and drive back, he wanted to have a +look at Notre-Dame, three full miles away. The driver swore softly, but +obeyed, and back they went, passing another cab just behind them which also +turned immediately and followed, as Kittredge noticed with a gloomy smile.</p> + +<p>On the way to Notre-Dame, Kittredge changed their direction half a dozen +times, acting on accountable impulses, going by zigzags through narrow, +dark streets, instead of by the straight and natural way, so that it was +after midnight when they entered the Rue du Cloitre Notre-Dame, which runs +just beside the cathedral, and drew up at a house indicated by the +American. The other cab drew up behind them.</p> + +<p>"Tell your friend back there," remarked Kittredge to his driver as he got +out, "that I have important business here. There'll be plenty of time for +him to get a drink." Then, with a nervous tug at the bell, he disappeared +in the house, leaving the cloak and bag in the cab.</p> + +<p>And now two important things happened, one of them unexpected. The expected +thing was that M. Gibelin came forward immediately from the second cab +followed by Papa Tignol and a policeman. The shadowing detective was in a +vile humor which was not improved when he got the message left by the +flippant American.</p> + +<p>"Time for a drink! Infernal impudence! We'll teach him manners at the +depot! This farce is over," he flung out. "See where he went, ask the +<i>concierge</i>," he said to Tignol. And to the policeman: "Watch the +courtyard. If he isn't down in ten minutes <i>we'll go up</i>."</p> + +<p>Then, as his men obeyed, Gibelin turned to Kittredge's driver. "Here's your +fare. You can go. I'm from headquarters. I have a warrant for this man's +arrest." And he showed his credentials. "I'll take the things he has left."</p> + +<p>"Don't I get a <i>pourboire?</i>" grumbled the driver.</p> + +<p>"No, sir. You're lucky to get anything."</p> + +<p>"Am I?" retorted the Jehu, gathering up his reins (and now came the +unexpected happening): "Well, I'll tell you one thing, my friend, <i>this is +the night they made a fool of M. Gibelin!</i>"</p> + +<p>The detective started. "You know my name? What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>The cab was already moving, but the driver turned on his seat and, waving +his hand in derision, he called back: "Ask Beau Cocono!" And then to his +horse: "<i>Hue, cocotte!</i>"</p> + +<p>Meantime Kittredge had climbed the four flights of stairs leading to the +sacristan's modest apartment. And, in order to explain how he happened to +be making so untimely a visit it is necessary to go back several hours to a +previous visit here that the young American had already made on this +momentous evening.</p> + +<p>After leaving the Ansonia banquet at about nine o'clock in the singular +manner noted by the big doorkeeper, Kittredge, in accordance with his +promise to Alice, had driven directly to the Rue du Cloitre Notre-Dame, and +at twenty minutes past nine by the clock in the Tavern of the Three Wise +Men he had drawn up at the house where the Bonnetons lived. Five minutes +later the young man was seated in the sacristan's little <i>salon</i> assuring +Alice 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 and +reasonable little girl.</p> + +<a name="image-7"><!-- Image 7 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/007.jpg" height="300" width="345" +alt=""'Ask Beau Cocono,' he called back.""> +</center> + +<h5>"'Ask Beau Cocono,' he called back."</h5> + +<p>Alice welcomed her lover eagerly. She had been anxious about him, she did +not know why, and when the storm came she had been more anxious. But now +she 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 his +friends, left this fine banquet and, in spite of the pain she had given +him, in spite of the bad night, he had come to her here in her humble home.</p> + +<p>And it would have straightway been the love scene all over again, for Alice +had never seemed so adorable, but for the sudden and ominous entrance of +Mother Bonneton. She eyed the visitor with frank unfriendliness and, +without mincing her words, proceeded to tell him certain things, notably +that his attentions to Alice must cease and that his visits here would +henceforth be unwelcome.</p> + +<p>In vain the poor girl protested against this breach of hospitality. Mother +Bonneton held her ground grimly, declaring that she had a duty to perform +and would perform it.</p> + +<p>"What duty?" asked the American.</p> + +<p>"A duty to M. Groener."</p> + +<p>At this name Alice started apprehensively. Kittredge knew that she had a +cousin named Groener, a wood carver who lived in Belgium, and who came to +Paris occasionally to see her and to get orders for his work. On one +occasion he had met this cousin and had judged him a well-meaning but +rather stupid fellow who need not be seriously considered in his efforts to +win Alice.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that M. Groener does not approve of me?" pursued Kittredge.</p> + +<p>"M. Groener knows nothing about you," answered Mother Bonneton, "except +that you have been hanging around this foolish girl. But he understands his +responsibility as the only relation she has in the world and he knows she +will respect his wishes as the one who has paid her board, more or less, +for five years."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Well, the last time M. Groener was here, that's about a month ago, he +asked me and my husband to make inquiries about <i>you</i>, and see what we +could find out."</p> + +<p>"It's abominable!" exclaimed Alice.</p> + +<p>"Abominable? Why is it abominable? Your cousin wants to know if this young +man is a proper person for you to have as a friend."</p> + +<p>"I can decide that for myself," flashed the girl.</p> + +<p>"Oh, can you? Ha, ha! How wise we are!"</p> + +<p>"And—er—you have made inquiries about me?" resumed Kittredge with a +strangely anxious look.</p> + +<p>Mother Bonneton half closed her eyes and threw out her thick lips in an +ugly leer. "I should say we have! And found out things—well, just a few!"</p> + +<p>"What things?"</p> + +<p>"We have found out, my pretty sir, that you lived for months last year by +gambling. I suppose you will deny it?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered Kittredge in a low tone, "it's true."</p> + +<p>"Ah! We found out also that the money you made by gambling you spent with a +brazen creature who——"</p> + +<p>"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——"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to know the details," she interrupted. "I know <i>you</i>, Lloyd, +that is enough."</p> + +<p>She looked him in the eyes trustingly and he blinked a little.</p> + +<p>"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 on +account of a certain person. I thought I loved her and—I made a fool of +myself. I gave up a good position in New York and—after I had been here a +while 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."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" grunted Mother Bonneton. "A lady! The kind of a lady who dines alone +with gay young gentlemen in private rooms! Aha, we have the facts!"</p> + +<p>The young man's eyes kindled. "No matter where she dined, I say she was a +lady, and the proof of it is I—I wanted her to get a divorce and—and +marry me."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" winced Alice.</p> + +<p>"You see what he is," triumphed the sacristan's wife, "running after a +married woman."</p> + +<p>But Kittredge went on doggedly: "You've got to hear the rest now. One day +something 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 devil +with me. She did that good and plenty, so at last I decided to break away +and I did. It wasn't exactly a path of roses for me those weeks, but I +stuck to it, because—because I had some one to help me," he paused and +looked tenderly at Alice, "and—well, I cut the whole thing out, gambling +and all. That was six months ago."</p> + +<p>"And the lady?" sneered Mother Bonneton. "Do you mean to tell us you +haven't had anything to do with her for six months?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't even seen her," he declared, "for more than six months."</p> + +<p>"A likely story! Besides, what we know is enough. I shall write M. Groener +to-night and tell him the facts. Meantime—" She rose and pointed to the +door.</p> + +<p>Alice and Kittredge rose also, the one indignant and aggrieved at this +wanton affront to her lover, the other gloomily resigned to what seemed to +be his fate.</p> + +<p>"Well," said he, facing Alice with a discouraged gesture, "things are +against us. I'm grateful to you for believing in me and I—I'd like to know +why you turned me down this afternoon. But I probably never shall. I—I'll +be going now."</p> + +<p>He was actually moving toward the door, and she, almost fainting with +emotion, was rallying her strength for a last appeal when the bell in the +hall tinkled sharply. Mother Bonneton answered the call and returned a +moment later followed by the doorkeeper from below, a cheery little woman +who bustled in carrying a note.</p> + +<p>"It's for the gentleman," she explained, "from a lady waiting in a +carriage. It's very important." With this she delivered a note to Kittredge +and added in an exultant whisper to the sacristan's wife that the lady had +given her a franc for her trouble.</p> + +<p>"A lady waiting in a carriage!" chuckled Mother Bonneton. "What kind of a +lady?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, very swell," replied the doorkeeper mysteriously "Grande toilette, +bare shoulders, and no hat. I should think she'd take cold."</p> + +<p>"Poor thing!" jeered the other. And then to Kittredge: "I suppose this is +<i>another one</i> you haven't seen for six months."</p> + +<p>Kittredge stood as if in a daze staring at the note. He read it, then read +it again, then he crumpled it in his hand, muttering: "O God!" And his face +was white.</p> + +<p>"Good-by!" he said to Alice in extreme agitation. "I don't know what you +think of this, I can't stop to explain, I—I must go at once!" And taking +up his hat and cane he started away.</p> + +<p>"But you'll come back?" cried the girl.</p> + +<p>"No, no! This is the end!"</p> + +<p>She went to him swiftly and laid a hand on his arm. "Lloyd, you <i>must</i> come +back. You must come back to-night. It's the last thing I'll ever ask you. +You need never see me again but—<i>you must come back to-night</i>."</p> + +<p>She stood transformed as she spoke, not pleading but commanding and +beautiful beyond words.</p> + +<p>"It may be very late," he stammered.</p> + +<p>"I'll wait until you come," she said simply, "no matter what time. I'll +wait. But you'll surely come, Lloyd?"</p> + +<p>He hesitated a moment and then, before the power of her eyes: "I'll surely +come," he promised, and a moment later he was gone.</p> + +<p>Then the hours passed, anxious, ominous hours! Ten, eleven, twelve! And +still Alice waited for her lover, silencing Mother Bonneton's grumblings +with a look that this hard old woman had once or twice seen in the girl's +face and had learned to respect. At half past twelve a carriage sounded in +the quiet street, then a quick step on the stairs. Kittredge had kept his +word.</p> + +<p>The door was opened by Mother Bonneton, very sleepy and arrayed in a +wrapper of purple and gold pieced together from discarded altar coverings. +She eyed the young man sternly but said nothing, for Alice was at her back +holding the lamp and there was something in the American's face, something +half reckless, half appealing, that startled her. She felt the cold breath +of a sinister happening and regretted Bonneton's absence at the church.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm here," said Kittredge with a queer little smile. "I couldn't +come any sooner and—I can't stay."</p> + +<p>The girl questioned him with frightened eyes. "Isn't it over yet?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her sharply. "I don't know what you mean by 'it,' but, as a +matter of fact, <i>it</i> hasn't begun yet. If you have any questions you'd +better ask 'em."</p> + +<p>Alice turned and said quietly: "Was the woman who came in the carriage the +one you told us about?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Have you been with her ever since?"</p> + +<p>"No. I was with her only about ten minutes."</p> + +<p>"Is she in trouble?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And you?"</p> + +<p>Kittredge nodded slowly. "Oh, I'm in trouble, all right."</p> + +<p>"Can I help you?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head. "The only way you can help is by believing in me. I +haven't lied to you. I hadn't seen that woman for over six months. I didn't +know 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 <i>had</i> to do." He spoke with growing +agitation which he tried vainly to control.</p> + +<p>Alice looked at him steadily for a moment and then in a low voice she spoke +the words that were pressing on her heart: "<i>What</i> have you done?"</p> + +<p>"There's no use going into that," he answered unsteadily. "I can only ask +you to trust me."</p> + +<p>"I trust you, Lloyd," she said.</p> + +<p>While they were talking Mother Bonneton had gone to the window attracted by +sounds from below, and as she peered down her face showed surprise and +then intense excitement.</p> + +<p>"Kind saints!" she muttered. "The courtyard is full of policemen." Then +with sudden understanding she exclaimed: "Perhaps we will know now what he +has been doing." As she spoke a heavy tread was heard on the stairs and the +murmur of voices.</p> + +<p>"It's nothing," said Alice weakly.</p> + +<p>"Nothing?" mocked the old woman. "Hear that!"</p> + +<p>An impatient hand sounded at the door while a harsh voice called out those +terrifying words: "<i>Open in the name of the law</i>."</p> + +<p>With a mingling of alarm and satisfaction Mother Bonneton obeyed the +summons, and a moment later, as she unlatched the door, a fat man with a +bristling red mustache and keen eyes pushed forward into the room where the +lovers were waiting. Two burly policemen followed him.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" exclaimed Gibelin with a gesture of relief as his eye fell on +Kittredge. Then producing a paper he said: "I am from headquarters. I am +looking for"—he studied the writing in perplexity—"for M. Lo-eed +Keetredge. What is <i>your</i> name?"</p> + +<p>"That's it," replied the American, "you made a good stab at it."</p> + +<p>"You are M. Lo-eed Keetredge?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"You must come with me. I have a warrant for your arrest." And he showed +the paper.</p> + +<p>But Alice staggered forward. "Why do you arrest him? What has he done?"</p> + +<p>The man from headquarters answered, shrugging his shoulders: "I don't know +what he's done, <i>he's charged with murder</i>."</p> + +<p>"Murder!" echoed the sacristan's wife. "Holy angels! A murderer in my +house!"</p> + +<p>"Take him," ordered the detective, and the two policemen laid hold of +Kittredge on either side.</p> + +<p>"Alice!" cried the young man, and his eyes yearned toward her. "Alice, I am +innocent."</p> + +<p>"Come," said the men gruffly, and Kittredge felt a sickening sense of shame +as he realized that he was a prisoner.</p> + +<p>"Wait! One moment!" protested the girl, and the men paused. Then, going +close to her lover, Alice spoke to him in low, thrilling words that came +straight from her soul:</p> + +<p>"Lloyd, I believe you, I trust you, I love you. No matter what you have +done, I love you. It was because my love is so great that I refused you +this afternoon. But you need me now, you're in trouble now, and, Lloyd, +if—if you want me still, I'm yours, all yours."</p> + +<p>"O God!" murmured Kittredge, and even the hardened policeman choked a +little. "I'm the happiest man in Paris, but—" He could say no more except +with a last longing look: "Good-by."</p> + +<p>Wildly, fiercely she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him +passionately on the mouth—their first kiss. And she murmured: "I love you, +I love you."</p> + +<p>Then they led Kittredge away.</p> + +<a name="image-8"><!-- Image 8 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/008.jpg" height="300" width="472" +alt=""'Alice, I am innocent.'""> +</center> + +<h5>"'Alice, I am innocent.'"</h5> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_V"></a><h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>COQUENIL GETS IN THE GAME</h3> + +<p>It was a long night at the Ansonia and a hard night for M. Gritz. France is +a land of infinite red tape where even such simple things as getting born +or getting married lead to endless formalities. Judge, then, of the +complicated procedure involved in so serious a matter as getting +murdered—especially in a fashionable restaurant! Long before the +commissary had finished his report there arrived no less a person than M. +Simon, the chief of police, round-faced and affable, a brisk, dapper man +whose ready smile had led more than one trusting criminal into regretted +confidences.</p> + +<p>And a little later came M. Hauteville, the judge in charge of the case, a +cold, severe figure, handsome in his younger days, but soured, it was said, +by social disappointments and ill health. He was in evening dress, having +been summoned posthaste from the theater. Both of these officials went over +the case with the commissary and the doctor, both viewed the body and +studied its surroundings and, having formed a theory of the crime, both +proceeded to draw up a report. And the doctor drew up <i>his</i> report. And +already Gibelin (now at the prison with Kittredge) had made elaborate notes +for <i>his</i> report. And outside the hotel, with eager notebooks, were a score +of reporters all busy with <i>their</i> reports. No doubt that, in the matter of +paper and ink, full justice would be done to the sudden taking off of this +gallant billiard player!</p> + +<p>Meantime the official police photographer and his assistants had arrived +(this was long after midnight) with special apparatus for photographing the +victim and the scene of the crime. And their work occupied two full hours +owing largely to the difficult manipulation of a queer, clumsy camera that +photographed the body <i>from above</i> as it lay on the floor.</p> + +<p>In the intervals of these formalities the officials discussed the case with +a wide variance in opinions and conclusions. The chief of police and M. +Pougeot were strong for the theory of murder, while M. Hauteville leaned +toward suicide. The doctor was undecided.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Joubert, "the eyebrows are badly singed, the skin is burned, +and the face shows unmistakable powder marks. I should say the pistol was +fired not six inches from the victim."</p> + +<p>"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 murderer +to get so close to him without a struggle. But there is not the slightest +sign of a struggle, no disorder in the room, no disarrangement of the man's +clothing. It's evidently suicide."</p> + +<p>"If it's suicide," objected Pougeot, "where is the weapon? The man died +instantly, didn't he, doctor?"</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly," agreed the doctor.</p> + +<p>"Then the pistol must have fallen beside him or remained in his hand. Well, +where is it?"</p> + +<p>"Ask the woman who was here. How do you know she didn't take it?"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" put in the chief. "Why should she take it? To throw suspicion +on herself? Besides, I'll show you another reason why it's not suicide. The +man 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, there +is not one case where a man has shot himself in the eye. Did you ever hear +of such a case, doctor?"</p> + +<p>"Never," answered Joubert.</p> + +<p>"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 shrinking +from that. So I say it's murder."</p> + +<p>The judge shook his head. "And the murderer?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's another question. We must find the woman. And we must +understand the rôle of this American."</p> + +<p>"No woman ever fired that shot or planned this crime," declared the +commissary, unconsciously echoing Coquenil's opinion.</p> + +<p>"There's better reason to argue that the American never did it," retorted +the judge.</p> + +<p>"What reason?"</p> + +<p>"The woman ran away, didn't she? And the American didn't. If he had killed +this man, do you think <i>anything</i> would have brought him back here for that +cloak and bag?"</p> + +<p>"A good point," nodded the chief. "We can't be sure of the murderer—yet, +but we can be reasonably sure it's murder."</p> + +<p>Still the judge was unconvinced. "If it's murder, how do you account for +the singed eyebrows? How did the murderer get so near?"</p> + +<p>"I answer as you did: 'Ask the woman.' She knows."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, she knows," reflected the commissary. "And, gentlemen, all our +talk brings us back to this, <i>we must find that woman</i>."</p> + +<p>At half past one Gibelin appeared to announce the arrest of Kittredge. He +had tried vainly to get from the American some clew to the owner of cloak +and bag, but the young man had refused to speak and, with sullen +indifference, had allowed himself to be locked up in the big room at the +depot.</p> + +<p>"I'll see what <i>I</i> can squeeze out of him in the morning," said Hauteville +grimly. There was no judge in the <i>parquet</i> who had his reputation for +breaking down the resistance of obstinate prisoners.</p> + +<p>"You've got your work cut out," snapped the detective. "He's a stubborn +devil."</p> + +<p>In the midst of these perplexities and technicalities a note was brought in +for M. Pougeot. The commissary glanced at it quickly and then, with a word +of excuse, left the room, returning a few minutes later and whispering +earnestly to M. Simon.</p> + +<p>"You say <i>he</i> is here?" exclaimed the latter. "I thought he was sailing +for——"</p> + +<p>M. Pougeot bent closer and whispered again.</p> + +<p>"Paul Coquenil!" exclaimed the chief. "Why, certainly, ask him to come in."</p> + +<p>A moment later Coquenil entered and all rose with cordial greetings, that +is, all except Gibelin, whose curt nod and suspicious glances showed that +he found anything but satisfaction in the presence of this formidable +rival.</p> + +<p>"My dear Coquenil!" said Simon warmly. "This is like the old days! If you +were only with us now what a nut there would be for you to crack!"</p> + +<p>"So I hear," smiled M. Paul, "and—er—the fact is, I have come to help +you crack it." He spoke with that quiet but confident seriousness which +always carried conviction, and M. Simon and the judge, feeling the man's +power, waited his further words with growing interest; but Gibelin blinked +his small eyes and muttered under his breath: "The cheek of the fellow!"</p> + +<p>"As you know," explained Coquenil briefly, "I resigned from the force two +years ago. I need not go into details; the point is, I now ask to be taken +back. That is why I am here."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear fellow," replied the chief in frank astonishment, "I +understood that you had received a magnificent offer with——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I have."</p> + +<p>"With a salary of a hundred thousand francs?"</p> + +<p>"It's true, but—I have refused it."</p> + +<p>Simon and Hauteville looked at Coquenil incredulously. How could a man +refuse a salary of a hundred thousand francs? The commissary watched his +friend with admiration, Gibelin with envious hostility.</p> + +<p>"May I ask <i>why</i> you have refused it?" asked the chief.</p> + +<p>"Partly for personal reasons, largely because I want to have a hand in this +case."</p> + +<p>Gibelin moved uneasily.</p> + +<p>"You think this case so interesting?" put in the judge.</p> + +<p>"The most interesting I have ever known," answered the other, and then he +added with all the authority of his fine, grave face: "It's more than +interesting, <i>it's the most important criminal case Paris has known for +three generations</i>."</p> + +<p>Again they stared at him.</p> + +<p>"My dear Coquenil, you exaggerate," objected M. Simon. "After all, we have +only the shooting of a billiard player."</p> + +<p>M. Paul shook his head and replied impressively: "The billiard player was a +pawn in the game. He became troublesome and was sacrificed. He is of no +importance, but there's a greater game than billiards here with a master +player and—<i>I'm going to be in it</i>."</p> + +<p>"Why do you think it's a great game?" questioned the judge.</p> + +<p>"Why do I think anything? Why did I think a commonplace pickpocket at the +Bon Marché was a notorious criminal, wanted by two countries? Why did I +think we should find the real clew to that Bordeaux counterfeiting gang in +a Passy wine shop? Why did I think it necessary to-night to be <i>on</i> the cab +this young American took and not <i>behind</i> it in another cab?" He shot a +quick glance at Gibelin. "Because a good detective <i>knows</i> certain things +before he can prove them and acts on his knowledge. That is what +distinguishes him from an ordinary detective."</p> + +<p>"Meaning me?" challenged Gibelin.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," replied M. Paul smoothly. "I only say that——"</p> + +<p>"One moment," interrupted M. Simon. "Do I understand that you were with the +driver who took this American away from here to-night?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil smiled. "I was not <i>with</i> the driver, I <i>was the driver</i> and I had +the honor of receiving five francs from my distinguished associate." He +bowed mockingly to Gibelin and held up a silver piece. "I shall keep this +among my curiosities."</p> + +<p>"It was a foolish trick, a perfectly useless trick," declared Gibelin, +furious.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not," answered the other with aggravating politeness; "perhaps it +was a rather nice <i>coup</i> leading to very important results."</p> + +<p>"Huh! What results?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. What results?" echoed the judge.</p> + +<p>"Let me ask first," replied Coquenil deliberately, "what you regard as the +most important thing to be known in this case just now?"</p> + +<p>"The name of the woman," answered Hauteville promptly.</p> + +<p>"<i>Parbleu!</i>" agreed the commissary.</p> + +<p>"Then the man who gives you this woman's name and address will render a +real service?"</p> + +<p>"A service?" exclaimed Hauteville. "The whole case rests on this woman. +Without her, nothing can be understood."</p> + +<p>"So it would be a good piece of work," continued Coquenil, "if a man had +discovered this name and address in the last few hours with nothing but his +wits to help him; in fact, with everything done to hinder him." He looked +meaningly at Gibelin.</p> + +<p>"Come, come," interrupted the chief, "what are you driving at?"</p> + +<p>"At this, <i>I have the woman's name and address</i>."</p> + +<p>"Impossible!" they cried.</p> + +<p>"I got them by my own efforts and I will give them up <i>on my own terms</i>." +He spoke with a look of fearless purpose that M. Simon well remembered from +the old days.</p> + +<p>"A thousand devils! How did you do it?" cried Simon.</p> + +<p>"I watched the American in the cab as he leaned forward toward the lantern +light and I saw exactly what he was doing. He opened the lady's bag and cut +out a leather flap that had her name and address stamped on it."</p> + +<p>"No," contradicted Gibelin, "there was <i>no</i> name in the bag. I examined it +myself."</p> + +<p>"The name was on the <i>under side</i> of the flap," laughed the other, "in gilt +letters."</p> + +<p>Gibelin's heart sank.</p> + +<p>"And you took this flap from the American?" asked M. Simon.</p> + +<p>"No, no! Any violence would have brought my colleague into the thing, for +he was close behind, and I wanted this knowledge for myself."</p> + +<p>"What did you do?" pursued the chief.</p> + +<p>"I let the young man cut the flap into small pieces and drop them one by +one as we drove through dark little streets. And I noted where he dropped +the pieces. Then I drove back and picked them up, that is, all but two."</p> + +<p>"Marvelous!" muttered Hauteville.</p> + +<p>"I had a small searchlight lantern to help me. That was one of the things I +took from my desk," he added to Pougeot.</p> + +<p>"And these pieces of leather with the name and address, you have them?" +continued the chief.</p> + +<p>"I have them."</p> + +<p>"With you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"May I see them?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. If you will promise to respect them as my personal property?"</p> + +<p>Simon hesitated. "You mean—" he frowned, and then impatiently: "Oh, yes, I +promise that."</p> + +<p>Coquenil drew an envelope from his breast pocket and from it he took a +number of white-leather fragments. And he showed the chief that most of +these fragments were stamped in gold letters or parts of letters.</p> + +<p>"I'm satisfied," declared Simon after examining several of the fragments +and returning them. "<i>Bon Dieu!</i>" he stormed at Gibelin. "And you had that +bag in your hands!"</p> + +<p>Gibelin sat silent. This was the wretchedest moment in his career.</p> + +<p>"Well," continued the chief, "we <i>must</i> have these pieces of leather. What +are your terms?"</p> + +<p>"I told you," said Coquenil, "I want to be put back on the force. I want to +handle this case."</p> + +<p>M. Simon thought a moment. "That ought to be easily arranged. I will see +the <i>préfet de police</i> about it in the morning."</p> + +<p>But the other demurred. "I ask you to see him to-night. It's ten minutes to +his house in an automobile. I'll wait here."</p> + +<p>The chief smiled. "You're in a hurry, aren't you? Well, so are we. Will you +come with me, Hauteville?"</p> + +<p>"If you like."</p> + +<p>"And I'll go, if you don't mind," put in the commissary. "I may have some +influence with the <i>préfet</i>."</p> + +<p>"He won't refuse me," declared Simon. "After all, I am responsible for the +pursuit of criminals in this city, and if I tell him that I absolutely need +Paul Coquenil back on the force, as I do, he will sign the commission at +once. Come, gentlemen."</p> + +<p>A moment later the three had hurried off, leaving Coquenil and Gibelin +together.</p> + +<p>"Have one?" said M. Paul, offering his cigarette case.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," snapped Gibelin with deliberate insolence, "I prefer my own."</p> + +<p>"There's no use being ugly about it," replied the other good-naturedly, as +he lighted a cigarette. His companion did the same and the two smoked in +silence, Gibelin gnawing savagely at his little red mustache.</p> + +<p>"See here," broke in the latter, "wouldn't you be ugly if somebody butted +into a case that had been given to you?"</p> + +<p>"Why," smiled Coquenil, "if he thought he could handle it better than I +could, I—I think I'd let him try."</p> + +<a name="image-9"><!-- Image 9 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/009.jpg" height="300" width="518" +alt=""'Have one?' said M. Paul, offering his cigarette case.""> +</center> + +<h5>"'Have one?' said M. Paul, offering his cigarette case."</h5> + +<p>Then there was another silence, broken presently by Gibelin.</p> + +<p>"Do you imagine the <i>préfet de police</i> is going to stand being pulled out +of bed at three in the morning just because Paul Coquenil wants something? +Well, I guess not."</p> + +<p>"No? What do you think he'll do?" asked Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"Do? He'll tell those men they are three idiots, that's what he'll do. And +you'll never get your appointment. Bet you five louis you don't."</p> + +<p>M. Paul shook his head. "I don't want your money."</p> + +<p>"<i>Bon sang!</i> You think the whole police department must bow down to you."</p> + +<p>"It's not a case of bowing down to me, it's a case of <i>needing</i> me."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" snorted the other. "I'm going to walk around." He rose and moved +toward the door. Then he turned sharply: "Say, how much did you pay that +driver?"</p> + +<p>"Ten louis. It was cheap enough. He might have lost his place."</p> + +<p>"You think it's a great joke on me because I paid you five francs? Don't +forget that it was raining and dark and you had that rubber cape pulled up +over half your face, so it wasn't such a wonderful disguise."</p> + +<p>"I didn't say it was."</p> + +<p>"Anyhow, I'll get square with you," retorted the other, exasperated by M. +Paul's good nature. "The best men make mistakes and <i>look out that you +don't make one</i>."</p> + +<p>"If I do, I'll call on you for help."</p> + +<p>"And <i>if</i> you do, I'll take jolly good care that you don't get it," snarled +the other.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" laughed Coquenil. "You're a good soldier, Gibelin; you like to +kick and growl, but you do your work. Tell you what I'll do as soon as I'm +put in charge of this case. Want to know what I'll do?"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"I'll have to set you to work on it. Ha, ha! Upon my soul, I will."</p> + +<p>"You'd better look out," menaced the red-haired man with an ugly look, "or +I'll do some work on this case you'll wish I hadn't done." With this he +flung himself out of the room, slamming the door behind him.</p> + +<p>"What did he mean by that?" muttered M. Paul, and he sat silent, lost in +thought, until the others returned. In a glance, he read the answer in +their faces.</p> + +<p>"It's all right," said the chief.</p> + +<p>"Congratulations, old friend," beamed Pougeot, squeezing Coquenil's hand.</p> + +<p>"The <i>préfet</i> was extremely nice," added M. Hauteville; "he took our view +at once."</p> + +<p>"Then my commission is signed?"</p> + +<p>"Precisely," answered the chief; "you are one of us again, and—I'm glad."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, both of you," said M. Paul with a quiver of emotion.</p> + +<p>"I give you full charge of this case," went on M. Simon, "and I will see +that you have every possible assistance. I expect you to be on deck +to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>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 deck +to-night—now."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_VI"></a><h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>THE WEAPON</h3> + +<p>Right across from the Ansonia on the Rue Marboeuf was a little wine shop +that remained open all night for the accommodation of cab drivers and +belated pedestrians and to this Coquenil and the commissary now withdrew. +Before anything else the detective wished to get from M. Pougeot his +impressions of the case. And he asked Papa Tignol to come with them for a +fortifying glass.</p> + +<p>"By the way," said the commissary to Tignol when they were seated in the +back room, "did you find out how that woman left the hotel without her +wraps and without being seen?"</p> + +<p>The old man nodded. "When she came out of the telephone booth she slipped +on a long black rain coat that was hanging there. It belonged to the +telephone girl and it's missing. The rain coat had a hood to it which the +woman pulled over her head. Then she walked out quietly and no one paid any +attention to her."</p> + +<p>"Good work, Papa Tignol," approved Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"It's you, M. Paul, who have done good work this night," chuckled Tignol. +"Eh! Eh! What a lesson for Gibelin!"</p> + +<p>"The brute!" muttered Pougeot.</p> + +<p>Then they turned to the commissary's report of his investigation, Coquenil +listening with intense concentration, interrupting now and then with a +question or to consult the rough plan drawn by Pougeot.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure there is no exit from the banquet room and from these private +rooms except by the corridor?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"They tell me not."</p> + +<p>"So, if the murderer went out, he must have passed Joseph?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And the only persons who passed Joseph were the woman and this American?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly."</p> + +<p>"Too easy!" he muttered. "Too easy!"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"That would put the guilt on one or the other of those two?"</p> + +<p>"Apparently."</p> + +<p>"And end the case?"</p> + +<p>"Why—er——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it would. A case is ended when the murderer is discovered. Well, this +case is <i>not</i> ended, you can be sure of that. The murderer I am looking for +<i>is not that kind of a murderer</i>. To begin with, he's not a fool. If he +made up his mind to shoot a man in a private room he would know <i>exactly</i> +what he was doing and <i>exactly</i> how he was going to escape."</p> + +<p>"But the facts are there—I've given them to you," retorted the commissary +a little nettled.</p> + +<p>Coquenil shook his head.</p> + +<p>"My dear Lucien, you have given me <i>some</i> of the facts; before morning I +hope we'll have others and—hello!"</p> + +<p>He stopped abruptly to look at a comical little man with a very large +mouth, the owner of the place, who had been hovering about for some moments +as if anxious to say something.</p> + +<p>"What is it, my friend?" asked Coquenil good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>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 was +something on her conscience and she couldn't sleep without telling it.</p> + +<p>"Well?" broke in Pougeot impatiently, but Coquenil gave the woman a +reassuring look and she went on to explain that she was a spinster living +in a little attic room of the next house, overlooking the Rue Marboeuf. She +worked as a seamstress all day in a hot, crowded <i>atelier</i>, and when she +came home at night she loved to go out on her balcony, especially these +fine summer evenings. She would stand there and brush her hair while she +watched the sunset deepen and the swallows circle over the chimney tops. It +was an excellent thing for a woman's hair to brush it a long time every +night; she always brushed hers for half an hour—that was why it was so +thick and glossy.</p> + +<p>"But, my dear woman," smiled Coquenil, "what has that to do with me? I have +very little hair and no time to brush it."</p> + +<p>The seamstress begged his pardon, the point was that on the previous +evening, just as she had nearly finished brushing her hair, she suddenly +heard 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 and +watched where it fell beyond the high wall that separated the Ansonia Hotel +from an adjoining courtyard. She had not thought much about it at the +moment, but, having heard that something dreadful had happened——</p> + +<p>Coquenil could contain himself no longer and, taking the woman's arm, he +hurried her to the door.</p> + +<p>"Now," he said, "show me just <i>where</i> you saw this glittering object thrown +over the wall."</p> + +<p>"There," she replied, pointing, "it lies to the left of that heavy doorway +on the courtyard stones. I could see it from my balcony."</p> + +<a name="image-10"><!-- Image 10 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/010.jpg" height="300" width="363" +alt=""'There it lies to the left of that heavy doorway.'""> +</center> + +<h5>"'There it lies to the left of that heavy doorway.'"</h5> + +<p>"Wait!" and, speaking to Tignol in a low tone, M. Paul gave him quick +instructions, whereupon the old man hurried across the street and pulled +the bell at the doorway indicated.</p> + +<p>"Is he going to see what it was?" asked the spinster eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he is going to see what it was," and at that moment the door swung +open and Papa Tignol disappeared within.</p> + +<p>"Did you happen to see the person who threw this thing?" continued M. Paul +gently.</p> + +<p>"No, but I saw his arm."</p> + +<p>Coquenil gave a start of satisfaction. "His arm? Then a man threw it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I saw his black coat sleeve and his white cuff quite plainly."</p> + +<p>"But not his face?"</p> + +<p>"No, only the arm."</p> + +<p>"Do you remember the window from which he threw this object?" The detective +looked at her anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, it is easy to remember; it's the end window, on the first +floor of the hotel. There!"</p> + +<p>Coquenil felt a thrill of excitement, for, unless he had misunderstood the +commissary's diagram, the seamstress was pointing not to private room +Number Six, <i>but to private room Number Seven!</i></p> + +<p>"Lucien!" he called, and, taking his friend aside, he asked: "Does that end +window on the first floor belong to Number Six or Number Seven?"</p> + +<p>"Number Seven."</p> + +<p>"And the window next to it?"</p> + +<p>"Number Six."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure?"</p> + +<p>"Absolutely sure."</p> + +<p>"Thanks. Just a moment," and he rejoined the seamstress.</p> + +<p>"You are giving us great assistance," he said to her politely. "I shall +speak of you to the chief."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir," she murmured in confusion.</p> + +<p>"But one point is not quite clear. Just look across again. You see two +open windows, the end window and the one next to it. Isn't it possible that +this bright thing was thrown from the window <i>next</i> to the end one?"</p> + +<p>"No, no."</p> + +<p>"They are both alike and, both being open, one might easily make a +mistake."</p> + +<p>She shook her head positively. "I have made no mistake, <i>it was the end +window</i>."</p> + +<p>Just then Coquenil heard the click of the door opposite and, looking over, +he saw Papa Tignol beckoning to him.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," he said and hurried across the street.</p> + +<p>"It's there," whispered Tignol.</p> + +<p>"The pistol?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You remembered what I told you?"</p> + +<p>The old man looked hurt. "Of course I did. I haven't touched it. Nothing +could make me touch it."</p> + +<p>"Good! Papa Tignol, I want you to stay here until I come back. Things are +marching along."</p> + +<p>Again he rejoined the seamstress and, with his serious, friendly air, he +began: "And you still think that shining object was thrown from the +<i>second</i> window?"</p> + +<p>"No, no! How stupid you are!" And then in confusion: "I beg a thousand +pardons, I am nervous. I thought I told you plainly it was the end window."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, my good woman," replied M. Paul. "Now go right back to your room +and don't breathe a word of this to anyone."</p> + +<p>"But," she stammered, "would monsieur be so kind as to say what the bright +object was?"</p> + +<p>The detective bent nearer and whispered mysteriously: "It was a comb, a +silver comb!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Mon Dieu!</i> A silver comb!" exclaimed the unsuspecting spinster.</p> + +<p>"Now back to your room and finish brushing your hair," he urged, and the +woman hurried away trembling with excitement.</p> + +<p>A few moments later Coquenil and the commissary and Papa Tignol were +standing in the courtyard near two green tubs of foliage plants between +which the pistol had fallen. The doorkeeper of the house, a crabbed +individual who had only become mildly respectful when he learned that he +was dealing with the police, had joined them, his crustiness tempered by +curiosity.</p> + +<p>"See here," said the detective, addressing him, "do you want to earn five +francs?" The doorkeeper brightened. "I'll make it ten", continued the +other, "if you do exactly what I say. You are to take a cab, here is the +money, and drive to Notre-Dame. At the right of the church is a high iron +railing around the archbishop's house. In the railing is an iron gate with +a night bell for Extreme Unction. Ring this bell and ask to see the +sacristan Bonneton, and when he comes out give him this." Coquenil wrote +hastily on a card. "It's an order to let you have a dog named Cæsar—my +dog—he's guarding the church with Bonneton. Pat Cæsar and tell him he's +going to see M. Paul, that's me. Tell him to jump in the cab and keep +still. He'll understand—he knows more than most men. Then drive back here +as quick as you can."</p> + +<p>The doorkeeper touched his cap and departed.</p> + +<p>Coquenil turned to Tignol. "Watch the pistol. When the doorkeeper comes +back send him over to the hotel. I'll be there."</p> + +<p>"Right," nodded the old man.</p> + +<p>Then the detective said to Pougeot: "I must talk to Gritz. You know him, +don't you?"</p> + +<p>The commissary glanced at his watch. "Yes, but do you realize it's after +three o'clock?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind, I must see him. A lot depends on it. Get him out of bed for +me, Lucien, and—then you can go home."</p> + +<p>"I'll try," grumbled the other, "but what in Heaven's name are you going to +do with that dog?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Use him,</i>" answered Coquenil.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_VII"></a><h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>THE FOOTPRINTS</h3> + +<p>One of the great lessons Coquenil had learned in his long experience with +mysterious crimes was to be careful of hastily rejecting any evidence +because it conflicted with some preconceived theory. It would have been +easy now, for instance, to assume that this prim spinster was mistaken in +declaring that she had seen the pistol thrown from the window of Number +Seven. That, of course, seemed most unlikely, since the shooting was done +in Number Six, yet how account for the woman's positiveness? She seemed a +truthful, well-meaning person, and the murderer <i>might</i> have gone into +Number Seven after committing the crime. It was evidently important to get +as much light as possible on this point. Hence the need of M. Gritz.</p> + +<p>M. Herman Gritz was a short, massive man with hard, puffy eyes and thin +black hair, rather curly and oily, and a rapacious nose. He appeared +(having been induced to come down by the commissary) in a richly +embroidered blue-silk house garment, and his efforts at affability were +obviously based on apprehension.</p> + +<p>Coquenil began at once with questions about private room Number Seven. We +had 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 an +old client, who, at the last moment, had sent a <i>petit bleu</i> to say that he +had changed his plans and would not require the room. The <i>petit bleu</i> did +not arrive until after the crime was discovered, so the room remained +empty. More than that, the door was locked.</p> + +<p>"Locked on the outside?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"With the key in the lock?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then anyone coming along the corridor might have turned the key and +entered Number Seven?"</p> + +<p>"It is possible," admitted M. Gritz, "but very improbable. The room was +dark, and an ordinary person seeing a door locked and a room dark——"</p> + +<p>"We are not talking about an ordinary person," retorted the detective, "we +are talking about a murderer. Come, we must look into this," and he led the +way down the corridor, nodding to the policeman outside Number Six and +stopping at the next door, the last in the line, the door to Number Seven.</p> + +<p>"You know I haven't been in <i>there</i> yet." He glanced toward the adjoining +room of the tragedy, then, turning the key in Number Seven, he tried to +open the door.</p> + +<p>"Hello! It's locked on the inside, too!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Tiens!</i> You're right," said Gritz, and he rumpled his scanty locks in +perplexity.</p> + +<p>"Some one has been inside, some one may be inside now."</p> + +<p>The proprietor shook his head and, rather reluctantly, went on to explain +that Number Seven was different from the other private rooms in this, that +it had a separate exit with separate stairs leading to an alleyway between +the hotel and a wall surrounding it. A few habitues knew of this exit and +used it occasionally for greater privacy. The alleyway led to a gate in the +wall opening on the Rue Marboeuf, so a particularly discreet couple, let us +say, could drive up to this gate, pass through the alleyway, and then, by +the private stairs, enter Number Seven without being seen by anyone, +assuming, of course, that they had a key to the alleyway door. And they +could leave the restaurant in the same unobserved manner.</p> + +<p>As Coquenil listened, his mouth drew into an ominous thin line and his deep +eyes burned angrily.</p> + +<p>"M. Gritz," he said in a cold, cutting voice, "you are a man of +intelligence, you must be. This crime was committed last night about nine +o'clock; it's now half past three in the morning. Will you please tell me +how it happens that this fact <i>of vital importance</i> has been concealed from +the police for over six hours?"</p> + +<p>"Why," stammered the other, "I—I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Are you trying to shield some one? Who is this man that engaged Number +Seven?"</p> + +<p>Gritz shook his head unhappily. "I don't know his name."</p> + +<p>"You don't know his name?" thundered Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"We have to be discreet in these matters," reasoned the other. "We have +many clients who do not give us their names, they have their own reasons +for that; some of them are married, and, as a man of the world, <i>I</i> respect +their reserve." M. Gritz prided himself on being a man of the world. He had +started as a penniless Swiss waiter and had reached the magnificent point +where broken-down aristocrats were willing to owe him money and sometimes +borrow it—and he appreciated the honor.</p> + +<p>"But what do you call him?" persisted Coquenil. "You must call him +something."</p> + +<p>"In speaking to him we call him 'monsieur'; in speaking of him we call him +'<i>the tall blonde</i>.'"</p> + +<p>"The tall blonde!" repeated M. Paul.</p> + +<p>"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 he +didn't come to-night?"</p> + +<p>"How do you know he didn't come? He had a key to the alleyway door, didn't +he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I tell you he sent a <i>petit bleu</i>."</p> + +<p>The detective shrugged his shoulders. "<i>Some one</i> has been here and locked +this door on the inside. I want it opened."</p> + +<p>"Just a moment," trembled Gritz. "I have a pass key to the alleyway door. +We'll go around."</p> + +<p>"Make haste, then," and they started briskly through the halls, the +proprietor assuring M. Paul that only a single key was ever given out for +the alleyway door and this to none but trusted clients, who returned it the +same night.</p> + +<p>"Only a single key to the alleyway door," reflected, Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And your 'tall blonde' has it now?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so."</p> + +<p>They left the hotel by the main entrance, and were just going around into +Rue Marboeuf when the <i>concierge</i> from across the way met them with word +that Cæsar had arrived.</p> + +<p>"Cæsar?" questioned Gritz.</p> + +<p>"He's my dog. Ph-h-eet! Ph-h-eet! Ah, here he is!" and out of the shadows +the splendid animal came bounding. At his master's call he had made a +mighty plunge and broken away from Papa Tignol's hold.</p> + +<p>"Good old fellow!" murmured M. Paul, holding the dog's eager head with his +two hands. "I have work for you, sir, to-night. Ah, he knows! See his eyes! +Look at that tail! We'll show 'em, eh, Cæsar?"</p> + +<p>And the dog answered with delighted leaps.</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do with him?" asked the proprietor.</p> + +<p>"Make a little experiment. Do you mind waiting a couple of minutes? It +<i>may</i> give us a line on this visitor to Number Seven."</p> + +<p>"I'll wait," said Gritz.</p> + +<p>"Come over here," continued the other. "I'll show you a pistol connected +with this case. And I'll show it to the dog."</p> + +<p>"For the scent? You don't think a dog can follow the scent from a pistol, +do you?" asked the proprietor incredulously.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. <i>This</i> dog has done wonderful things. He tracked a murderer +once three miles across rough country near Liége and found him hidden in a +barn. But he had better conditions there. We'll see."</p> + +<p>They had entered the courtyard now and Coquenil led Cæsar to the spot where +the weapon lay still undisturbed.</p> + +<p>"<i>Cherche!</i>" he ordered, and the dog nosed the pistol with concentrated +effort. Then silently, anxiously, one would say, he darted away, circling +the courtyard back and forth, sniffing the ground as he went, pausing +occasionally or retracing his steps and presently stopping before M. Paul +with a little bark of disappointment.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, eh? Quite right. Give me the pistol, Papa Tignol. We'll try +outside. There!" He pointed to the open door where the <i>concierge</i> was +waiting. "Now then, <i>cherche!</i>"</p> + +<p>In an instant Cæsar was out in the Rue Marboeuf, circling again and again +in larger and larger arcs, as he had been taught, back and forth, until he +had covered a certain length of street and sidewalk, every foot of the +space between opposite walls, then moving on for another length and then +for another, looking up at his master now and then for a word of +encouragement.</p> + +<a name="image-11"><!-- Image 11 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/011.jpg" height="300" width="308" +alt=""'<i>Cherche!</i>' he ordered.""> +</center> + +<h5>"'<i>Cherche!</i>' he ordered."</h5> + +<p>"It's a hard test," muttered Coquenil. "Footprints and weapons have lain +for hours in a drenching rain, but—Ah!" Cæsar had stopped with a little +whine and was half crouching at the edge of the sidewalk, head low, eyes +fiercely forward, body quivering with excitement. "He's found something!"</p> + +<p>The dog turned with quick, joyous barks.</p> + +<p>"He's got the scent. Now <i>watch</i> him," and sharply he gave the word: +"<i>Va!</i>"</p> + +<p>Straight across the pavement darted Cæsar, then along the opposite sidewalk +<i>away</i> from the Champs Elysées, running easily, nose down, past the Rue +François Premier, past the Rue Clement-Marot, then out into the street +again and stopping suddenly.</p> + +<p>"He's lost it," mourned Papa Tignol.</p> + +<p>"Lost it? Of course he's lost it," triumphed the detective. And turning to +M. Gritz: "There's where your murderer picked up a cab. It's perfectly +clear. No one has touched that pistol since the man who used it threw it +from the window of Number Seven."</p> + +<p>"You mean Number Six," corrected Gritz.</p> + +<p>"I mean Number Seven. We know where the murderer took a cab, now we'll see +where he left the hotel." And hurrying toward his dog, he called: "Back, +Cæsar!"</p> + +<p>Obediently the dog trotted back along the trail, recrossing the street +where he had crossed it before, and presently reaching the point where he +had first caught the scent. Here he stopped, waiting for orders, eying M. +Paul with almost speaking intelligence.</p> + +<p>"A wonderful dog," admired Gritz. "What kind is he?"</p> + +<p>"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 and +fondled the panting animal. "We wouldn't sell our best friend, would we, +Cæsar?"</p> + +<p>Evidently Cæsar did not think this the moment for sentiment; he growled +impatiently, straining toward the scent.</p> + +<p>"He knows there's work to be done and he's right." Then quickly he gave the +word again and once more Cæsar was away, darting back along the sidewalk +<i>toward</i> the Champs Elysées, moving nearer and nearer to the houses and +presently stopping at a gateway, against which he pressed and whined. It +was a gateway in the wall surrounding the Ansonia Hotel.</p> + +<p>"The man came out here," declared Coquenil, and, unlatching the gate, he +looked inside, the dog pushing after him.</p> + +<p>"Down Cæsar!" ordered M. Paul, and unwillingly the ardent creature crouched +at his feet.</p> + +<p>The wall surrounding the Ansonia was of polished granite about six feet +high, and between this wall and the hotel itself was a space of equal width +planted with slim fir trees that stood out in decorative dignity against +the gray stone.</p> + +<p>"This is what you call the alleyway?" questioned Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"Exactly."</p> + +<p>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 a +switch, he threw upon the ground a strong white ray; whereupon a confusion +of footprints became visible, as if a number of persons had trod back and +forth here.</p> + +<p>"What does this mean?" he cried.</p> + +<p>Papa Tignol explained shamefacedly: "<i>We</i> did it looking for the pistol; it +was Gibelin's orders."</p> + +<p>"<i>Bon Dieu!</i> What a pity! We can never get a clean print in this mess. But +wait! How far along the alleyway did you look?"</p> + +<p>"As far as that back wall. Poor Gibelin! He never thought of looking on the +other side of it. Eh, eh!"</p> + +<p>Coquenil breathed more freely. "We may be all right yet. Ah, yes," he +cried, going quickly to this back wall where the alleyway turned to the +right along the rear of the hotel. Again he threw his white light before +him and, with a start of satisfaction, pointed to the ground. There, +clearly marked, was a line of footprints, <i>a single line</i>, with no breaks +or imperfections, the plain record on the rain-soaked earth that one +person, evidently a man, had passed this way, <i>going out</i>.</p> + +<p>"I'll send the dog first," said M. Paul. "Here, Cæsar! <i>Cherche!</i>"</p> + +<p>Once more the eager animal sprang forward, following slowly along the row +of trees where the trail was confused, and then, at the corner, dashing +ahead swiftly, only to stop again after a few yards and stand scratching +uneasily at a closed door.</p> + +<p>"That settles it," said Coquenil. "He has brought us to the alleyway door. +Am I right?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," nodded Gritz.</p> + +<p>"The door that leads to Number Seven?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Open it," and, while the agitated proprietor searched for his pass key, +the detective spoke to Tignol: "I want impressions of these footprints, the +<i>best</i> you can take. Use glycerin with plaster of Paris for the molds. Take +<i>this</i> one and these two and <i>this</i> and <i>this</i>. Understand?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly."</p> + +<p>"Leave Cæsar here while you go for what you need. Down, Cæsar! <i>Garde!</i>"</p> + +<p>The dog growled and went on guard forthwith.</p> + +<p>"Now, we'll have a look inside."</p> + +<p>The alleyway door stood open and, using his lantern with the utmost care, +Coquenil went first, mounting the stairs slowly, followed by Gritz. At the +top they came to a narrow landing and a closed door.</p> + +<p>"This opens directly into Number Seven?" asked the detective.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Is it usually locked or unlocked?"</p> + +<p>"IT is <i>always</i> locked."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's unlocked now," observed Coquenil, trying the knob. Then, +flashing his lantern forward, he threw the door wide open. The room was +empty.</p> + +<p>"Let me turn up the electrics," said the proprietor, and he did so, showing +furnishings like those in Number Six except that here the prevailing tint +was pale blue while there it was pale yellow.</p> + +<p>"I see nothing wrong," remarked M. Paul, glancing about sharply. "Do you?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing."</p> + +<p>"Except that this door into the corridor is bolted. It didn't bolt itself, +did it?"</p> + +<p>"No," sighed the other.</p> + +<p>Coquenil thought a moment, then he produced the pistol found in the +courtyard and examined it with extreme care, then he unlocked the corridor +door and looked out. The policeman was still on guard before Number Six.</p> + +<p>"I shall want to go in there shortly," said the detective. The policeman +saluted wearily.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," ventured M. Gritz, "have you still much to do?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the other dryly.</p> + +<p>"It's nearly four and—I suppose you are used to this sort of thing, but +I'm knocked out, I—I'd like to go to bed."</p> + +<p>"By all means, my dear sir. I shall get on all right now if—oh, they tell +me you make wonderful Turkish coffee here. Do you suppose I could have +some?"</p> + +<p>"Of course you can. I'll send it at once."</p> + +<p>"You'll earn my lasting gratitude."</p> + +<p>Gritz hesitated a moment and then, with an apprehensive look in his beady +eyes, he said: "So you're going in <i>there?</i>" and he jerked his fat thumb +toward the wall separating them from Number Six.</p> + +<p>Coquenil nodded.</p> + +<p>"To see if the ball from <i>that</i>," he looked with a shiver at the pistol, +"fits in—in <i>that?</i>" Again he jerked his thumb toward the wall, beyond +which the body lay.</p> + +<p>"No, that is the doctor's business. <i>Mine is more important</i>. Good night!"</p> + +<p>"Good night," answered Gritz and he waddled away down the corridor in his +blue-silk garments, wagging his heavy head and muttering to himself: "More +important than <i>that! Mon Dieu!</i>"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_VIII"></a><h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>THROUGH THE WALL</h3> + +<p>Coquenil's examination of the pistol showed that it was a weapon of good +make and that only a single shot had been fired from it; also that this +shot had been fired within a few hours. Which, with the evidence of the +seamstress and the dog, gave a strong probability that the instrument of +the crime had been found. If the ball in the body corresponded with balls +still in the pistol, this probability would become a practical certainty. +And yet, the detective knit his brows. Suppose it was established beyond a +doubt that this pistol killed the billiard player, there still remained the +question <i>how</i> the shooting was accomplished. The murderer was in Number +Seven, he could not and did not go into the corridor, for the corridor door +was locked. But the billiard player was in Number Six, he was shot in +Number Six, and he died in Number Six. How were these two facts to be +reconciled? The seamstress's testimony alone might be put aside but not the +dog's testimony. <i>The murderer certainly remained in Number Seven</i>.</p> + +<p>Holding this conviction, the detective entered the room of the tragedy and +turned up the lights, all of them, so that he might see whatever was to be +seen. He walked back and forth examining the carpet, examining the walls, +examining the furniture, but paying little heed to the body. He went to the +open 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 behind +him. It was just as the commissary had said <i>with the exception of one +thing</i>.</p> + +<p>When he returned to Number Seven, M. Paul found that Gritz had kept his +promise and sent him a pot of fragrant Turkish coffee, steaming hot, and a +box of the choicest Egyptian cigarettes. Ah, that was kind! This was +something like it! And, piling up cushions in the sofa corner, Coquenil +settled back comfortably to think and dream. This was the time he loved +best, these precious silent hours when the city slept and his mind became +most active—this was the time when chiefly he received those flashes of +inspiration or intuition that had so often and so wonderfully guided him.</p> + +<p>For half an hour or so the detective smoked continuously and sipped the +powdered delight of Stamboul, his gaze moving about the room in friendly +scrutiny as if he would, by patience and good nature, persuade the walls +or, chairs to give up their secret. Presently he took off his glasses and, +leaning farther back against the cushions, closed his eyes in pleasant +meditation. Or was it a brief snatch of sleep? Whichever it was, a discreet +knock at the corridor door shortly ended it, and Papa Tignol entered to say +that he had finished the footprint molds.</p> + +<p>M. Paul roused himself with an effort and, sitting up, his elbow resting +against the sofa back, motioned his associate to a chair.</p> + +<p>"By the way," he asked, "what do you think of <i>that?</i>" He pointed to a +Japanese print in a black frame that hung near the massive sideboard.</p> + +<p>"Why," stammered Tignol, "I—I don't think anything of it."</p> + +<p>"A rather interesting picture," smiled the other. "I've been studying it."</p> + +<p>"A purple sea, a blue moon, and a red fish—it looks crazy to me," muttered +the old <i>agent</i>.</p> + +<p>Coquenil laughed at this candid judgment. "All the same, it has a bearing +on our investigations."</p> + +<p>"<i>Diable!</i>"</p> + +<p>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 this +crime, but I haven't verified it. I am now going to give myself an +intellectual treat."</p> + +<p>"Wha-at?"</p> + +<p>"I am going to prove practically whether my mind has grown rusty in the +last two years."</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd say things so a plain man can understand 'em," grumbled the +other.</p> + +<p>"You understand that we are in private room Number Seven, don't you? On the +other side of that wall is private room Number Six where a man has just +been shot. We know that, don't we? But the man who shot him was in <i>this</i> +room, the little hair-brushing old maid saw the pistol thrown from <i>this</i> +window, the dog found footprints coming from <i>this</i> room, the murderer went +out through <i>that</i> door into the alleyway and then into the street. He +couldn't have gone into the corridor because the door was locked on the +outside."</p> + +<p>"He might have gone into the corridor and locked the door after him," +objected Tignol.</p> + +<p>Coquenil shook his head. "He could have locked the door after him on the +outside, not on the inside; but when we came in here, <i>it was locked on the +inside</i>. No, sir, that door to the corridor has not been used this +evening. The murderer bolted it on the inside when he entered from the +alleyway and it wasn't unbolted until I unbolted it myself."</p> + +<p>"Then how, in Heaven's name——"</p> + +<p>"Exactly! How could a man in this room kill a man in the next room? That is +the problem I have been working at for an hour. And I believe I have solved +it. Listen. Between these rooms is a solid wooden partition with no door in +it—no passageway of any kind. Yet the man in there is dead, we're sure of +that. The pistol was here, the bullet went there—somehow. <i>How</i> did it go +there? <i>Think</i>."</p> + +<p>The detective paused and looked fixedly at the wall near the heavy +sideboard. Tignol, half fascinated, stared at the same spot, and then, as a +new idea took form in his brain, he blurted out: "You mean it went <i>through +the wall?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Is there any other way?"</p> + +<p>The old man laid a perplexed forefinger along his illuminated nose. "But +there is no hole—through the wall," he muttered.</p> + +<p>"There is either a hole or a miracle. And between the two, I conclude that +there <i>is</i> a hole which we haven't found yet."</p> + +<p>"It might be back of that sideboard," ventured the other doubtfully.</p> + +<p>But M. Paul disagreed. "No man as clever as this fellow would have moved a +heavy piece covered with plates and glasses. Besides, if the sideboard had +been moved, there would be marks on the floor and there are none. Now you +understand why I'm interested in that Japanese print."</p> + +<p>Tignol sprang to his feet, then checked himself with a half-ashamed smile.</p> + +<p>"You're mocking me, you've looked behind the picture."</p> + +<p>Coquenil shook his head solemnly. "On my honor, I have not been near the +picture, I know nothing about the picture, but unless there is some flaw in +my reasoning——"</p> + +<p>"I'll give my tongue to the cats to eat!" burst out the other, "if ever I +saw a man lie on a sofa and blow blue circles in the air and spin pretty +theories about what is back of a picture when——"</p> + +<p>"When what?"</p> + +<p>"When all he had to do for proof was to reach over and—and lift the darn +thing off its nail."</p> + +<p>Coquenil smiled. "I've thought of that," he drawled, "but I like the +suspense. Half the charm of life is in suspense, Papa Tignol. However, you +have a practical mind, so go ahead, lift it off."</p> + +<p>The old man did not wait for a second bidding, he stepped forward quickly +and took down the picture.</p> + +<p>"<i>Tonnere de Dieu!</i>" he cried. "It's true! There are <i>two</i> holes."</p> + +<p>Sure enough, against the white wall stood out not one but two black holes +about an inch in diameter and something less than three inches apart. +Around the left hole, which was close to the sideboard, were black dots +sprinkled over the painted woodwork like grains of pepper.</p> + +<p>"Powder marks!" muttered Coquenil, examining the hole. "He fired at close +range 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, the +detective made a long and careful examination of the holes while Papa +Tignol watched him with unqualified disgust.</p> + +<p>"Asses! Idiots! That's what we are," muttered the old man. "For half an +hour we were in that room, Gibelin and I, and we never found those holes."</p> + +<p>"They were covered by the sofa hangings."</p> + +<p>"I know, we shook those hangings, we pressed against them, we did +everything but look behind them. See here, did <i>you</i> look behind them?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I saw something on the floor that gave me an idea."</p> + +<p>"Ah, what was that?"</p> + +<p>"Some yellowish dust. I picked up a little of it. There." He unfolded a +paper and showed a few grains of coarse brownish powder. "You see there are +only board partitions between these rooms, the boards are about an inch +thick, so a sharp auger would make the holes quickly. But there would be +dust and chips."</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"Well, this is some of the dust. The woman probably threw the chips out of +the window."</p> + +<p>"The woman?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil nodded. "She helped Martinez while he bored the holes."</p> + +<p>Tignol listened in amazement. "You think Martinez bored those holes? The +man who was murdered?"</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly. The spirals from the auger blade inside the holes show +plainly that the boring was done <i>from</i> Number Six <i>toward</i> Number Seven. +Take the glass and see for yourself."</p> + +<p>Tignol took the glass and studied the hole. Then he turned, shaking his +head. "You're a fine detective, M. Paul, but I was a carpenter for six +years before I went on the force and I know more about auger holes than you +do. I say you can't be sure which side of the wall this hole was bored +from. You talk about spirals, but there's no sense in that. They're the +same either way. You <i>might</i> tell by the chipping, but this is hard wood +covered with thick enamel, so there's apt to be no chipping. Anyhow, +there's none here. We'll see on the other side."</p> + +<p>"All right, we'll see," consented Coquenil, and they went around into +Number Six.</p> + +<p>The old man drew back the sofa hangings and exposed two holes exactly like +the others—in fact, the same holes. "You see," he went on, "the edges are +clean, without a sign of chipping. There is no more reason to say that +these holes were bored this side than from that."</p> + +<p>M. Paul made no reply, but going to the sofa he knelt down by it, and using +his glass, proceeded to go over its surface with infinite care.</p> + +<p>"Turn up all the lights," he said. "That's better," and he continued his +search. "Ah!" he cried presently. "You think there is no reason to say the +holes were bored from this side. I'll give you a reason. Take this piece of +white 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 that +silver bird. Do you see? Now compare the heel prints."</p> + +<p>Papa Tignol knelt down as directed and examined the sofa seat, which was +covered with a piece of Chinese embroidery.</p> + +<p>"<i>Sapristi!</i> You're a magician!" he cried in great excitement.</p> + +<p>"No," replied Coquenil, "it's perfectly simple. These holes in the wall are +five feet above the floor. And I'm enough of a carpenter, Papa Tignol," he +smiled, "to know that a man cannot work an auger at that height without +standing on something. And here was the very thing for him to stand on, a +sofa just in place. So, <i>if</i> Martinez bored these holes, he stood on this +sofa to do it, and, in that case, the marks of his heels must have remained +on the delicate satin. And here they are."</p> + +<p>"Yes, here they are, nails and all," admitted Tignol admiringly. "I'm an +old fool, but—but——"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Tell me <i>why Martinez did it</i>."</p> + +<p>Coquenil's face darkened. "Ah, that's the question. We'll know that when we +talk to the woman."</p> + +<p>The old man leaned forward eagerly: "<i>Why do you think the woman helped +him?</i>"</p> + +<p>"<i>Somebody</i> helped him or the chips would still be there, <i>somebody</i> held +back those hangings while he worked the auger, and somebody carried the +auger away."</p> + +<p>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 into +place and covered the holes?"</p> + +<p>"That's it," replied the detective absently.</p> + +<p>"And the man in Number Seven, the murderer, lifted that picture from its +nail before shooting and then put it back on the nail after shooting?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," agreed M. Paul. Already he was far away on a new line of +thought, while the other was still grappling with his first surprise.</p> + +<p>"Then this murderer must have <i>known</i> that the billiard player was going to +bore these holes," went on Papa Tignol half to himself. "He must have been +waiting in Number Seven, he must have stood there with his pistol ready +while the holes were coming through, he must have let Martinez finish one +hole and then bore the other, he must have kept Number Seven dark so they +couldn't see him——"</p> + +<p>"A good point, that," approved Coquenil, paying attention. "He certainly +kept Number Seven dark."</p> + +<p>"And he <i>probably</i> looked into Number Six through the first hole while +Martinez was boring the second. I suppose <i>you</i> can tell which of the two +holes was bored first?" chuckled Tignol.</p> + +<p>M. Paul started, paused in a flash of thought, and then, with sudden +eagerness: "I see, <i>that's it!</i>"</p> + +<p>"What's it?" gasped the other.</p> + +<p>"He bored <i>this</i> hole first," said Coquenil rapidly, "it's the right-hand +one when you're in this room, the left-hand one when you're in Number +Seven. As you say, the murderer looked through the first hole while he +waited for the second to be bored; so, naturally, he fired through the hole +where his eye was. <i>That was his first great mistake</i>."</p> + +<p>Tignol screwed up his face in perplexity. "What difference does it make +which hole the man fired through so long as he shot straight and got away?"</p> + +<p>"What difference? Just this difference, that, by firing through the +left-hand hole, he has given us precious evidence, against him."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"Come back into the other room and I'll show you." And, when they had +returned to Number Seven, he continued: "Take the pistol. Pretend you are +the murderer. You've been waiting your moment, holding your breath on one +side of the wall while the auger grinds through from the other. The first +hole is finished. You see the point of the auger as it comes through the +second, now the wood breaks and a length of turning steel shoves toward +you. You grip your pistol and look through the left-hand hole, you see the +woman holding back the curtains, you see Martinez draw out the auger from +the right-hand hole and lay it down. Now he leans forward, pressing his +face to the completed eyeholes, you see the whites of his eyes, not three +inches away. Quick! Pistol up! Ready to fire! No, no, through the +<i>left-hand</i> hole where <i>he</i> fired."</p> + +<p>"<i>Sacré matin!</i>" muttered Tignol, "it's awkward aiming through this +left-hand hole."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said the detective. "<i>Why</i> is it awkward?"</p> + +<p>"Because it's too near the sideboard. I can't get my eye there to sight +along the pistol barrel."</p> + +<p>"You mean your right eye?"</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"Could you get your left eye there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but if I aimed with my left eye I'd have to fire with my left hand +and I couldn't hit a cow that way."</p> + +<p>Coquenil looked at Tignol steadily. "<i>You could if you were a left-handed +man</i>."</p> + +<p>"You mean to say—" The other stared.</p> + +<p>"I mean to say that <i>this</i> man, at a critical moment, fired through that +awkward hole near the sideboard when he might just as well have fired +through the other hole away from the sideboard. Which shows that it was an +easy and natural thing for him to do, consequently——"</p> + +<p>"Consequently," exulted the old man, "we've got to look for a left-handed +murderer, is that it?"</p> + +<p>"What do <i>you</i> think?" smiled the detective.</p> + +<p>Papa Tignol paused, and then, bobbing his head in comical seriousness: "I +think, if I were this man, I'd sooner have the devil after me than Paul +Coquenil."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_IX"></a><h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>COQUENIL MARKS HIS MAN</h3> + +<p>It was nearly four o'clock when Coquenil left the Ansonia and started up +the Champs Elysées, breathing deep of the early morning air. The night was +still dark, although day was breaking in the east. And what a night it had +been! How much had happened since he walked with his dog to Notre-Dame the +evening before! Here was the whole course of his life changed, yes, and his +prospects put in jeopardy by this extraordinary decision. How could he +explain what he had done to his wise old mother? How could he unsay all +that he had said to her a few days before when he had shown her that this +trip to Brazil was quite for the best and bade her a fond farewell? Could +he explain it to anyone, even to himself? Did he honestly believe all the +plausible 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 he +acted on? A girl's dream and an odd coincidence. Was that enough? Was that +enough to make a man alter his whole life and face extraordinary danger? +<i>Was it enough?</i></p> + +<p>Extraordinary danger! <i>Why</i> did this sense of imminent peril haunt him and +fascinate him? What was there in this crime that made it different from +many other crimes on which he had been engaged? Those holes through the +wall? Well, yes, he had never seen anything quite like that. And the +billiard player's motive in boring the holes and the woman's rôle and the +intricacy and ingenuity of the murderer's plan—all these offered an +extraordinary problem. And it certainly was strange that this +candle-selling girl with the dreams and the purplish eyes had appeared +again as the suspected American's sweetheart! He had heard this from Papa +Tignol, and how Alice had stood ready to brave everything for her lover +when Gibelin marched him off to prison. Poor Gibelin!</p> + +<p>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 by +it, his commission was signed, his duty lay before him. By nine o'clock he +must be at the Palais de Justice to report to Hauteville. No use going +home. Better have a rubdown and a cold plunge at the <i>haman</i>, then a turn +on the mat with the professional wrestler, and then a few hours sleep. That +would put him in shape for the day's work with its main business of running +down this woman in the case, this lady of the cloak and leather bag, whose +name and address he fortunately had. Ah, he looked forward to his interview +with her! And he must prepare for it!</p> + +<p>Coquenil was just glancing about for a cab to the Turkish bath place, in +fact he was signaling one that he saw jogging up the Avenue de la Grande +Armée, when he became aware that a gentleman was approaching him with the +intention of speaking. Turning quickly, he saw in the uncertain light a man +of medium height with a dark beard tinged with gray, wearing a loose black +cape overcoat and a silk hat. The stranger saluted politely and said with a +slight foreign accent: "How are you, M. Louis? I have been expecting you."</p> + +<p>The words were simple enough, yet they contained a double surprise for +Coquenil. He was at a loss to understand how he could have been expected +here where he had come by the merest accident, and, certainly, this was the +first time in twenty years that anyone, except his mother, had addressed +him as Louis. He had been christened Louis Paul, but long ago he had +dropped the former name, and his most intimate friends knew him only as +Paul Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"How do you know that my name is Louis?" answered the detective with a +sharp glance.</p> + +<p>"I know a great deal about you," answered the other, and then with +significant emphasis: "<i>I know that you are interested in dreams</i>. May I +walk along with you?"</p> + +<p>"You may," said Coquenil, and at once his keen mind was absorbed in this +new problem. Instinctively he felt that something momentous was preparing.</p> + +<p>"Rather clever, your getting on that cab to-night," remarked the other.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you know about that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and about the Rio Janeiro offer. We want you to reconsider your +decision." His voice was harsh and he spoke in a quick, brusque way, as one +accustomed to the exercise of large authority.</p> + +<p>"Who, pray, are 'we'?" asked the detective.</p> + +<p>"Certain persons interested in this Ansonia affair."</p> + +<p>"Persons whom you represent?"</p> + +<p>"In a way."</p> + +<p>"Persons who know about the crime—I mean, who know the truth about it?"</p> + +<p>"Possibly."</p> + +<p>"Hm! Do these persons know what covered the holes in Number Seven?"</p> + +<p>"A Japanese print."</p> + +<p>"And in Number Six?"</p> + +<p>"Some yellow hangings."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" exclaimed Coquenil in surprise. "Do they know why Martinez bored +these holes?"</p> + +<p>"To please the woman," was the prompt reply.</p> + +<p>"Did she want Martinez killed?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then why did she want the holes bored?"</p> + +<p>"<i>She wanted to see into Number Seven</i>."</p> + +<p>It was extraordinary, not only the man's knowledge but his unaccountable +frankness. And more than ever the detective was on his guard.</p> + +<p>"I see you know something about the affair," he said dryly. "What do you +want with me?"</p> + +<p>"The persons I represent——"</p> + +<p>"Say the <i>person</i> you represent," interrupted Coquenil. "A criminal of this +type acts alone."</p> + +<p>"As you like," answered the other carelessly. "Then the person I represent +<i>wishes you to withdraw from this case</i>."</p> + +<p>The message was preposterous, the manner of its delivery fantastic, yet +there was something vaguely formidable in the stranger's tone, as if a +great person had spoken, one absolutely sure of himself and of his power to +command.</p> + +<p>"Naturally," retorted Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"Why do you say naturally?"</p> + +<p>"It's natural for a criminal to wish that an effort against him should +cease. Tell your friend or employer that I am only mildly interested in his +wishes."</p> + +<p>He spoke with deliberate hostility, but the dark-bearded man answered, +quite unruffled: "Ah, I may be able to heighten your interest."</p> + +<p>"Come, come, sir, my time is valuable."</p> + +<p>The stranger drew from his coat pocket a large thick envelope fastened +with an elastic band and handed it to the detective. "Whatever your time is +worth," he said in a rasping voice, "I will pay for it. Please look at +this."</p> + +<p>Coquenil's curiosity was stirred. Here was no commonplace encounter, at +least it was a departure from ordinary criminal methods. Who was this +supercilious man? How dared he come on such an errand to him, Paul +Coquenil? What desperate purpose lurked behind his self-confident mask? +Could it be that he knew the assassin or—or <i>was he the assassin?</i></p> + +<p>Wondering thus, M. Paul opened the tendered envelope and saw that it +contained a bundle of thousand-franc notes.</p> + +<p>"There is a large sum here," he remarked.</p> + +<p>"Fifty thousand francs. It's for you, and as much more will be handed you +the day you sail for Brazil. Just a moment—let me finish. This sum is a +bonus in addition to the salary already fixed. And, remember, you have a +life position there with a brilliant chance of fame. That is what you care +about, I take it—fame; it is for fame you want to follow up this crime."</p> + +<p>Coquenil snapped his fingers. "I don't care <i>that</i> for fame. I'm going to +work out this case for the sheer joy of doing it."</p> + +<p>"You will <i>never</i> work out this case!" The man spoke so sternly and with +such a menacing ring in his voice that M. Paul felt a chill of +apprehension.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Because you will not be allowed to; it's doubtful if you <i>could</i> work it +out, but there's a chance that you could and we don't purpose to take that +chance. You're a free agent, you can persist in this course, but if you +do——"</p> + +<p>He paused as if to check too vehement an utterance, and M. Paul caught a +threatening gleam in his eyes that he long remembered.</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"If you do, you will be thwarted at every turn, you will be made to suffer +in ways you do not dream of, through those who are dear to you, through +your dog, through your mother——"</p> + +<p>"You dare—" cried Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"We dare <i>anything</i>," flashed the stranger. "I'm daring something now, am I +not? Don't you suppose I know what you are thinking? Well, I take the risk +because—<i>because you are intelligent</i>."</p> + +<p>There was something almost captivating in the very arrogance and +recklessness of this audacious stranger. Never in all his experience had +Coquenil known a criminal or a person directly associated with crime, as +this man must be, to boldly confront the powers of justice. Undoubtedly, +the fellow realized his danger, yet he deliberately faced it. What plan +could he have for getting away once his message was delivered? It must be +practically delivered already, there was nothing more to say, he had +offered a bribe and made a threat. A few words now for the answer, the +refusal, the defiance, and—then what? Surely this brusque individual did +not imagine that he, Coquenil, would be simple enough to let him go now +that he had him in his power? But wait! Was that true, <i>was</i> this man in +his power?</p> + +<p>As if answering the thought, the stranger said: "It is hopeless for you to +struggle against our knowledge and our resources, quite hopeless. We have, +for example, the <i>fullest</i> information about you and your life down to the +smallest detail."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" answered Coquenil, and a twinkle of humor shone in his eyes. "What's +the name of my old servant?"</p> + +<p>"Melanie."</p> + +<p>"What's the name of the canary bird I gave her last week?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't a canary bird, it's a bullfinch. And its name is Pete."</p> + +<p>"Not bad, not at all bad," muttered the other, and the twinkle in his eyes +faded.</p> + +<p>"We know the important things, too, all that concerns you, from your +<i>forced resignation</i> two years ago down to your talk yesterday with the +girl at Notre-Dame. So how can you fight us? How can you shadow people who +shadow you? Who watch your actions from day to day, from hour to hour? Who +know <i>exactly</i> the moment when you are weak and unprepared, as I know now +that you are unarmed <i>because you left that pistol with Papa Tignol</i>."</p> + +<p>For a moment Coquenil was silent, and then: "Here's your money," he said, +returning the envelope.</p> + +<p>"Then you refuse?"</p> + +<p>"I refuse."</p> + +<p>"Stubborn fellow! And unbelieving! You doubt our power against you. Come, I +will give you a glimpse of it, just the briefest glimpse. Suppose you try +to arrest me. You have been thinking of it, <i>now act</i>. I'm a suspicious +character, I ought to be investigated. Well, do your duty. I might point +out that such an arrest would accomplish absolutely nothing, for you +haven't the slightest evidence against me and can get none, but I waive +that point because I want to show you that, even in so simple an effort +against us as this, <i>you would inevitably fail</i>."</p> + +<p>The man's impudence was passing all bounds. "You mean that I <i>cannot</i> +arrest you?" menaced Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"Precisely. I mean that with all your cleverness and with a distinct +advantage in position, here on the Champs Elysées with policemen all about +us, <i>you cannot arrest me</i>."</p> + +<p>"We'll see about that," answered M. Paul, a grim purpose showing in his +deep-set eyes.</p> + +<p>"I say this in no spirit of bravado," continued the other with irritating +insolence, "but so that you may remember my words and this warning when I +am gone." Then, with a final fling of defiance: "This is the first time you +have seen me, M. Coquenil, and you will probably never see me again, but +you will hear from me. <i>Now blow your whistle!</i>"</p> + +<p>Coquenil was puzzled. If this was a bluff, it was the maddest, most +incomprehensible bluff that a criminal ever made. But if it was <i>not</i> a +bluff? Could there be a hidden purpose here? Was the man deliberately +making some subtle move in the game he was playing? The detective paused to +think. They had come down the Champs Elysées, past the Ansonia, and were +nearing the Rond Point, the best guarded part of Paris, where the shrill +summons of his police call would be answered almost instantly. And yet he +hesitated.</p> + +<p>"There is no hurry, I suppose," said the detective. "I'd like to ask a +question or two."</p> + +<p>"As many as you please."</p> + +<p>With all the strength of his mind and memory Coquenil was studying his +adversary. That beard? Could it be false? And the swarthy tone of the skin +which he noticed now in the improving light, was that natural? If not +natural, then wonderfully imitated. And the hands, the arms? He had watched +these from the first, noting every movement, particularly the <i>left</i> hand +and the <i>left</i> arm, but he had detected nothing significant; the man used +his hands like anyone else, he carried a cane in the right hand, lifted his +hat with the right hand, offered the envelope with the right hand. There +was nothing to show that he was not a right-handed man.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if you have anything against me personally?" inquired M. Paul.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," declared the other, "we admire you and wish you well."</p> + +<p>"But you threaten my dog?"</p> + +<p>"If necessary, yes."</p> + +<p>"And my mother?"</p> + +<p>"<i>If necessary</i>."</p> + +<p>The decisive moment had come, not only because Coquenil's anger was stirred +by this cynical avowal, but because just then there shot around the corner +from the Avenue Montaigne a large red automobile which crossed the Champs +Elysées slowly, past the fountain and the tulip beds, and, turning into the +Avenue Gabrielle, stopped under the chestnut trees, its engines throbbing. +Like a flash it came into the detective's mind that the same automobile had +passed them once before some streets back. Ah, here was the intended way of +escape! On the front seat were two men, strong-looking fellows, +accomplices, no doubt. He must act at once while the wide street was still +between them.</p> + +<p>"I ask because—" began M. Paul with his indifferent drawl, then swiftly +drawing his whistle, he sounded a danger call that cut the air in sinister +alarm. The stranger sprang away, but Coquenil was on him in a bound, +clutching him by the throat and pressing him back with intertwining legs +for a sudden fall. The bearded man saved himself by a quick turn, and with +a great heave of his shoulders broke the detective's grip, then suddenly +<i>he</i> attacked, smiting for the neck, not with clenched fist but with the +open hand held sideways in the treacherous cleaving blow that the Japanese +use when they strike for the carotid. Coquenil ducked forward, saving +himself, but he felt the descending hand hard as stone on his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"He struck with his <i>right</i>," thought M. Paul.</p> + +<p>At the same moment he felt his adversary's hand close on his throat and +rejoiced, for he knew the deadly Jitsu reply to this. Hardening his neck +muscles 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 the +wrist, one at the elbow, and as his trained fingers sought the painful +pressure points, his two free arms started a resistless torsion movement on +the captured arm. There is no escape from this movement, no enduring its +excruciating pain; to a man taken at such a disadvantage one of two things +may happen. He may yield, and in that case he is hurled helpless over his +adversary's shoulder, or he may resist, with the result that the tendons +are torn from his lacerated arm and he faints in agony.</p> + +<p>Such was the master hold gained by M. Paul in the first minute of the +struggle; long and carefully he had practiced this coup with a wrestling +professional. It never failed, it could not fail, and, in savage triumph, +he prolonged his victory, slowly increasing the pressure, slowly as he felt +the tendons stretching, the bones cracking in this helpless right arm. A +few seconds more and the end would come, a few seconds more and—then a +crashing, shattering pain drove through Coquenil's lower heart region, his +arms relaxed, his hands relaxed, his senses dimmed, and he sank weakly to +the ground. His enemy had done an extraordinary thing, had delivered a +blow 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 in +Yokohama style but in the best manner of the old English prize ring, his +clenched fist falling full on the point of the heart, full on the unguarded +solar-plexus nerves which God put there for the undoing of the vainglorious +fighters. And Coquenil dropped like a smitten ox with this thought humming +in his darkening brain: "<i>It was the left that spoke then</i>."</p> + +<a name="image-12"><!-- Image 12 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/012.jpg" height="300" width="456" +alt=""He prolonged his victory, slowly increasing the pressure.""> +</center> + +<h5>"He prolonged his victory, slowly increasing the pressure."</h5> + +<p>As he sank to the ground M. Paul tried to save himself, and seizing his +opponent by the leg, he held him desperately with his failing strength; but +the spasms of pain overcame him, his muscles would not act, and with a +furious sense of helplessness and failure, he felt the clutched leg +slipping from his grasp. Then, as consciousness faded, the brute instinct +in him rallied in a last fierce effort and <i>he bit the man deeply under the +knee</i>.</p> + +<p>When Coquenil came to himself he was lying on the ground and several +policemen were bending over him. He lifted his head weakly and looked about +him. The stranger was gone. The automobile was gone. And it all came back +to him in sickening memory, the flaunting challenge of this man, the fierce +struggle, his own overconfidence, and then his crushing defeat. Ah, what a +blow that last one was with the conquering left!</p> + +<p>And suddenly it flashed through his mind that he had been outwitted from +the 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 and +planned for, because—<i>because</i>—In feverish haste Coquenil felt in his +breast pocket for the envelope with the precious leather fragments. It was +not there. Then quickly he searched his other pockets. It was not there. +<i>The envelope containing the woman's name and address was gone</i>.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_X"></a><h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>GIBELIN SCORES A POINT</h3> + +<p>The next day all Paris buzzed and wondered about this Ansonia affair, as it +was called. The newspapers printed long accounts of it with elaborate +details, and various conjectures were made as to the disappearance of +Martinez's fair companion. More or less plausible theories were also put +forth touching the arrested American, prudently referred to as "Monsieur +K., a well-known New Yorker." It was furthermore dwelt upon as significant +that the famous detective, Paul Coquenil, had returned to his old place on +the force for the especial purpose of working on this case. And M. Coquenil +was reported to have already, by one of his brilliant strokes, secured a +clew that would lead shortly to important revelations. Alas, no one knew +under what distressing circumstances this precious clew had been lost!</p> + +<p>Shortly before nine by the white clock over the columned entrance to the +Palais de Justice, M. Paul passed through the great iron and gilt barrier +that fronts the street and turning to the left, mounted the wide stone +stairway. He had had his snatch of sleep at the <i>haman</i>, his rubdown and +cold plunge, but not his intended bout with the wrestling professional. He +had had wrestling enough for one day, and now he had come to keep his +appointment with Judge Hauteville.</p> + +<p>Two flights up the detective found himself in a spacious corridor off which +opened seven doors leading to the offices of seven judges. Seven! Strange +this resemblance to the fatal corridor at the Ansonia! And stranger still +that Judge Hauteville's office should be Number Six!</p> + +<p>Coquenil moved on past palace guards in bright apparel, past sad-faced +witnesses and brisk lawyers of the court in black robes with amusing white +bibs at their throats. And presently he entered Judge Hauteville's private +room, where an amiable <i>greffier</i> asked him to sit down until the judge +should arrive.</p> + +<p>There was nothing in the plain and rather businesslike furnishings of this +room to suggest the somber and sordid scenes daily enacted here. On the +dull leather of a long table, covered with its usual litter of papers, had +been spread the criminal facts of a generation, the sinister harvest of +ignorance and vice and poverty. On these battered chairs had sat and +twisted hundreds of poor wretches, innocent and guilty, petty thieves, +shifty-eyed scoundrels, dull brutes of murderers, and occasionally a +criminal of a higher class, summoned for the preliminary examinations. +Here, under the eye of a bored guard, they had passed miserable hours while +the judge, smiling or frowning, hands in his pockets, strode back and forth +over the shabby red-and-green carpet putting endless questions, sifting out +truth from falsehood, struggling against stupidity and cunning, studying +each new case as a separate problem with infinite tact and insight, never +wearying, never losing his temper, coming back again and again to the +essential point until more than one stubborn criminal had broken down and, +from sheer exhaustion, confessed, like the assassin who finally blurted +out: "Well, yes, I did it. I'd rather be guillotined than bothered like +this."</p> + +<p>Such was Judge Hauteville, cold, patient, inexorable in the pursuit of +truth. And presently he arrived.</p> + +<p>"You look serious this morning," he said, remarking Coquenil's pale face.</p> + +<p>"Yes," nodded M. Paul, "that's how I feel," and settling himself in a chair +he proceeded to relate the events of the night, ending with a frank account +of his misadventure on the Champs Elysées.</p> + +<p>The judge listened with grave attention. This was a more serious affair +than 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 most +dangerous type and one possessed of extraordinary resources.</p> + +<p>"You believe it was the assassin himself who met you?" questioned +Hauteville.</p> + +<p>"Don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure. You think his motive was to get the woman's address?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't that reasonable?"</p> + +<p>Hauteville shook his head. "He wouldn't have risked so much for that. How +did he know that you hadn't copied the name and given it to one of us—say +to me?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, if I only had," sighed the detective.</p> + +<p>"How did he know that you wouldn't remember the name? Can't you remember +it—at all?"</p> + +<p>"That's what I've been trying to do," replied the other gloomily, "I've +tried and tried, but the name won't come back. I put those pieces together +and read the words distinctly, the name and the address. It was a foreign +name, English I should say, and the street was an avenue near the Champs +Elysées, the Avenue d'Eylau, or the Avenue d'Iena, I cannot be sure. I +didn't fix the thing in my mind because I had it in my pocket, and in the +work of the night it faded away."</p> + +<p>"A great pity! Still, this man could neither have known that nor guessed +it. He took the address from you on a chance, but his chief purpose must +have been to impress you with his knowledge and his power."</p> + +<p>Coquenil stared at his brown seal ring and then muttered savagely: "How did +he know the name of that infernal canary bird?"</p> + +<p>The judge smiled. "He has established some very complete system of +surveillance that we must try to circumvent. For the moment we had better +decide upon immediate steps."</p> + +<p>With this they turned to a fresh consideration of the case. Already the +machinery of justice had begun to move. Martinez's body and the weapon had +been taken to the morgue for an autopsy, the man's jewelry and money were +in the hands of the judge, and photographs of the scene of the tragedy +would be ready shortly as well as plaster impressions of the alleyway +footprints. An hour before, as arranged the previous night, Papa Tignol had +started out to search for Kittredge's lodgings, since the American, when +questioned by Gibelin at the prison, had obstinately refused to tell where +he lived and an examination of his quarters was a matter of immediate +importance.</p> + +<p>It was not Papa Tignol, however, who was to furnish this information, but +the discomfited Gibelin whose presence in the outer office was at this +moment announced by the judge's clerk.</p> + +<p>"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 fairly +bristle in triumph.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you have news for us!" exclaimed the judge.</p> + +<p>Gibelin beamed. "I haven't wasted my time," he nodded. Then, with a +sarcastic glance at Coquenil: "The old school has its good points, after +all."</p> + +<p>"No doubt," agreed Coquenil curtly.</p> + +<p>"Although I am no longer in charge of this case," rasped the fat man, "I +suppose there is no objection to my rendering my distinguished associate," +he bowed mockingly to M. Paul, "such assistance as is in my power."</p> + +<p>"Of course not," replied Hauteville.</p> + +<p>"I happened to hear that this American has a room on the Rue Racine and I +just looked in there."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said the judge, and Coquenil rubbed his glasses nervously. There is +no detective big-souled enough not to tingle with resentment when he finds +that a rival has scored a point.</p> + +<p>"Our friend lives at the Hôtel des Étrangers, near the corner of the +Boulevard St. Michel," went on Gibelin. "I <i>happened</i> to be talking with +the man who sent out the banquet invitations and he told me. M. Kittredge +has 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!" His +small eyes brightened.</p> + +<p>"You examined his things?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Pour sûr!</i> I spent an hour there. And talked the soul out of the +chambermaid. A good-looking wench! And a sharp one!" he chuckled. "<i>She</i> +knows the value of a ten-franc piece!"</p> + +<p>"Well, well," broke in M. Paul, "what did you discover?"</p> + +<a name="image-13"><!-- Image 13 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/013.jpg" height="334" width="300" +alt=""Gibelin beamed. 'The old school has its good points, after all.'""> +</center> + +<h5>"Gibelin beamed. 'The old school has its good points, after all.'"</h5> + + +<p>Gibelin lifted his pudgy hands deprecatingly. "For one thing I discovered a +photograph of the woman who was in Number Six with Martinez."</p> + +<p>"The devil!" cried Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"It is not of much importance, since already you have the woman's name and +address." He shot a keen glance at his rival.</p> + +<p>M. Paul was silent. What humiliation was this! No doubt Gibelin had heard +the truth and was gloating over it!</p> + +<p>"How do you know it is the woman's photograph?" questioned the judge.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you," replied Gibelin, delighted with his sensation. "It's quite +a story. I suppose you know that when this woman slipped out of the +Ansonia, she drove directly to the house where we arrested the American. +You knew that?" He turned to Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well, I <i>happened</i> to speak to the <i>concierge</i> there and she remembers +perfectly a lady in an evening gown with a rain coat over it like the one +this woman escaped in. This lady sent a note by the <i>concierge</i> up to the +apartment of that she-dragon, the sacristan's wife, where M. Kittredge was +calling on Alice."</p> + +<p>"Ah! What time was that?"</p> + +<p>"About a quarter to ten. The note was for M. Kittredge. It must have been a +<i>wild</i> one, for he hurried down, white as a sheet, and drove off with the +lady. Fifteen minutes later they stopped at his hotel and he went up to his +room, two steps, at a time, while she waited in the cab. And Jean, the +<i>garçon</i>, had a good look at her and he told Rose, the chambermaid, and +<i>she</i> had a look and recognized her as the woman whose photograph she had +often seen in the American's room."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's lucky!" rejoined the judge. "And you have this photograph?"</p> + +<p>"No, but——"</p> + +<p>"You said you found it?" put in Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"I did, that is, I found a piece of it, a corner that wasn't burned."</p> + +<p>"Burned?" cried the others.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Gibelin, "that's what Kittredge went upstairs for, to burn the +photograph and a lot of letters—<i>her</i> letters, probably. The fireplace was +full of fresh ashes. Rose says it was clean before he went up, so I picked +out the best fragments—here they are." He drew a small package from his +pocket, and opening it carefully, showed a number of charred or half-burned +pieces of paper on which words in a woman's handwriting could be plainly +read.</p> + +<p>"More fragments!" muttered Coquenil, examining them. "It's in English. Ah, +is this part of the photograph?" He picked out a piece of cardboard.</p> + +<p>"Yes. You see the photographer's name is on it."</p> + +<p>"Watts, Regent Street, London," deciphered the detective. "That is +something." And, turning to the judge: "Wouldn't it be a good idea to send +a man to London with this? You can make out part of a lace skirt and the +tip of a slipper. It might be enough."</p> + +<p>"That's true," agreed Hauteville.</p> + +<p>"Whoever goes," continued Coquenil, "had better carry him the five-pound +notes found on Martinez and see if he can trace them through the Bank of +England. They often take the names of persons to whom their notes are +issued."</p> + +<p>"Excellent. I'll see to it at once," and, ringing for his secretary, the +judge gave orders to this effect.</p> + +<p>To all of which Gibelin listened with a mocking smile. "But why so much +trouble," he asked, "when you have the woman's name and address already?"</p> + +<p>"I <i>had</i> them and I—I lost them," acknowledged M. Paul, and in a few +words he explained what had happened.</p> + +<p>"Oh," sneered the other, "I thought you were a skillful wrestler."</p> + +<p>"Come back to the point," put in Hauteville. "Had the chambermaid ever seen +this lady before?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but not recently. It seems that Kittredge moved to the Hôtel des +Étrangers about seven months ago, and soon after that the lady came to see +him. Rose says she came three times."</p> + +<p>"Did she go to Kittredge's room?" put in Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Can the chambermaid describe her?" continued the judge.</p> + +<p>"She says the lady was young and good-looking—that's about all she +remembers."</p> + +<p>"Hm! Have you anything else to report?"</p> + +<p>Gibelin chuckled harshly. "I have kept the most important thing for the +last. I'm afraid it will annoy my distinguished colleague even more than +the loss of the leather fragments."</p> + +<p>"Don't waste your sympathy," retorted Coquenil.</p> + +<p>Gibelin gave a little snort of defiance. "I certainly won't. I only mean +that your début in this case hasn't been exactly—ha, ha!--well, not +exactly brilliant."</p> + +<p>"Here, here!" reproved the judge. "Let us have the facts."</p> + +<p>"Well," continued the red-haired man, "I have found the owner of the pistol +that killed Martinez."</p> + +<p>Coquenil started. "The owner of the pistol we found in the courtyard?"</p> + +<p>"Precisely. I should tell you, also, that the balls from that pistol are +identical with the ball extracted from the body. The autopsy proves it, so +Dr. Joubert says. And this pistol belongs in a leather holster that I +found in Mr. Kittredge's room. Dr. Joubert let me take the pistol for +verification and—there, you can see for yourselves."</p> + +<p>With this he produced the holster and the pistol and laid them before the +judge. 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 as +the property of the American. He always kept it in a certain drawer, she +noticed it there a few days ago, but yesterday it was gone and the holster +was empty."</p> + +<p>"It looks bad," muttered the judge.</p> + +<p>"It <i>looks</i> bad, but it's too easy, it's too simple," answered M. Paul.</p> + +<p>"In the old school," sneered Gibelin, "we are not always trying to solve +problems in <i>difficult</i> ways. We don't reject a solution merely because +it's easy—if the truth lies straight before our nose, why, we see it."</p> + +<p>"My dear sir," retorted Coquenil angrily, "if what you think the truth +turns out to be the truth, then you ought to be in charge of this case and +I'm a fool."</p> + +<p>"Granted," smiled the other.</p> + +<p>"Come, come, gentlemen," interrupted the judge. Then abruptly to Gibelin: +"Did you see about his boots?"</p> + +<p>"No, I thought you would send to the prison and get the pair he wore last +night."</p> + +<p>"How do you know he didn't change his boots when he burned the letters? Go +back to his hotel and see if they noticed a muddy pair in his room this +morning. Bring me whatever boots of his you find. Also stop at the depot +and get the pair he had on when arrested. Be quick!"</p> + +<p>"I will," answered Gibelin, and he went out, pausing at the door to salute +M. Paul mockingly.</p> + +<p>"Ill-tempered brute!" said Hauteville. "I will see that he has nothing more +to do with this case." Then he touched an electric bell.</p> + +<p>"That American, Kittredge, who was arrested last night?" he said to the +clerk. "Was he put in a cell?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, he's in with the other prisoners."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Have him brought over here in about an hour for the preliminary +examination. Make out his commitment papers for the Santé. He is to be <i>au +secret</i>."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir." The clerk bowed and withdrew.</p> + +<p>"You really think this young man innocent, do you?" remarked the judge to +Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"It's easier to think him innocent than guilty," answered the detective.</p> + +<p>"Easier?"</p> + +<p>"If he is guilty we must grant him an extraordinary double personality. The +amiable lover becomes a desperate criminal able to conceive and carry out +the most intricate murder of our time. I don't believe it. If he is guilty +he must have had the key to that alleyway door. How did he get it? He must +have known, that the 'tall blonde' who had engaged Number Seven would not +occupy it. How did he know that? And he must have relations with the man +who met me on the Champs Elysées. How could that be? Remember, he's a poor +devil of a foreigner living in a Latin-Quarter attic. The thing isn't +reasonable."</p> + +<p>"But the pistol?"</p> + +<p>"The pistol may not really be his. Gibelin's whole story needs looking +into."</p> + +<p>The judge nodded. "Of course. I leave that to you. Still, I shall feel +better satisfied when we have compared the soles of his boots with the +plaster casts of those alleyway footprints."</p> + +<p>"So shall I," said Coquenil. "Suppose I see the workman who is finishing +the casts?" he suggested; "it won't take long, and perhaps I can bring them +back with me."</p> + +<p>"Excellent," approved Hauteville, and he bowed with grave friendliness as +the detective left the room.</p> + +<p>Then, for nearly an hour, the judge buried himself in the details of this +case, turning his trained mind, with absorbed concentration, upon the +papers at hand, reviewing the evidence, comparing the various reports and +opinions, and, in the light of clear reason, searching for a plausible +theory of the crime. He also began notes of questions that he wished to ask +Kittredge, and was deep in these when the clerk entered to inform him that +Coquenil and Gibelin had returned.</p> + +<p>"Let them come in at once," directed Hauteville, and presently the two +detectives were again before him.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he inquired with a quick glance.</p> + +<p>Coquenil was silent, but Gibelin replied exultingly: "We have found a pair +of Kittredge's boots that absolutely correspond with the plaster casts of +the alleyway footprints; everything is identical, the shape of the sole, +the nails in the heel, the worn places—everything."</p> + +<p>The judge turned to Coquenil. "Is this true?"</p> + +<p>M. Paul nodded. "It seems to be true."</p> + +<p>There was a moment of tense silence and then Hauteville said in measured +tones: "It makes a <i>strong</i> chain now. What do you think?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil hesitated, and then with a frown of perplexity and exasperation he +snapped out: "I—I haven't had time to think yet."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XI"></a><h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>THE TOWERS OF NOTRE-DAME</h3> + +<p>It was a distressed and sleepless night that Alice passed after the +torturing scene of her lover's arrest. She would almost have preferred her +haunting dreams to this pitiful reality. What had Lloyd done? Why had this +woman come for him? And what would happen now? Again and again, as +weariness brought slumber, the sickening fact stirred her to +wakefulness—they had taken Kittredge away to prison charged with an +abominable crime. And she loved him, she loved him now more than ever, she +was absolutely his, as she never would have been if this trouble had not +come. Ah, there was her only ray of comfort that just at the last she had +made him happy. She would never forget his look of gratitude as she cried +out 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 the +darkness of her chamber her cheeks flamed at the thought.</p> + +<p>Soon after five she rose and dressed. This was Sunday, her busiest day, she +must be in Notre-Dame for the early masses. There was a worn place in a +chasuble that needed some touches of her needle; Father Anselm had asked +her to see to it. And this duty done, there was the special Sunday sale of +candles and rosaries and little red guidebooks of the church to keep her +busy.</p> + +<p>Alice was in the midst of all this when, shortly before ten, Mother +Bonneton approached, cringing at the side of a visitor, a lady of striking +beauty whose dress and general air proclaimed a lavish purse. In a first +glance Alice noticed her exquisite supple figure and her full red lips. +Also a delicate fragrance of violets.</p> + +<p>"This lady wants you to show her the towers," explained the old crone with +a cunning wink at the girl. "I tell her it's hard for you to leave your +candles, especially now when people are coming in for high mass, but I can +take your place, and," with a servile smile, "madame is generous."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," agreed the lady, "whatever you like, five francs, ten francs."</p> + +<p>"Five francs is quite enough," replied Alice, to Mother Bonneton's great +disgust. "I love the towers on a day like this."</p> + +<p>So they started up the winding stone stairs of the Northern tower, the lady +going first with lithe, nervous steps, although Alice counseled her not to +hurry.</p> + +<p>"It's a long way to the top," cautioned the girl, "three hundred and +seventy steps."</p> + +<p>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, past +narrow slips of fortress windows through the massive walls, round and round +in narrowing circles until finally, with sighs of relief, they came out +into the first gallery and stood looking down on Paris laughing under the +yellow sun.</p> + +<p>"Ouf!" panted the lady, "it <i>is</i> a climb."</p> + +<p>They were standing on the graceful stone passageway that joins the two +towers at the height of the bells and were looking to the west over the +columned balustrade, over the Place Notre-Dame, dotted with queer little +people, tinkling with bells of cab horses, clanging with gongs of yonder +trolley cars curving from the Pont Neuf past old Charlemagne astride of his +great bronze horse. Then on along the tree-lined river, on with widening +view of towers and domes until their eyes rested on the green spreading +<i>bois</i> and the distant heights of Saint Cloud.</p> + +<p>And straightway Alice began to point out familiar monuments, the spire of +the Sainte Chapelle, the square of the Louvre, the gilded dome of +Napoleon's tomb, the crumbling Tour Saint Jacques, disfigured now with +scaffolding for repairs, and the Sacré Cour, shining resplendent on the +Montmartre hill.</p> + +<p>To all of which the lady listened indifferently. She was plainly thinking +of something else, and, furtively, she was watching the girl.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," she asked abruptly, "is your name Alice?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the other in surprise.</p> + +<p>The lady hesitated. "I thought that was what the old woman called you." +Then, looking restlessly over the panorama: "Where is the <i>conciergerie?</i>"</p> + +<p>Alice started at the word. Among all the points in Paris this was the one +toward which her thoughts were tending, the <i>conciergerie</i>, the grim prison +where her lover was!</p> + +<p>"It is there," she replied, struggling with her emotion, "behind that +cupola of the Chamber of Commerce. Do you see those short pointed towers? +That is it."</p> + +<p>"Is it still used as a prison?" continued the visitor with a strange +insistence.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes," stammered the girl, "I think so—that is, the depot is part of +the <i>conciergerie</i> or just adjoins it."</p> + +<p>"What is the depot?" questioned the other, eying Alice steadily.</p> + +<p>The girl flushed. "Why do you ask me that? Why do you look at me so?"</p> + +<p>The lady stepped closer, and speaking low: "Because I know who you are, I +know <i>why</i> you are thinking about that prison."</p> + +<p>Alice stared at her with widening eyes and heaving bosom. The woman's tone +was kind, her look almost appealing, yet the girl drew back, guided by an +instinct of danger.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>"Don't you <i>know</i> who I am?" answered the other, and now her emotion broke +through the mask of calm. "I am the lady who—who called for M. Kittredge +last night."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" burst out Alice scornfully. "A lady! You call yourself a <i>lady!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Call me anything you like but——"</p> + +<p>"I don't wish to speak to you; it's an outrage your coming here; I—I'm +going down." And she started for the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Wait!" cried the visitor. "You <i>shall</i> hear me. I have come to help the +man you love."</p> + +<p>"The man <i>you</i> love," blazed the girl. "The man whose life you have +ruined."</p> + +<p>"It's true I—I loved him," murmured the other.</p> + +<p>"What <i>right</i> had you to love him, you a married woman?"</p> + +<p>The lady caught her breath with a little gasp and her hands shut tight.</p> + +<p>"He told you that?"</p> + +<a name="image-14"><!-- Image 14 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/014.jpg" height="344" width="300" +alt=""'I know <i>why</i> you are thinking about that prison.'""> +</center> + +<h5>"'I know <i>why</i> you are thinking about that prison.'"</h5> + +<p>"Yes, because he was forced to—the thing was known. Don't be afraid, he +didn't tell your name, he <i>never</i> would tell it. But I know enough, I +know that you tortured him and—when he got free from you, after struggling +and—starving and——"</p> + +<p>"Starving?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, starving. After all that, when he was just getting a little happy, +<i>you</i> had to come again, and—and now he's <i>there</i>."</p> + +<p>She looked fixedly at the prison, then with angry fires flashing in her +dark eyes: "I hate you, I <i>hate</i> you," she cried.</p> + +<p>In spite of her growing emotion the lady forced herself to speak calmly: +"Hate me if you will, but <i>hear</i> me."</p> + +<p>"No," went on Alice fiercely, "<i>you</i> shall hear <i>me</i>. You have done this +wicked, shameless thing, and now you come to me, think of that, <i>to me!</i> +You must be mad. Anyhow, you are here and you shall tell me what I want to +know."</p> + +<p>"What do you want to know?" trembled the woman.</p> + +<p>"I want to know, first, who you are. I want your name and address."</p> + +<p>"Certainly; I am—er—Madam Marius, and I live at—er—6 Avenue Martignon."</p> + +<p>"Ah! May I have one of your cards?"</p> + +<p>"I—er—I'm afraid I have no card here," evaded the other, pretending to +search in a gold bag. Her face was very pale.</p> + +<p>The girl made no reply, but walked quickly to a turn of the gallery.</p> + +<p>"Valentine," she called.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered a voice.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you are there. I may need you in a minute."</p> + +<p>"<i>Bien!</i>"</p> + +<p>Then, returning, she said quietly: "Valentine is a friend of mine. She +sells postal cards up here. Unless you tell me the truth, I shall ask her +to go down and call the sacristan. Now then, <i>who are you?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Don't ask who I am," pleaded the lady.</p> + +<p>"I ask what I want to know."</p> + +<p>"Anything but that!"</p> + +<p>"Then you are <i>not</i> Madam Marius?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"You lied to me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Valentine!" called Alice, and promptly a girl of about sixteen, +bare-headed, appeared at the end of the gallery. "Go down and ask Papa +Bonneton to come here at once. Say it's important. Hurry!"</p> + +<p>With an understanding nod Valentine disappeared inside the tower and the +quick clatter of her wooden shoes echoed up from below.</p> + +<p>"But—what will you tell him?" gasped the lady.</p> + +<p>"I shall tell him you were concerned in that crime last night. I don't know +what it was, I haven't read the papers, but he has."</p> + +<p>"Do you want to ruin me?" cried the woman; then, with a supplicating +gesture: "Spare me this shame; I will give you money, a large sum. See +here!" and, opening her gold bag, she drew out some folded notes. "I'll +give you a thousand francs—five thousand. Don't turn away! I'll give you +more—my jewels, my pearls, my rings. Look at them." She held out her +hands, flashing with precious stones.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she felt the girl's eyes on her in utter scorn. "You are not even +intelligent," Alice flung back; "you were a fool to come here; now you are +stupid enough to think you can buy my silence. <i>Mon Dieu</i>, what a base +soul!"</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, I don't know what I am saying," begged the other. "Don't be +angry. Listen; you say I was a fool to come here, but it isn't true. I +realized my danger, I knew what I was risking, and yet I came, because I +<i>had</i> to come. I felt I could trust you. I came in my desperation because +there was no other person in Paris I dared go to."</p> + +<p>"Is that true?" asked the girl, more gently.</p> + +<p>"Indeed it is," implored the lady, her eyes swimming with tears. "I beg +your pardon sincerely for offering you money. I know you are loyal and kind +and—I'm ashamed of myself. I have suffered so much since last night +that—as you say, I must be mad."</p> + +<p>It was a strange picture—this brilliant beauty, forgetful of pride and +station, humbling herself to a poor candle seller. Alice looked at her in +wonder.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand yet why you came to me," she said.</p> + +<p>"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 and +will never come into it again. I want to save him because it's right that I +should, because he has been accused of this crime through me and I know he +is innocent."</p> + +<p>"Ah," murmured Alice joyfully, "you know he is innocent."</p> + +<p>"Yes; and, if necessary, I will give evidence to clear him. I will tell +exactly what happened."</p> + +<p>"What happened where?"</p> + +<p>"In the room where this man was—was shot. Ugh!" She pressed her hands over +her eyes as if to drive away some horrid vision.</p> + +<p>"You were—there?" asked the girl.</p> + +<p>The woman nodded with a wild, frightened look. "Don't ask me about it. +There isn't time now and—I told <i>him</i> everything."</p> + +<p>"You mean Lloyd? You told Lloyd everything?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, in the carriage. He realizes that I acted for the best, but—don't +you see, if I come forward now and tell the truth, I shall be disgraced, +ruined."</p> + +<p>"And if you don't come forward, Lloyd will remain in prison," flashed the +girl.</p> + +<p>"You don't understand. There is no case against Lloyd. He is bound to be +released for want of evidence against him. I only ask you to be patient a +few days and let me help him without destroying myself."</p> + +<p>"How can you help him unless you speak out?"</p> + +<p>"I can help with money for a good lawyer. That is why I brought these bank +notes." Again she offered the notes. "You won't refuse them—for him?"</p> + +<p>But Alice pushed the money from her. "A lawyer's efforts <i>might</i> free him +in the future, your testimony will free him now."</p> + +<p>"Then you will betray me?" demanded the woman fiercely.</p> + +<p>"Betray?" answered the girl. "That's a fine-sounding word, but what does it +mean? I shall do the best I can for the man I love."</p> + +<p>"Ha! The best you can! And what is that? To make him ashamed of you! To +make him suffer!"</p> + +<p>"Suffer?"</p> + +<p>"Why not? Don't you suppose he will suffer to find that you have no +sympathy with his wishes?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"You threaten to do the very thing that he went to prison to prevent. +You're going to denounce me, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"To save him—yes."</p> + +<p>"When it isn't necessary, when it will cause a dreadful calamity. If he +wanted to be saved that way, wouldn't he denounce me himself? He knows my +name, he knows the whole story. Wouldn't he tell it himself if he wanted it +told?"</p> + +<p>The girl hesitated, taken aback at this new view. "I suppose he thinks it a +matter of honor."</p> + +<p>"Exactly. And you who pretend to love him have so little heart, so little +delicacy, that you care nothing for what he thinks a matter of honor. A +pretty thing <i>your</i> sense of honor must be!"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" shrank Alice, and the woman, seeing her advantage, pursued it +relentlessly. "Did you ever hear of a <i>debt</i> of honor? How do you know that +your lover doesn't owe <i>me</i> such a debt and isn't paying it now down +there?"</p> + +<p>So biting were the words, so fierce the scorn, that Alice found herself +wavering. After all, she knew nothing of what had happened, nor could she +be sure of Lloyd's wishes. He had certainly spoken of things in his life +that he regretted. Could it be that he was bound in honor to save this +woman <i>at any cost?</i> As she stood irresolute, there came up from below the +sound of steps on the stairs, ascending steps, nearer and nearer, then +distinctly the clatter of Valentine's wooden shoes, then another and a +heavier tread. The sacristan was coming.</p> + +<p>"Here is your chance," taunted the lady; "give me up, denounce me, and then +remember what Lloyd will remember <i>always</i>, that when a distressed and +helpless sister woman came to you and trusted you, you showed her no pity, +but deliberately wrecked her life."</p> + +<p>Half sorry, half triumphant, but without a word, Alice watched the torture +of this former rival; and now the loud breathing of the sacristan was +plainly heard on the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Remember," flung out the other in a final defiance that was also a final +appeal, "remember that nothing brought me here but the sacredness of a love +that is gone, a sacredness that <i>I</i> respect and <i>he</i> respects but that <i>you +trample on</i>."</p> + +<p>As she said this Valentine emerged from the tower door followed wearily by +Papa Bonneton, in full regalia, his mild face expressing all that it could +of severity.</p> + +<p>"What has happened?" he said sharply to Alice. Then, with a habit of +deference, he lifted his three-cornered hat to the lady: "Madam will +understand that it was difficult for me to leave my duties."</p> + +<p>Madam stood silent, ghastly white, hands clinched so hard that the gems cut +into her flesh, eyes fixed on the girl in a last anguished supplication.</p> + +<p>Then Alice said to the sacristan: "Madam wants to hear the sound of the +great bell. She asked me to strike it with the hammer, but I told her that +is forbidden during high mass. Madam offered ten francs—twenty francs—she +is going away and is very anxious to hear the bell; she has read about its +beautiful tone. When madam offered twenty francs, I thought it my duty to +let you know." All this with a self-possession that the daughters of Eve +have acquired through centuries of practice.</p> + +<p>"Twenty francs!" muttered the guileless Bonneton. "You were right, my +child, perfectly right. That rule was made for ordinary visitors, but with +madam it is different. I myself will strike the bell for madam." And with +all dispatch he entered the Southern tower, where the great bourdon hangs, +whispering: "Twenty francs! It's a miracle."</p> + +<p>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 bless +you!"</p> + +<p>Alice tried to speak, but the words choked her, and, leaning over the +balustrade, she looked yearningly toward the prison, her lips moving in +silence: "Lloyd! Lloyd!" Then the great bell struck and she turned with a +start, brushing away the tears that dimmed her eyes.</p> + +<p>A moment later Papa Bonneton reappeared, scarcely believing that already he +had earned his louis and insisting on telling madam various things about +the bell—that it was presented by Louis XIV, and weighed over seventeen +tons; that eight men were required to ring it, two poised at each corner of +the rocking framework; that the note it sounded was <i>fa diese</i>—did madam +understand that? <i>Do, re, mi, fa?</i> And more of the sort until madam assured +him that she was fully satisfied and would not keep him longer from his +duties. Whereupon, with a torrent of thanks, the old man disappeared in the +tower, looking unbelievingly at the gold piece in his hand.</p> + +<p>"And now what?" asked Alice with feverish eagerness when they were alone +again.</p> + +<p>"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 over +her in the reaction from her violent emotion.</p> + +<p>"No, no," replied the girl, "this is the time for action, not sentiment. +You have promised to save <i>him</i>, now do it."</p> + +<p>"I will," declared the other, and the light of a fine purpose gave a +dignity to her rather selfish beauty. "Or, rather, we will save him +together. First, I want you to take this money—you will take it now <i>for +him?</i> That's right, put it in your dress. Ah," she smiled as Alice obeyed +her. "That is for a lawyer. He must have a good lawyer at once."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course," agreed Alice, "but how shall I get a lawyer?"</p> + +<p>The lady frowned. "Ah, if I could only send you to my lawyer! But that +would involve explanations. We need a man to advise us, some one who knows +about these things."</p> + +<p>"I have it," exclaimed Alice joyfully. "The very person!"</p> + +<p>"Who is that?"</p> + +<p>"M. Coquenil."</p> + +<p>"What?" The other stared. "You mean Paul Coquenil, the detective?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the girl confidently. "He would help us; I'm sure of it."</p> + +<p>"He is on the case already. Didn't you know that? The papers are full of +it."</p> + +<p>Alice shook her head. "That doesn't matter, does it? He would tell us +exactly what to do. I saw him in Notre-Dame only yesterday and—and he +spoke to me so kindly. You know, M. Coquenil is a friend of Papa +Bonneton's; he lends him his dog Cæsar to guard the church."</p> + +<p>"It seems like providence," murmured the lady. "Yes, that is the thing to +do, you must go to M. Coquenil at once. Tell the old sacristan I have sent +you on an errand—for another twenty francs."</p> + +<p>Alice smiled faintly. "I can manage that. But what shall I say to M. Paul?"</p> + +<p>"Speak to him about the lawyer and the money; I will send more if +necessary. Tell him what has happened between us and then put yourself in +his 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 no +mistake. Here is a pencil and here is a piece of paper." With nervous haste +she tore a page from a little memorandum book. "Now, then," and she +dictated the following statement which Alice took down carefully: "<i>Tell M. +Kittredge that the lady who called for him in the carriage knows now that +the person she thought guilty last night is NOT guilty. She knows this +absolutely, 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</i>."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XII"></a><h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>BY SPECIAL ORDER</h3> + +<p>It was not until after vespers that Alice was able to leave Notre-Dame and +start for the Villa Montmorency—in fact, it was nearly five when, with +mingled feelings of confidence and shrinking, she opened the iron gate in +the ivy-covered wall of Coquenil's house and advanced down the neat walk +between the double hedges to the solid gray mass of the villa, at once +dignified and cheerful. Melanie came to the door and showed, by a jealous +glance, that she did not approve of her master receiving visits from young +and good-looking females.</p> + +<p>"M. Paul is resting," she grumbled; "he worked all last night and he's +worked this whole blessed day until half an hour ago."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, but it's a matter of great importance," urged the girl.</p> + +<p>"Good, good," snapped Melanie. "What name?"</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't know my name. Please say it's the girl who sells candles in +Notre-Dame."</p> + +<p>"Huh! I'll tell him. Wait here," and with scant courtesy the old servant +left Alice standing in the blue-tiled hallway, near a long diamond-paned +window. A moment later Melanie reappeared with mollified countenance. "M. +Paul says will you please take a seat in here." She opened the study door +and pointed to one of the big red-leather chairs. "He'll be down in a +moment."</p> + +<p>Left alone, Alice glanced in surprise about this strange room. She saw a +photograph of Cæsar and his master on the wall and went nearer to look at +it. Then she noticed the collection of plaster hands and was just bending +over it when Coquenil entered, wearing a loosely cut house garment of pale +yellow with dark-green braid around the jacket and down the legs of the +trousers. He looked pale, almost haggard, but his face lighted in welcome +as he came forward.</p> + +<a name="image-15"><!-- Image 15 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/015.jpg" height="300" width="381" +alt=""She was just bending over it when Coquenil entered.""> +</center> + +<h5>"She was just bending over it when Coquenil entered."</h5> + +<p>"Glad to see you," he said.</p> + +<p>She had not heard his step and turned with a start of surprise.</p> + +<p>"I—I beg your pardon," she murmured in embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"Are you interested in my plaster casts?" he asked pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"I was looking at this hand," replied the girl. "I have seen one like it."</p> + +<p>Coquenil shook his head good-naturedly. "That is very improbable."</p> + +<p>Alice looked closer. "Oh, but I have," she insisted.</p> + +<p>"You mean in a museum?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, in life—I am positive I have."</p> + +<p>M. Paul listened with increasing interest. "You have seen a hand with a +little finger as long as this one?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; it's as long as the third finger and square at the end. I've often +noticed it."</p> + +<p>"Then you have seen something very uncommon, mademoiselle, something <i>I</i> +have never seen. That is the most remarkable hand in my collection; it is +the hand of a man who lived nearly two hundred years ago. He was one of the +greatest criminals the world has ever known."</p> + +<p>"Really?" cried Alice, her eyes wide with sudden fright. "I—I must have +been mistaken."</p> + +<p>But now the detective's curiosity was aroused. "Would you mind telling me +the name of the person—of course it's a man—who has this hand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Alice, "it's a man, but I should not like to give his name +after what you have told me."</p> + +<p>"He is a good man?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes."</p> + +<p>"A kind man?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"A man that you like?"</p> + +<p>"Why—er—why, yes, I like him," she replied, but the detective noticed a +strange, anxious look in her eyes. And immediately he changed the subject.</p> + +<p>"You'll have a cup of tea with me, won't you? I've asked Melanie to bring +it in. Then we can talk comfortably. By the way, you haven't told me your +name."</p> + +<p>"My name is Alice Groener," she answered simply.</p> + +<p>"Groener," he reflected. "That isn't a French name?"</p> + +<p>"No, my family lived in Belgium, but I have only a cousin left. He is a +wood carver, in Brussels. He has been very kind to me and would pay my +board with the Bonnetons, but I don't want to be a burden, so I work at the +church."</p> + +<p>"I see," he said approvingly.</p> + +<p>The girl was seated in the full light, and as they talked, Coquenil +observed her attentively, noting the pleasant tones of her voice and the +charming lights in her eyes, studying her with a personal as well as a +professional interest; for was not this the young woman who had so suddenly +and so unaccountably influenced his life? Who was she, what was she, this +dreaming candle seller? In spite of her shyness and modest ways, she was +brave and strong of will, that was evident, and, plain dress or not, she +looked the aristocrat every inch of her. Where did she get that unconscious +air of quiet poise, that trick of the lifted chin? And how did she learn to +use her hands like a great lady?</p> + +<p>"Would you mind telling me something, mademoiselle?" he said suddenly.</p> + +<p>Alice looked at him in surprise, and again he remarked, as he had at +Notre-Dame, the singular beauty of her wondering dark eyes.</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Have you any idea how you happened to dream that dream about me?"</p> + +<p>The girl shrank away trembling. "No one can explain dreams, can they?" she +asked anxiously, and it seemed to him that her emotion was out of all +proportion to its cause.</p> + +<p>"I suppose not," he answered kindly. "I thought you might have +some—er—some fancy about it. If you ever should have, you would tell me, +wouldn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Ye-es." She hesitated, and for a moment he thought she was going to say +something more, but she checked the impulse, if it was there, and Coquenil +did not press his demand.</p> + +<p>"There's one other thing," he went on reassuringly. "I'm asking this in the +interest of M. Kittredge. Tell me if you know anything about this crime of +which he is accused?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no," she replied with evident sincerity. "I haven't even read the +papers."</p> + +<p>"But you know who was murdered?"</p> + +<p>Alice shook her head blankly. "How could I? No one has told me."</p> + +<p>"It was a man named Martinez."</p> + +<p>She started at the word. "What? The billiard player?" she cried.</p> + +<p>He nodded. "Did you know him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, very well."</p> + +<p>Now it was Coquenil's turn to feel surprise, for he had asked the question +almost aimlessly.</p> + +<p>"You knew Martinez very well?" he repeated, scarcely believing his ears.</p> + +<p>"I often saw him," she explained, "at the café where we went evenings."</p> + +<p>"Who were 'we'?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Papa Bonneton would take me, or my cousin, M. Groener, or M. +Kittredge."</p> + +<p>"Then M. Kittredge knew Martinez?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. He used to go sometimes to see him play billiards." She said +all this quite simply.</p> + +<p>"Were Kittredge and Martinez good friends?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes."</p> + +<p>"Never had any words? Any quarrel?"</p> + +<p>"Why—er—no," she replied in some confusion.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to distress you, mademoiselle," said Coquenil gravely, "but +aren't you keeping something back?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," she insisted. "I just thought of—of a little thing that made me +unhappy, but it has nothing to do with this case. You believe me, don't +you?"</p> + +<p>She spoke with pleading earnestness, and again M. Paul followed an +intuition that told him he might get everything from this girl by going +slowly and gently, whereas, by trying to force her confidence, he would get +nothing.</p> + +<p>"Of course I believe you," he smiled. "Now I'm going to give you some of +this tea; I'm afraid it's getting cold."</p> + +<p>And he proceeded to do the honors in so friendly a way that Alice was +presently quite at her ease again.</p> + +<p>"Now," he resumed, "we'll settle down comfortably and you can tell me what +brought you here, tell me all about it. You won't mind if I smoke a +cigarette? Be sure to tell me <i>everything</i>—there is plenty of time."</p> + +<p>So Alice began and told him about the mysterious lady and their agitated +visit to the tower, omitting nothing, while M. Paul listened with startled +interest, nodding and frowning and asking frequent questions.</p> + +<p>"This is very important," he said gravely when she had finished. "What a +pity 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.</p> + +<p>"Did I do wrong?" asked Alice in confusion.</p> + +<p>"I suppose not. I understand your feelings, but—would you know her again?" +he questioned.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, anywhere," answered Alice confidently.</p> + +<p>"How old is she?"</p> + +<p>A mischievous light shone in the girl's eyes. "I will say thirty—that is +absolutely fair."</p> + +<p>"You think she may be older?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure she isn't younger."</p> + +<p>"Is she pretty?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, very pretty, very animated and—<i>chic</i>."</p> + +<p>"Would you call her a lady?"</p> + +<p>"Why—er—yes."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you sure?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't that, but American ladies are—different."</p> + +<p>"Why do you think she is an American?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure she is. I can always tell American ladies; they wear more colors +than French ladies, more embroideries, more things on their hats; I've +often noticed it in church. I even know them by their shiny finger nails +and their shrill voices."</p> + +<p>"Does she speak with an accent?"</p> + +<p>"She speaks fluently, like a foreigner who has lived a long time in Paris, +but she has a slight accent."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Now give me her message again. Are you sure you remember it exactly?"</p> + +<p>"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: "<i>Tell M. Kittredge +that the lady who called for him in the carriage knows now that the person +she thought guilty last night is NOT guilty. She knows this absolutely, 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</i>."</p> + +<p>"She didn't say who this person is that she thought guilty last night?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Did she say <i>why</i> she thought him guilty or what changed her mind? Did she +drop any hint? Try to remember."</p> + +<p>Alice shook her head. "No, she said nothing about that."</p> + +<p>Coquenil rose and walked back and forth across the study, hands deep in his +pockets, head forward, eyes on the floor, back and forth several times +without a word. Then he stopped before Alice, eying her intently as if +making up his mind about something.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to trust you, mademoiselle, with an important mission. You're +only a girl, but—you've been thrown into this tragic affair, and—you'll +be glad to help your lover, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," she answered eagerly.</p> + +<p>"You may as well know that we are facing a situation not +altogether—er—encouraging. I believe M. Kittredge is innocent and I hope +to prove it, but others think differently and they have serious things +against him."</p> + +<p>"What things?" she demanded, her cheeks paling.</p> + +<p>"No matter now."</p> + +<p>"There can be <i>nothing</i> against him," declared the girl, "he is the soul of +honor."</p> + +<p>"I hope so," answered the detective dryly, "but he is also in prison, and +unless we do something he is apt to stay there."</p> + +<p>"What can we do?" murmured Alice, twining her fingers piteously.</p> + +<p>"We must get at the truth, we must find this woman who came to see you. The +quickest way to do that is through Kittredge himself. He knows all about +her, if we can make him speak. So far he has refused to say a word, but +there is one person who ought to unseal his lips—that is the girl he +loves."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," exclaimed Alice, her face lighting with new hope, "I think I +could, I am sure I could, only—will they let me see him?"</p> + +<p>"That is the point. It is against the prison rule for a person <i>au secret</i> +to see anyone except his lawyer, but I know the director of the Santé and I +think——"</p> + +<p>"You mean the director of the depot?"</p> + +<p>"No, for M. Kittredge was transferred from the depot this morning. You know +the depot is only a temporary receiving station, but the Santé is one of +the regular French prisons. It's there they send men charged with murder."</p> + +<p>Alice shivered at the word. "Yes," she murmured, "and—what were you +saying?"</p> + +<p>"I say that I know the director of the Santé and I think, if I send you to +him with a strong note, he will make an exception—I think so."</p> + +<p>"Splendid!" she cried joyfully. "And when shall I present the note?"</p> + +<p>"To-day, at once; there isn't an hour to lose. I will write it now."</p> + +<p>Coquenil sat down at his massive Louis XV table with its fine bronzes and +quickly 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, and +assuring him that, by so doing, he would confer upon Paul Coquenil a +deeply appreciated favor. Alice watched him with a sense of awe, and she +thought uneasily of her dream about the face in the angry sun and the land +of the black people.</p> + +<p>"There," he said, handing her the note. "Now listen. You are to find out +certain things from your lover. I can't tell you <i>how</i> to find them out, +that is your affair, but you must do it."</p> + +<p>"I will," declared Alice.</p> + +<p>"You must find them out even if he doesn't wish to tell you. His safety and +your happiness may depend on it."</p> + +<p>"I understand."</p> + +<p>"One thing is this woman's name and address."</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Alice, and then her face clouded. "But if it isn't honorable +for him to tell her name?"</p> + +<p>"You must make him see that it <i>is</i> honorable. The lady herself says she is +ready to testify if necessary. At first she was afraid of implicating some +person 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 a +few days whether he tells us or not, so he may as well save us valuable +time. Better write that down—here is a pad."</p> + +<p>"Save us valuable time," repeated Alice, pencil in hand.</p> + +<p>"Then I want to know about the lady's husband. Is he dark or fair? Tall or +short? Does Kittredge know him? Has he ever had words with him or any +trouble? Got that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Alice, writing busily.</p> + +<p>"Then—do you know whether M. Kittredge plays tennis?"</p> + +<p>Alice looked up in surprise. "Why, yes, he does. I remember hearing him +say he likes it better than golf."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Then ask him—see here. I'll show you," and going to a corner between +the bookcase and the wall, M. Paul picked out a tennis racket among a +number of canes. "Now, then," he continued while she watched him with +perplexity, "I hold my racket <i>so</i> in my right hand, and if a ball comes on +my left, I return it with a back-hand stroke <i>so</i>, using my right hand; but +there are players who shift the racket to the left hand and return the ball +<i>so</i>, do you see?"</p> + +<p>"I see."</p> + +<p>"Now I want to know if M. Kittredge uses both hands in playing tennis or +only the one hand. And I want to know <i>which</i> hand he uses chiefly, that +is, the right or the left?"</p> + +<p>"Why do you want to know that?" inquired Alice, with a woman's curiosity.</p> + +<p>"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 for +the drawer handles, two dogs fighting on either side of the lock plates."</p> + +<p>Alice listened in astonishment. "I didn't suppose you knew where M. +Kittredge lived."</p> + +<p>"Nor did I until this morning," he smiled. "Since then I—well, as my +friend Gibelin says, I haven't wasted my time."</p> + +<p>"Your friend Gibelin?" repeated Alice, not understanding.</p> + +<p>Coquenil smiled grimly. "He is an amiable person for whom I am preparing +a—a little surprise."</p> + +<p>"Oh! And what about the chest of drawers?"</p> + +<p>"It's about one particular drawer, the small upper one on the right-hand +side—better write that down."</p> + +<p>"The small upper drawer on the right-hand side," repeated Alice.</p> + +<p>"I find that M. Kittredge <i>always</i> kept this drawer locked. He seems to be +a methodical person, and I want to know if he remembers opening it a few +days ago and finding, it unlocked. Have you got that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Good! Oh, one thing more. Find out if M. Kittredge ever suffers from +rheumatism or gout."</p> + +<p>The girl smiled. "Of course he doesn't; he is only twenty-eight."</p> + +<p>"Please do not take this lightly, mademoiselle," the detective chided +gently. "It is perhaps the most important point of all—his release from +prison may depend on it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not taking it lightly, indeed I'm not," and, with tears +in her eyes, Alice assured M. Paul that she fully realized the importance +of this mission and would spare no effort to make it successful.</p> + +<p>A few moments later she hurried away, buoyed up by the thought that she was +not only to see her lover but to serve him.</p> + +<p>It was after six when Alice left the circular railway at the Montrouge +station. She was in a remote and unfamiliar part of Paris, the region of +the catacombs and the Gobelin tapestry works, and, although M. Paul had +given her precise instructions, she wandered about for some time among +streets of hospitals and convents until at last she came to an open place +where she recognized Bartholdi's famous Belfort lion. Then she knew her +way, and hurrying along the Boulevard Arago, she came presently to the +gloomy mass of the Santé prison, which, with its diverging wings and +galleries, spreads out like a great gray spider in the triangular space +between the Rue Humboldt, the Rue de la Santé and the Boulevard Arago.</p> + +<p>A kind-faced policeman pointed out a massive stone archway where she must +enter, and passing here, beside a stolid soldier in his sentry box, she +came presently to a black iron door in front of which were waiting two +yellow-and-black prison vans, windowless. In this prison door were four +glass-covered observation holes, and through these Alice saw a guard +within, who, as she lifted the black iron knocker, drew forth a long brass +key and turned the bolt. The door swung back, and with a shiver of +repulsion the girl stepped inside. This was the prison, these men standing +about were the jailers and—what did that matter so long as she got to +<i>him</i>, to her dear Lloyd. There was <i>nothing</i> she would not face or endure +for his sake.</p> + +<p>No sooner had the guard heard that she came with a note from M. Paul +Coquenil (that was a name to conjure with) than he showed her politely to a +small waiting room, assuring her that the note would be given at once to +the director of the prison. And a few moments later another door opened and +a 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.</p> + +<p>"Always at the service of Paul Coquenil," he began. "What can I do for you, +mademoiselle?"</p> + +<p>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 speak +with him alone.</p> + +<p>The jailer snapped his teeth and narrowed his brows in a hard stare. "Did +Paul Coquenil send you here for <i>that?</i>" he questioned.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," answered the girl, and her heart began to sink. "You see, it's +a very special case and——"</p> + +<p>"Special case," laughed the other harshly; "I should say so—it's a case of +murder."</p> + +<p>"But he is innocent, perfectly innocent," pleaded Alice.</p> + +<p>"Of course, but if I let every murderer who says he's innocent see his +sweetheart—well, this would be a fine prison. No, no, little one," he went +on with offensive familiarity, "I am sorry to disappoint you and I hate to +refuse M. Paul, but it can't be done. This man is <i>au secret</i>, which means +that he must not see <i>anyone</i> except his lawyer. You know they assign a +lawyer to a prisoner who has no money to employ one."</p> + +<p>"But he <i>has</i> 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 her +hands appealingly. "If you only knew the circumstances, if I could only +make you understand."</p> + +<p>"Haven't time to listen," he said impatiently, "there's no use whining. I +can't do it and that's the end of it. If I let you talk with this man and +the thing were known, I might lost my position." He rose abruptly as if to +dismiss her.</p> + +<p>Alice did not move. She had been sitting by a table on which a large sheet +of pink blotting paper was spread before writing materials. And as she +listened to the director's rough words, she took up a pencil and twisted it +nervously in her fingers. Then, with increasing agitation, as she realized +that her effort for Lloyd had failed, she began, without thinking, to make +little marks on the blotter, and then a written scrawl—all with a +singular fixed look in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to excuse me," said the jailer gruffly, seeing that she did +not take his hint.</p> + +<p>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 that +even this calloused man felt a thrill of pity and stepped forward to assist +her. And, as he passed the table, his eye fell on the blotting paper.</p> + +<p>"Why, what is this?" he exclaimed, eying her sharply.</p> + +<p>"Oh, excuse me, sir," begged Alice, "I have spoiled your nice blotter. I am +<i>so</i> sorry."</p> + +<p>"Never mind the blotter, but—" He bent closer over the scrawled words, +and then with a troubled look: "<i>Did you write this?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Why—er—why—yes, sir, I'm afraid I did," she stammered.</p> + +<p>"Don't you <i>know</i> you did?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"I—I wasn't thinking," she pleaded in fright.</p> + +<a name="image-16"><!-- Image 16 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/016.jpg" height="300" width="401" +alt=""'Did you write this?'""> +</center> + +<h5>"'Did you write this?'"</h5> + +<p>He stared at her for a moment, then he went to his desk, picked up a +printed form, filled it out quickly and handed it to her.</p> + +<p>"There," he said, and his voice was almost gentle, "I guess I don't quite +understand about this thing."</p> + +<p>Alice looked at the paper blankly. "But—what is it?" she asked.</p> + +<p>The jailer closed one eye very slowly with a wise nod. "It's what you asked +for, a permit to see this American prisoner, <i>by special order</i>."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIII"></a><h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>LLOYD AND ALICE</h3> + +<p>Kittredge was fortunate in having a sense of humor, it helped him through +the horrors of his first night at the depot, which he passed with the scum +of Paris streets, thieves, beggars, vagrants, the miserable crop of +Saturday-night police takings, all herded into one foul room on filthy +bunks so close together that a turn either way brought a man into direct +contact with his neighbor.</p> + +<p>Lloyd lay between an old pickpocket and a drunkard. He did not sleep, but +passed the hours thinking. And when he could think no longer, he listened +to the pickpocket who was also wakeful, and who told wonderful yarns of his +conquests among the fair sex in the time of the Commune, when he was a +strapping artilleryman.</p> + +<p>"You're a pretty poor pickpocket, old chap," reflected Kittredge, "but +you're an awful good liar!"</p> + +<p>In spite of little sleep, he was serene and good-natured when they took +him, handcuffed, before Judge Hauteville the next morning for his +preliminary examination—a mere formality to establish the prisoner's +identity. Kittredge gave the desired facts about himself with perfect +willingness; his age, nationality, occupation, and present address. He +realized that there was no use hiding these. When asked if he had money to +employ a lawyer, he said "no"; and when told that the court would assign +Maître Pleindeaux for his defense, he thanked the judge and went off +smiling 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.</p> + +<p>And he submitted uncomplainingly when they took him to the Bertillon +measuring department and stood him up against the wall, bare as a babe, +arms extended, and noted down his dimensions one by one, every limb and +feature being precisely described in length and breadth, every physical +peculiarity recorded, down to the impression of his thumb lines and the +precise location of a small mole on his left arm.</p> + +<p>All this happened Sunday morning, and in the afternoon other experiences +awaited him—his first ride in a prison van, known as a <i>panier à salade</i>, +and his initiation into real prison life at the Santé. The cell he took +calmly, as well as the prison dress and food and the hard bed, for he had +known rough camping in the Maine woods and was used to plain fare, but he +winced a little at the regulation once a week prison shave, and the +regulation bath once a month! And what disturbed him chiefly was the +thought that now he would have absolutely nothing to do but sit in his cell +and wait wearily for the hours to pass. Prisoners under sentence may be put +to work, but one <i>au secret</i> is shut up not only from the rest of the +world, but even from his fellow-prisoners. He is utterly alone.</p> + +<p>"Can't I have a pack of cards?" asked Lloyd with a happy inspiration.</p> + +<p>"Against the rule," said the guard.</p> + +<p>"But I know some games of solitaire. I never could see what they were +invented for until now. Let me have part of a pack, just enough to play +old-maid solitaire. Ever heard of that?"</p> + +<p>The guard shook his head.</p> + +<p>"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 from +wildest Bohemia to primest Presbyterian tea parties, Lloyd added: "That's a +hell of a way to treat a murderer!"</p> + +<p>The Sunday morning service was just ending when Kittredge reached the +prison, and he got his first impressions of the place as he listened to +resounding Gregorian tones chanted, or rather shouted, by tiers on tiers of +prisoners, each joining in the unison with full lung power through cell +doors chained ajar. The making of this rough music was one of the pleasures +of the week, and at once the newcomer's heart was gripped by the +indescribable sadness of it.</p> + +<a name="image-17"><!-- Image 17 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/017.jpg" height="300" width="502" +alt=""And when he could think no longer, he listened to the +pickpocket.""> +</center> + +<h5>"And when he could think no longer, he listened to the +pickpocket."</h5> + +<p>Having gone through the formalities of arrival and been instructed as to +various detail of prison routine, Lloyd settled down as comfortably as +might 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 as +popular among French convicts as the translated works of Fenimore Cooper. +"Good old Stars and Stripes!" murmured Kittredge, but he stared at the same +page for a long time before he began to read. And once he brushed a quick +hand across his eyes.</p> + +<p>Scarcely had Lloyd finished a single chapter when one of the guards +appeared with as much of surprise on his stolid countenance as an +overworked under jailer can show; for an unprecedented thing had +happened—a prisoner <i>au secret</i> was to receive a visitor, a young woman, +at that, and, <i>sapristi</i>, a good-looking one, who came with a special order +from the director of the prison. Moreover, he was to see her in the private +parlor, 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 the +open door with instructions not to interfere except for serious reasons. In +the memory of the oldest inhabitant such a thing had not been known!</p> + +<p>Kittredge, however, was not surprised, first, because nothing could +surprise him, and, also, because he had no idea what an extraordinary +exception had been made in his favor. So he walked before the guard +indifferently enough toward the door indicated, but when he crossed the +threshold he started back with a cry of amazement.</p> + +<p>"Alice!" he gasped, and his face lighted with transfiguring joy. It was a +bare room with bare floors and bare yellow painted walls, the only +furnishings being two cane chairs and a cheap table, but to Kittredge it +was a marvelous and radiantly happy place, for Alice was there; he stared +at her almost unbelieving, but it was true—by some kind miracle Alice, his +Alice, was there!</p> + +<p>Then, without any prelude, without so much as asking for an explanation or +giving her time to make one, Lloyd sprang forward and caught the trembling +girl in his arms and drew her close to him with tender words, while the +guard muttered: "<i>Nom d'un chien! Il ne perd pas de temps, celui-la!</i>"</p> + +<p>This was not at all the meeting that Alice had planned, but as she felt her +lover's arms about her and his warm breath on her face, she forgot the +message that she brought and the questions she was to ask, she forgot his +danger and her own responsibility, she forgot everything but this one +blessed fact of their great love, his and hers, the love that had drawn +them together and was holding them together now here, together, close +together, she and her Lloyd.</p> + +<p>"You darling," he whispered, "you brave, beautiful darling! I love you! I +love you!" And he would have said it still again had not his lips been +closed by her warm, red lips. So they stood silent, she limp in his arms, +gasping, thrilling, weeping and laughing, he feasting insatiable on her +lips, on the fragrance of her hair, on the lithe roundness of her body.</p> + +<p>"<i>Voyons, voyons!</i>" warned the guard. "<i>Soyons serieux!</i>"</p> + +<p>"He is right," murmured Alice, "we must be serious. Lloyd, let me go," and +with an effort she freed herself. "I can only stay here half an hour, and I +don't know how much of it we have wasted already." She tried to look at him +reproachfully, but her eyes were swimming with tenderness.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't wasted, dear," he answered fondly. "To have held you in my arms +like that will give me courage for whatever is to come."</p> + +<p>"But, Lloyd," she reasoned, "nothing bad will come if you do what I say. I +am here to help you, to get you out of this dreadful place."</p> + +<p>"You little angel!" he smiled. "How are you going to do it?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you in a moment," she said, "but, first, you must answer some +questions. Never mind why I ask them, just answer. You will, won't you, +Lloyd? You trust me?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I trust you, sweetheart, and I'll answer anything that I—that I +can."</p> + +<p>"Good. I'll begin with the easiest question," she said, consulting her +list. "Sit down here—that's right. Now, then, have you ever had gout or +rheumatism? Don't laugh—it's important."</p> + +<p>"Never," he answered, and she wrote it down.</p> + +<p>"Do you play tennis with your right hand or your left hand?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, see here," he protested, "what's the use of——"</p> + +<p>"No, no," she insisted, "you must tell me. Please, the right hand or the +left?"</p> + +<p>"I use both hands," he answered, and she wrote it down.</p> + +<p>"Now," she continued, "you have a chest of drawers in your room with two +brass dogs fighting about the lock plates?"</p> + +<p>Kittredge stared at her. "How the devil did you know that?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind. You usually keep the right-hand upper drawer locked, don't +you?"</p> + +<p>"That's true."</p> + +<p>"Do you remember going to this drawer any time lately and finding it +unlocked?"</p> + +<p>He thought a moment. "No, I don't."</p> + +<p>Alice hesitated, and then, with a flush of embarrassment, she went on +bravely: "Now, Lloyd, I come to the hardest part. You must help me and—and +not think that I am hurt or—or jealous."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"It's about the lady who—who called for you. This is all her fault, so—so +naturally she wants to help you."</p> + +<p>"How do you know she does?" he asked quickly.</p> + +<p>"Because I have seen her."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and, Lloyd, she is sorry for the harm she has done and——"</p> + +<p>"You have seen her?" he cried, half dazed. "How? Where?"</p> + +<p>Then, in as few words as possible, Alice told of her talk with the lady at +the church. "And I have this message for you from her and—and <i>this</i>." She +handed him the note and the folded bank notes.</p> + +<p>Lloyd's face clouded. "She sent me money?" he said in a changed voice, and +his lips grew white.</p> + +<p>"Read the note," she begged, and he did so, frowning.</p> + +<p>"No, no," he declared, "it's quite impossible. I cannot take it," and he +handed the money back. "You wouldn't have me take it?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her gravely, and she thrilled with pride in him.</p> + +<p>"But the lawyer?" she protested weakly. "And your safety?"</p> + +<p>"Would you want me to owe my safety to <i>her?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"Besides, they have given me a lawyer. I dare say he is a good one, Mr. +Full-of-Water." He tried to speak lightly.</p> + +<p>"Then—then what shall I do with these?" She looked at the bank notes in +perplexity.</p> + +<p>"Return them."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes," she agreed, snatching at a new idea. "I will return them, I will +say that you thank her, that <i>we</i> thank her, Lloyd, but we cannot accept +the money. Is that right?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly."</p> + +<p>"I will go to her apartment in the morning. Let me see, it's on the +Avenue—Where did I put her address?" and she went through the form of +searching in her pocketbook.</p> + +<p>"The Avenue Kleber," he supplied, unsuspecting.</p> + +<p>"Of course, the Avenue Kleber. Where <i>is</i> that card? I've forgotten the +number, too. Do you remember it, dear?"</p> + +<p>Poor child, she tried so hard to speak naturally, but her emotion betrayed +her. Indeed, it seemed to Alice, in that moment of suspense, that her lover +must hear the loud beating of her heart.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see," he cried, eying her steadily, "she did not give you her +address and you are trying to get it from me. Do you even know her name?"</p> + +<p>"No," confessed Alice shamefacedly. "Forgive me, I—I wanted to help you."</p> + +<p>"By making me do a dishonorable thing?"</p> + +<p>"Don't look at me like that. I wouldn't have you do a dishonorable thing; +but——"</p> + +<p>"Who told you to ask me these questions?"</p> + +<p>"M. Coquenil."</p> + +<p>"What, the detective?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. He believes you innocent, Lloyd, and he's going to prove it."</p> + +<p>"I hope he does, but—tell him to leave this woman alone."</p> + +<p>"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——"</p> + +<p>"I understand," he said comfortingly, "and the Lord knows I want to get out +of this hole, but—we've got to play fair, eh? Now let's drop all that +and—do you want to make me the happiest man in the world? I'm the happiest +man in Paris already, even here, but if you will tell me one +thing—why—er—this prison won't cut any ice at all."</p> + +<p>"What do you want me to tell you?" she asked uneasily.</p> + +<p>"You little darling!" he said tenderly. "You needn't tell me anything if +it's going to make you feel badly, but, you see, I've got some lonely hours +to get through here and—well, I think of you most of the time and—" He +took her hand fondly in his.</p> + +<p>"Dear, dear Lloyd!" she murmured.</p> + +<p>"And I've sort of got it in my head that—do you want to know?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I want to know," she said anxiously.</p> + +<p>"I believe there's some confounded mystery about you, and, if you don't +mind, why—er——"</p> + +<p>Alice started to her feet, and Lloyd noticed, as she faced him, that the +pupils of her eyes widened and then grew small as if from fright or violent +emotion.</p> + +<p>"Why do you say that? What makes you think there is a mystery about me?" +she demanded, trying vainly to hide her agitation.</p> + +<p>"Now don't get upset—please don't!" soothed Kittredge. "If there isn't +anything, just say so, and if there is, what's the matter with telling a +chap who loves you and worships you and whose love wouldn't change for +fifty mysteries—what's the matter with telling him all about it?"</p> + +<p>"Are you sure your love wouldn't change?" she asked, still trembling.</p> + +<p>"Did <i>yours</i> change when they told you things about me? Did it change when +they arrested me and put me in prison? Yes, by Jove, it <i>did</i> change, it +grew stronger, and that's the way mine would change, that's the only way."</p> + +<p>He spoke so earnestly and with such a thrill of fondness that Alice was +reassured, 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 come +between us, why—it would just kill me."</p> + +<p>"Nothing will come between us," he said simply, and then after a pause: "So +there <i>is</i> a mystery."</p> + +<p>"I'm—I'm afraid so."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I knew it. I figured it out from a lot of little things. That's all +I've had to do here, and—for instance, I said to myself: 'How the devil +does she happen to speak English without any accent?' You can't tell me +that the cousin of a poor wood carver in Belgium would know English as you +do. It's part of the mystery, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Why—er," she stammered, "I have always known English."</p> + +<p>"Exactly, but how? And I suppose you've always known how to do those +corking fine embroideries that the priests are so stuck on? But how did you +learn? And how does it come that you look like a dead swell? And where did +you 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."</p> + +<p>"I'm <i>your</i> princess, dear," she smiled.</p> + +<p>"Now for the mystery," he persisted. "Go on, what is it?"</p> + +<p>At this her lovely face clouded and her eyes grew sad. "It's not the kind +of mystery you think, Lloyd; I—I can't tell you about it very +well—because—" She hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Don't you worry, little sweetheart. I don't care what it is, I don't care +if you're the daughter of a Zulu chief." Then, seeing her distress, he said +tenderly: "Is it something you don't understand?"</p> + +<p>"That's it," she answered in a low voice, "it's something I don't +understand."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Something about yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Ye-es."</p> + +<p>"Does anyone else know it?"</p> + +<p>"No, no one <i>could</i> know it, I—I've been afraid to speak of it."</p> + +<p>"Afraid?"</p> + +<p>She nodded, and again he noticed that the pupils of her eyes were widening +and contracting.</p> + +<p>"And that is why you said you wouldn't marry me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is why."</p> + +<p>He stopped in perplexity. He saw that, in spite of her bravest efforts, the +girl was almost fainting under the strain of these questions.</p> + +<p>"You dear, darling child," said Lloyd, as a wave of pity took him, "I'm a +brute to make you talk about this."</p> + +<p>But Alice answered anxiously: "You understand it's nothing I have done that +is wrong, nothing I'm ashamed of?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," he assured her. "Let's drop it. We'll never speak of it +again."</p> + +<p>"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 and +that—frightens me—especially at night."</p> + +<p>"What do you expect?" he answered in a matter-of-fact tone, "when you spend +all your time in a cold, black church full of bones and ghosts? Wait till I +get you away from there, wait till we're over in God's country, living in a +nice little house out in Orange, N. J., and I'm commuting every day."</p> + +<p>"What's commuting, Lloyd?"</p> + +<p>"You'll find out—you'll like it, except the tunnel. And you'll be so happy +you'll never think about your soul—no, sir, and you won't be afraid +nights, either! Oh, you beauty, you little beauty!" he burst out, and was +about to take her in his arms again when the guard came forward to warn +them that the time was nearly up, they had three minutes more.</p> + +<p>"All right," nodded Lloyd, and as he turned to Alice, she saw tears in his +eyes. "It's tough, but never mind. You've made a man of me, little one, and +I'll prove it. I used to have a sort of religion and then I lost it, and +now I've got it again, a new religion and a new creed. It's short and easy +to say, but it's all I need, and it's going to keep me game through this +whole 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."</p> + +<p>"Lloyd," she whispered as he bent toward her, "can't you trust me with that +woman's name?"</p> + +<p>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, and +throwing her arms about him, she murmured: "Kiss me, kiss me as much as you +like. I am yours, yours."</p> + +<p>Then there was a long, delicious, agonizing moment of passion and pain +until the guard's gruff voice came between them.</p> + +<p>"One moment," Kittredge said, and then to the clinging girl: "Why do you +ask that woman's name when you know it already?"</p> + +<p>Wide-eyed, she faced him and shook her head. "I don't know her name, I +don't want to know it."</p> + +<p>"You don't know her name?" he repeated, and even in the tumult of their +last farewell her frank and honest denial lingered in his mind.</p> + +<p>She did not know the woman's name! Back in his lonely cell Kittredge +pondered this, and reaching for his little volume of De Musset, his +treasured pocket companion that the jailer had let him keep, he opened it +at the fly leaves. <i>She did not know this woman's name!</i> 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.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIV"></a><h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>THE WOMAN IN THE CASE</h3> + +<p>Coquenil was neither surprised nor disappointed at the meager results of +Alice's visit to the prison. This was merely one move in the game, and it +had not been entirely vain, since he had learned that Kittredge <i>might</i> +have used his left hand in firing a pistol and that he did not suffer with +gout or rheumatism. This last point was of extreme importance.</p> + +<p>And the detective was speedily put in excellent humor by news awaiting him +at the Palais de Justice Monday morning that the man sent to London to +trace the burned photograph and the five-pound notes had already met with +success and had telegraphed that the notes in question had been issued to +Addison Wilmott, whose bankers were Munroe and Co., Rue Scribe.</p> + +<p>Quick inquiries revealed the fact that Addison Wilmott was a well-known New +Yorker, living in Paris, a man of leisure who was enjoying to the full a +large inherited fortune. He and his dashing wife lived in a private <i>hôtel</i> +on the Avenue Kleber, where they led a gay existence in the smartest and +most spectacular circle of the American Colony. They gave brilliant +dinners, they had several automobiles, they did all the foolish and +extravagant things that the others did and a few more.</p> + +<p>He was dull, good-natured, and a little fat; she was a beautiful woman with +extraordinary charm and a lithe, girlish figure of which she took infinite +care; he was supposed to kick up his heels in a quiet way while she did +the thing brilliantly and kept the wheels of American Colony gossip (busy +enough, anyway) turning and spinning until they groaned in utter weariness.</p> + +<p>What was there that Pussy Wilmott had not done or would not do if the +impulse seized her? This was a matter of tireless speculation in the +ultra-chic salons through which this fascinating lady flitted, envied and +censured. She was known to be the daughter of a California millionaire who +had left her a fortune, of which the last shred was long ago dispersed. +Before marrying Wilmott she had divorced two husbands, had traveled all +over the world, had hunted tigers in India and canoed the breakers, native +style, 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 swear +and love; she was altogether selfish, altogether delightful, altogether +impossible; in short, she was a law unto herself, and her brilliant +personality so far overshadowed Addison that, although he had the money and +most of the right in their frequent quarrels, no one ever spoke of him +except as "Pussy Wilmott's husband."</p> + +<p>In spite of her willfulness and caprices Mrs. Wilmott was full of generous +impulses and loyal to her friends. She was certainly not a snob, as witness +the fact that she had openly snubbed a certain grand duke, not for his +immoralities, which she declared afterwards were nobody's business, but +because of his insufferable stupidity. She rather liked a sinner, but she +couldn't stand a fool!</p> + +<p>Such was the information M. Paul had been able to gather from swift and +special police sources when he presented himself at the Wilmott <i>hôtel</i>, +about luncheon time on Monday. Addison was just starting with some friends +for a run down to Fontainebleau in his new Panhard, and he listened +impatiently to Coquenil's explanation that he had come in regard to some +English bank notes recently paid to Mr. Wilmott, and possibly clever +forgeries.</p> + +<p>"Really!" exclaimed Addison.</p> + +<p>Coquenil hoped that Mr. Wilmott would give him the notes in question in +exchange for genuine ones. This would help the investigation.</p> + +<p>"Of course, my dear sir," said the American, "but I haven't the notes, they +were spent long ago."</p> + +<p>Coquenil was sorry to hear this—he wondered if Mr. Wilmott could remember +where the notes were spent. After an intellectual effort Addison remembered +that he had changed one into French money at Henry's and had paid two or +three to a shirt maker on the Rue de la Paix, and the rest—he reflected +again, and then said positively: "Why, yes, I gave five or six of them, I +think there were six, I'm sure there were, because—" He stopped with a new +idea.</p> + +<p>"You remember whom you paid them to?" questioned the detective.</p> + +<p>"I didn't pay them to anyone," replied Wilmott, "I gave them to my wife."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Coquenil, and presently he took his departure with polite +assurances, whereupon the unsuspecting Addison tooted away complacently for +Fontainebleau.</p> + +<p>It was now about two o'clock, and the next three hours M. Paul spent with +his sources of information studying the career of Pussy Wilmott from +special points of view in preparation for a call upon the lady, which he +proposed to make later in the afternoon.</p> + +<p>He discovered two significant things: first, that, whatever her actual +conduct, Mrs. Wilmott had never openly compromised herself. Love affairs +she might have had, but no one could say when or where or with whom she had +had 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.</p> + +<p>As offsetting this, however, Coquenil secured information that connected +Mrs. Wilmott directly with Martinez. It appeared that, among her other +excitements, Pussy was passionately fond of gambling. She was known to have +won and lost large sums at Monte Carlo, and she was a regular follower of +the fashionable races in Paris. She had also been seen at the Olympia +billiard academy, near the Grand Hotel, where Martinez and other experts +played regularly before eager audiences, among whom betting on the games +was the great attraction. The detective found two bet markers who +remembered distinctly that, on several occasions, a handsome woman, +answering to the description of Mrs. Wilmott, had wagered five or ten louis +on Martinez and had shown a decided admiration for his remarkable skill +with the cue.</p> + +<p>"He used to talk about this lady," said one of the markers; "he called her +his 'belle Américaine,' but I am sure he did not know her real name." The +man smiled at Martinez's inordinate vanity over his supposed fascination +for women—he was convinced that no member of the fair sex could resist his +advances.</p> + +<p>With so much in mind Coquenil started up the Champs Elysées about five +o'clock. He counted on finding Mrs. Wilmott home at tea time, and as he +strolled along, turning the problem over in his mind, he found it +conceivable that this eccentric lady, in a moment of ennui or for the +novelty of the thing, might have consented to dine with Martinez in a +private room. It was certain no scruples would have deterred her if the +adventure had seemed amusing, especially as Martinez had no idea who she +was. With her, excitement and a new sensation were the only rules of +conduct, and her husband's opinion was a matter of the smallest possible +consequence. Besides, he would probably never know it!</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wilmott, very languid and stunning, amidst her luxurious surroundings, +received M. Paul with the patronizing indifference that bored rich women +extend to tradespeople. But presently when he explained that he was a +detective and began to question her about the Ansonia affair, she rose with +a haughty gesture that was meant to banish him in confusion from her +presence. Coquenil, however, did not "banish" so easily. He had dealt with +haughty ladies before.</p> + +<p>"My dear madam, please sit down," he said quietly. "I must ask you to +explain how it happens that a number of five-pound notes, given to you by +your husband some days ago, were found on the body of this murdered man."</p> + +<p>"How do I know?" she replied sharply. "I spent the notes in shops; I'm not +responsible 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."</p> + +<p>"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 doing +with this billiard player when he was shot last Saturday night."</p> + +<p>"It's false; I never knew the man," she cried. "It's an outrage for you +to—to intrude on a lady and—and insult her."</p> + +<p>"You used to back his game at the Olympia," continued Coquenil coolly.</p> + +<p>"What of it? I'm fond of billiards. Is that a crime?"</p> + +<p>"You left your cloak and a small leather bag in the <i>vestiaire</i> at the +Ansonia," pursued M. Paul.</p> + +<p>"It isn't true!"</p> + +<p>"Your name was found stamped in gold letters under a leather flap in the +bag."</p> + +<p>She shot a frightened glance at him and then faltered: "It—it was?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil nodded. "Your friend, M. Kittredge, tore the flap out of the bag +and then cut it into small pieces and scattered the pieces from his cab +through dark streets, but I picked up the pieces."</p> + +<p>"You—you did?" she stammered.</p> + +<p>"Yes. <i>Now what were you doing with Martinez in that room?</i>"</p> + +<p>For some moments she did not answer but studied him with frightened, +puzzled eyes. Then suddenly her whole manner changed.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," she smiled, "I didn't get your name?"</p> + +<p>"M. Coquenil," he said.</p> + +<p>"Won't you sit over here? This chair is more comfortable. That's right. +Now, I will tell you <i>exactly</i> what happened." And, settling herself near +him, 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!</p> + +<p>"You see, M. Coquelin—I beg your pardon, M. Coquenil. The names are alike, +aren't they?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the other dryly.</p> + +<p>"Well," she went on quite charmingly, "I have done some foolish things in +my life, but this is the most foolish. I <i>did</i> give Martinez the +five-pound notes. You see, he was to play a match this week with a Russian +and he offered to lay the money for me. He said he could get good odds and +he was sure to win."</p> + +<p>"But the dinner? The private room?"</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders. "I went there for a perfectly proper reason. I +needed some one to help me and I—I couldn't ask a man who knew me so——"</p> + +<p>"Then Martinez didn't know you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not. He was foolish enough to think himself in love with me +and—well, I found it convenient and—amusing to—utilize him."</p> + +<p>"For what?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wilmott bit her red lips and then with some dignity replied that she +did not see what bearing her purpose had on the case since it had not been +accomplished.</p> + +<p>"Why wasn't it accomplished?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Because the man was shot."</p> + +<p>"Who shot him?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"You have no idea?"</p> + +<p>"No idea."</p> + +<p>"But you were present in the room?"</p> + +<p>"Ye-es."</p> + +<p>"You heard the shot? You saw Martinez fall?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but——"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>Now her agitation, increased, she seemed about to make some statement, but +checked herself and simply insisted that she knew nothing about the +shooting. No one had entered the room except herself and Martinez and the +waiter who served them. They had finished the soup; Martinez had left his +seat for a moment; he was standing near her when—when the shot was fired +and he fell to the floor. She had no idea where the shot came from or who +fired it. She was frightened and hurried away from the hotel. That was all.</p> + +<p>Coquenil smiled indulgently. "What did you do with the auger?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"The auger?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it was seen by the cab driver you took when you slipped out of the +hotel in the telephone girl's rain coat."</p> + +<p>"You know that?"</p> + +<p>He nodded and went on: "This cab driver remembers that you had something +under your arm wrapped in a newspaper. Was that the auger?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered weakly.</p> + +<p>"And you threw it into the Seine as you crossed the Concorde bridge?"</p> + +<p>She stared at him in genuine admiration: "My God, you're the cleverest man +I ever met!"</p> + +<p>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 me +a cup of tea. The fact is, I have been so busy with this case I forgot to +eat and I—I feel a little faint." He pressed a hand against his forehead +and Pussy saw that he was very white.</p> + +<p>"You poor man!" she cried in concern. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? I'll +fix it myself. There! Take some of these toasted muffins. What an +extraordinary life you must lead! I can almost forgive you for being so +outrageous because you're so—so interesting." She let her siren eyes shine +on him in a way that had wrought the discomfiture of many a man.</p> + +<p>M. Paul smiled. "I can return the compliment by saying that it isn't every +lady who could throw a clumsy thing like an auger from a moving cab over a +wide roadway and a stone wall and land it in a river. I suppose you threw +it over on the right-hand side?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"How far across the bridge had you got when you threw it? This may help the +divers."</p> + +<p>She thought a moment. "We were a little more than halfway across, I should +say."</p> + +<p>"Thanks. Now who bought this auger?"</p> + +<p>"Martinez."</p> + +<p>"Did <i>you</i> suggest the holes through the wall?"</p> + +<p>"No, he did."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure?"</p> + +<p>"Quite sure."</p> + +<p>"But the holes were bored for you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"Because you wanted to see into the next room?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," in a low tone.</p> + +<p>"And why?"</p> + +<p>She hesitated a moment and then burst out in a flash of feeling: "Because I +knew that a wretched dancing girl was going to be there with——"</p> + +<p>"Yes?" eagerly.</p> + +<p>"With my husband!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XV"></a><h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>PUSSY WILMOTT'S CONFESSION</h3> + +<p>"Then your husband was the person you thought guilty that night?" +questioned Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You told M. Kittredge when you called for him in the cab that you thought +your husband guilty?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but afterwards I changed my mind. My husband had nothing to do with +it. If he had, do you suppose I would have told you this? No doubt he has +misconducted himself, but——"</p> + +<p>"You mean Anita?"</p> + +<p>It was a chance shot, but it went true.</p> + +<p>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!"</p> + +<p>And now Pussy, feeling that she could gain nothing against Coquenil by ruse +or deceit, took refuge in simple truth and told quite charmingly how this +whole tragic adventure had grown out of a foolish fit of jealousy.</p> + +<p>"You see, I found a <i>petit bleu</i> on my husband's dressing table one +morning—I wish to Heaven he would be more careful—and I—I read it. It +began '<i>Mon gros bebe</i>,' and was signed '<i>Ta petite Anita</i>,' and—naturally +I was furious. I have often been jealous of Addison, but he has always +managed 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 the +exact rendezvous was given, nine o'clock Saturday evening, in private room +Number Seven at the Ansonia. I had only to be there, but, of course, I +couldn't go alone, so I got this man, Martinez—he was a perfect fool, I'm +sorry he's been shot, but he was—I got him to take me, because, as I told +you, he didn't know me, and being such a fool, he would do whatever I +wished."</p> + +<p>"What day was it you found the <i>petit bleu?</i>" put in Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"It was Thursday. I saw Martinez that afternoon, and on Friday, he reserved +private room Number Six for Saturday evening."</p> + +<p>"And you are sure it was <i>his</i> scheme to bore the holes?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he said that would be an amusing way of watching Addison without +making a scandal, and I agreed with him; it was the first clever idea I +ever knew him to have."</p> + +<p>"That's a good point!" reflected Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"What is a good point?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, just a thought I had," he answered abstractedly.</p> + +<p>"What a queer man you are!" she said with a little pout. She was not +accustomed to have men inattentive when she sat near them.</p> + +<p>"There's one thing that doesn't seem very clever, though," reflected the +detective. "Didn't Martinez think your husband or Anita would see those +holes in the wall?"</p> + +<p>"No, because he had prepared for that. There was a tall palm in Number +Seven that stood just before the holes and screened them."</p> + +<p>Coquenil looked at her curiously.</p> + +<p>"How do you know there was?"</p> + +<p>"Martinez told me. He had taken the precaution to look in there on Friday +when he engaged Number Six. He knew exactly where to bore the holes."</p> + +<p>"I see. And he put them behind the curtain hangings so that your waiter +wouldn't see them?"</p> + +<p>"That's it."</p> + +<p>"And you held the curtain hangings back while he used the auger?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You see he managed it very well."</p> + +<p>"Very well except for one thing," mused Coquenil, "<i>there wasn't any palm +in Number Six</i>."</p> + +<p>"No?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"That's strange!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it <i>is</i> strange," and again she felt that he was following a separate +train of thought.</p> + +<p>"Did <i>you</i> look through the holes at all?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No, I hadn't time."</p> + +<p>"Did Martinez look through the first hole after it was bored?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but he couldn't see anything, as Number Seven was dark."</p> + +<p>"Then you have absolutely no idea who fired the shot?"</p> + +<p>"Absolutely none."</p> + +<p>"Except you think it wasn't your husband?"</p> + +<p>"I <i>know</i> it wasn't my husband."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that?"</p> + +<p>"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 have +done it. Who else <i>could</i> have done it, since he had engaged Number Seven? +So I waited until he came home. It was after twelve. I could hear him +moving about in his room and I was afraid to speak to him, the thing seemed +so awful; but, at last, I went in and asked him where he had been. He began +to lie in the usual way—you know any man will if he's in a hole like +that—but finally I couldn't stand it any longer and I said: 'Addison, for +God's sake, don't lie to me. I know something terrible has happened, and if +I can, I want to help you.'</p> + +<p>"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 been +committed at the Ansonia in private room Number Seven. I wish you could +have seen his face. He never said a word, he just stared at me. 'Why don't +you speak?' I begged. 'Addison, it wasn't you, tell me it wasn't you. Never +mind this Anita woman, I'll forgive that if you'll only tell me where +you've been to-night.'</p> + +<p>"Well, it was the longest time before I could get anything out of him. You +see, it was quite a shock for Addison getting all this together, caught +with the woman and then the murder on top of it; I had to cry and scold and +get him whisky before he could pull himself together, but he finally did +and made a clean breast of everything."</p> + +<p>"'Pussy,' he said, 'you're all right, you're a plucky little woman, and I'm +a bad lot, but I'm not as bad as that. I wasn't in that room, I didn't go +to the Ansonia to-night, and I swear to God I don't know any more about +this murder than you do.'</p> + +<p>"Then he explained what had happened in his blundering way, stopping every +minute or so to tell me what a saint I am, and the Lord knows <i>that's</i> a +joke, and the gist of it was that he had started for the Ansonia with this +woman, but she had changed her mind in the cab and they had gone to the +Café de Paris instead and spent the evening there. I was pretty sure he +was telling the truth, for Addison isn't clever and I usually know when +he's lying, although I don't tell him so; but this was such an awful thing +that I couldn't take chances, so I said: 'Addison, put your things right +on, we're going to the Café de Paris.' 'What for?' said he. 'To settle this +business,' said I. And off we went and got there at half past one; but the +waiters hadn't gone, and they all swore black and blue that Addison told +the truth, he had really been there all the evening with this woman. And +<i>that</i>," she concluded triumphantly, "is how I know my husband is +innocent."</p> + +<a name="image-18"><!-- Image 18 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/018.jpg" height="300" width="403" +alt=""'They all swore black and blue that Addison told the truth.'""> +</center> + +<h5>"'They all swore black and blue that Addison told the truth.'"</h5> + +<p>"Hm!" reflected Coquenil. "I wonder why Anita changed her mind?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not responsible for Anita," answered Pussy with a dignified whisk of +her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"No, of course not, of course not," he murmured absently; then, after a +moment's thought, he said gravely: "I never really doubted your husband's +innocence, now I'm sure of it; unfortunately, this does not lessen your +responsibility; you were in the room, you witnessed the crime; in fact, you +were the only witness."</p> + +<p>"But I know nothing about it, nothing," she protested.</p> + +<p>"You know a great deal about this young man who is in prison."</p> + +<p>"I know he is innocent."</p> + +<p>Coquenil took off his glasses and rubbed them with characteristic +deliberation. "I hope you can prove it."</p> + +<p>"Of course I can prove it," she declared. "M. Kittredge was arrested +because he called for my things, but I asked him to do that. I was in +terrible trouble and—he was an old friend and—and I knew I could depend +on him. He had no reason to kill Martinez. It's absurd!"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid it's not so absurd as you think. You say he was an old friend, +he must have been a <i>very particular kind</i> of an old friend for you to ask +a favor of him that you knew and he knew would bring him under suspicion. +You did know that, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Why—er—yes."</p> + +<p>"I don't ask what there was between you and M. Kittredge, but if there had +been <i>everything</i> between you he couldn't have done more, could he? And he +couldn't have done less. So a jury might easily conclude, in the absence of +contrary evidence, that there was everything between you."</p> + +<p>"It's false," she cried, while Coquenil with keen discernment watched the +outward signs of her trouble, the clinching of her hands, the heaving of +her bosom, the indignant flashing of her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon for expressing such a thought," he said simply. "It's a +matter that concerns the judge, only ladies dislike going to the Palais de +Justice."</p> + +<p>She started in alarm. "You mean that I might have to go there?"</p> + +<p>"Your testimony is important, and the judge cannot very well come here."</p> + +<p>"But, I'd rather talk to you; really, I would. You can ask me questions +and—and then tell him. Go on, I don't mind. M. Kittredge was <i>not</i> my +lover—there! Please make that perfectly clear. He was a dear, loyal +friend, but nothing more."</p> + +<p>"Was he enough of a friend to be jealous of Martinez?"</p> + +<p>"What was there to make him jealous?"</p> + +<p>"Well," smiled Coquenil, "I can imagine that if a dear, loyal friend found +the lady he was dear and loyal to having supper with another man in a +private room, he <i>might</i> be jealous."</p> + +<p>To which Pussy replied with an accent of finality but with a shade of +pique: "The best proof that M. Kittredge would not be jealous of me is that +he loves another woman."</p> + +<p>"The girl at Notre-Dame?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"But Martinez knew her, too. There might have been trouble over her," +ventured M. Paul shrewdly.</p> + +<p>She shook her head with eager positiveness. "There was no trouble."</p> + +<p>"You never knew of any quarrel between Kittredge and Martinez? No words?"</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"Madam," continued Coquenil, "as you have allowed me to speak frankly, I am +going to ask if you feel inclined to make a special effort to help M. +Kittredge?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do."</p> + +<p>"Even at the sacrifice of your own feelings?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Let me go back a minute. Yesterday you made a plucky effort to serve your +friend, you gave money for a lawyer to defend him, you even said you would +come forward and testify in his favor if it became necessary."</p> + +<p>"Ah, the girl has seen you?"</p> + +<p>"More than that, she has seen M. Kittredge at the prison. And I am sorry to +tell you that your generous purposes have accomplished nothing. He refuses +to accept your money and——"</p> + +<p>"I told you he didn't love me," she interrupted with a touch of bitterness.</p> + +<p>"We must have better evidence than that, just as we must have better +evidence of his innocence than your testimony. After all, you don't <i>know</i> +that he did not fire this shot, you could not <i>see</i> through the wall, and +for all you can say, M. Kittredge <i>may</i> have been in Number Seven."</p> + +<p>"I suppose that's true," admitted Pussy dolefully.</p> + +<p>"So we come back to the question of motive; his love for you or his hatred +of the Spaniard might be a motive, but if we can prove that there was no +such love and no such hatred, then we shall have rendered him a great +service and enormously improved his chances of getting out of prison. Do +you follow me?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly. But how can we prove it?"</p> + +<p>The detective leaned closer and said impressively: "If these things are +true, it ought to be set forth in Kittredge's letters to you."</p> + +<p>It was another chance shot, and Coquenil watched the effect anxiously.</p> + +<p>"His letters to me!" she cried with a start of dismay, while M. Paul nodded +complacently. "He never wrote me letters—that is, not many, and—whatever +there were, I—I destroyed."</p> + +<p>Coquenil eyed her keenly and shook his head. "A woman like you would never +write to a man oftener than he wrote to her, and Kittredge had a thick +bundle of your letters. It was only Saturday night that he burned them, +along with that photograph of you in the lace dress."</p> + +<p>It seemed to Pussy that a cold hand was closing over her heart; it was +ghastly, it was positively uncanny the things this man had found out. She +looked at him in frightened appeal, and then, with a gesture of half +surrender: "For Heaven's sake, how much more do you know about me?"</p> + +<p>"I know that you have a bundle of Kittredge's letters here, possibly in +that desk." He pointed to a charming piece of old mahogany inlaid with +ivory. He had made this last deduction by following her eyes through these +last tortured minutes.</p> + +<p>"It isn't true; I—I tell you I destroyed the letters." And he knew she was +lying.</p> + +<p>M. Paul glanced at his watch and then said quietly: "Would you mind asking +if some one is waiting for me outside?"</p> + +<p>So thoroughly was the agitated lady under the spell of Coquenil's power +that she now attached extraordinary importance to his slightest word or +act. It seemed to her, as she pressed the bell, that she was precipitating +some nameless catastrophe.</p> + +<p>"Is anyone waiting for this gentleman?" she asked, all in a tremble, when +the servant appeared.</p> + +<p>"Yes, madam, two men are waiting," replied the valet.</p> + +<p>She noticed, with a shiver, that he said two men, not two gentlemen.</p> + +<p>"That's all," nodded Coquenil; "I'll let you know when I want them." And +when the valet had withdrawn: "They have come from the prefecture in regard +to these letters."</p> + +<p>Pussy rose and her face was deathly white. "You mean they are policemen? My +house is full of policemen?"</p> + +<p>"Be calm, my dear lady, there are only two in the house and two outside."</p> + +<p>"Oh, the shame of it, the scandal of it!" she wailed.</p> + +<p>"A murder isn't a pleasant thing at the best and—as I said, they have come +for the letters."</p> + +<p>"You told them to come?"</p> + +<p>"No, the judge told them to come. I hoped I might be able to spare you the +annoyance of a search."</p> + +<p>"A search?" she cried, and realizing her helplessness, she sank down on a +sofa and began to cry. "It will disgrace me, it will break up my home, it +will ruin my life!" She could hear the gossips of the American Colony +rolling this choice morsel under their tongues, Pussy Wilmott's house had +been searched by the police for letters from her lover!</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, clutching at a last straw of hope, she yielded or seemed to +yield. "As long as a search must be made," she said with a sort of +half-defiant dignity, "I prefer to have you make it, and not these men."</p> + +<p>"I think that is wise," bowed M. Paul.</p> + +<p>"In which room will you begin?"</p> + +<p>"In this room."</p> + +<p>"I give you my word there are no letters here, but, as you don't believe +me, why—do what you like."</p> + +<p>"I would like to look in that desk," said the detective.</p> + +<p>"Very well—look!"</p> + +<p>Coquenil went to the desk and examined it carefully. There were two drawers +in a raised part at the back, there was a long, wide drawer in front, and +over this a space like a drawer under a large inlaid cover, hinged at the +back. He searched everywhere here, but found no sign of the expected +letters.</p> + +<p>"I must have been mistaken," he muttered, and he continued his search in +other parts of the room, Pussy hovering about with changing expressions +that reminded M. Paul of children's faces when they play the game of "hot +or cold."</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, with an air of disappointment, "I find nothing here. +Suppose we try another room."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," she agreed, and her face brightened in such evident relief +that he turned to her suddenly and said almost regretfully, as a generous +adversary might speak to one whom he hopelessly outclasses: "Madam, I hear +you are fond of gambling. You should study the game of poker, which teaches +us to hide our feelings. Now then," he walked back quickly to the desk, "I +want you to open this secret drawer."</p> + +<p>He spoke with a sudden sternness that quite disconcerted poor Pussy. She +stood before him frozen with fear, unable to lie any more, unable even to +speak. A big tear of weakness and humiliation gathered and rolled down her +cheek, and then, still silent, she took a hairpin from her hair, inserted +one leg of it into a tiny hole quite lost in the ornamental work at the +back of the desk, pushed against a hidden spring, and presto! a small +secret drawer shot forward. In this drawer lay a packet of letters tied +with a ribbon.</p> + +<p>"Are these his letters?" he asked.</p> + +<p>In utter misery she nodded but did not speak.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," he said. "May I take them?"</p> + +<p>She put forward her hands helplessly.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, but, as I said before, a murder isn't a pleasant thing." And he +took the packet from the drawer.</p> + +<p>Then, seeing herself beaten at every point, Pussy Wilmott gave way entirely +and wept angrily, bitterly, her face buried in the sofa pillows.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," repeated M. Paul, and for the first time in the interview he +felt himself at a disadvantage.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't I burn them, why didn't I burn them?" she mourned.</p> + +<p>"You trusted to that drawer," he suggested.</p> + +<p>"No, no, I knew the danger, but I couldn't give them up. They stood for the +best part of my life, the tenderest, the happiest. I've been a weak, wicked +woman!"</p> + +<p>"Any secrets in these letters will be scrupulously respected," he assured +her, "unless they have a bearing on this crime. Is there anything you wish +to say before I go?"</p> + +<p>"Are you going?" she said weakly. And then, turning to him with +tear-stained face, she asked for a moment to collect herself. "I want to +say this," she went on, "that I didn't tell you the truth about Kittredge +and Martinez. There <i>was</i> trouble between them; he speaks about it in one +of his letters. It was about the little girl at Notre-Dame!"</p> + +<p>"You mean Martinez was attentive to her?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Did she encourage him?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. She behaved very strangely—she seemed attracted to him and +afraid of him at the same time. Martinez told me what an extraordinary +effect he had on the girl. He said it was due to his magnetic power."</p> + +<p>"And Kittredge objected to this?"</p> + +<p>"Of course he did, and they had a quarrel. It's all in one of those +letters."</p> + +<p>"Was it a serious quarrel? Did Kittredge make any threats?"</p> + +<p>"I—I'm afraid he did—yes, I know he did. You'll see it in the letter."</p> + +<p>"Do you remember what he said?"</p> + +<p>"Why—er—yes."</p> + +<p>"What was it?"</p> + +<p>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 break +his damned head for him."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVI"></a><h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>THE THIRD PAIR OF BOOTS</h3> + +<p>The wheels of justice move swiftly in Paris, and after one quiet day, +during which Judge Hauteville was drawing together the threads of the +mystery, Kittredge found himself, on Tuesday morning, facing an ordeal +worse than the solitude of a prison cell. The seventh of July! What a date +for the American! How little he realized what was before him as he bumped +along in a prison van breathing the sweet air of a delicious summer +morning! He had been summoned for the double test put upon suspected +assassins in France, a visit to the scene of the crime and a viewing of the +victim's body. In Lloyd's behalf there was present at this grim ceremony +Maître 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 a +dollar it's ice water he's full of," said Kittredge to himself.</p> + +<p>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 had +never seen these holes through the wall, he had never been in the alleyway, +he was absolutely innocent. Maître Pleindeaux nodded in approval. At the +morgue, however, Lloyd showed a certain emotion when a door was opened +suddenly and he was pushed into a room where he saw Martinez sitting on a +chair and looking at him, Martinez with his shattered eye replaced by a +glass one, and his dead face painted to a horrid semblance of life. This +is one of the theatrical tricks of modern procedure, and the American was +not prepared for it.</p> + +<p>"My God!" he muttered, "he looks alive."</p> + +<p>Nothing was accomplished, however, by the questioning here, nothing was +extorted from the prisoner; he had known Martinez, he had never liked him +particularly, but he had never wished to do him harm, and he had certainly +not killed him. That was all Kittredge would say, however the questions +were turned, and he declared repeatedly that he had had no quarrel with +Martinez. All of which was carefully noted down.</p> + +<a name="image-19"><!-- Image 19 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/019.jpg" height="300" width="426" +alt=""A door was opened suddenly and he was pushed into a room.""> +</center> + +<h5>"A door was opened suddenly and he was pushed into a room."</h5> + +<p>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. He +was told to sit down on a chair beside Maître Pleindeaux. A patient +secretary sat at his desk, a formidable guard stood before the door with a +saber sword in his belt. Then the examination began.</p> + +<p>So far Kittredge had heard the voice of justice only in mild and polite +questioning, 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 state +and the hopelessness of any puny lying.</p> + +<p>"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." He +offered the pistol to Lloyd's manacled hands. Maître Pleindeaux took it +with a frown of surprise.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, your honor," he bowed, "I would like to speak to my client +before he answers that question."</p> + +<p>But Kittredge waved him aside. "What's the use," he said. "That is my +pistol; I know it; there's no doubt about it."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" exclaimed Hauteville. "It is also the pistol that killed Martinez. It +was thrown from private room Number Seven at the Ansonia. A woman saw it +thrown, and it was picked up in a neighboring courtyard. One ball was +missing, and that ball was found in the body."</p> + +<p>"There's some mistake," objected Pleindeaux with professional asperity, at +the same time flashing a wrathful look at Lloyd that said plainly: "You see +what you have done!"</p> + +<p>"Now," continued the judge, "you say you have never been in the alleyway +that we showed you at the Ansonia. Look at these boots. Do you recognize +them?"</p> + +<p>Kittredge examined the boots carefully and then said frankly to the judge: +"I thank they are mine."</p> + +<p>"You wore them to the Ansonia on the night of the crime?"</p> + +<p>"I think so."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you sure?"</p> + +<p>"Not absolutely sure, because I have three pairs exactly alike. I always +keep three pairs going at the same time; they last longer that way."</p> + +<p>"I will tell you, then, that this is the pair you had on when you were +arrested."</p> + +<p>"Then it's the pair I wore to the Ansonia."</p> + +<p>"You didn't change your boots after leaving the Ansonia?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Kittredge," said the judge severely, "the man who shot Martinez escaped by +the alleyway and left his footprints on the soft earth. We have made +plaster casts of them. There they are; our experts have examined them and +find that they correspond in every particular with the soles of these +boots. What do you say to this?"</p> + +<p>Lloyd listened in a daze. "I don't see how it's possible," he answered.</p> + +<p>"You still deny having been in the alleyway?"</p> + +<p>"Absolutely."</p> + +<p>"I pass to another point," resumed Hauteville, who was now striding back +and forth with quick turns and sudden stops, his favorite manner of attack. +"You say you had no quarrel with Martinez?"</p> + +<p>A shade of anxiety crossed Lloyd's face, and he looked appealingly at his +counsel, who nodded with a consequential smack of the lips.</p> + +<p>"Is that true?" repeated the judge.</p> + +<p>"Why—er—yes."</p> + +<p>"You never threatened Martinez with violence? Careful!"</p> + +<p>"No, sir," declared Kittredge stubbornly.</p> + +<p>Hauteville turned to his desk, and opening a leather portfolio, drew forth +a paper and held it before Kittredge's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Do you recognize this writing?"</p> + +<p>"It's—it's <i>my</i> writing," murmured Lloyd, and his heart sank. How had the +judge got this letter? And had he the others?</p> + +<p>"You remember this letter? You remember what you wrote about Martinez?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then there <i>was</i> a quarrel and you <i>did</i> threaten him?"</p> + +<p>"I advise my client not to answer that question," interposed the lawyer, +and the American was silent.</p> + +<p>"As you please," said Hauteville, and he went on grimly: "Kittredge, you +have so far refused to speak of the lady to whom you wrote this letter. Now +you must speak of her. It is evident she is the person who called for you +in the cab. Do you deny that?"</p> + +<p>"I prefer not to answer."</p> + +<p>"She was your mistress? Do you deny that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I deny that," cried the American, not waiting for Pleindeaux's +prompting.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" shrugged the judge, and turning to his secretary: "<i>Ask the lady to +come in</i>."</p> + +<p>Then, in a moment of sickening misery, Kittredge saw the door open and a +black figure enter, a black figure with an ashen-white face and frightened +eyes. It was Pussy Wilmott, treading the hard way of the transgressor with +her hair done most becomingly, and breathing a delicate violet fragrance.</p> + +<p>"Take him into the outer room," directed the judge, "until I ring."</p> + +<p>The guard opened the door and motioned to Maître Pleindeaux, who passed out +first, followed by the prisoner and then by the guard himself. At the +threshold Kittredge turned, and for a second his eyes met Pussy's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Please sit down, madam," said the judge, and then for nearly half an hour +he talked to her, questioned her, tortured her. He knew all that Coquenil +knew about her life, and more; all about her two divorces and her various +sentimental escapades. And he presented this knowledge with such startling +effectiveness that before she had been five minutes in his presence poor +Pussy felt that he could lay bare the innermost secrets of her being.</p> + +<p>And, little by little, he dragged from her the story of her relations with +Kittredge, going back to their first acquaintance. This was in New York +about a year before, while she was there on business connected with some +property deeded to her by her second husband, in regard to which there had +been 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 seen +a good deal of M. Kittredge, who frequently spent the evenings with her at +the Hotel Waldorf, where she was stopping. She had met him through mutual +friends, for he was well connected socially in New York, and had soon grown +fond of him. He had been perfectly delightful to her, and—well, things +move rapidly in America, especially in hot weather, and before she realized +it or could prevent it, he was seriously infatuated, and—the end of it +was, when she returned to Paris he followed her on another steamer, an +extremely foolish proceeding, as it involved his giving up a fine position +and getting into trouble with his family.</p> + +<p>"You say he had a fine position in New York?" questioned the judge. "In +what?"</p> + +<p>"In a large real-estate company."</p> + +<p>"And he lived in a nice way? He had plenty of money?"</p> + +<p>"For a young man, yes. He often took me to dinner and to the theater, and +he was always sending me flowers."</p> + +<p>"Did he ever give you presents?"</p> + +<p>"Ye-es."</p> + +<p>"What did he give you?"</p> + +<p>"He gave me a gold bag that I happened to admire one day at Tiffany's."</p> + +<p>"Was it solid gold?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And you accepted it?"</p> + +<p>Pussy flushed under the judge's searching look. "I wouldn't have accepted +it, but this happened just as I was sailing for France. He sent it to the +steamer."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Have you any idea how much M. Kittredge paid for that gold bag?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, for I asked at Tiffany's here and they said the bag cost about four +hundred dollars. When I saw M. Kittredge in Paris I told him he was a +foolish boy to have spent all that money, but he was so sweet about it and +said he was so glad to give me pleasure that I hadn't the heart to refuse +it."</p> + +<p>After a pause for dramatic effect the judge said impressively: "Madam, you +may be surprised to hear that M. Kittredge returned to France on the same +steamer that carried you."</p> + +<p>"No, no," she declared, "I saw all the passengers, and he was not among +them."</p> + +<p>"He was not among the first-cabin passengers."</p> + +<p>"You mean to say he went in the second cabin? I don't believe it."</p> + +<p>"No," answered Hauteville with a grim smile, "he didn't go in the second +cabin, <i>he went in the steerage!</i>"</p> + +<p>"In the steerage!" she murmured aghast.</p> + +<p>"And during the five or six months here in Paris, while he was dancing +attendance on you, he was practically without resources."</p> + +<p>"I know better," she insisted; "he took me out all the time and spent money +freely."</p> + +<p>The judge shook his head. "He spent on you what he got by pawning his +jewelry, by gambling, and sometimes by not eating. We have the facts."</p> + +<p>"<i>Mon Dieu!</i>" she shuddered. "And I never knew it! I never suspected it!"</p> + +<p>"This is to make it quite clear that he loved you as very few women have +been loved. Now I want to know why you quarreled with him six months ago?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't quarrel with him," she answered faintly.</p> + +<p>"You know what I mean. What caused the trouble between you?"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Madam, I am trying to be patient, I wish to spare your feelings in every +possible way, but I <i>must</i> have the truth. Was the trouble caused by this +other woman?"</p> + +<p>"No, it came before he met her."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Which one of you was responsible for it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know; really, I don't know," she insisted with a weary gesture.</p> + +<p>"Then I must do what I can to <i>make</i> you know," he replied impatiently, +and reaching forward, he pressed the electric bell.</p> + +<p>"Bring back the prisoner," he ordered, as the guard appeared, and a moment +later Kittredge was again in his place beside Maître Pleindeaux, with the +woman a few feet distant.</p> + +<p>"Now," began Hauteville, addressing both Lloyd and Mrs. Wilmott, "I come to +an important point. I have here a packet of letters written by you, +Kittredge, to this lady. You have already identified the handwriting as +your own; and you, madam, will not deny that these letters were addressed +to you. You admit that, do you not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Pussy weakly.</p> + +<p>The judge turned over the letters and selected one from which he read a +passage full of passion. "Would any man write words like that to a woman +unless he were her lover? Do you think he would?" He turned to Mrs. +Wilmott, who sat silent, her eyes on the floor. "What do <i>you</i> say, +Kittredge?"</p> + +<p>Lloyd met the judge's eyes unflinchingly, but he did not answer.</p> + +<p>Again Hauteville turned over the letters and selected another one.</p> + +<p>"Listen to this, both of you." And he read a long passage from a letter +overwhelmingly compromising. There were references to the woman's physical +charm, to the beauty of her body, to the deliciousness of her caresses—it +was a letter that could only have been written by a man in a transport of +passion. Kittredge grew white as he listened, and Mrs. Wilmott burned with +shame.</p> + +<p>"Is there any doubt about it?" pursued the judge pitilessly. "And I have +only read two bits from two letters. There are many others. Now I want the +truth about this business. Come, the quickest way will be the easiest."</p> + +<p>He took out his watch and laid it on the desk before him. "Madam, I will +give you five minutes. Unless you admit within that time what is perfectly +evident, namely, that you were this man's mistress, I shall continue the +reading of these letters <i>before your husband</i>."</p> + +<p>"You're taking a cowardly advantage of a woman!" she burst out.</p> + +<p>"No," answered Hauteville sternly. "I am investigating a cowardly murder." +He glanced at his watch. "Four minutes!"</p> + +<p>Then to Kittredge: "And unless <i>you</i> admit this thing, I shall summon the +girl from Notre-Dame and let <i>her</i> say what she thinks of this +correspondence."</p> + +<p>Lloyd staggered under the blow. He was fortified against everything but +this; he would endure prison, pain, humiliation, but he could not bear the +thought that this fine girl, his Alice, who had taught him what love really +was, this fond creature who trusted him, should be forced to hear that +shameful reading.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't do that?" he pleaded. "I don't ask you to spare me—I've been +no saint, God knows, and I'll take my medicine, but you can't drag an +innocent girl into this thing just because you have the power."</p> + +<p>"Were you this woman's lover?" repeated the judge, and again he looked at +his watch. "Three minutes!"</p> + +<p>Kittredge was in torture. Once his eyes turned to Mrs. Wilmott in a message +of unspeakable bitterness. "You're a judge," he said in a strained, tense +voice, "and I'm a prisoner; you have all the power and I have none, but +there's something back of that, something we both have, I mean a common +manhood, and you know, if you have any sense of honor, that <i>no man</i> has a +right to ask another man that question."</p> + +<p>"The point is well taken," approved Maître Pleindeaux.</p> + +<p>"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 my +orders. He will get them by telephone, and will bring your husband here in +a swift automobile. <i>You have one minute left!</i>"</p> + +<p>Then there was silence in that dingy chamber, heavy, agonizing silence. +Fifteen seconds! Thirty seconds! The judge's eye was on his watch. Now his +arm reached toward the electric bell, and Pussy Wilmott's heart almost +stopped beating. Now his firm red finger advanced toward the white button.</p> + +<p>Then she yielded. "Stop!" came her low cry. "He—he was my lover."</p> + +<p>"That is better!" said the judge, and the scratching of the <i>greffier's</i> +pen recorded unalterably Mrs. Wilmott's avowal.</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose you will contradict the lady," said Hauteville, turning to +Kittredge. "I take your silence as consent, and, after all, the lady's +confession is sufficient. You were her lover. And the evidence shows that +you 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 a +cunning and intricate plan, you succeeded in killing the man you hated. We +have found the weapon of this murder, and it belongs to you; we have found +a letter written by you full of violent threats against the murdered man; +we have found footprints made by the assassin, and they absolutely fit +your boots; in short, we have the fact of the murder, the motive for the +murder, and the evidence that you committed the murder. What have you to +say for yourself?"</p> + +<p>Kittredge thought a moment, and then said quietly: "The fact of the murder +you have, of course; the evidence against me you seem to have, although it +is false evidence; but——"</p> + +<p>"How do you mean false evidence? Do you deny threatening Martinez with +violence?"</p> + +<p>"I threatened to punch his head; that is very different from killing him."</p> + +<p>"And the pistol? And the footprints?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, I can't explain it, but—I know I am innocent. You say I had +a motive for this crime. You're mistaken, I had <i>no</i> motive."</p> + +<p>"Passion and jealousy have stood as motives for murder from the beginning +of time."</p> + +<p>"There was <i>no</i> passion and <i>no</i> jealousy," answered Lloyd steadily.</p> + +<p>"Are you mocking me?" cried the judge. "What is there in these letters," he +touched the packet before him, "but passion and jealousy? Didn't you give +up your position in America for this woman?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but——"</p> + +<p>"Didn't you follow her to Europe in the steerage because of your +infatuation? 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 order +to refresh your memory?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Kittredge hoarsely, and his eye was beginning to flame, "my +memory needs no refreshing; I know what I did, I know what I endured. There +was passion enough and jealousy enough, but that was a year ago. If I had +found her then dining with a man in a private room, I don't know what I +might 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 deal +about passion, sir; did you ever hear that it can change into loathing?"</p> + +<p>"You mean—" began the judge with a puzzled look, while Mrs. Wilmott +recoiled in dismay.</p> + +<p>"I mean that I am fighting for my life, and now that <i>she</i> has admitted +this thing," he eyed the woman scornfully, "I am free to tell the truth, +all of it."</p> + +<p>"That is what we want," said Hauteville.</p> + +<p>"I thought I loved her with a fine, true love, but she showed me it was +only a base imitation. I offered her my youth, my strength, my future, and +she would have taken them and—broken them and scattered them in my face +and—and laughed at me. When I found it out, I—well, never mind, but you +can bet all your pretty French philosophy I didn't go about Paris looking +for billiard players to kill on her account."</p> + +<p>It was not a gallant speech, but it rang true, a desperate cry from the +soul depths of this unhappy man, and Pussy Wilmott shrank away as she +listened.</p> + +<p>"Then why did you quarrel with Martinez?" demanded the judge.</p> + +<p>"Because he was interfering with a woman whom I <i>did</i> love and <i>would</i> +fight for——"</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, stop," whispered the lawyer.</p> + +<p>"I mean I would fight for her if necessary," added the American, "but I'd +fight fair, I wouldn't shoot through any hole in a wall."</p> + +<p>"Then you consider your love for this other woman—I presume you mean the +girl at Notre-Dame?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You consider your love for her a fine, pure love in contrast to the other +love?"</p> + +<p>"The other wasn't love at all, it was passion."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"That's not true," cried Lloyd. "I was a fool through passion, I've been +something like a man through love. I was selfish and reckless through +passion, I've been a little unselfish and halfway decent through love. I +was a gambler and a pleasure seeker through passion, I've gone to work at a +mean little job and stuck to it and lived on what I've earned—through +love. Do you think it's easy to give up gambling? Try it! Do you think it's +easy to live in a measly little room up six flights of black, smelly +stairs, with no fire in winter? Anyhow, it wasn't easy for me, but I did +it—through love, yes, sir, <i>pure</i> love."</p> + +<p>As Hauteville listened, his frown deepened, his eyes grew harder. "That's +all very fine," he objected, "but if you hated this woman, why did you risk +prison and—worse, to get her things? You knew what you were risking, I +suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I knew."</p> + +<p>"Why did you do it?"</p> + +<p>Kittredge hesitated. "I did it for—for what she had been to me. It meant +ruin and disgrace for her and—well, if she could ask such a thing, I could +grant it. It was like paying a debt, and—I paid mine."</p> + +<p>The judge turned to Mrs. Wilmott: "Did you know that he had ceased to love +you?"</p> + +<p>Pussy Wilmott, with her fine eyes to the floor, answered almost in a +whisper: "Yes, I knew it."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what he means by saying that you would have spoiled his life +and—and all that?"</p> + +<p>"N-not exactly."</p> + +<p>"You <i>do</i> know!" cried the American. "You know I had given you my life in +sacred pledge, and you made a plaything of it. You told me you were +unhappy, married to a man you loathed, a dull brute; but when I offered you +freedom and my love, you drew back. When I begged you to leave him and +become my wife, with the law's sanction, you said no, because I was poor +and he was rich. You wanted a lover, but you wanted your luxury, too; and I +saw that what I had thought the call of your soul was only the call of your +body. Your beauty had blinded me, your eyes, your mouth, your voice, the +smell of you, the taste of you, the devilish siren power of you, all these +had blinded me. I saw that your talk about love was a lie. Love! What did +you know about love? You wanted me, along with your ease and your +pleasures, as a coarse creator of sensations, and you couldn't have me on +those terms. In my madness I would have done anything for you, borne +anything; I would have starved for you, toiled for you, yes, gladly; but +you didn't want that kind of sacrifice. You couldn't see why I worried +about money. There was plenty for us both where yours came from. God! Where +yours came from! Why couldn't I leave well enough alone and enjoy an easy +life in Paris, with a nicely furnished <i>rez de chaussée</i> off the Champs +Elysées, where madam could drive up in her carriage after luncheon and +break the Seventh Commandment comfortably three of four afternoons a week, +and be home in time to dress for dinner! That was what you wanted," he +paused and searched deep into her eyes as she cowered before him, "but +<i>that was what you couldn't have!</i>"</p> + +<p>"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 of +the examination.</p> + +<p>"Queer!" muttered the detective. "He says he had three pairs of boots."</p> + +<p>"He talks too much," continued Hauteville; "his whole plea was ranting. +It's a <i>crime passionel</i>, if ever there was one, and—I shall commit him +for trial."</p> + +<p>Coquenil was not listening; he had drawn two squares of shiny paper from +his pocket, and was studying them with a magnifying glass. The judge looked +at him in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Do you hear what I say?" he repeated. "I shall commit him for trial."</p> + +<p>M. Paul glanced up with an absent expression. "It's circumstantial +evidence," was all he said, and he went back to his glass.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but a strong chain of it."</p> + +<p>"A strong chain," mused the other, then suddenly his face lighted and he +sprang to his feet. "Great God of Heaven!" he cried in excitement, and +hurrying to the window he stood there in the full light, his eye glued to +the magnifying glass, his whole soul concentrated on those two pieces of +paper, evidently photographs.</p> + +<p>"What is it? What have you found?" asked the judge.</p> + +<p>"I have found a weak link that breaks your whole chain," triumphed M. Paul. +"The alleyway footprints are <i>not</i> identical with the soles of Kittredge's +boots."</p> + +<p>"But you said they were, the experts said they were."</p> + +<p>"We were mistaken; they are <i>almost</i> identical, but not quite; in shape and +size they are identical, in the number and placing of the nails in the heel +they are identical, in the worn places they are identical, but when you +compare them under the magnifying glass, this photograph of the footprints +with this one of the boot soles, you see unmistakable differences in the +scratches on separate nails in the heel, unmistakable differences."</p> + +<p>Hauteville shrugged his shoulders. "That's cutting it pretty fine to +compare microscopic scratches on the heads of small nails."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. Don't we compare microscopic lines on criminals' thumbs? +Besides, it's perfectly plain," insisted Coquenil, absorbed in his +comparison. "I can count forty or fifty nail heads in the heel, and <i>none</i> +of them correspond under the glass; those that should be alike are <i>not</i> +alike. There are slight differences in size, in position, in wear; they are +not the same set of nails; it's impossible. Look for yourself. Compare any +two and you'll see <i>that they were never in the same pair of boots!</i>"</p> + +<p>With an incredulous movement Hauteville took the glass, and in his turn +studied the photographs. As he looked, his frown deepened.</p> + +<p>"It seems true, it certainly seems true," he grumbled, "but—how do you +account for it?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil smiled in satisfied conviction. "Kittredge told you he had three +pairs of boots; they were machine made and the same size; he says he kept +them all going, so they were all worn approximately alike. We have the pair +that he wore that night, and another pair found in his room, but the third +pair is missing. <i>It's the third pair of boots that made those alleyway +footprints!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Then you think—" began the judge.</p> + +<p>"I think we shall have found Martinez's murderer when we find the man who +stole that third pair of boots."</p> + +<p>"Stole them?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil nodded.</p> + +<p>"But that is all conjecture."</p> + +<p>"It won't be conjecture to-morrow morning—it will be absolute proof, +unless——"</p> + +<p>"Unless what?"</p> + +<p>"Unless Kittredge lied when he told that girl he had never suffered with +gout or rheumatism."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVII"></a><h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>"FROM HIGHER UP"</h3> + +<p>A great detective must have infinite patience. That is, the quality next to +imagination that will serve him best. Indeed, without patience, his +imagination will serve him but indifferently. Take, for instance, so small +a thing as the auger used at the Ansonia. Coquenil felt sure it had been +bought for the occasion—billiard players do not have augers conveniently +at hand. It was probably a new one, and somewhere in Paris there was a +clerk who <i>might</i> remember selling it and <i>might</i> be able to say whether +the purchaser was Martinez or some other man. M. Paul believed it was +another man. His imagination told him that the person who committed this +crime had suggested the manner of it, and overseen the details of it down +to even the precise placing of the eye holes. It must be so or the plan +would not have succeeded. The assassin, then, was a friend of +Martinez—that is, the Spaniard had considered him a friend, and, as it was +of the last importance that these holes through the wall be large enough +and not too large, this friend might well have seen personally to the +purchase of the auger, not leaving it to a rattle-brained billiard player +who, doubtless, regarded the whole affair as a joke. It was <i>not</i> a joke!</p> + +<p>So, as part of his day's work, M. Paul had taken steps for the finding of +this smallish object dropped into the Seine by Pussy Wilmott, and, betimes +on the morning after that lady's examination, a diver began work along the +Concorde bridge under the guidance of a young detective named Bobet, +selected for this duty by M. Paul himself. This was <i>one</i> thread to be +followed, a thread that might lead poor Bobet through weary days and nights +until, among all the hardware shops in Paris, he had found the particular +one where that particular auger had been sold!</p> + +<p>Another thread, meanwhile, was leading another trustworthy man in and out +among friends of Martinez, whom he must study one by one until the false +friend had been discovered. And another thread was hurrying still another +man along the trail of the fascinating Anita, for Coquenil wanted to find +out <i>why</i> she had changed her mind that night, and what she knew about the +key to the alleyway door. Somebody gave that key to the assassin!</p> + +<p>Besides all this, and more important, M. Paul had planned a piece of work +for Papa Tignol when the old man reported for instructions this same +Wednesday morning just as the detective was finishing his chocolate and +toast under the trees in the garden.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Tignol!" he exclaimed with a buoyant smile. "It's a fine day, all the +birds are singing and—we're going to do great things." He rubbed his hands +exultantly, "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, if +possible, and spend your time playing the flute."</p> + +<p>"Playing the flute?" gasped Tignol. "I don't know how to play the flute."</p> + +<p>"All the better! Spend your time learning! There is no one who gets so +quickly in touch with his neighbors as a man learning to play the flute."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" grinned the other shrewdly. "You're after information from the sixth +floor?"</p> + +<p>M. Paul nodded and told his assistant exactly what he wanted.</p> + +<p>"Eh, eh!" chuckled the old man. "A droll idea! I'll learn to play the +flute!"</p> + +<p>"Meet me at nine to-night at the Three Wise Men and—good luck. I'm off to +the Santé."</p> + +<p>As he drove to the prison Coquenil thought with absorbed interest of the +test he was planning to settle this question of the footprints. He was +satisfied, from a study of the plaster casts, that the assassin had limped +slightly on his left foot as he escaped through the alleyway. The +impressions showed this, the left heel being heavily marked, while the ball +of the left foot was much fainter, as if the left ankle movement had been +hampered by rheumatism or gout. It was for this reason that Coquenil had +been at such pains to learn whether Kittredge suffered from these maladies. +It appeared that he did not. Indeed, M. Paul himself remembered the young +man's quick, springy step when he left the cab that fatal night to enter +Bonneton's house. So now he proposed to make Lloyd walk back and forth +several times in a pair of his own boots over soft earth in the prison yard +and then show that impressions of these new footprints were different <i>in +the pressure marks</i>, and probably in the length of stride, from those left +in the alleyway. This would be further indication, along with the +differences already noted in the nails, that the alleyway footprints were +not made by Kittredge.</p> + +<p>Not made by Kittredge, reflected the detective, but by a man wearing +Kittredge'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 he +had doubtless stolen the pistol, to throw suspicion on an innocent person. +No other conclusion was possible; yet, he had not returned the boots to +Kittredge's room after the crime. Why not? It was essential to his purpose +that they be found in Kittredge's room, he must have intended to return +them, something quite unforeseen must have prevented him from doing so. +<i>What had prevented the assassin from returning Kittredge's boots?</i></p> + +<p>As soon as Coquenil reached the prison he was shown into the director's +private room, and he noticed that M. Dedet received him with a strange +mixture of surliness and suspicion.</p> + +<p>"What's the trouble?" asked the detective.</p> + +<p>"Everything," snarled the other, then he burst out: "What the devil did you +mean by sending that girl to me?"</p> + +<p>"What did I mean?" repeated Coquenil, puzzled by the jailer's hostility. +"Didn't she tell you what she wanted?"</p> + +<p>Dedet made no reply, but unlocking a drawer, he searched among some +envelopes, and producing a square of faded blotting paper, he opened it +before his visitor.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Coquenil studied the words with increasing perplexity. "I have no idea what +this means," he declared.</p> + +<p>"You lie!" retorted the jailer.</p> + +<p>M. Paul sprang to his feet. "Take that back," he ordered with a look of +menace, and the rough man grumbled an apology. "Just the same," he +muttered, "it's mighty queer how she knew it unless you told her."</p> + +<p>"Knew what?"</p> + +<p>The jailer eyed Coquenil searchingly. "<i>Nom d'un chien</i>, I guess you're +straight, after all, but—<i>how</i> did she come to write that?" He scratched +his dull head in mystification.</p> + +<p>"I have no idea."</p> + +<p>"See here," went on Dedet, almost appealingly, "do you believe a girl I +never saw could know a thing about me that <i>nobody</i> knows?"</p> + +<p>"Strange!" mused the detective. "Is it an important thing?"</p> + +<p>"Is it? If it hadn't been about the <i>most</i> important thing, do you think +I'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."</p> + +<p>Coquenil thought a moment. "I don't suppose you want to tell me what these +words mean that she wrote?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't," said the jailer dryly.</p> + +<p>"All right. Anyhow, you see I had nothing to do with it." He paused, and +then in a businesslike tone: "Well, I'd better get to work. I want that +prisoner out in the courtyard."</p> + +<p>"Can't have him."</p> + +<p>"No? Here's the judge's order."</p> + +<p>But the other shook his head. "I've had later orders, just got 'em over the +telephone, saying you're not to see the prisoner."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"That's right, and <i>he</i> wants to see you."</p> + +<p>"He? Who?"</p> + +<p>"The judge. They've called me down, now it's your turn."</p> + +<p>Coquenil took off his glasses and rubbed them carefully. Then, without more +discussion, 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?</p> + +<p>As he approached the lower arm of the river where it enfolds the old island +city, he saw Bobet sauntering along the quay and drew up to speak to him.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing here?" he asked. "I told you to watch that diver."</p> + +<p>The young detective shrugged his shoulders. "The job's done, he found the +auger."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Where is it?"</p> + +<p>"I gave it to M. Gibelin."</p> + +<p>Coquenil could scarcely believe his ears.</p> + +<p>"You gave the auger to Gibelin? Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because he told me to."</p> + +<p>"You must be crazy! Gibelin had nothing to do with this. You take your +orders from me."</p> + +<p>"Do I?" laughed the other. "M. Gibelin says I take orders from him."</p> + +<p>"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 the +office of Judge Hauteville. On the stairs he met Gibelin, fat and +perspiring.</p> + +<p>"See here," he said abruptly, "what have you done with that auger?"</p> + +<p>"Put it in the department of old iron," rasped the other. "We can't waste +time on foolish clews."</p> + +<p>Coquenil glared at him. "We can't, eh? I suppose <i>you</i> have decided that?"</p> + +<p>"Precisely," retorted Gibelin, his red mustache bristling.</p> + +<p>"And you've been giving orders to young Bobet?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"By what authority?"</p> + +<p>"Go in there and you'll find out," sneered the fat man, jerking a derisive +thumb toward Hauteville's door.</p> + +<p>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 and +concern.</p> + +<p>"My dear Coquenil," exclaimed Hauteville, with cordial hand extended. "I'm +glad to see you but—you must prepare for bad news."</p> + +<p>Coquenil eyed him steadily. "I see, they have taken me off this case."</p> + +<p>The judge nodded gravely. "Worse than that, they have taken you off the +force. Your commission is canceled."</p> + +<p>"But—but why?" stammered the other.</p> + +<p>"For influencing Dedet to break a rule about a prisoner <i>au secret</i>; as a +matter of fact, you were foolish to write that letter."</p> + +<p>"I thought the girl might get important evidence from her lover."</p> + +<p>"No doubt, but you ought to have asked me for an order. I would have given +it to you, and then there would have been no trouble."</p> + +<p>"It was late and the matter was urgent. After all you approve of what I +did?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but not of the way you did it. Technically you were at fault, +and—I'm afraid you will have to suffer."</p> + +<p>M. Paul thought a moment.</p> + +<p>"Did you make the complaint against me?"</p> + +<p>"No, no! Between ourselves, I should have passed the thing over as +unimportant, but—well, the order came from higher up."</p> + +<p>"You mean the chief revoked my commission?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, I haven't seen the chief, but the order came from his +office."</p> + +<p>"With this prison affair given as the reason?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And now Gibelin is in charge of the case?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And I am discharged from the force? Discharged in disgrace?"</p> + +<p>"It's a great pity, but——"</p> + +<p>"Do you think I'll stand for it? Do you know me so little as that?" cut in +the other with increasing heat.</p> + +<p>"I don't see what you're going to do," opposed the judge mildly.</p> + +<p>"You don't? Then I'll tell you that—" Coquenil checked himself at a sudden +thought. "After all, what I do is not important, but I'll tell you what +Gibelin will do, and that <i>is</i> important, <i>he will let this American go to +trial and be found guilty for want of evidence that would save him</i>."</p> + +<p>"Not if I can help it," replied Hauteville, ruffled at this reflection on +his judicial guidance of the investigation.</p> + +<p>"No offense," said M. Paul, "but this is a case where even as able a judge +as yourself must have special assistance and—Gibelin couldn't find the +truth in a thousand years. Do <i>you</i> think he's fit to handle this case?"</p> + +<p>"Officially I have no opinion," answered Hauteville guardedly, "but I don't +mind telling you personally that I—I'm sorry to lose you."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said M. Paul. "I think I'll have a word with the chief."</p> + +<p>In the outer office Coquenil learned that M. Simon was just then in +conference with one of the other judges and for some minutes he walked +slowly up and down the long corridor, smiling bitterly, until presently +one of the doors opened and the chief came out followed by a black bearded +judge, who was bidding him obsequious farewell.</p> + +<p>As M. Simon moved away briskly, his eye fell on the waiting detective, and +his genial face clouded.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Coquenil," he said, and with a kindly movement he took M. Paul's arm +in his. "I want a word with you—over here," and he led the way to a wide +window space. "I'm sorry about this business."</p> + +<p>"Sorry?" exclaimed M. Paul. "So is Hauteville sorry, but—if you're sorry, +why did you let the thing happen?"</p> + +<p>"Not so loud," cautioned M. Simon. "My dear fellow, I assure you I couldn't +help it, I had nothing to do with it."</p> + +<p>Coquenil stared at him incredulously. "Aren't you chief of the detective +bureau?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the other in a low tone, "but the order came from—from +higher up."</p> + +<p>"You mean from the <i>préfet de police?</i>"</p> + +<p>M. Simon laid a warning finger on his lips. "This is in strictest +confidence, the order came through his office, but I don't believe the +<i>préfet</i> issued it personally. <i>It came from higher up!</i>"</p> + +<p>"From higher up!" repeated M. Paul, and his thoughts flashed back to that +sinister meeting on the Champs Elysées, to that harsh voice and flaunting +defiance.</p> + +<p>"He said he had power, that left-handed devil," muttered the detective, "he +said he had the biggest kind of power, and—I guess he has."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a><h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>A LONG LITTLE FINGER</h3> + +<p>Coquenil kept his appointment that night at the Three Wise Men and found +Papa Tignol waiting for him, his face troubled even to the tip of his +luminous purple nose. In vain the old man tried to show interest in a +neighboring game of dominoes; the detective saw at a glance that his +faithful friend had heard the bad news and was mourning over it.</p> + +<p>"Ah, M. Paul," cried Tignol. "This is a pretty thing they tell me. <i>Nom +d'un chien</i>, what a pack of fools they are!"</p> + +<p>"Not so loud," cautioned Coquenil with a quiet smile. "It's all right, Papa +Tignol, it's all for the best."</p> + +<p>"All for the best?" stared the other. "But if you're off the force?"</p> + +<p>"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. Good +evening, Lucien," and he shook hands cordially with the commissary, whose +face wore a serious, inquiring look. "Will you have something, or shall we +move on?" and, under his breath, he added: "Say you don't want anything."</p> + +<p>"I don't want anything," obeyed Pougeot with a puzzled glance.</p> + +<p>"Then come, it's a quarter past ten," and tossing some money to the waiter, +Coquenil led the way out.</p> + +<p>Drawn up in front of the tavern was a taxi-auto, the chauffeur bundled up +to the ears in bushy gray furs, despite the mild night. There was a +leather bag beside him.</p> + +<p>"Is this your man?" asked Pougeot.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said M. Paul, "get in. If you don't mind I'll lower this front +window so that we can feel the air." Then, when the commissary and Tignol +were seated, he gave directions to the driver. "We will drive through the +<i>bois</i> and go out by the Porte Dauphine. Not too fast."</p> + +<p>The man touched his cap respectfully, and a few moments later they were +running smoothly to the west, over the wooden pavement of the Rue de +Rivoli.</p> + +<p>"Now we can talk," said Coquenil with an air of relief. "I suppose you both +know what has happened?"</p> + +<p>The two men replied with sympathetic nods.</p> + +<p>"I regard you, Lucien, as my best friend, and you, Papa Tignol, are the +only man on the force I believe I can absolutely trust."</p> + +<p>Tignol bobbed his little bullet head back and forth, and pulled furiously +at his absurd black mustache. This, was the greatest compliment he had ever +received. The commissary laid an affectionate hand on Coquenil's arm. "You +know I'll stand by you absolutely, Paul; I'll do anything that is possible. +How do you feel about this thing yourself?"</p> + +<p>"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 have +thrown myself into it. This is Wednesday night, the crime was committed +last Saturday, and in these four days I haven't slept twelve hours. As to +eating—well, never mind that. The point is, I was in it, heart and soul, +and—now I'm out of it."</p> + +<p>"An infernal shame!" muttered Tignol.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not. I've done some hard thinking since I got word this morning +that my commission was canceled, and I have reached an important +conclusion. In the first place, I am not sure that I haven't fallen into +the old error of allowing my judgment to be too much influenced by a +preconceived theory. I wouldn't admit this for the world to anyone but you +two. I'd rather cut my tongue out than let Gibelin know it. Careful, +there," he said sharply, as their wheels swung dangerously near a stone +shelter in the Place de la Concorde.</p> + +<p>Both Pougeot and Tignol noted with surprise the half-resigned, +half-discouraged tone of the famous detective.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean that you think the American may be guilty?" questioned the +commissary.</p> + +<p>"Never in the world!" grumbled Tignol.</p> + +<p>"I don't say he is guilty," answered M. Paul, "but I am not so sure he is +innocent. And, if there is doubt about that, then there is doubt whether +this case is really a great one. I have assumed that Martinez was killed by +an extraordinary criminal, for some extraordinary reason, but—I may have +been mistaken."</p> + +<p>"Of course," agreed Pougeot. "And if you were mistaken?"</p> + +<p>"Then I've been wasting my time on a second-class investigation that a +second-class man like Gibelin could have carried on as well as I; and +losing the Rio Janeiro offer besides." He leaned forward suddenly toward +the chauffeur. "See here, what are you trying to do?" As he spoke they +barely escaped colliding with a cab coming down the Champs Elysées.</p> + +<p>"It was his fault; one of his lanterns is out," declared the chauffeur, +and, half turning, he exchanged curses with the departing jehu.</p> + +<p>They had now reached Napoleon's arch, and, at greater speed, the automobile +descended the Avenue de la Grande Armée.</p> + +<p>"Are you thinking of accepting the Rio Janeiro offer?" asked the commissary +presently.</p> + +<p>"Very seriously; but I don't know whether it's still open. I thought +perhaps 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?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't mind, of course I don't mind," answered, Pougeot, "but, my +dear Paul, aren't you a little on your nerves to-night; oughtn't you to +think the whole matter over before deciding?"</p> + +<p>"That's right," agreed Tignol.</p> + +<p>"What is there to think about?" said Coquenil. "If you've got anything to +say, either of you, say it now. Run on through the <i>bois</i>," he directed the +chauffeur, "and then out on the St. Cloud road. This air is doing me a lot +of good," he added, drawing in deep breaths.</p> + +<p>For some minutes they sat silent, speeding along through the Bois de +Boulogne, dimly beautiful under a crescent moon, on past crowded +restaurants with red-clad musicians on the terraces, on past the silent +lake and then through narrow and deserted roads until they had crossed the +great park and emerged upon the high-way.</p> + +<p>"Where are we going, anyway?" inquired Tignol.</p> + +<p>"For a little ride, for a little change," sighed M. Paul.</p> + +<p>"Come, come," urged Pougeot, "you are giving way too much. Now listen to +me."</p> + +<p>Then, clearly and concisely, the commissary went over the situation, +considering his friend's problem from various points of view; and so +absorbed was he in fairly setting forth the advantages and disadvantages of +the Rio Janeiro position that he did not observe Coquenil's utter +indifference to what he was saying. But Papa Tignol saw this, and +gradually, as he watched the detective with his shrewd little eyes, it +dawned upon the old man that they were not speeding along here in the +night, a dozen miles out of Paris, simply for their health, but that +something special was preparing.</p> + +<p>"What in the mischief is Coquenil up to?" wondered Tignol.</p> + +<p>And presently, even Pougeot, in spite of his preoccupation, began to +realize that there was something peculiar about this night promenade, for +as they reached a crossroad, M. Paul ordered the chauffeur to turn into it +and go ahead as fast as he pleased. The chauffeur hesitated, muttered some +words of protest, and then obeyed.</p> + +<p>"We are getting right out into wild country," remarked the commissary.</p> + +<p>"Don't you like wild country?" laughed Coquenil. "I do." It was plain that +his spirits were reviving.</p> + +<p>They ran along this rough way for several miles, and presently came to a +small house standing some distance back from the road.</p> + +<p>"Stop here!" ordered the detective. "Now," he turned to Pougeot, "I shall +learn something that may fix my decision." Then, leaning forward to the +chauffeur, he said impressively: "Ten francs extra if you help me now."</p> + +<p>These words had an immediate effect upon the man, who touched his cap and +asked what he was to do.</p> + +<p>"Go to this house," pointed M. Paul, "ring the bell and ask if there is a +note 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?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Oui, m'sieur</i>," replied the chauffeur, and, saluting again, he strode +away toward the house.</p> + +<p>The detective watched his receding figure as it disappeared in the shadows, +then he called out: "Wait, I forgot something."</p> + +<p>The chauffeur turned obediently and came back.</p> + +<p>"Take a good look at him now," said Coquenil to Tignol in a low tone. Then +to the man: "There's a bad piece of ground in the yard; you'd better have +this," and, without warning, he flashed his electric lantern full in the +chauffeur's face.</p> + +<p>"<i>Merci, m'sieur,</i>" said the latter stolidly after a slight start, and +again he moved away, while Tignol clutched M. Paul's arm in excitement.</p> + +<p>"You saw him?" whispered the detective.</p> + +<p>"Did I see him!" exulted the other. "Oh, the cheek of that fellow!"</p> + +<p>"You recognized him?"</p> + +<p>"Did I? I'd know those little pig eyes anywhere. And that brush of a +mustache! Only half of it was blacked."</p> + +<p>"Good; that's all I want," and, stepping out of the auto, Coquenil changed +quickly to the front seat. Then he drew the starting lever and the machine +began to move.</p> + +<p>"Halloa! What are you doing?" cried the chauffeur, running toward them.</p> + +<p>"Going back to Paris!" laughed Coquenil. "Hope you find the walking good, +Gibelin!"</p> + +<p>"It's only fifteen miles," taunted Tignol.</p> + +<p>"You loafer, you blackguard, you dirty dog!" yelled Gibelin, dancing in a +rage.</p> + +<p>"Try to be more original in your detective work," called M. Paul. "<i>Au +revoir</i>."</p> + +<p>They shot away rapidly, while the outraged and discomfited fat man stood in +the middle of the road hurling after them torrents of blasphemous abuse +that soon grew faint and died away.</p> + +<p>"What in the world does this mean?" asked Pougeot in astonishment.</p> + +<p>Coquenil slowed down the machine and turned. "I can't talk now; I've got to +drive this thing. It's lucky I know how."</p> + +<p>"But—just a moment. That note for M. Robert? There was <i>no</i> Robert?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not."</p> + +<p>"And—and you knew it was Gibelin all the time?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Be patient, Lucien, until we get back and I'll tell you everything."</p> + +<p>The run to Paris took nearly an hour, for they made a détour, and Coquenil +drove cautiously; but they arrived safely, shortly after one, and left the +automobile at the company's garage, with the explanation (readily accepted, +since a police commissary gave it) that the man who belonged with the +machine had met with an accident; indeed, this was true, for the genuine +chauffeur had used Gibelin's bribe money in unwise libations and appeared +the next morning with a battered head and a glib story that was never fully +investigated.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Coquenil, as they left the garage, "where can we go and be +quiet? A café is out of the question—we mustn't be seen. Ah, that room you +were to take," he turned to Tignol. "Did you get it?"</p> + +<p>"I should say I did," grumbled the old man, "I've something to tell you."</p> + +<p>"Tell me later," cut in the detective. "We'll go there. We can have +something to eat sent in and—" he smiled indulgently at Tignol—"and +something to drink. Hey, <i>cocher!</i>" he called to a passing cab, and a +moment later the three men were rolling away to the Latin Quarter, with +Coquenil's leather bag on the front seat.</p> + +<p>"<i>Enfin!</i>" sighed Pougeot, when they were finally settled in Tignol's room, +which they reached after infinite precautions, for M. Paul seemed to +imagine that all Paris was in a conspiracy to follow them.</p> + +<p>"I've been watched every minute since I started on this case," he said +thoughtfully. "My house has been watched, my servant has been watched, my +letters have been opened; there isn't one thing I've done that they don't +know."</p> + +<p>"They? Who?" asked the commissary.</p> + +<p>"Ah, who?" repeated M. Paul. "If I only knew. You saw what they did with +Gibelin to-night, set him after me when he is supposed to be handling this +case. 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 straight +in this thing. <i>It's some one above the chief</i>. Lucien, I told you this was +a great case and—it is."</p> + +<p>"Then you didn't mean what you were saying in the automobile about having +doubts?"</p> + +<p>"Not a word of it."</p> + +<p>"That was all for Gibelin?"</p> + +<p>"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 at +the last."</p> + +<p>"And you're <i>not</i> thinking of going to Rio Janeiro?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil shut his teeth hard, and there came into his eyes a look of +indomitable purpose. "Not while the murderer of Martinez is walking about +this town laughing at me. I expect to do some laughing myself before I get +through with this case."</p> + +<p>Both men stared at him. "But you are through."</p> + +<p>"Am I? Ha! Through? I want to tell you, my friends, that I've barely +begun."</p> + +<p>"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 with +the whole prefecture to help you?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil paused, and then said mysteriously: "That's the point, <i>did</i> they +help me? Or hinder me? One thing is certain: that if I work alone, I won't +have to make daily reports for the guidance of some one higher up."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean—" began the commissary with a startled look.</p> + +<p>M. Paul nodded gravely. "I certainly do—there's no other way of explaining +the facts. I was discharged for a trivial offense just as I had evidence +that would prove this American innocent. They don't <i>want</i> him proved +innocent. And they are so afraid I will discover the truth that they let +the whole investigation wait while Gibelin shadows me. Well, he's off my +track now, and by to-morrow they can search Paris with a fine-tooth comb +and they won't find a trace of Paul Coquenil."</p> + +<p>"You're going away?"</p> + +<p>"No. I'm going to—to disappear," smiled the detective. "I shall work in +the dark, and, when the time comes, I'll <i>strike</i> in the dark."</p> + +<p>"You'll need money?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil shook his head. "I have all the money I want, and know where to go +for more. Besides, my old partner here is going to lay off for a few weeks +and work with me. Eh, Papa Tignol?"</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"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 have +to call on you suddenly; you may get some strange message by some queer +messenger. Look at this ring. Will you know it? A brown stone marked with +Greek 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'll +listen to anyone who brings you this ring, old friend? Eh?"</p> + +<p>Pougeot grasped M. Paul's hand and wrung it affectionately. "And honor his +request to the half of my kingdom," he laughed, but his eyes were moist. He +had a vivid impression that his friend was entering on a way of great and +unknown peril.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Coquenil cheerfully, "I guess that's all for to-night. There's +a couple of hours' work still for Papa Tignol and me, but it's half past +two, Lucien, and, unless you think of something——"</p> + +<p>"No, except to wish you luck," replied the commissary, and he started to +go.</p> + +<p>"Wait," put in Tignol, "there's something <i>I</i> think of. You forget I've +been playing the flute to-day."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, of course! Any news?" questioned the detective.</p> + +<p>The old man rubbed his nose meditatively. "My news is asleep in the next +room. If it wasn't so late I'd bring him in. He's a little shrimp of a +photographer, but—he's seen your murderer, all right."</p> + +<p>"The devil!" started M. Paul. "Where?"</p> + +<p>Tignol drew back the double doors of a long window, and pointed out to a +balcony running along the front of the hotel.</p> + +<p>"There! Let me tell you first how this floor is arranged. There are six +rooms opening on that balcony. See here," and taking a sheet of paper, he +made a rough diagram.</p> + +<center> +<img src="img/diag2.jpg" height="132" width="400" +alt="Diagram of floor-plan of rooms."> +</center> + +<p>"Now, then," continued Papa Tignol, surveying his handiwork with pride, "I +think that is clear. B, here, is the balcony just outside, and there are +the six rooms with windows opening on it. We are in this room D, and my +friend, the little photographer, is in the next room E, peacefully +sleeping; but he wasn't peaceful when he came home to-night and heard me +playing that flute, although I played in my best manner, eh, eh! He stood +it for about ten minutes, and then, eh, eh! It was another case of through +the wall, first one boot, bang! then another boot, smash! only there were +no holes for the boots to come through. And then it was profanity! For a +small man he had a great deal of energy, eh, eh! that shrimp photographer! +I called him a shrimp when he came bouncing in here."</p> + +<p>"Well, well?" fretted Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"Then we got acquainted. I apologized and offered him beer, which he +likes; then he apologized and told me his troubles. Poor fellow, I don't +wonder his nerves are unstrung! He's in love with a pretty dressmaker who +lives in this room C. She is fair but fickle—he tells me she has made him +unhappy by flirting with a medical student who lives in this room G. Just a +minute, I'm coming to the point.</p> + +<p>"It seems the little photographer has been getting more and more jealous +lately. He was satisfied that his lady love and the medical student used +this balcony as a lover's lane, and he began lying in wait at his window +for the medical student to steal past toward the dress-maker's room."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" urged the detective with growing interest.</p> + +<p>"For several nights last week he waited and nothing happened. But he's a +patient little shrimp, so he waited again Saturday night and—something +<i>did</i> happen. Saturday night!"</p> + +<p>"The night of the murder," reflected the commissary.</p> + +<p>"That's it. It was a little after midnight, he says, and suddenly, as he +stood waiting and listening, he heard a cautious step coming along the +balcony from the direction of the medical student's room, G. Then he saw a +man pass his window, and he was sure it was the medical student. He stepped +out softly and followed him as far as the window of room C. Then, feeling +certain 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, for +the man turned on him like a flash and—<i>it wasn't the medical student</i>."</p> + +<p>"Who was it? Go on!" exclaimed the others eagerly.</p> + +<p>"He doesn't know who it was, or anything about the man except that his hand +shut like a vise on the shrimp's throat and nearly choked the life out of +him. You can see the nail marks still on the cheek and neck; but he +remembers distinctly that the man carried something in his hand."</p> + +<p>"My God! The missing pair of boots!" cried Coquenil. "Was it?"</p> + +<p>Tignol nodded. "Sure! He was carrying 'em loose in his hand. I mean they +were not wrapped up, he was going to leave 'em in Kittredge's room—here it +is, A." He pointed to the diagram.</p> + +<p>"It's true, it must be true," murmured M. Paul. "And what then?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. I guess the man saw it was only a shrimp he had hold of, so he +shook him two or three times and dropped him back into his own room; <i>and +he never said a word</i>."</p> + +<p>"And the boots?"</p> + +<p>"He must have taken the boots with him. The shrimp peeped out and saw him +go back into this room F, which has been empty for several weeks. Then he +heard steps on the stairs and the slam of the heavy street door. The man +was gone."</p> + +<p>Coquenil's face grew somber. "It was the assassin," he said; "there's no +doubt about it."</p> + +<p>"Mightn't it have been some one he sent?" suggested Pougeot.</p> + +<p>"No—that would have meant trusting his secret to another man, and he +hasn't trusted anyone. Besides, the fierce way he turned on the +photographer 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 his +nail marks show?"</p> + +<p>Tignol shrugged his shoulders. "They show as little scratches, but not +enough for any funny business with a microscope."</p> + +<p>"Little scratches are all I want," said the other, snapping his fingers +excitedly. "It's simply a question which side of his throat bears the thumb +mark. We know the murderer is a left-handed man, and, being suddenly +attacked, he certainly used the full strength of his left hand in the first +desperate 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 the +photographer's throat, whereas if a right-handed man had done it, the thumb +mark 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?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Tignol, making the experiment, "I see."</p> + +<p>"Now bring the man in here, wake him, tell him—tell him anything you like. +I must know this."</p> + +<p>"I'll get him in," said the commissary. "Come," and he followed Tignol into +the hall.</p> + +<p>A few moments later they returned with a thin, sleepy little person wrapped +in a red dressing gown. It was the shrimp.</p> + +<p>"There!" exclaimed Papa Tignol with a gesture of satisfaction.</p> + +<p>The photographer, under the spell of Pougeot's authority, stood meekly for +inspection, while Coquenil, holding a candle close, studied the marks on +his face. There, plainly marked <i>on the left side of the throat</i> was a +single imprint, the curving red mark where a thumb nail had closed hard +against the jugular vein (this man knew the deadly pressure points), while +on the right side of the photographer's face were prints of the fingers.</p> + +<p>"He used his left hand, all right," said Coquenil, "and, <i>sapristi</i>, he had +sharp nails!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Parbleu!</i>" mumbled the shrimp.</p> + +<p>"Here over the cheek bone is the mark of his first finger. And here, in +front of the ear, is his second finger, and here is his third finger, just +behind the ear, and here, way down on the neck, is his little finger. Lord +of 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 mark +of the little finger nail. I've got long fingers myself, but I can't come +within an inch of it. You try."</p> + +<a name="image-20"><!-- Image 20 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/020.jpg" height="300" width="361" +alt=""'Stand still, I won't hurt you.'""> +</center> + +<h5>"'Stand still, I won't hurt you.'"</h5> + +<p>Patiently the photographer stood still while the commissary and Tignol +tried to stretch their fingers over the red marks that scarred his +countenance. And neither of them succeeded. They could cover all the marks +except that of the little finger, which was quite beyond their reach.</p> + +<p>"He has a very long little finger," remarked the commissary, and, in an +instant, Coquenil remembered Alice's words that day as she looked at his +plaster casts.</p> + +<p>A very long little finger! Here it was! One that must equal the length of +that famous seventeenth-century criminal's little finger in his collection. +But <i>this</i> man was living! He had brought back Kittredge's boots! He was +left-handed! He had a very long little finger! <i>And Alice knew such a man!</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIX"></a><h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>TOUCHING A YELLOW TOOTH</h3> + +<p>It was a quarter past four, and still night, when Coquenil left the Hôtel +des Étrangers; he wore a soft black hat pulled down over his eyes, and a +shabby black coat turned up around his throat; and he carried the leather +bag taken from the automobile. The streets were silent and deserted, yet +the detective studied every doorway and corner with vigilant care, while a +hundred yards behind him, in exactly similar dress, came Papa Tignol, +peering into the shadows with sharpest watchfulness against human shadows +bent on harming M. Paul.</p> + +<p>So they moved cautiously down the Boulevard St. Michel, then over the +bridge and along the river to Notre-Dame, whose massive towers stood out in +mysterious beauty against the faintly lighted eastern sky. Here the leader +paused for his companion.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing," he said, as the latter joined him.</p> + +<p>"Nothing."</p> + +<p>"Good! Take the bag and wait for me, but keep out of sight."</p> + +<p>"<i>Entendu</i>."</p> + +<p>Coquenil walked across the square to the cathedral, moving slowly, thinking +over 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 his +capture except the fact of the long little finger. The man had left +absolutely nothing in his room at the hotel (this they verified with the +help 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 of +the 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 same +night when he tried to return the boots and was prevented from doing so. +How he must have cursed that little photographer!</p> + +<p>As to the assassin's personal appearance, there was a startling difference +of opinion between the hotel doorkeeper and the <i>garçon</i>, both of whom saw +him and spoke to him. The one declared he had light hair and a beard, the +other that he had dark hair and no beard; the one thought he was a +Frenchman, the other was sure he was a foreigner. Evidently the man was +disguised either coming or going, so this testimony was practically +worthless.</p> + +<p>Despite all this, Coquenil was pleased and confident as he rang the night +bell at the archbishop's house beside the cathedral, for he had one +precious clew, he had the indication of this extraordinarily long little +finger, and he did not believe that in all France there were two men with +hands like that. And he knew there was one such man, for Alice had seen +him. Where had she seen him? She said she had often noticed his long little +finger, so she must often have been close enough to him to observe such a +small 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 get +from the sacristan this information which the girl herself might withhold. +Hence this nocturnal visit to Notre Dame—it was of the utmost importance +that Coquenil have an immediate talk with Papa Bonneton.</p> + +<p>And presently, after a sleepy salutation from the archbishop's servant, and +a brief explanation, M. Paul was shown through a stone passageway that +connects the church with the house, and on pushing open a wide door covered +with red velvet, he found himself alone in Notre Dame, alone in utter +darkness save for a point of red light on the shadowy altar before the +Blessed Sacrament.</p> + +<p>As he stood uncertain which way to turn, the detective heard a step and a +low growl, and peering among the arches of the choir he saw a lantern +advancing, then a figure holding the lantern, then another crouching figure +moving before the lantern. Then he recognized Cæsar.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Good old Cæsar! There, there!" murmured Coquenil, fondling the eager head. +"It's all right, Bonneton," and coming forward, he held out his hand as the +guardian lifted his lantern in suspicious scrutiny.</p> + +<p>"M. Paul, upon my soul!" exclaimed the sacristan. "What are you doing here +at this hour?"</p> + +<p>"It's a little—er—personal matter," coughed Coquenil discreetly, "partly +about Cæsar. Can we sit down somewhere?"</p> + +<p>Still wondering, Bonneton led the way to a small room adjoining the +treasure chamber, where a dim lamp was burning; here he and his associates +got alternate snatches of sleep during the night.</p> + +<p>"Hey, François!" He shook a sleeping figure on a cot bed, and the latter +roused himself and sat up. "It's time to make the round."</p> + +<p>François looked stupidly at Coquenil and then, with a yawn and a shrug of +indifference, he called to the dog, while Cæsar growled his reluctance.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, old fellow," encouraged Coquenil, "I'll see you again," +whereupon Cæsar trotted away reassured.</p> + +<p>"Take this chair," said the sacristan. "I'll sit on the bed. We don't have +many visitors."</p> + +<p>"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 who +sells candles. She boards with you, doesn't she?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You know she's in love with this American who's in prison?"</p> + +<p>"I know."</p> + +<p>"She came to see me the other day."</p> + +<p>"She did?"</p> + +<p>"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 a +soul, least of all your wife."</p> + +<p>"You can trust me, M. Paul," declared Papa Bonneton rubbing his hands in +excitement.</p> + +<p>"To begin with, who is the man with the long little finger that she told me +about?" He put the questions carelessly, as if it were of no particular +moment.</p> + +<p>"Why, that's Groener," answered Bonneton simply.</p> + +<p>"Groener? Oh, her cousin?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"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 to +you some day—and there's one with a long little finger that the candle +girl noticed. Is her cousin's little finger really very long?"</p> + +<p>"It's pretty long," said Bonneton. "I used to think it had been stretched +in some machine. You know he's a wood carver."</p> + +<p>"I know. Well, that's neither here nor there. The point is, this girl had a +dream that—why, what's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"Don't talk to me about her dreams!" exclaimed the sacristan. "She used to +have 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 surprising +vehemence.</p> + +<p>"Bonneton," continued the detective mysteriously, "I don't know whether +it's from her dreams or in some other way, but that girl knows things +that—that she has no business to know."</p> + +<p>Then, briefly and impressively, Coquenil told of the extraordinary +revelations that Alice had made, not only to him, but to the director of +the Santé prison.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!</i>" muttered the old man. "I think she's possessed of +the devil."</p> + +<p>"She's possessed of dangerous knowledge, and I want to know where she got +it. I want to know all about this girl, who she is, where she came from, +everything. And that's where you can help me."</p> + +<p>Bonneton shook his head. "We know very little about her, and, the queer +thing is, she seems to know very little about herself."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she knows more than she wants to tell."</p> + +<p>"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 six +months and spends two nights with us—never more, never less. He eats his +meals, attends to his commissions for wood carving, takes Alice out once in +the afternoon or evening, gives my wife the money for her board, and +that's all. For five years it's been the same—you know as much about him +in one visit as you would in a hundred. There's nothing much to know; he's +just a stupid wood carver."</p> + +<p>"You say he takes Alice out every time he comes? Is she fond of him?"</p> + +<p>"Why—er—yes, I think so, but he upsets her. I've noticed she's nervous +just before his visits, and sort of sad after them. My wife says the girl +has her worst dreams then."</p> + +<p>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 inhaled +long breaths of the fragrant smoke. "Not a word, Bonneton! I want to +think." Then for full five minutes he sat silent.</p> + +<p>"I have it!" he exclaimed presently. "Tell me about this man François."</p> + +<p>"François?" answered the sacristan in surprise. "Why, he helps me with the +night work here."</p> + +<p>"Where does he live?"</p> + +<p>"In a room near here."</p> + +<p>"Where does he eat?"</p> + +<p>"He takes two meals with us."</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"Five hundred francs?" exclaimed Bonneton, with a frightened look.</p> + +<p>"Don't be afraid," laughed the other. "I'm not planning to steal the +treasure. When do you expect this wood carver again?"</p> + +<p>"It's odd you should ask that, for my wife only told me this morning she's +had a letter from him. We didn't expect him for six weeks yet, but it +seems he'll be here next Wednesday. Something must have happened."</p> + +<p>"Next Wednesday," reflected Coquenil. "He always comes when he says he +will?"</p> + +<p>"Always. He's as regular as clockwork."</p> + +<p>"And he spends two nights with you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"That will be Wednesday night and Thursday night of next week?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Good! Now I'll show you how you're going to make this money. I want +François to have a little vacation; he looks tired. I want him to go into +the country on Tuesday and stay until Friday."</p> + +<p>"And his work? Who will do his work?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil smiled quietly and tapped his breast.</p> + +<p>"You?"</p> + +<p>"I will take François's place. I'll be the best assistant you ever had and +I shall enjoy Mother Bonneton's cooking."</p> + +<p>"You will take your meals with us?" cried the sacristan aghast. "But they +all know you."</p> + +<p>"None of them will know me; you won't know me yourself."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see," nodded the old man wisely. "You will have a disguise. But my +wife has sharp eyes."</p> + +<p>"If she knows me, or if the candle girl knows me, I'll give you a thousand +francs instead of five hundred. Now, here is the money for François"—he +handed the sacristan a hundred-franc note—"and here are five hundred +francs for you. I shall come on Tuesday, ready for work. When do you want +me?"</p> + +<p>"At six o'clock," answered the sacristan doubtfully. "But what shall I say +if anyone asks me about it?"</p> + +<p>"Say François was sick, and you got your old friend Matthieu to replace him +for a few days. I'm Matthieu!"</p> + +<p>Papa Bonneton touched the five crisp bank notes caressingly; their clean +blue and white attracted him irresistibly.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't get me into trouble, M. Paul?" he appealed weakly.</p> + +<p>"Papa Bonneton," answered Coquenil earnestly, "have I ever shown you +anything but friendship? When old Max died and you asked me to lend you +Cæsar I did it, didn't I? And you know what Cæsar is to me. I <i>love</i> that +dog, if anything happened to him—well, I don't like to think of it, but I +let you have him, didn't I? That proves my trust; now I want yours. I can't +explain my reasons; it isn't necessary, but I tell you that what I'm asking +cannot do you the least harm, and may do me the greatest good. There, it's +up to you."</p> + +<p>M. Paul held out his hand frankly and the sacristan took it, with emotion.</p> + +<p>"That settles it," he murmured. "I never doubted you, but—my wife has an +infernal tongue and——"</p> + +<p>"She will never know anything about this," smiled the other, "and, if she +should, give her one or two of these bank notes. It's wonderful how they +change a woman's point of view. Besides, you can prepare her by talking +about François's bad health."</p> + +<p>"A good idea!" brightened Bonneton.</p> + +<p>"Then it's understood. Tuesday, at six, your friend Matthieu will be here +to replace François. Remember—Matthieu!"</p> + +<p>"I'll remember."</p> + +<p>The detective rose to go. "Good night—or, rather, good morning, for the +day is shining through that rose window. Pretty, isn't it? Ouf, I wonder +when I'll get the sleep I need!" He moved toward the door. "Oh, I forgot +about the dog. Tignol will come for him Tuesday morning with a line from +me. I shall want Cæsar in the afternoon, but I'll bring him back at six."</p> + +<p>"All right," nodded the sacristan; "he'll be ready. <i>Au revoir</i>—until +Tuesday."</p> + +<p>M. Paul went through the side door and then through the high iron gateway +before the archbishop's house. He glanced at his watch and it was after +five. Across the square Papa Tignol was waiting.</p> + +<p>"Things are marching along," smiled Coquenil some minutes later as they +rolled along toward the Eastern railway station. "You know what you have to +do. And I know what I have to do! <i>Bon Dieu!</i> what a life! You'd better +have more money—here," and he handed the other some bank notes. "We meet +Tuesday at noon near the Auteuil station beneath the first arch of the +viaduct."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what day Tuesday is?"</p> + +<p>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?"</p> + +<p>"There will be a great crowd about."</p> + +<p>"There's safety in a crowd. Besides, I've got to suit my time to <i>his</i>."</p> + +<p>"Then you really expect to see—<i>him?</i>" questioned the old man.</p> + +<p>"Yes," nodded the other briefly. "Remember this, don't join me on Tuesday +or speak to me or make any sign to me unless you are absolutely sure you +have not been followed. If you are in any doubt, put your message under +the dog's collar and let him find me. By the way, you'd better have Cæsar +clipped. It's a pity, but—it's safer."</p> + +<p>Now they were rattling up the Rue Lafayette in the full light of day.</p> + +<p>"Ten minutes to six," remarked Tignol. "My train leaves at six forty."</p> + +<p>"You'll have time to get breakfast. I'll leave you now. There's nothing +more to say. You have my letter—<i>for her</i>. You'll explain that it isn't +safe for me to write through the post office. And she mustn't try to write +me. I'll come to her as soon as I can. You have the money for her; say I +want her to buy a new dress, a nice one, and if there's anything else she +wants, why, she must have it. Understand?"</p> + +<p>Tignol nodded.</p> + +<p>Then, dropping the cab window, M. Paul told the driver to stop, and they +drew up before the terraced fountains of the Trinité church.</p> + +<p>"Good-by and good luck," said Coquenil, clasping Tignol's hand, "and—don't +let her worry."</p> + +<p>The cab rolled on, and M. Paul, bag in hand, strode down a side street; but +just at the corner he turned and looked after the hurrying vehicle, and his +eyes were full of sadness and yearning.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<p>Tuesday, the fourteenth of July! The great French holiday! All Paris in the +streets, bands playing, soldiers marching, everybody happy or looking +happy! And from early morning all trains, 'buses, cabs, automobiles, in +short, all moving things in the gay city were rolling a jubilant multitude +toward the Bois de Boulogne, where the President of the Republique was to +review the troops before a million or so of his fellow-citizens. Coquenil +had certainly chosen the busiest end of Paris for his meeting with Papa +Tignol.</p> + +<p>Their rendezvous was at noon, but two hours earlier Tignol took the train +at the St. Lazare station. And with him came Cæsar, such a changed, +unrecognizable Cæsar! Poor dog! His beautiful, glossy coat of brown and +white had been clipped to ridiculous shortness, and he crouched at the old +man's feet in evident humiliation.</p> + +<p>"It was a shame, old fellow," said Tignol consolingly, "but we had to obey +orders, eh? Never mind, it will grow out again."</p> + +<p>Leaving the train at Auteuil, they walked down the Rue La Fontaine to a +tavern near the Rue Mozart, where the old man left Cæsar in charge of the +proprietor, a friend of his. It was now a quarter to eleven, and Tignol +spent the next hour riding back and forth on the circular railway between +Auteuil and various other stations; he did this because Coquenil had +charged him to be sure he was not followed; he felt reasonably certain that +he was not, but he wished to be absolutely certain.</p> + +<p>So he rode back to the Avenue Henri Martin, where he crossed the platform +and boarded a returning train for the Champs de Mars, telling the guard he +had made a mistake. Two other passengers did the same, a young fellow and a +man of about fifty, with a rough gray beard. Tignol did not see the young +fellow again, but when he got off at the Champs de Mars, the gray-bearded +man got off also and followed across the bridge to the opposite platform, +where both took the train back to Auteuil.</p> + +<p>This was suspicious, so at Auteuil Tignol left the station quickly, only to +return a few minutes later and buy another ticket for the Avenue Henri +Martin. There once more he crossed the platform and took a train for the +Champs de Mars, and this time he congratulated himself that no one had +followed him; but when he got off, as before, at the Champs de Mars and +crossed the bridge, he saw the same gray-bearded man crossing behind him. +There was no doubt of it, he was being shadowed.</p> + +<p>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 was +seated alone. And, taking out pencil and paper, he proceeded to write a +note for Coquenil. Their meeting was now impossible, so he must fasten this +explanation, along with his full report, under Cæsar's collar and let the +dog be messenger, as had been arranged.</p> + +<p>"I am sending this by Cæsar," he wrote, "because I am watched. The man +following 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 corners +of 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."</p> + +<p>"Would you?" said the man suddenly, as if answering a question.</p> + +<p>Tignol stared at him.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," explained the other, "but I read handwriting upside down."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>"You say you would like one of my teeth?"</p> + +<p>"Don't trouble," smiled Tignol.</p> + +<p>"It's no trouble," declared the stranger. "On the contrary!" and seizing +one of his yellow fangs between thumb and first finger he gave a quick +wrench. "There!" he said with a hideous grin, and he handed Tignol the +tooth.</p> + +<p>They were just coming into the Auteuil station as this extraordinary +maneuver was accomplished.</p> + +<p>"I'll be damned!" exclaimed Tignol.</p> + +<a name="image-21"><!-- Image 21 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/021.jpg" height="300" width="393" +alt=""'There!' he said with a hideous grin, and he handed Tignol the tooth.""> +</center> + +<h5>"'There!' he said with a hideous grin, and he handed Tignol the tooth."</h5> + +<p>"Is it really as good as that?" asked the stranger, in a tone that made the +old man jump.</p> + +<p>Tignol leaned closer, and then in a burst of admiration he cried: "<i>Nom de +dieu! It's Coquenil!</i>"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XX"></a><h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>THE MEMORY OF A DOG</h3> + +<p>"It's a composition of rubber," laughed Coquenil. "You slip it on over your +own tooth. See?" and he put back the yellow fang.</p> + +<p>"Extraordinary!" muttered Tignol. "Even now I hardly know you."</p> + +<p>"Then I ought to fool the wood carver."</p> + +<p>"Fool him? You would fool your own mother. That reminds me—" He rose as +the train stopped.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes?" questioned M. Paul eagerly. "Tell me about my mother. Is she +well? Is she worried? Did you give her all my messages? Have you a letter +for me?"</p> + +<p>Tignol smiled. "There's a devoted son! But the old lady wouldn't like you +with those teeth. Eh, eh! Shades of Vidocq, what a make-up! We'd better get +out! I'll tell you about my visit as we walk along."</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?" asked the detective, as the old man led the way +toward the Rue La Fontaine.</p> + +<p>"Going to get the dog," answered Tignol.</p> + +<p>"No, no," objected M. Paul. "I wouldn't have Cæsar see me like this. I have +a room on the Rue Poussin; I'll go back there first and take off some of +this."</p> + +<p>"As you please," said Tignol, and he proceeded to give Coquenil the latest +news 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.</p> + +<p>"There's a woman for you!" murmured M. Paul, and the tenderness of his +voice contrasted oddly with the ugliness of his disguise.</p> + +<p>"Suppose I get the dog while you are changing?" suggested Tignol. "You know +he's been clipped?"</p> + +<p>"Poor Cæsar! Yes, get him. My room is across the street. Walk back and +forth along here until I come down."</p> + +<p>Half an hour later Coquenil reappeared almost his ordinary self, except +that he wore neither mustache nor eyeglasses, and, instead of his usual +neat dress he had put on the shabby black coat and the battered soft hat +that he had worn in leaving the Hôtel des Étrangers.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Cæsar! Old fellow!" he cried fondly as the dog rushed to meet him with +barks of joy. "It's good to have a friend like that! Where is the man who +cares so much? Or the woman either—except one?"</p> + +<p>"There's one woman who seems to care a lot about this dog," remarked +Tignol. "I mean the candle girl. Such a fuss as she made when I went to get +him!"</p> + +<p>M. Paul listened in surprise. "What did she do?"</p> + +<p>"Do? She cried and carried on in a great way. She said something was going +to happen to Cæsar; she didn't want me to take him."</p> + +<p>"Strange!" muttered the other.</p> + +<p>"I told her I was only taking him to you, and that you would bring him back +to-night. When she had heard that she caught my two hands in hers and said +I must tell you she wanted to see you very much. There's something on her +mind or—or she's afraid of something."</p> + +<p>Coquenil frowned and twisted his seal ring, then he changed it deliberately +from the left hand to the right, as if with some intention.</p> + +<p>"We'll never get to the bottom of this case," he muttered, "until we know +the truth about that girl. Papa Tignol, I want you to go right back to +Notre-Dame and keep an eye on her. If she is afraid of something, there's +something to be afraid of, <i>for she knows</i>. Don't talk to her; just hang +about the church until I come. Remember, we spend the night there."</p> + +<p>"<i>Sapristi</i>, a night in a church!"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Tignol rubbed his hands in satisfaction. "The sooner the better." Then +yielding to his growing curiosity: "Have you found out much?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil's eyes twinkled. "You're dying to know what I've been doing these +last five days, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the sort," said the old man testily. "If you want to leave me +in the dark, all right, only if I'm to help in the work——"</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course," broke in the other good-naturedly. "I was going to +tell you to-night, but Bonneton will be with us, so—come, we'll stroll +through the <i>bois</i> as far as Passy, and I'll give you the main points. Then +you can take a cab."</p> + +<p>Papa Tignol was enormously pleased at this mark of confidence, but he +merely gave one of his jerky little nods and walked along solemnly beside +his brilliant associate. In his loyalty for M. Paul this tough old veteran +would have allowed himself to be cut into small pieces, but he would have +spluttered and grumbled throughout the operation.</p> + +<p>"Let's see," began Coquenil, as they entered the beautiful park, "I have +five days to account for. Well, I spent two days in Paris and three in +Brussels."</p> + +<p>"Where the wood carver lives?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly. I got his address from Papa Bonneton. I thought I'd look the man +over in his home when he was not expecting me. And before I started I put +in two days studying wood carving, watching the work and questioning the +workmen 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 decide +whether he was a genuine wood carver—or—or something else."</p> + +<p>"I see," admired Tignol. "Well?"</p> + +<p>"As it turned out, I didn't find him, I haven't seen him yet. He was away +on a trip when I got to Brussels, away on this trip that will bring him to +Paris to-morrow, so I missed him and—it's just as well I did!"</p> + +<p>"You got facts about him?"</p> + +<p>"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, I +stopped there, and I talked to the woman who runs it, a sharp-eyed young +widow with a smooth tongue; and I saw the place where he works; it's a +wood-carving shop, all right, and I talked to the men there—two big strong +fellows with jolly red faces, and—well—" he hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>The detective crossed his arms and faced the old man with a grim, searching +look.</p> + +<p>"Papa Tignol," he said impressively, "they all tell a simple, straight +story. His name <i>is</i> Adolf Groener, he <i>does</i> live in Brussels, he makes +his living at wood carving, and the widow who runs the confounded boarding +house knows all about this girl Alice."</p> + +<p>Tignol rubbed his nose reflectively. "It was a long shot, anyway."</p> + +<p>"What would <i>you</i> have done?" questioned the other sharply.</p> + +<p>"Why," answered Tignol slowly, while his shrewd eyes twinkled, "I—I'd have +cussed a little and—had a couple of drinks and—come back to Paris."</p> + +<p>Coquenil sat silent frowning. "I wasn't much better. After that first day I +was ready to drop the thing, I admit it, only I went for a walk that +night—and there's a lot in walking. I wandered for hours through that nice +little town of Brussels, in the crowd and then alone, and the more I +thought the more I came back to the same idea, <i>he can't be a wood +carver!</i>"</p> + +<p>"You couldn't prove it, but you knew it," chuckled the old man.</p> + +<p>Coquenil nodded. "So I kept on through the second day. I saw more people +and asked more questions, then I saw the same people again and tried to +trip them up, but I didn't get ahead an inch. Groener was a wood carver, +and he stayed a wood carver."</p> + +<p>"It began to look bad, eh?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil stopped short and said earnestly: "Papa Tignol, when this case is +over and forgotten, when this man has gone where he belongs, and I know +where that is"—he brought his hand down sideways swiftly—"I shall have +the lesson of this Brussels search cut on a block of stone and set in my +study wall. Oh, I've learned the lesson before, but this drives it home, +that <i>the most important knowledge a detective can have is the knowledge he +gets inside himself!</i>"</p> + +<p>Tignol had never seen M. Paul more deeply stirred. "<i>Sacré matin!</i>" he +exclaimed. "Then you did find something?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, but I deserve no credit for it, I ought to have failed. I weakened; I +had my bag packed and was actually starting for Paris, convinced that +Groener had nothing to do with the case. Think of that!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but you <i>didn't</i> start."</p> + +<p>"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 believing +in Groener's innocence, this crime would never have been cleared up, +never."</p> + +<p>Tignol shrugged his shoulders. "La, la, la! What a man! If you had fallen +into a hole you might have broken your leg! Well, you didn't fall into the +hole!"</p> + +<p>Coquenil smiled. "You're right, I ought to be pleased, I am pleased. After +all, it was a neat bit of work. You see, I was waiting in the parlor of +this boarding house for the widow to bring me my bill—I had spent two days +there—and I happened to glance at a photograph she had shown me when I +first came, a picture of Alice and herself, taken five years ago, when +Alice was twelve years old. There was no doubt about the girl, and it was a +good likeness of the widow. She told me she was a great friend of Alice's +mother, and the picture was taken when the mother died, just before Alice +went to Paris.</p> + +<p>"Well, as I looked at the picture now, I noticed that it had no +photographer's name on it, which is unusual, and it seemed to me there was +something queer about the girl's hand; I went to the window and was +studying the picture with my magnifying glass when I heard the woman's step +outside, so I slipped it into my pocket. Then I paid my bill and came +away."</p> + +<p>"You <i>needed</i> that picture," approved Tignol.</p> + +<p>"As soon as I was outside I jumped into a cab and drove to the principal +photographers in Brussels. There were three of them, and at each place I +showed this picture and asked how much it would cost to copy it, and as I +asked the question I watched the man's face. The first two were perfectly +businesslike, but the third man gave a little start and looked at me in an +odd way. I made up my mind he had seen the picture before, but I didn't get +anything out of him—then. In fact, I didn't try very hard, for I had my +plan.</p> + +<p>"From here I drove straight to police headquarters and had a talk with the +chief. He knew me by reputation, and a note that I brought from Pougeot +helped, and—well, an hour later that photographer was ready to tell me the +innermost secrets of his soul."</p> + +<p>"Eh, eh, eh!" laughed Tignol. "And what did he tell you?"</p> + +<p>"He told me he made this picture of Alice and the widow <i>only six weeks +ago</i>."</p> + +<p>"Six weeks ago!" stared the other. "But the widow told you it was taken +five years ago."</p> + +<p>"Exactly!"</p> + +<p>"Besides, Alice wasn't in Brussels six weeks ago, was she?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not; the picture was a fake, made from a genuine one of Alice +and a lady, perhaps her mother. This photographer had blotted out the lady +and printed in the widow without changing the pose. It's a simple trick in +photography."</p> + +<p>"You saw the genuine picture?"</p> + +<p>"Of course—that is, I saw a reproduction of it which the photographer made +on his own account. He suspected some crooked work, and he didn't like the +man who gave him the order."</p> + +<p>"You mean the wood carver?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil shrugged his shoulders. "Call him a wood carver, call him what you +like. He didn't go to the photographer in his wood-carver disguise, he +went as a gentleman in a great hurry, and willing to pay any price for the +work."</p> + +<p>Tignol twisted the long ends of his black mustache reflectively. "He was +covering his tracks in advance?"</p> + +<p>"Evidently."</p> + +<p>"And the smooth young widow lied?"</p> + +<p>"Lied?" snapped the detective savagely. "I should say she did. She lied +about this, and lied about the whole affair. So did the men at the shop. It +was manufactured testimony, bought and paid for, and a manufactured +picture."</p> + +<p>"Then," cried Tignol excitedly, "then Groener is <i>not</i> a wood carver?"</p> + +<p>"He may be a wood carver, but he's a great deal more, he—he—" Coquenil +hesitated, 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 that +left-handed jolt under the heart, he's the man who choked your shrimp +photographer, he's the man who killed Martinez!"</p> + +<p>"Name of a green dog!" muttered Tignol. "Is that true, or—or do you only +<i>know</i> it?"</p> + +<p>"It's true <i>because</i> I know it," answered Coquenil. "See here, I'll bet you +a good dinner against a box of those vile cigarettes you smoke that this +man who calls himself Alice's cousin has the marks of my teeth on the calf +of one of his legs—I forget which leg it is."</p> + +<p>"Taken!" said Tignol, and then, with sudden gravity: "But if this is true, +things are getting serious, eh?"</p> + +<p>"They've been serious."</p> + +<p>"I mean the chase is nearly over?"</p> + +<p>M. Paul answered slowly, as if weighing his words: "This man is desperate +and full of resources, I know that, but, with the precautions I have +taken, I don't see how he can escape—if he goes to Bonneton's house +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Tignol scratched his head in perplexity. "Why in thunder is he such a fool +as to go there?"</p> + +<p>"I've wondered about that myself," mused Coquenil "Perhaps he won't go, +perhaps there is some extraordinary reason why he <i>must</i> go."</p> + +<p>"Some reason connected with the girl?" asked the other quickly.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You say he <i>calls</i> himself Alice's cousin. Isn't he really her cousin?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil shook his head. "He isn't her cousin, and she isn't Alice."</p> + +<p>"Wha-at?"</p> + +<p>"Her name is Mary, and he is her stepfather."</p> + +<p>The old man stared in bewilderment. "But—how the devil do you know that?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil smiled. "I found an inscription on the back of that Brussels +photograph—I mean the genuine one—it was hidden under a hinged support, +and Groener must have overlooked it. That was his second great mistake."</p> + +<p>"What was the inscription?" asked Tignol eagerly.</p> + +<p>"It read: 'To my dear husband, Raoul, from his devoted wife Margaret and +her little Mary.' You notice it says <i>her</i> little Mary. That one word +throws a flood of light on this case. The child was not <i>his</i> little Mary."</p> + +<p>"I see, I see," reflected the old man. "And Alice? Does she know that—that +she <i>isn't</i> Alice?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Does she know that Groener is her stepfather, and not her cousin?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"I <i>think</i> I know why not, but, until I'm sure, I'd rather call it a +mystery. 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."</p> + +<p>A few moments later, with Cæsar bounding happily at his side, M. Paul +entered the quieter paths of the great park, and presently came to a +thickly wooded region that has almost the air of a natural forest. Here the +two romped delightedly together, and Coquenil put the dog through many of +his tricks, the fine creature fairly outdoing himself in eagerness and +intelligence.</p> + +<p>"Now, old fellow," said M. Paul, "I'll sit down here and have a cigarette," +and he settled himself on a rustic bench, while Cæsar stretched out +comfortably at his feet. And so the one dozed as the other drifted far away +in smoke-laden reverie.</p> + +<p>What days these had been, to be sure! How tired he was! He hadn't noticed +it before, but now that everything was ready, now that he had finished his +preparations—yes, he was very tired.</p> + +<p>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 that +were fretting him. Who was Groener? Why had he killed Martinez? How had he +profited by the death of this unfortunate billiard player? And why did he +hate Kittredge? Was it because the American loved Alice? And who was Alice, +this girl whose dreams and fears changed the lives of serious men? From +whichever side he studied the crime he always came back to her—Kittredge +loved her, Martinez knew her, he himself had started on the case on her +account. <i>Who was Alice?</i></p> + +<p>During these reflections Coquenil had been vaguely aware of gay sounds from +the neighboring woods, and now a sudden burst of laughter brought him back +to the consciousness of things about him.</p> + +<p>"We're too serious, my boy," he said with an effort at lightness; "this is +a bit of an outing, and we must enjoy it. Come, we'll move on!"</p> + +<p>With the dog at his heels M. Paul turned his steps toward a beautiful cool +glade, carpeted in gold and green as the sunbeams sprinkled down through +the trees upon the spreading moss. Here he came into plain view of a +company of ladies and gentlemen, who, having witnessed the review, had +chosen this delightful spot for luncheon. They were evidently rich and +fashionable people, for they had come as a coaching party on a very smart +break, with four beautiful horses, and some in a flashing red-and-black +automobile that was now drawn up beside the larger vehicle.</p> + +<p>With an idle eye M. Paul observed the details of the luncheon, red-coated +servants emptying bounteous hampers and passing tempting food from group to +group, others opening bottles of champagne, with popping corks, and filling +bubbling glasses, while the men of the party passed back and forth from +break to automobile with jests and gay words, or strolled under the trees +enjoying post-prandial cigars.</p> + +<p>Altogether it was a pleasing picture, and Coquenil's interest was +heightened when he overheard a passing couple say that these were the +guests of no less a person than the Duke of Montreuil, whose lavish +entertainments were the talk of Paris. There he was, on the break, this +favorite of fortune! What a brilliant figure of a man! Famous as a +sportsman, enormously rich, popular in society, at the head of vast +industrial enterprises, and known to have almost controlling power in +affairs of state!</p> + +<p>"Never mind, old sport, it takes all kinds of people to make up the world. +Now then, jump!"</p> + +<p>So they went on, playing together, master and dog, and were passing around +through the woods on the far side of the coaching party, when, suddenly, +Cæsar 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.</p> + +<p>The detective observed the dog in surprise. Was this some foolish whim to +follow a squirrel or a rabbit? It wasn't like Cæsar.</p> + +<p>"Come, come," he reasoned with friendly chiding, "don't be a baby."</p> + +<p>Cæsar growled in vigorous protest, and darting away, began circling the +ground before him, back and forth, in widening curves, as Coquenil had +taught him.</p> + +<p>"Have you found something—sure?"</p> + +<p>The animal barked joyously.</p> + +<p>M. Paul was puzzled. Evidently there was a scent here, but what scent? He +had made no experiments with Cæsar since the night of the crime, when the +dog 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 <i>some</i> scent, and very eagerly. Coquenil had +never seen him more impatient for permission to be off. Could a dog +remember a scent for ten days?</p> + +<p>"After all, what harm can it do?" reflected the detective, becoming +interested in his turn. Then, deciding quickly, he gave the word, +"<i>Cherche!</i>" and instantly the dog was away.</p> + +<p>"He means business," muttered M. Paul, hurrying after him.</p> + +<p>On through the woods went Cæsar, nose down, tail rigid, following the +scent, moving carefully among the trees, and once or twice losing the +trail, but quickly finding it again, and, presently, as he reached more +open ground, running ahead swiftly, straight toward the coaching party.</p> + +<p>In a flash Coquenil realized the danger and called loudly to the dog, but +the distance was too great, and his voice was drowned by the cries of +ladies on the break, who, seeing the bounding animal, screamed their +fright. And no wonder, for this powerful, close-clipped creature, in his +sudden rush looked like some formidable beast of prey; even the men started +up in alarm.</p> + +<p>"Cæsar!" shouted M. Paul, but it was too late. The dog was flying full at +the break, eyes fixed, body tense; now he was gathering strength to spring, +and now, with a splendid effort, he was actually hurling himself through +the air, when among the confused figures on the coach a man leaned forward +suddenly, and something flashed in his hand. There was a feather of smoke, +a sharp report, and then, with a stab of pain, Coquenil saw Cæsar fall back +to the ground and lie still.</p> + +<p>"My dog, my dog!" he cried, and coming up to the stricken creature, he +knelt beside him with ashen face.</p> + +<p>One glance showed there was nothing to be done, the bullet had crashed into +the broad breast in front of the left shoulder and—it was all over with +Cæsar.</p> + +<p>"My friend, my dear old friend!" murmured M. Paul in broken tones, and he +took the poor head in his arms. At the master's voice Cæsar opened his +beautiful eyes weakly, in a last pitiful appeal, then the lids closed.</p> + +<p>"You cowards!" flung out the heartsick man. "You have killed my dog!"</p> + +<p>"It was your own fault," said one of the gentlemen coldly, "you had no +business to leave a dangerous animal like that at liberty."</p> + +<a name="image-22"><!-- Image 22 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/022.jpg" height="300" width="501" +alt=""'My dog, my dog!'""> +</center> + +<h5>"'My dog, my dog!'"</h5> + +<p>M. Paul did not speak or move; he was thinking bitterly of Alice's +presentiment.</p> + +<p>Then some one on the break said: "We had better move along, hadn't we, +Raoul?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," agreed another. "What a beastly bore!"</p> + +<p>And a few moments later, with clanking harness and sounding horn, the gay +party rolled away.</p> + +<p>Coquenil sat silent by his dog.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXI"></a><h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>THE WOOD CARVER</h3> + +<p>A detective, like an actor or a soldier, must go on fighting and playing +his part, regardless of personal feelings. Sorrow brings him no reprieve +from duty, so the next morning after the last sad offices for poor Cæsar, +Coquenil faced the emergency before him with steady nerve and calm +resolution. There was an assassin to be brought to justice and the time for +action had come. This was, perhaps, the most momentous day of his whole +career.</p> + +<p>Up to the very hour of luncheon M. Paul doubted whether the wood carver +would keep his appointment at the Bonnetons'. Why should he take such a +risk? 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 had +then walked calmly out again; but this time the detective promised himself +things should happen differently. His precautions were taken, and if +Groener came within his clutches to-day, he would have a lively time +getting out of them. There was a score to be settled between them, a heavy +score, and—let the wood carver beware!</p> + +<p>The wood carver kept his appointment. More than that, he seemed in +excellent spirits, and as he sat down to Mother Bonneton's modest luncheon +he nodded good-naturedly to Matthieu, the substitute watchman, whom the +sacristan introduced, not too awkwardly, then he fell to eating with a +hearty appetite and without any sign of embarrassment or suspicion.</p> + +<p>"It's a strong game he's playing," reflected the detective, "but he's going +to lose."</p> + +<p>The wood carver appeared to be a man approaching forty, of medium height +and 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. He +had thick, brown hair, a short, yellowish mustache, and a close-cut, +brownish beard. He was dressed like a superior workingman, in a flannel +shirt, a rough, blue suit, oil-stained and dust-sprinkled, and he wore +thick-soled boots. His hands were strong and red and not too clean, with +several broken nails and calloused places. In a word, he looked the wood +carver, every inch of him, and the detective was forced to admit that, if +this was a disguise, it was the most admirable one he had ever seen. If +this beard and hair and mustache were false, then his own make-up, the best +he had ever created, was a poor thing in comparison.</p> + +<p>During the meal Groener talked freely, speaking with a slight Belgian +accent, but fluently enough. He seemed to have a naïve spirit of drollery, +and he related quite amusingly an experience of his railway journey.</p> + +<p>"You see," he laughed, showing strong white teeth, "there were two American +girls in one compartment and a newly married couple in the next one, with a +little glass window between. Well, the young bridegroom wanted to kiss his +bride, naturally, ha, ha! It was a good chance, for they were alone, but he +was afraid some one might look through the little window and see him, so he +kept looking through it himself to make sure it was all right. Well, the +American 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 it +down. She thought it was a curtain cord; she wanted to cover the window so +the man couldn't see through. Do I make myself comprehensible, M. +Matthieu?" He looked straight at Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"Perfectly," smiled the latter.</p> + +<p>"Well, it wasn't a curtain cord," continued the wood carver with great +relish of the joke, "it was the emergency signal, which, by the +regulations, must only be used in great danger, so the first thing we knew +the train drew up with a terrible jerk, and there was a great shouting and +opening of doors and rushing about of officials. And finally, ha, ha! they +discovered that the Brussels express had been stopped, ha, ha, ha! because +a bashful young fellow wanted to kiss his girl."</p> + +<p>M. Paul marveled at the man's self-possession. Not a tone or a glance or a +muscle betrayed him, he was perfectly at ease, buoyantly satisfied, one +would say, with himself and all the world—in short, he suggested nothing +so little as a close-tracked assassin.</p> + +<p>In vain Coquenil tried to decide whether Groener was really unconscious of +impending danger. Was he deceived by this Matthieu disguise? Or was it +possible, <i>could</i> it be possible, that he was what he appeared to be, a +simple-minded wood carver free from any wickedness or duplicity? No, no, it +was marvelous acting, an extraordinary make-up, but this was his man, all +right. There was the long little finger, plainly visible, the identical +finger of his seventeenth-century cast. Yes, this was the enemy, the +murderer, delivered into his hands through some unaccountable fortune, and +now to be watched like precious prey, and presently to be taken and +delivered over to justice. It seemed too good to be true, too easy, yet +there was the man before him, and despite his habit of caution and his +knowledge that this was no ordinary adversary, the detective thrilled as +over a victory already won.</p> + +<p>The wood carver went on to express delight at being back in Paris, where +his work would keep him three or four days. Business was brisk, thank +Heaven, with an extraordinary demand for old sideboards with carved panels +of the Louis XV period, which they turned out by the dozen, ha, ha, ha! in +the Brussels shop. He described with gusto and with evident inside +knowledge how they got the worm holes in these panels by shooting fine shot +into them and the old appearance by burying them in the ground. Then he +told how they distributed the finished sideboards among farmhouses in +various 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 the +simple-minded farmers, working on commission, who had inherited these +treasures from their ancestors.</p> + +<p>Across the table Matthieu, with grinning yellow teeth, showed his +appreciation of this trick in art catering, and presently, when the coffee +was served, he made bold to ask M. Groener if there would be any chance for +a man like himself in a wood-carving shop. He was strong and willing +and—his present job at Notre-Dame was only for a few days. Papa Bonneton +nearly choked over his <i>demi tasse</i> as he listened to this plea, but the +wood carver took it seriously.</p> + +<p>"I'll help you with pleasure," he said; "I'll take you around with me to +several shops to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow, not to-day?" asked Matthieu, apparently disappointed.</p> + +<p>"To-day," smiled Groener, "I enjoy myself. This afternoon I escort my +pretty cousin to hear some music. Did you know that, Alice?" He turned +gayly to the girl.</p> + +<p>Since the meal began Alice had scarcely spoken, but had sat looking down at +her plate save at certain moments when she would lift her eyes suddenly and +fix them on Groener with a strange, half-frightened expression.</p> + +<p>"You are very kind, Cousin Adolf," she answered timidly, "but—I'm not +feeling well to-day."</p> + +<p>"Why, what's the matter?" he asked in a tone of concern that had just a +touch of hardness in it.</p> + +<p>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 riddance +it was."</p> + +<p>"You have no right to say that," flashed Alice.</p> + +<p>"I have a right to tell your cousin about this foolishness. I've tried my +best to look after you and be a mother to you, but when a girl won't listen +to reason, when she goes to a <i>prison</i> to see a worthless lover——"</p> + +<p>"Stop!" cried Alice, her beautiful eyes filling with tears.</p> + +<p>"No, no, I'll tell it all. When a girl slips away from her work at the +church and goes to see a man like Paul Coquenil——"</p> + +<p>"Paul Coquenil?" repeated the wood carver blankly.</p> + +<p>"Have you never heard of Paul Coquenil?" smiled Matthieu, kicking Papa +Bonneton warningly under the table.</p> + +<p>Groener looked straight at the detective and answered with perfect +simplicity: "No wonder you smile, M. Matthieu, but think how far away from +Paris 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 and +put on your nice dress and hat. We'll start in about half an hour."</p> + +<p>Alice rose from the table, deathly white. She tried to speak, but the words +failed her; it seemed to Coquenil that her eyes met his in desperate +appeal, and then, with a glance at Groener, half of submission, half of +defiance, she turned and left the room.</p> + +<p>"Now Madam Bonneton," resumed Groener cheerfully, "while the young lady +gets into her finery we might have a little talk. There are a few +matters—er—" He looked apologetically at the others. "You and I will meet +to-morrow, M. Matthieu; I'll see what I can do for you."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said Matthieu, rising in response to this hint for his departure. +He bowed politely, and followed by the sacristan, went out.</p> + +<p>"Don't speak until we get downstairs," whispered Coquenil, and they +descended the four flights in silence.</p> + +<p>"Now, Bonneton," ordered the detective sharply, when they were in the lower +hallway, "don't ask questions, just do what I say. I want you to go right +across to Notre-Dame, and when you get to the door take your hat off and +stand there for a minute or so fanning yourself. Understand?"</p> + +<p>The simple-minded sacristan was in a daze with all this mystery, but he +repeated the words resignedly: "I'm to stand at the church door and fan +myself with my hat. Is that it?"</p> + +<p>"That's it. Then Tignol, who's watching in one of these doorways, the sly +old fox, will come across and join you. Tell him to be ready to move any +minute now. He'd better loaf around the corner of the church until he gets +a signal from me. I'll wait here. Now go on."</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>"I'm going, M. Paul, I'm going," obeyed Bonneton, and he hurried across the +few yards of pavement that separated them from the cathedral.</p> + +<p>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 some +eager purpose.</p> + +<p>"Oh, M. Matthieu!" exclaimed the girl in apparent surprise. Then going +close to him she said in a low tone that quivered with emotion: "I came +after you, I must speak to you, I—I know who you are."</p> + +<p>He looked at her sharply.</p> + +<p>"You are M. Coquenil," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"You saw it?" he asked uneasily.</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "I <i>knew</i> it."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" with relief. "Does <i>he</i> know?"</p> + +<p>The girl's hands closed convulsively while the pupils of her eyes widened +and then grew small. "I'm afraid so," she murmured, and then added these +singular words: "<i>He knows everything</i>."</p> + +<p>M. Paul laid a soothing hand on her arm and said kindly: "Are you afraid of +him?"</p> + +<p>"Ye-es." Her voice was almost inaudible.</p> + +<p>"Is he planning something?"</p> + +<p>For a moment Alice hesitated, biting her red lips, then with a quick +impulse, she lifted her dark eyes to Coquenil. "I <i>must</i> tell you, I have +no one else to tell, and I am so distressed, so—so afraid." She caught his +hands pleadingly in hers, and he felt that they were icy cold.</p> + +<p>"I'll protect you, that's what I'm here for," he assured her, "but go on, +speak quickly. What is he planning?"</p> + +<p>"He's planning to take me away, away from Paris, I'm sure he is. I +overheard him just now telling Mother Bonneton to pack my trunk. He says he +will spend three or four days in Paris, but that may not be true, he may go +at once to-night. You can't believe him or trust him, and, if he takes me +away, I—I may never come back."</p> + +<p>"He won't take you away," said M. Paul reassuring, "that is, he won't +if—See here, you trust me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes."</p> + +<p>"You'll do exactly what I tell you, <i>exactly</i>, without asking how or why?"</p> + +<p>"I will," she declared.</p> + +<p>"You're a plucky little girl," he said as he met her unflinching look. "Let +me think a moment," and he turned back and forth in the hall, brows +contracted, hands deep in his pockets. "I have it!" he exclaimed presently, +his face brightening. "Now listen," and speaking slowly and distinctly, the +detective gave Alice precise instructions, then he went over them again, +point by point.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure you understand?" he asked finally.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I understand and I will do what you tell me," she answered firmly, +"but——"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"It will bring trouble on you. If anyone stands in his way—" She shivered +in alarm.</p> + +<p>Coquenil smiled confidently. "Don't worry about me."</p> + +<p>She shook her head anxiously. "You don't know, you can't understand what +a"—she stopped as if searching for a word—"what a <i>wicked</i> man he is."</p> + +<p>"I understand—a little," answered Coquenil gravely; "you can tell me more +when we have time; we mustn't talk now, <i>we must act</i>."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course," agreed Alice, "I will obey orders; you can depend on me +and"—she held out her slim hand in a grateful movement—"thank you."</p> + +<p>For a moment he pressed the trembling fingers in a reassuring clasp, then +he watched her wonderingly, as, with a brave little smile, she turned and +went back up the stairs.</p> + +<p>"She has the air of a princess, that girl," he mused, "Who is she? What is +she? I ought to know in a few hours now," and moving to the wide space of +the open door, the detective glanced carelessly over the Place Notre-Dame.</p> + +<p>It was about two o'clock, and under a dazzling sun the trees and buildings +of the square were outlined on the asphalt in sharp black shadows. A 'bus +lumbered sleepily over the bridge with three straining horses. A big +yellow-and-black automobile throbbed quietly before the hospital. Some +tourists passed, mopping red faces. A beggar crouched in the shade near the +entrance to the cathedral, intoning his woes. Coquenil took out his watch +and proceeded to wind it slowly. At which the beggar dragged himself lazily +out of his cool corner and limped across the street.</p> + +<p>"A little charity, kind gentleman," he whined as he came nearer.</p> + +<p>"In here, Papa Tignol," beckoned Coquenil; "there's something new. It's all +right, I've fixed the doorkeeper."</p> + +<p>And a moment later the two associates were talking earnestly near the +doorkeeper's lodge.</p> + +<p>Meantime, Alice, with new life in her heart, was putting on her best dress +and hat as Groener had bidden her, and presently she joined her cousin in +the salon where he sat smoking a cheap cigar and finishing his talk with +Mother Bonneton.</p> + +<p>"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 to +leave them.</p> + +<p>"Now," he began kindly, when the woman had gone, "sit down here and tell me +what has made my little cousin unhappy."</p> + +<p>He spoke in a pleasant, sympathetic tone, and the girl approached him as if +trying to overcome an instinctive shrinking, but she did not take the +offered chair, she simply stood beside it.</p> + +<p>"It's only a little thing," she answered with an effort, "but I was afraid +you might be displeased. What time is it?"</p> + +<p>He looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes to three."</p> + +<p>"Would you mind very much if we didn't start until five or ten minutes past +three?"</p> + +<p>"Why—er—what's the matter?"</p> + +<p>Alice hesitated, then with pleading eyes: "I've been troubled about +different things lately, so I spoke to Father Anselm yesterday and he said +I might come to him to-day at a quarter to three."</p> + +<p>"You mean for confession?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I see. How long does it take?"</p> + +<p>"Fifteen or twenty minutes."</p> + +<p>"Will it make you feel happier?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, much happier."</p> + +<p>"All right," he nodded, "I'll wait."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Cousin Adolf," she said eagerly. "I'll hurry right back; I'll +be here by ten minutes past three."</p> + +<p>He eyed her keenly. "You needn't trouble to come back, I'll go to the +church with you."</p> + +<p>"And wait there?" she asked with a shade of disappointment.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered briefly.</p> + +<p>There was nothing more to say, and a few minutes later Alice, anxious-eyed +but altogether lovely in flower-spread hat and a fleecy pink gown, entered +Notre-Dame followed by the wood carver.</p> + +<p>"Will you wait here, cousin, by my little table?" she asked sweetly.</p> + +<p>"You seem anxious to get rid of me," he smiled.</p> + +<p>"No, no," she protested, but her cheeks flushed; "I only thought this chair +would be more comfortable."</p> + +<p>"Any chair will do for me," he said dryly. "Where is your confessional?"</p> + +<p>"On the other side," and she led the way down the right aisle, past various +recessed chapels, past various confessional boxes, each bearing the name of +the priest who officiated there. And presently as they came to a +confessional box in the space near the sacristy Alice pointed to the name, +"Father Anselm."</p> + +<p>"There," she said.</p> + +<p>"Is the priest inside?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." And then, with a new idea: "Cousin Adolf," she whispered, "if you go +along there back of the choir and down a little stairway, you will come to +the treasure room. It might interest you."</p> + +<p>He looked at her in frank amusement. "I'm interested already. I'll get +along very nicely here. Now go ahead and get through with it."</p> + +<p>The girl glanced about her with a helpless gesture, and then, sighing +resignedly, she entered the confessional. Groener seated himself on one of +the little chairs and leaned back with a satisfied chuckle. He was so near +the confessional that he could hear a faint murmur of voices—Alice's sweet +tones and then the priest's low questions.</p> + +<p>Five minutes passed, ten minutes! Groener looked at his watch impatiently. +He heard footsteps on the stone of the choir, and, glancing up, saw +Matthieu polishing the carved stalls. Some ladies passed with a guide who +was showing them the church. Groener rose and paced back and forth +nervously. What a time the girl was taking! Then the door of the +confessional box opened and a black-robed priest came out and moved +solemnly away. <i>Enfin!</i> It was over! And with a feeling of relief Groener +watched the priest as he disappeared in the passage leading to the +sacristy.</p> + +<p>Still Alice lingered, saying a last prayer, no doubt. But the hour was +advancing. 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.</p> + +<p>"Alice!" he called in a low tone, standing near the penitent's curtain.</p> + +<p>There was no answer.</p> + +<p>Then he knocked sharply on the woodwork: "Alice, what are you doing?"</p> + +<p>Still no answer.</p> + +<p>Groener's face darkened, and with sudden suspicion he drew aside the +curtain.</p> + +<p>The confessional box was empty—<i>Alice was gone!</i></p> + +<a name="image-23"><!-- Image 23 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/023.jpg" height="322" width="300" +alt=""The confessional box was empty—<i>Alice was gone!</i>""> +</center> + +<h5>"The confessional box was empty—<i>Alice was gone!</i>"</h5> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXII"></a><h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>AT THE HAIRDRESSER'S</h3> + +<p>What had happened was very simple. The confessional box from which Alice +had vanished was one not in use at the moment, owing to repairs in the wall +behind it. These repairs had necessitated the removal of several large +stones, replaced temporarily by lengths of supporting timbers between which +a person might easily pass. Coquenil, with his habit of careful +observation, had remarked this fact during his night in the church, and now +he had taken advantage of it to effect Alice's escape. The girl had entered +the confessional in the usual way, had remained there long enough to let +Groener hear her voice, and had then slipped out through the open wall into +the sacristy passage beyond. <i>And the priest was Tignol!</i></p> + +<p>"I scored on him that time," chuckled Coquenil, rubbing away at the +woodwork and thinking of Alice hastening to the safe place he had chosen +for her.</p> + +<p>"M. Matthieu!" called Groener. "Would you mind coming here a moment?"</p> + +<p>"I was just going to ask you to look at these carvings," replied Matthieu, +coming forward innocently.</p> + +<p>"No, no," answered the other excitedly, "a most unfortunate thing has +happened. Look at that!" and he opened the door of the confessional. "She +has gone—run away!"</p> + +<p>Matthieu stared in blank surprise. "Name of a pipe!" he muttered. "Not your +cousin?"</p> + +<p>Groener nodded with half-shut eyes in which the detective caught a flash of +black rage, but only a flash. In a moment the man's face was placid and +good-natured as before.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said quietly, "my cousin has run away. It makes me sad +because—Sit down a minute, M. Matthieu, I'll tell you about it."</p> + +<p>"We'll be more quiet in here," suggested Matthieu, indicating the sacristy.</p> + +<p>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?"</p> + +<p>His companion, marveling inwardly, agreed to this, and a few moments later +the two men were seated under the awning of the Three Wise Men.</p> + +<p>"Now," began Groener, with perfect simplicity and friendliness, "I'll +explain the trouble between Alice and me. I've had a hard time with that +girl, M. Matthieu, a very hard time. If it wasn't for her mother, I'd have +washed my hands of her long ago; but her mother was a fine woman, a noble +woman. It's true she made one mistake that ruined her life and practically +killed her, still——"</p> + +<p>"What mistake was that?" inquired Matthieu with sympathy.</p> + +<p>"Why, she married an American who was—the less we say about him the +better. The point is, Alice is half American, and ever since she has been +old enough to take notice, she has been crazy about American men." He +leaned closer and, lowering his voice, added: "That's why I had to send her +to Paris five years ago."</p> + +<p>"You don't say!"</p> + +<p>"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 in +Brussels, a married man. I had to break it up somehow, so I sent her away. +Yes, sir." He shook his head sorrowfully.</p> + +<p>"And now it's another American, a man in prison, charged with a horrible +crime. Think of that! As soon as Mother Bonneton wrote me about it, I saw +I'd have to take the girl away again. I told her this morning she must pack +up her things and go back to Brussels with me, and that made the trouble."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" exclaimed Matthieu with an understanding nod. "Then she knew at +luncheon that you would take her back to Brussels?"</p> + +<p>"Of course she did. You know how she acted; she had made up her mind she +wouldn't go. Only she was tricky about it. She knew I had my eye on her, so +she got this priest to help her."</p> + +<p>Now the other stared in genuine astonishment. "Why—was the priest in it?"</p> + +<p>"Was he in it? Of course he was in it. He was the whole thing. This Father +Anselm has been encouraging the girl for months, filling her up with +nonsense about how it's right for a young girl to choose her own husband. +Mother Bonneton told me."</p> + +<p>"You mean that Father Anselm helped her to run away?" gasped Matthieu.</p> + +<p>"Of course he did. You saw him come out of the confessional, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"I was too far away to see his face," replied the other, studying the wood +carver closely. "Did <i>you</i> see his face?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I did. He passed within ten feet of me. I saw his face +distinctly."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure it was he? I don't doubt you, M. Groener, but I'm a sort of +official here and this is a serious charge, so I ask if you are <i>sure</i> it +was Father Anselm?".</p> + +<p>"I'm absolutely sure it was Father Anselm," answered the wood carver +positively. He paused a moment while the detective wondered what was the +meaning of this extraordinary statement. Why was the man giving him these +details about Alice, and how much of them was true? Did Groener know he was +talking to Paul Coquenil? If so, he knew that Coquenil must know he was +lying about Father Anselm. Then why say such a thing? What was his game?</p> + +<a name="image-24"><!-- Image 24 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/024.jpg" height="300" width="532" +alt=""'You mean that Father Anselm helped her to run away?' gasped Matthieu.""> +</center> + +<h5>"'You mean that Father Anselm helped her to run away?' gasped Matthieu."</h5> + +<p>"Have another glass?" asked the wood carver. "Or shall we go on?"</p> + +<p>"Go on—where?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course, you don't know my plan. I will tell you. You see, I must +find Alice, I must try to save her from this folly, for her mother's sake. +Well, I know how to find her."</p> + +<p>He spoke so earnestly and straightforwardly that Coquenil began to think +Groener had really been deceived by the Matthieu disguise. After all, why +not? Tignol had been deceived by it.</p> + +<p>"How will you find her?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you as we drive along. We'll take a cab and—you won't leave me, +M. Matthieu?" he said anxiously.</p> + +<p>Coquenil tried to soften the grimness of his smile. "No, M. Groener, I +won't leave you."</p> + +<p>"Good! Now then!" He threw down some money for the drinks, then he hailed a +passing carriage.</p> + +<p>"Rue Tronchet, near the Place de la Madeleine," he directed, and as they +rolled away, he added: "Stop at the nearest telegraph office."</p> + +<p>The adventure was taking a new turn. Groener, evidently, had some definite +plan which he hoped to carry out. Coquenil felt for cigarettes in his coat +pocket and his hand touched the friendly barrel of a revolver. Then he +glanced back and saw the big automobile, which had been waiting for hours, +trailing discreetly behind with Tignol (no longer a priest) and two sturdy +fellows, making four men with the chauffeur, all ready to rush up for +attack or defense at the lift of his hand. There must be some miraculous +interposition if this man beside him, this baby-faced wood carver, was to +get away now as he did that night on the Champs Elysées.</p> + +<p>"You'll be paying for that left-handed punch, old boy, before very long," +said Coquenil to himself.</p> + +<p>"Now," resumed Groener, as the cab turned into a quiet street out of the +noisy traffic of the Rue de Rivoli, "I'll tell you how I expect to find +Alice. I'm going to find her through the sister of Father Anselm."</p> + +<p>"The sister of Father Anselm!" exclaimed the other.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Priests have sisters, didn't you know that? Ha, ha! She's a +hairdresser on the Rue Tronchet, kind-hearted woman with children of her +own. She comes to see the Bonnetons and is fond of Alice. Well, she'll know +where the girl has gone, and I propose to make her tell me."</p> + +<p>"To make her?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she'll want to tell me when she understands what this means to her +brother. Hello! Here's the telegraph office! Just a minute."</p> + +<p>He sprang lightly from the cab and hurried across the sidewalk. At the same +moment Coquenil lifted his hand and brought it down quickly, twice, in the +direction of the doorway through which Groener had passed. And a moment +later Tignol was in the telegraph office writing a dispatch beside the wood +carver.</p> + +<p>"I've telegraphed the Paris agent of a big furniture dealer in Rouen," +explained the latter as they drove on, "canceling an appointment for +to-morrow. He was coming on especially, but I can't see him—I can't do any +business until I've found Alice. She's a sweet girl, in spite of +everything, and I'm very fond of her." There was a quiver of emotion in his +voice.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to the hairdresser's now?" asked Matthieu.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Of course she may refuse to help me, but I <i>think</i> I can persuade her +with you to back me up." He smiled meaningly.</p> + +<p>"I? What can I do?"</p> + +<p>"Everything, my friend. You can testify that Father Anselm planned Alice's +escape, 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 me +and my friend, M. Matthieu—he's waiting outside, in a cab—you're not +going to force us to charge your reverend brother with abducting a young +lady? That wouldn't be a nice story to tell the commissary of police, would +it? 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 drive +right back with us to Notre-Dame and put a little sense into her brother's +shaven head. It's four o'clock now," he concluded gayly; "I'll bet you we +have Alice with us for dinner by seven, and it will be a good dinner, too. +Understand you dine with us, M. Matthieu."</p> + +<p>The man's effrontery was prodigious and there was so much plausibility in +his glib chatter that, in spite of himself, Coquenil kept a last lingering +wonder if Groener <i>could</i> be telling the truth. If not, what was his motive +in this elaborate fooling? He must know that his hypocrisy and deceit would +presently be exposed. So what did he expect to gain by it? What could he be +driving at?</p> + +<p>"Stop at the third doorway in the Rue Tronchet," directed the wood carver +as they entered the Place de la Madeleine, and pointing to a hairdresser's +sign, he added: "There is her place, up one flight. Now, if you will be +patient for a few minutes, I think I'll come back with good news."</p> + +<p>As Groener stepped from the carriage, Coquenil was on the point of seizing +him 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 house +there was no chance of the fellow escaping, and it was possible his visit +here might reveal something. Besides, a detective has the sportsman's +instinct, he likes to play his fish before landing it.</p> + +<p>"All right," nodded M. Paul, "I'll be patient," and as the wood carver +disappeared, he signaled Tignol to surround the house.</p> + +<p>"He's trying to lose us," said the old fox, hurrying up a moment later. +"There are three exits here."</p> + +<p>"Three?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you know this place?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"There's a passage from the first courtyard into a second one, and from +that you can go out either into the Place de la Madeleine or the Rue de +l'Arcade. I've got a man at each exit but"——he shook his head +dubiously—"one man may not be enough."</p> + +<p>"<i>Tonnere de Dieu</i>, it's Madam Cecile's!" cried Coquenil. Then he gave +quick orders: "Put the chauffeur with one of your men in the Rue de +l'Arcade, bring your other man here and we'll double him up with this +driver. Listen," he said to the jehu; "you get twenty francs extra to help +watch this doorway for the man who just went in. We have a warrant for his +arrest. You mustn't let him get past. Understand?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty francs," grinned the driver, a red-faced Norman with rugged +shoulders; "he won't get past, you can sleep on your two ears for that."</p> + +<p>Meantime, Tignol had returned with one of his men, who was straightway +stationed in the courtyard.</p> + +<p>"Now," went on Coquenil, "you and I will take the exit on the Place de la +Madeleine. It's four to one he comes out there."</p> + +<p>"Why is it?" grumbled Tignol.</p> + +<p>"Never mind why," answered the other brusquely, and he walked ahead, +frowning, until they reached an imposing entrance with stately palms on +the white stone floor and the glimpse of an imposing stairway.</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course," muttered M. Paul. "To think that I had forgotten +it! After all, one loses some of the old tricks in two years."</p> + +<p>"Remember that blackmail case," whispered Tignol, "when we sneaked the +countess out by the Rue de l'Arcade? Eh, eh, eh, what a close shave!"</p> + +<p>Coquenil nodded. "Here's one of the same kind." He glanced at a sober +<i>coupé</i> from which a lady, thickly veiled, was descending, and he followed +her with a shrug as she entered the house.</p> + +<p>"To think that some of the smartest women in Paris come here!" he mused. +Then to Tignol: "How about that telegram?"</p> + +<p>The old man stroked his rough chin. "The clerk gave me a copy of it, all +right, when I showed my papers. Here it is and—much good it will do us."</p> + +<p>He handed M. Paul a telegraph blank on which was written:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p>DUBOIS, 20 Rue Chalgrin. + +<p> Special bivouac amateur bouillon danger must have Sahara easily + Groener arms impossible.</p> + +<p> FELIX.</p></div> + +<p>"I see," nodded Coquenil; "it ought to be an easy cipher. We must look up +Dubois," and he put the paper in his pocket. "Better go in now and locate +this fellow. Look over the two courtyards, have a word with the +doorkeepers, see if he really went into the hairdresser's; if not, find out +where he did go. Tell our men at the other exits not to let a yellow dog +slip past without sizing it up for Groener."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell 'em," grinned the old man, and he slouched away.</p> + +<p>For five minutes Coquenil waited at the Place de la Madeleine exit and it +seemed a long time. Two ladies arrived in carriages and passed inside +quickly with exaggerated self-possession. A couple came down the stairs +smiling and separated coldly at the door. Then a man came out alone, and +the detective's eyes bored into him. It wasn't Groener.</p> + +<p>Finally, Tignol returned and reported all well at the other exits; no one +had gone out who could possibly be the wood carver. Groener had not been +near the hairdresser; he had gone straight through into the second +courtyard, and from there he had hurried up the main stairway.</p> + +<p>"The one that leads to Madam Cecile's?" questioned M. Paul.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but Cecile has only two floors. There are two more above hers."</p> + +<p>"You think he went higher up?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure he did, for I spoke to Cecile herself. She wouldn't dare lie to +me, and she says she has seen no such man as Groener."</p> + +<p>"Then he's in one of the upper apartments now?"</p> + +<p>"He must be."</p> + +<p>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 to +have nailed him when I had him. He's too dangerous a man to take chances +with and—<i>mille tonneres</i>, the roof!"</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>Coquenil looked at his watch. "He's been in there fifteen minutes. I'll +give him five minutes more. If he isn't out then, we'll search the whole +block from roof to cellar. Papa Tignol, it will break my heart if this +fellow gets away."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Suffering gods!" muttered the detective, "he's coming!"</p> + +<p>As he spoke the glass door at the foot of the stairs opened and a handsome +couple advanced toward them, both dressed in the height of fashion, the +woman young and graceful, the man a perfect type of the dashing +<i>boulevardier</i>.</p> + +<p>"No, no, you're crazy," whispered Tignol.</p> + +<p>As the couple reached the sidewalk, Coquenil himself hesitated. In the +better light he could see no resemblance between the wood carver and this +gentleman with his smart clothes, his glossy silk hat, and his haughty +eyeglass. 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 was +clean shaven—finally, the wood carver was shorter and heavier than this +man.</p> + +<p>While the detective wavered, the gentleman stepped forward courteously and +opened the door of a waiting <i>coupé</i>. The lady caught up her silken skirts +and was about to enter when Coquenil brushed against her, as if by +accident, and her purse fell to the ground.</p> + +<p>"Stupid brute!" exclaimed the gentleman angrily, as he bent over and +reached for the purse with his gloved hand.</p> + +<p>At the same moment Coquenil seized the extended wrist in such fierce and +sudden attack that, before the man could think of resisting, he was held +helpless with his left arm bent behind him in twisted torture.</p> + +<p>"No nonsense, or you'll break your arm," he warned his captive as the +latter made an ineffectual effort against him. "Call the others," he +ordered, and Tignol blew a shrill summons. "Rip off this glove. I want to +see his hand. Come, come, none of that. Open it up. No? I'll <i>make</i> you +open it. There, I thought so," as an excruciating wrench forced the +stubborn fist to yield. "Now then, off with that glove! Ah!" he cried as +the bare hand came to view. "I thought so. It's too bad you couldn't hide +that long little finger! Tignol, quick with the handcuffs! There, I think +we have you safely landed now, <i>M. Adolf Groener!</i>"</p> + +<a name="image-25"><!-- Image 25 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/025.jpg" height="300" width="339" +alt=""'No nonsense, or you'll break your arm.'""> +</center> + +<h5>"'No nonsense, or you'll break your arm.'"</h5> + +<p>The prisoner had not spoken a word; now he flashed at Coquenil a look of +withering contempt that the detective long remembered, and, leaning close, +he whispered: "<i>You poor fool!</i>"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a><h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>GROENER AT BAY</h3> + +<p>Two hours later (it was nearly seven) Judge Hauteville sat in his office at +the Palais de Justice, hurrying through a meal that had been brought in +from a restaurant.</p> + +<p>"There," he muttered, wiping his mouth, "that will keep me going for a few +hours," and he touched the bell.</p> + +<p>"Is M. Coquenil back yet?" he asked when the clerk appeared.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," replied the latter, "he's waiting."</p> + +<p>"Good! I'll see him."</p> + +<p>The clerk withdrew and presently ushered in the detective.</p> + +<p>"Sit down," motioned the judge. "Coquenil, I've done a hard day's work and +I'm tired, but I'm going to examine this man of yours to-night."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad of that," said M. Paul, "I think it's important."</p> + +<p>"Important? Humph! The morning would do just as well—however, we'll let +that go. Remember, you have no standing in this case. The work has been +done by Tignol, the warrant was served by Tignol, and the witnesses have +been summoned by Tignol. Is that understood?"</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"That is my official attitude," smiled Hauteville, unbending a little; "I +needn't add that, between ourselves, I appreciate what you have done, and +if this affair turns out as I hope it will, I shall do my best to have your +services properly recognized."</p> + +<p>Coquenil bowed.</p> + +<p>"Now then," continued the judge, "have you got the witnesses?"</p> + +<p>"They are all here except Father Anselm. He has been called to the bedside +of a dying woman, but we have his signed statement that he had nothing to +do with the girl's escape."</p> + +<p>"Of course not, we knew that, anyway. And the girl?"</p> + +<p>"I went for her myself. She is outside."</p> + +<p>"And the prisoner?"</p> + +<p>"He's in another room under guard. I thought it best he shouldn't see the +witnesses."</p> + +<p>"Quite right. He'd better not see them when he comes through the outer +office. You attend to that."</p> + +<p>"<i>Bien!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Is there anything else before I send for him? Oh, the things he wore? Did +you find them?"</p> + +<p>The detective nodded. "We found that he has a room on the fifth floor, over +Madam Cecile's. He keeps it by the year. He made his change there, and we +found everything that he took off—the wig, the beard, and the rough +clothes."</p> + +<p>The judge rubbed his hands. "Capital! Capital! It's a great coup. We may as +well begin. I want you to be present, Coquenil, at the examination."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's kind of you!" exclaimed M. Paul.</p> + +<p>"Not kind at all, you'll be of great service. Get those witnesses out of +sight and then bring in the man."</p> + +<p>A few moments later the prisoner entered, walking with hands manacled, at +the side of an imposing <i>garde de Paris</i>. He still wore his smart clothes, +and was as coldly self-possessed as at the moment of his arrest. He seemed +to regard both handcuffs and guard as petty details unworthy of his +attention, and he eyed the judge and Coquenil with almost patronizing +scrutiny.</p> + +<p>"Sit there," said Hauteville, pointing to a chair, and the newcomer obeyed +indifferently.</p> + +<p>The clerk settled himself at his desk and prepared to write.</p> + +<p>"What is your name?" began the judge.</p> + +<p>"I don't care to give my name," answered the other.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"That's my affair."</p> + +<p>"Is your name Adolf Groener?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Are you a wood carver?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Have you recently been disguised as a wood carver?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>He spoke the three negatives with a listless, rather bored air.</p> + +<p>"Groener, you are lying and I'll prove it shortly. Tell me, first, if you +have money to employ a lawyer?"</p> + +<p>"Possibly, but I wish no lawyer."</p> + +<p>"That is not the question. You are under suspicion of having committed a +crime and——"</p> + +<p>"What crime?" asked the prisoner sharply.</p> + +<p>"Murder," said the judge; then impressively, after a pause: "We have reason +to think that you shot the billiard player, Martinez."</p> + +<p>Both judge and detective watched the man closely as this name was spoken, +but neither saw the slightest sign of emotion.</p> + +<p>"Martinez?" echoed the prisoner indifferently. "I never heard of him."</p> + +<p>"Ah! You'll hear enough of him before you get through," nodded Hauteville +grimly. "The law requires that a prisoner have the advantage of counsel +during examination. So I ask if you will provide a lawyer?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered the accused.</p> + +<p>"Then the court will assign a lawyer for your defense. Ask Maître Curé to +come in," he directed the clerk.</p> + +<p>"It's quite useless," shrugged the prisoner with careless arrogance, "I +will have nothing to do with Maître Curé."</p> + +<p>"I warn you, Groener, in your own interest, to drop this offensive tone."</p> + +<p>"Ta, ta, ta! I'll take what tone I please. And I'll answer your questions +as I please or—or not at all."</p> + +<p>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 +<i>impresario</i>. He seemed amused when told that the prisoner rejected his +services, and established himself comfortably in a corner of the room as an +interested spectator.</p> + +<p>Then the magistrate resumed sternly: "You were arrested, sir, this +afternoon in the company of a woman. Do you know who she is?"</p> + +<p>"I do. She is a lady of my acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"A lady whom you met at Madam Cecile's?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"You met her there by appointment?"</p> + +<p>"Ye-es."</p> + +<p>The judge snorted incredulously. "You don't even know her name?"</p> + +<p>"You think not?"</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it?"</p> + +<p>"Why should I tell you? Is <i>she</i> charged with murder?" was the sneering +answer.</p> + +<p>"Groener," said Hauteville sternly, "you say this woman is a person of your +acquaintance. We'll see." He touched the bell, and as the door opened, +"Madam Cecile," he said.</p> + +<p>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 too +red to be real. She bowed to the judge with excessive affability and sat +down.</p> + +<p>"You are Madam Cecile?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"You keep a <i>maison de rendez-vous</i> on the Place de la Madeleine?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Look at this man," he pointed to the prisoner. "Have you ever seen him +before?"</p> + +<p>"I have seen him—once."</p> + +<p>"When was that?"</p> + +<p>"This afternoon. He called at my place and—" she hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Tell me what happened—everything."</p> + +<p>"He spoke to me and—he said he wanted a lady. I asked him what kind of a +lady he wanted, and he said he wanted a real lady, not a fake. I told him I +had a very pretty widow and he looked at her, but she wasn't <i>chic</i> enough. +Then I told him I had something special, a young married woman, a beauty, +whose husband has plenty of money only——"</p> + +<p>"Never mind that," cut in the judge. "What then?"</p> + +<p>"He looked her over and said she would do. He offered her five hundred +francs 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 is +a nice sum. He paid it in advance, so I told her to go ahead and—she did."</p> + +<p>"Do you think he knew the woman?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure he did not."</p> + +<p>"He simply paid her five hundred francs to go out of the house with him?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly."</p> + +<p>"That will do. You may go."</p> + +<p>With a sigh of relief and a swish of her perfumed skirts, Madam Cecile left +the room.</p> + +<p>"What do you say to that, Groener?" questioned the judge.</p> + +<p>"She's a disreputable person and her testimony has no value," answered the +prisoner unconcernedly.</p> + +<p>"Did you pay five hundred francs to the woman who left the house with you?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not."</p> + +<p>"Do you still maintain that she is a lady whom you know personally?"</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>Again Hauteville touched the bell. "The lady who was brought with this +man," he directed.</p> + +<p>Outside there sounded a murmur of voices and presently a young woman, +handsomely dressed and closely veiled, was led in by a guard. She was +almost fainting with fright.</p> + +<p>The judge rose courteously and pointed to a chair. "Sit down, madam. Try to +control yourself. I shall detain you only a minute. Now—what is your +name?"</p> + +<p>The woman sat silent, wringing her hands in distress, then she burst out: +"It will disgrace me, it will ruin me."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," assured Hauteville. "Your name will not go on the +records—you need not even speak it aloud. Simply whisper it to me."</p> + +<p>Rising in agitation the lady went to the judge's desk and spoke to him +inaudibly.</p> + +<p>"Really!" he exclaimed, eying her in surprise as she stood before him, face +down, the picture of shame.</p> + +<p>"I have only two questions to ask," he proceeded. "Look at this man and +tell me if you know him," he pointed to the accused.</p> + +<p>She shook her head and answered in a low tone: "I never saw him before this +afternoon."</p> + +<p>"You met him at Madam Cecile's?"</p> + +<p>"Ye-es," very faintly.</p> + +<p>"And he paid you five hundred francs to go out of the house with him?"</p> + +<p>She nodded but did not speak.</p> + +<p>"That was the only service you were to render, was it, for this sum of +money, simply to leave the house with him and drive away in a carriage?"</p> + +<p>"That was all."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, madam. I hope you will learn a lesson from this experience. You +may go."</p> + +<p>Staggering, gasping for breath, clinging weakly to the guard's arm, the +lady left the room.</p> + +<p>"Now, sir, what have you to say?" demanded the judge, facing the prisoner.</p> + +<p>"Nothing."</p> + +<p>"You admit that the lady told the truth?"</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha!" the other laughed harshly. "A lady would naturally tell the truth +in such a predicament, wouldn't she?"</p> + +<p>At this the judge leaned over to Coquenil and, after some low words, he +spoke to the clerk who bowed and went out.</p> + +<p>"You denied a moment ago," resumed the questioner, "that your name is +Groener. Also that you were disguised this afternoon as a wood carver. Do +you deny that you have a room, rented by the year, in the house where Madam +Cecile has her apartment? Ah, that went home!" he exclaimed. "You thought +we would overlook the little fifth-floor room, eh?"</p> + +<p>"I know nothing about such a room," declared the other.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you didn't go there to change your clothes before you called at +Madam Cecile's?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not."</p> + +<p>"Call Jules," said Hauteville to the sleepy guard standing at the door, and +straightway the clerk reappeared with a large leather bag.</p> + +<p>"Open it," directed the magistrate. "Spread the things on the table. Let +the prisoner look at them. Now then, my stubborn friend, what about these +garments? What about this wig and false beard?"</p> + +<p>Groener rose wearily from his chair, walked deliberately to the table and +glanced at the exposed objects without betraying the slightest interest or +confusion.</p> + +<p>"I've never seen these things before, I know nothing about them," he said.</p> + +<p>"Name of a camel!" muttered Coquenil. "He's got his nerve with him all +right!"</p> + +<p>The judge sat silent, playing with his lead pencil, then he folded a sheet +of paper and proceeded to mark it with a series of rough geometrical +patterns, afterwards going over them again, shading them carefully. Finally +he looked up and said quietly to the guard: "Take off his handcuffs."</p> + +<p>The guard obeyed.</p> + +<p>"Now take off his coat."</p> + +<p>This was done also, the prisoner offering no resistance.</p> + +<p>"Now his shirt," and the shirt was taken off.</p> + +<p>"Now his boots and trousers."</p> + +<p>All this was done, and a few moments later the accused stood in his socks +and underclothing. And still he made no protest.</p> + +<p>Here M. Paul whispered to Hauteville, who nodded in assent.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Take off his garters and pull up his drawers. I want his legs +bare below the knees."</p> + +<p>"It's an outrage!" cried Groener, for the first time showing feeling.</p> + +<p>"Silence, sir!" glared the magistrate.</p> + +<p>"You'll be bare <i>above</i> the knees in the morning when your measurements are +taken." Then to the guard: "Do what I said."</p> + +<p>Again the guard obeyed, and Coquenil stood by in eager watchfulness as the +prisoner's lower legs were uncovered.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" he cried in triumph, "I knew it, I was sure of it! There!" he pointed +to an egg-shaped wound on the right calf, two red semicircles plainly +imprinted in the white flesh. "It's the first time I ever marked a man with +my teeth and—it's a jolly good thing I did."</p> + +<p>"How about this, Groener?" questioned the judge. "Do you admit having had a +struggle with Paul Coquenil one night on the street?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"What made that mark on your leg?"</p> + +<p>"I—I was bitten by a dog."</p> + +<p>"It's a wonder you didn't shoot the dog," flashed the detective.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" retorted the other.</p> + +<p>Coquenil bent close, black wrath burning in his deep-set eyes, and spoke +three words that came to him by lightning intuition, three simple words +that, nevertheless, seemed to smite the prisoner with sudden fear: "<i>Oh, +nothing, Raoul!</i>"</p> + +<p>So evident was the prisoner's emotion that Hauteville turned for an +explanation to the detective, who said something under his breath.</p> + +<p>"Very strange! Very important!" reflected the magistrate. Then to the +accused: "In the morning we'll have that wound studied by experts who will +tell us whether it was made by a dog or a man. Now I want you to put on the +things that were in that bag."</p> + +<p>For the first time a sense of his humiliation seemed to possess the +prisoner. He clinched his hands fiercely and a wave of uncontrollable anger +swept over him.</p> + +<p>"No," he cried hoarsely, "I won't do it, I'll never do it!"</p> + +<p>Both the judge and Coquenil gave satisfied nods at this sign of a +breakdown, but they rejoiced too soon, for by a marvelous effort of the +will, the man recovered his self-mastery and calm.</p> + +<p>"After all," he corrected himself, "what does it matter? I'll put the +things 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 wood +carver. He even smiled contemptuously as he did so.</p> + +<p>"What a man! What a man!" thought Coquenil, watching him admiringly.</p> + +<p>"There!" said the prisoner when the thing was done.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>M. Paul fell to work zealously at this task and, using an elaborate +collection of paints, powders, and brushes that were in the bag, he +presently had accomplished a startling change in the unresisting +prisoner—he had literally transformed him into the wood carver.</p> + +<p>"If you're not Groener now," said Coquenil, surveying his work with a +satisfied smile, "I'll swear you're his twin brother. It's the best +disguise I ever saw, I'll take my hat off to you on that."</p> + +<p>"Extraordinary!" murmured the judge. "Groener, do you still deny that this +disguise belongs to you?"</p> + +<a name="image-26"><!-- Image 26 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/026.jpg" height="300" width="348" +alt=""'It's the best disguise I ever saw, I'll take my hat off to +you on that.'""> +</center> + +<h5>"'It's the best disguise I ever saw, I'll take my hat off to +you on that.'"</h5> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"You've never worn it before?"</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"And you're not Adolf Groener?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not."</p> + +<p>"You haven't a young cousin known as Alice Groener?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>During these questions the door had opened silently at a sign from the +magistrate, and Alice herself had entered the room.</p> + +<p>"Turn around!" ordered the judge sharply, and as the accused obeyed he came +suddenly face to face with the girl.</p> + +<p>At the sight of him Alice started in surprise and fear and cried out: "Oh, +Cousin Adolf!"</p> + +<p>But the prisoner remained impassive.</p> + +<p>"Did you expect to see this man here?" the magistrate asked her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," she shivered.</p> + +<p>"No one had told you you might see him?"</p> + +<p>"No one."</p> + +<p>The judge turned to Coquenil. "You did not prepare her for this meeting in +any way?"</p> + +<p>"No," said M. Paul.</p> + +<p>"What is your name?" said Hauteville to the girl.</p> + +<p>"Alice Groener," she answered simply.</p> + +<p>"And this man's name?"</p> + +<p>"Adolf Groener."</p> + +<p>"You are sure?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, he is my cousin."</p> + +<p>"How long have you known him?"</p> + +<p>"Why I—I've always known him."</p> + +<p>Quick as a flash the prisoner pulled off his wig and false beard.</p> + +<p>"Am I your cousin now?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried the girl, staring in amazement.</p> + +<p>"Look at me! Am I your cousin?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know," she stammered.</p> + +<p>"Am I talking to you with your cousin's voice? Pay attention—tell me—am +I?"</p> + +<p>Alice shook her head in perplexity. "It's not my cousin's voice," she +admitted.</p> + +<p>"And it's <i>not</i> your cousin," declared the prisoner. Then he faced the +judge. "Is it reasonable that I could have lived with this girl for years +in 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. Did +you ever suspect that your cousin wore a wig or a false beard?" he asked +Alice.</p> + +<p>"No," she replied, "I never did."</p> + +<p>"Ah! And the voice? Did you ever hear your cousin speak with my voice?"</p> + +<p>"No, never."</p> + +<p>"You see," he triumphed to the magistrate. "She can't identify me as her +cousin, for the excellent reason that I'm not her cousin. You can't change +a man's personality by making him wear another man's clothes and false +hair. I tell you I'm <i>not</i> Groener."</p> + +<p>"Who are you then?" demanded the judge.</p> + +<p>"I'm not obliged to say who I am, and you have no business to ask unless +you 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."</p> + +<p>Maître Curé nodded gravely in response to this appeal. "The prisoner is +correct," he said.</p> + +<p>Here Coquenil whispered to the judge.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," nodded the latter, and, turning to Alice, who sat wondering +and trembling through this agitated scene, he said: "Thank you, +mademoiselle, you may go."</p> + +<p>The girl rose and, bowing gratefully and sweetly, left the room, followed +by M. Paul.</p> + +<p>"Groener, you say that we have not yet shown you guilty of any crime. Be +patient and we will overcome that objection. Where were you about midnight +on the night of the 4th of July?"</p> + +<p>"I can't say offhand," answered the other.</p> + +<p>"Try to remember."</p> + +<p>"Why should I?"</p> + +<p>"You refuse? Then I will stimulate your memory," and again he touched the +bell.</p> + +<p>Coquenil entered, followed by the shrimp photographer, who was evidently +much depressed.</p> + +<p>"Do you recognize this man?" questioned Hauteville, studying the prisoner +closely.</p> + +<p>"No," came the answer with a careless shrug.</p> + +<p>The shrimp turned to the prisoner and, at the sight of him, started forward +accusingly.</p> + +<p>"That is the man," he cried, "that is the man who choked me."</p> + +<p>"One moment," said the magistrate. "What is your name?"</p> + +<p>"Alexander Godin," piped the photographer.</p> + +<p>"You live at the Hôtel des Étrangers on the Rue Racine?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"You are engaged to a young dressmaker who has a room near yours on the +sixth floor?"</p> + +<p>"I <i>was</i> engaged to her," said Alexander sorrowfully, "but there's a +medical student on the same floor and——"</p> + +<p>"No matter. You were suspicious of this young person. And on the night of +July 4th you attacked a man passing along the balcony. Is that correct?"</p> + +<p>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 is +he—he—" Alexander stroked his neck ruefully.</p> + +<p>"I understand, he turned and nearly choked you. The marks of his nails are +still on your neck?"</p> + +<p>"They are, sir," murmured the shrimp.</p> + +<p>"And you are sure this is the man?" he pointed to the accused.</p> + +<p>"Perfectly sure. I'll swear to it."</p> + +<p>"Good. Now stand still. Come here, Groener. Reach out your arms as if you +were 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 <i>left</i> hand, on his neck with the +nails 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! And +now the little finger! Don't cramp it up, reach it out. Ah!"</p> + +<p>With breathless interest Coquenil watched the test, and, as the long little +finger slowly extended to its full length, he felt a sudden mad desire to +shout or leap in the pure joy of victory, for the nails of the prisoner's +left hand corresponded exactly with the nail marks on the shrimp +photographer's neck!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a><h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>THIRTY IMPORTANT WORDS</h3> + +<p>"Now, Groener," resumed the magistrate after the shrimp had withdrawn, "why +were you walking along this hotel balcony on the night of July 4th?"</p> + +<p>"I wasn't," answered the prisoner coolly.</p> + +<p>"The photographer positively identifies you."</p> + +<p>"He's mistaken, I wasn't there."</p> + +<p>"Ah," smiled Hauteville, with irritating affability. "You'll need a better +defense than that."</p> + +<p>"Whatever I need I shall have," came the sharp retort.</p> + +<p>"Have you anything to say about those finger-nail marks?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing."</p> + +<p>"There's a peculiarity about those marks, Groener. The little finger of the +hand that made them is abnormally, extraordinarily long. Experts say that +in a hundred thousand hands you will not find one with so long a little +finger, perhaps not one in a million. It happens that <i>you</i> have such a +hand and such a little finger. Strange, is it not?"</p> + +<p>"Call it strange, if you like," shrugged the prisoner.</p> + +<p>"Well, <i>isn't</i> it strange? Just think, if all the men in Paris should try +to fit their fingers in those finger marks, there would be only two or +three who could reach the extraordinary span of that little finger."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! There might be fifty, there might be five hundred."</p> + +<p>"Even so, only one of those fifty or five hundred would be positively +identified as the man who choked the photographer <i>and that one is +yourself</i>. There is the point; we have against you the evidence of Godin +who <i>saw</i> you that night and <i>remembers</i> you, and the evidence of your own +hand."</p> + +<p>So clearly was the charge made that, for the first time, the prisoner +dropped his scoffing manner and listened seriously.</p> + +<p>"Admit, for the sake of argument, that I <i>was</i> on the balcony," he said. +"Mind, I don't admit it, but suppose I was? What of it?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing much," replied the judge grimly; "it would simply establish a +strong probability that you killed Martinez."</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"The photographer saw you stealing toward Kittredge's room carrying a pair +of boots."</p> + +<p>"I don't admit it, but—what if I were?"</p> + +<p>"A pair of Kittredge's boots are missing. They were worn by the murderer to +throw suspicion on an innocent man. They were stolen when the pistol was +stolen, and the murderer tried to return them so that they might be +discovered in Kittredge's room and found to match the alleyway footprints +and damn Kittredge."</p> + +<p>"I don't know who Kittredge is, and I don't know what alleyway you refer +to," put in Groener.</p> + +<p>Hauteville ignored this bravado and proceeded: "In order to steal these +boots and be able to return them the murderer must have had access to +Kittredge's room. How? The simplest way was to take a room in the same +hotel, on the same floor, opening on the same balcony. <i>Which is exactly +what you did!</i> 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 the +day of the crime."</p> + +<p>"My dear sir, all this is away from the point. Granting that I choked the +photographer, which I don't grant, and that I carried a pair of boots along +a balcony and rented a room which I didn't occupy, how does that connect me +with the murder of—what did you say his name was?"</p> + +<p>"Martinez," answered the judge patiently.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Martinez! Well, why did I murder this person?" asked the prisoner +facetiously. "What had I to gain by his death? Can you make that clear? Can +you even prove that I was at the place where he was murdered at the +critical moment? By the way, where <i>was</i> the gentleman murdered? If I'm to +defend myself I ought to have some details of the affair."</p> + +<p>The judge and Coquenil exchanged some whispered words. Then the magistrate +said quietly: "I'll give you one detail about the murderer; he is a +left-handed man."</p> + +<p>"Yes? And <i>am</i> I left-handed?"</p> + +<p>"We'll know that definitely in the morning when you undergo the Bertillon +measurements. In the meantime M. Coquenil can testify that you use your +left hand with wonderful skill."</p> + +<p>"Referring, I suppose," sneered the prisoner, "to our imaginary encounter +on the Champs Elysées, when M. Coquenil claims to have used his teeth on my +leg."</p> + +<p>Quick as a flash M. Paul bent toward the judge and said something in a low +tone.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes!" exclaimed Hauteville with a start of satisfaction. Then to +Groener: "How do you happen to know that this encounter took place on the +Champs Elysées?"</p> + +<p>"Why—er—he said so just now," answered the other uneasily.</p> + +<p>"I think not. Was the Champs Elysées mentioned, Jules?" he turned to the +clerk.</p> + +<p>Jules looked back conscientiously through his notes and shook his head. +"Nothing has been said about the Champs Elysées."</p> + +<p>"I must have imagined it," muttered the prisoner.</p> + +<p>"Very clever of you, Groener," said the judge dryly, "to imagine the exact +street where the encounter took place. You couldn't have done better if you +had known it."</p> + +<p>"You see what comes of talking without the advice of counsel," remarked +Maître Curé in funereal tones.</p> + +<p>"Rubbish!" flung back the prisoner. "This examination is of no importance, +anyhow."</p> + +<p>"Of course not, of course not," purred the magistrate. Then, abruptly, his +whole manner changed.</p> + +<p>"Groener," he said, and his voice rang sternly, "I've been patient with you +so far, I've tolerated your outrageous arrogance and impertinence, partly +to entrap you, as I have, and partly because I always give suspected +persons a certain amount of latitude at first. Now, my friend, you've had +your little fling and—it's my turn. We are coming to a part of this +examination that you will not find quite so amusing. In fact you will +realize before you have been twenty-four hours at the Santé that——"</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to the Santé," interrupted Groener insolently.</p> + +<p>Hauteville motioned to the guard. "Put the handcuffs on him."</p> + +<p>The guard stepped forward and obeyed, handling the man none too tenderly. +Whereupon the accused once more lost his fine self-control and was swept +with furious anger.</p> + +<p>"Mark my words, Judge Hauteville," he threatened fiercely, "you have +ordered handcuffs put on a prisoner <i>for the last time</i>."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that?" demanded the magistrate.</p> + +<a name="image-27"><!-- Image 27 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/027.jpg" height="300" width="428" +alt=""'You have ordered handcuffs put on a prisoner <i>for the last +time</i>.'""> +</center> + +<h5>"'You have ordered handcuffs put on a prisoner <i>for the last +time</i>.'"</h5> + +<p>But almost instantly Groener had become calm again. "I beg your pardon," he +said, "I'm a little on my nerves. I'll behave myself now, I'm ready for +those things you spoke of that are not so amusing."</p> + +<p>"That's better," approved Hauteville, but Coquenil, watching the prisoner, +shook his head doubtfully. There was something in this man's mind that they +did not understand.</p> + +<p>"Groener," demanded the magistrate impressively, "do you still deny any +connection with this crime or any knowledge concerning it?"</p> + +<p>"I do," answered the accused.</p> + +<p>"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 impression +about Kittredge—the evidence seemed strong against him, and I should +certainly have committed him for trial had it not been for the remarkable +work on the case done by M. Coquenil."</p> + +<p>"I realize that," replied Groener with a swift and evil glance at the +detective, "but even M. Coquenil might make a mistake."</p> + +<p>Back of the quiet-spoken words M. Paul felt a controlled rage and a +violence of hatred that made him mutter to himself: "It's just as well this +fellow is where he can't do any more harm!"</p> + +<p>"I warned you," pursued the judge, "that we are coming to an unpleasant +part of this examination. It is unpleasant because it forces a guilty +person to betray himself and reveal more or less of the truth that he tries +to hide."</p> + +<p>The prisoner looked up incredulously. "You say it <i>forces</i> him to betray +himself?"</p> + +<p>"That's practically what it does. There may be men strong enough and +self-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 thoroughly +tested, but so far we have had wonderful results and—it's just the thing +for your case."</p> + +<p>Groener was listening carefully. "Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because, if you are guilty, we shall know it, and can go on confidently +looking 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—if +you <i>are</i> innocent, Groener, here is your chance to prove it."</p> + +<p>If the prisoner's fear was stirred he did not show it, for he answered +mockingly: "How convenient! I suppose you have a scales that registers +innocent or guilty when the accused stands on it?"</p> + +<p>Hauteville shook his head. "It's simpler than that. We make the accused +register his own guilt or his own innocence <i>with his own words</i>."</p> + +<p>"Whether he wishes to or not?"</p> + +<p>The other nodded grimly. "Within certain limits—yes."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>The judge opened a leather portfolio and selected several sheets of paper +ruled in squares. Then he took out his watch.</p> + +<p>"On these sheets," he explained, "M. Coquenil and I have written down about +a hundred words, simple, everyday words, most of them, such as 'house,' +'music,' 'tree,' 'baby,' that have no particular significance; among these +words, however, we have introduced thirty that have some association with +this crime, words like 'Ansonia,' 'billiards,' 'pistol.' Do you +understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I shall speak these words slowly, one by one, and when I speak a word I +want 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.' Of +course you are free to say any word you please, but you will find yourself +irresistibly drawn toward certain ones according as you are innocent or +guilty.</p> + +<p>"For instance, Martinez, the Spaniard, was widely known as a billiard +player. Now, if I should say 'billiard player,' and you had no personal +feeling about Martinez, you might easily, by association of ideas, say +'Spaniard'; but, if you had killed Martinez and wished to conceal your +crime then, when I said 'billiard player' you would <i>not</i> say 'Spaniard,' +but would choose some innocent word like table or chalk. That is a crude +illustration, but it may give you the idea."</p> + +<p>"And is that all?" asked Groener, in evident relief.</p> + +<p>"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 a +quarter or even more for his reply; each person has his or her average time +for the thought process, some longer, some shorter. But that time process +is always lengthened after one of the critical or emotional words, I mean +if the person is guilty. Thus, if I say, 'Ansonia' to you, and you are the +murderer of Martinez, it will take you one or two or three seconds longer +to decide upon a safe answering word than it would have taken if you were +<i>not</i> the murderer and spoke the first word that came to your tongue. Do +you see?"</p> + +<p>"I see," shrugged the prisoner, "but—after all, it's only an experiment, +it never would carry weight in a court of law."</p> + +<p>"Never is a long time," said the judge. "Wait ten years. We have a +wonderful mental microscope here and the world will learn to use it. <i>I</i> +use it now, and I happen to be in charge of this investigation."</p> + +<p>Groener was silent, his fine dark eyes fixed keenly on the judge.</p> + +<p>"Do you really think," he asked presently, while the old patronizing smile +flickered about his mouth, "that if I were guilty of this crime I could +not make these answers without betraying myself?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure you could not."</p> + +<p>"Then if I stood the test you would believe me innocent?"</p> + +<p>The magistrate reflected a moment. "I should be forced to believe one of +two things," he said; "either that you are innocent or that you are a man +of extraordinary mental power. I don't believe the latter so—yes, I should +think you innocent."</p> + +<p>"Let me understand this," laughed the prisoner; "you say over a number of +words and I answer with other words. You note the exact moment when you +speak your word and the exact moment when I speak mine, then you see how +many seconds elapse between the two moments. Is that it?"</p> + +<p>"That's it, only I have a watch that marks the fifths of a second. Are you +willing to make the test?"</p> + +<p>"Suppose I refuse?"</p> + +<p>"Why should you refuse if you are innocent?"</p> + +<p>"But if I do?"</p> + +<p>The magistrate's face hardened. "If you refuse to-day I shall know how to +<i>force</i> you to my will another day. Did you ever hear of the third degree, +Groener?" he asked sharply.</p> + +<p>As the judge became threatening the prisoner's good nature increased. +"After all," he said carelessly, "what does it matter? Go ahead with your +little game. It rather amuses me."</p> + +<p>And, without more difficulty, the test began, Hauteville speaking the +prepared words and handling the stop watch while Coquenil, sitting beside +him, wrote down the answered words and the precise time intervals.</p> + +<p>First, they established Groener's average or normal time of reply when +there was no emotion or mental effort involved. The judge said "milk" and +Groener 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 four +fifths of a second to a second and a fifth, which was taken as the +prisoner's average time for the untroubled thought process.</p> + +<p>"He's clever!" reflected Coquenil. "He's establishing a slow average."</p> + +<p>Then began the real test, the judge going deliberately through the entire +list which included thirty important words scattered among seventy +unimportant ones. The thirty important words were: + +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">1. NOTRE DAME. 16. DETECTIVE.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">2. EYEHOLE. 17. BRAZIL.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">3. WATCHDOG. 18. CANARY BIRD.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">4. PHOTOGRAPHER. 19. ALICE.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">5. GUILLOTINE. 20. RED SKY.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">6. CHAMPS ELYSÉES. 21. ASSASSIN.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">7. FALSE BEARD. 22. BOOTS.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">8. BRUSSELS. 23. MARY.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">9. GIBELIN. 24. COACHING PARTY.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">10. SACRISTAN. 25. JAPANESE PRINT.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">11. VILLA MONTMORENCY. 26. CHARITY BAZAAR.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">12. RAOUL. 27. FOOTPRINTS.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">13. DREAMS. 28. MARGARET.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">14. AUGER. 29. RED HAIR.</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">15. JIU JITSU. 30. FOURTH OF JULY.</span><br> + +<p>They went through this list slowly, word by word, with everything carefully +recorded, which took nearly an hour; then they turned back to the beginning +and 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 the +same, especially in the seventy unimportant words. Thus both times he +answered "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 same +unimportant word at the second questioning that he had given at the first +questioning.</p> + +<p>It was different, however, with the important words, as Hauteville pointed +out when the test was finished, in over half the cases the accused had +answered different words in the two questionings.</p> + +<p>"You made up your mind, Groener," said the judge as he glanced over the +sheets, "that you would answer the critical words within your average time +of reply and you have done it, but you have betrayed yourself in another +way, as I knew you would. In your desire to answer quickly you repeatedly +chose words that you would not have chosen if you had reflected longer; +then, in going through the list a second time, you realized this and +improved on your first answers by substituting more innocent words. For +example, the first time you answered 'hole' when I said 'auger,' but the +second time you answered 'hammer.' You said to yourself: 'Hole is not a +good answer because he will think I am thinking, of those eyeholes, so +I'll change it to "hammer" which, means nothing.' For the same reason when +I 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. And +when I said 'watchdog' you answered first 'scent' and then 'tail'; when I +said 'Brazil' you answered first 'ship' and then 'coffee,' when I said +'dreams' you answered first 'fear' and then 'sleep'; you made these changes +with the deliberate purpose to get as far away as possible from +associations with the crime."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," contradicted Groener, "I made the changes because every word +has 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 to +remember the answers I had given the first time."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but that is just the point," insisted the magistrate," in the seventy +unimportant words you <i>did</i> remember and you <i>did</i> answer practically the +same words both times, your memory only failed in the thirty important +words. Besides, in spite of your will power, the test reveals emotional +disturbance."</p> + +<p>"In me?" scoffed the prisoner.</p> + +<p>"Precisely. It is true you kept your answers to the important words within +your normal tone of reply, but in at least five cases you went beyond this +normal time in answering the <i>unimportant</i> words."</p> + +<p>Groener shrugged his shoulders. "The words are unimportant and so are the +answers."</p> + +<p>"Do you think so? Then explain this. You were answering regularly at the +rate of one answer in a second or so when suddenly you hesitated and +clenched your hands and waited <i>four and two fifths seconds</i> before +answering 'feather' to the simple word 'hat.'"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I was tired, perhaps I was bored."</p> + +<p>The magistrate leaned nearer. "Yes, and perhaps you were inwardly disturbed +by the shock and strain of answering the <i>previous</i> word quickly and +unconcernedly. I didn't warn you of that danger. Do you know what the +previous word was?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"<i>It was guillotine!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Ah?" said the prisoner, absolutely impassive.</p> + +<p>"And why did you waver and wipe your brow and draw in your breath quickly +and wait <i>six and one fifth seconds</i> before answering 'violin' when I gave +you the word 'music'?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll tell you; it was because you were again deeply agitated by the +previous word 'coaching party' which you had answered instantly with +'horses.'"</p> + +<p>"I don't see anything agitating in the word 'coaching party,'" said +Groener.</p> + +<p>Hauteville measured the prisoner for a moment in grim silence, then, +throwing into his voice and manner all the impressiveness of his office and +his stern personality he said: "And why did you start from your seat and +tremble nervously and wait <i>nine and four fifths seconds</i> before you were +able to answer 'salad' to the word 'potato'?"</p> + +<p>Groener stared stolidly at the judge and did not speak.</p> + +<p>"Shall I tell you why? It was because your heart was pounding, your head +throbbing, your whole mental machinery was clogged and numbed by the shock +of the word before, by the terror that went through you <i>when you answered +'worsted work' to 'Charity Bazaar.'</i>"</p> + +<p>The prisoner bounded to his feet with a hoarse cry: "My God, you have no +right to torture me like this!" His face was deathly white, his eyes were +staring.</p> + +<p>"We've got him going now," muttered Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"Sit down!" ordered the judge. "You can stop this examination very easily +by telling the truth."</p> + +<p>The prisoner dropped back weakly on his chair and sat with eyes closed and +head fallen forward. He did not speak.</p> + +<p>"Do you hear, Groener?" continued Hauteville. "You can save yourself a +great deal of trouble by confessing your part in this crime. Look here! +Answer me!"</p> + +<p>With an effort the man straightened up and met the judge's eyes. His face +was drawn as with physical pain.</p> + +<p>"I—I feel faint," he murmured. "Could you—give me a little brandy?"</p> + +<p>"Here," said Coquenil, producing a flask. "Let him have a drop of this."</p> + +<p>The guard put the flask to the prisoner's lips and Groener took several +swallows.</p> + +<p>"Thanks!" he whispered.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to confess, I know nothing about this crime—nothing."</p> + +<p>"Then what was the matter with you just now?"</p> + +<p>With a flash of his former insolence the prisoner answered: "Look at that +clock and you'll see what was the matter. It's after ten, you've had me +here for five hours and—I've had no food since noon. It doesn't make a man +a murderer because he's hungry, does it?"</p> + +<p>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 eaten +and he could not quite believe in this sudden exhaustion. Several times, +furthermore, he fancied he had caught Groener's eye fixed anxiously on the +clock. Was it possible the fellow was trying to gain time? But why? How +could that serve him? What could he be waiting for?</p> + +<p>As the detective puzzled over this there shot through his mind an idea for +a move against Groener's resistance, so simple, yet promising such dramatic +effectiveness that he turned quickly to Hauteville and said: "I <i>think</i> it +might be as well to let him have some supper."</p> + +<p>The judge nodded in acquiescence and directed the guard to take the +prisoner into the outer office and have something to eat brought in for +him.</p> + +<p>"Well," he asked when they were alone, "what is it?"</p> + +<p>Then, for several minutes Coquenil talked earnestly, convincingly, while +the magistrate listened.</p> + +<p>"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 about +finish him."</p> + +<p>"Possibly, possibly," reflected the judge. "Anyhow it's worth trying," and +he 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 it +costs. Tell him to take an auto. Hold on, I'll speak to him myself."</p> + +<p>The clerk waited respectfully at the door as the judge hurried out, +whereupon Coquenil, lighting a cigarette, moved to the open window and +stood there for a long time blowing contemplative smoke rings into the +quiet summer night.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXV"></a><h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h3>THE MOVING PICTURE</h3> + +<p>"Are you feeling better?" asked the judge an hour later when the accused +was led back.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Groener with recovered self-possession, and again the +detective noticed that he glanced anxiously at the clock. It was a quarter +past eleven.</p> + +<p>"We will have the visual test now," said Hauteville; "we must go to another +room. Take the prisoner to Dr. Duprat's laboratory," he directed the guard.</p> + +<p>Passing down the wide staircase, strangely silent now, they entered a long +narrow passageway leading to a remote wing of the Palais de Justice. First +went the guard with Groener close beside him, then twenty paces, behind +came M. Paul and the magistrate and last came the weary clerk with Maître +Curé. Their footsteps, echoed ominously along the stone floor, their +shadows danced fantastically before them and behind them under gas jets +that flared through the tunnel.</p> + +<p>"I hope this goes off well," whispered the judge uneasily. "You don't think +they have forgotten anything?"</p> + +<p>"Trust Papa Tignol to obey orders," replied Coquenil. "Ah!" he started and +gripped his companion's arm. "Do you remember what I told you about those +alleyway footprints? About the pressure marks? Look!" and he pointed ahead +excitedly. "I knew it, he has gout or rheumatism, just touches that come +and go. He had it that night when he escaped from the Ansonia and he has +it now. See!"</p> + +<p>The judge observed the prisoner carefully and nodded in agreement. There +was no doubt about it, as he walked <i>Groener was limping noticeably on his +left foot!</i></p> + +<p>Dr. Duprat was waiting for them in his laboratory, absorbed in recording +the results of his latest experiments. A kind-eyed, grave-faced man was +this, who, for all his modesty, was famous over Europe as a brilliant +worker in psychological criminology. Bertillon had given the world a method +of identifying criminals' bodies, and now Duprat was perfecting a method of +recognizing their mental states, especially any emotional disturbances +connected with fear, anger or remorse.</p> + +<p>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 a +sheet stretched at the other end. The light reflected from this sheet +showed the dim outlines of a tiered amphitheater before which was a long +table spread with strange-looking instruments, electrical machines and +special apparatus for psychological experiments. On the walls were charts +and diagrams used by the doctor in his lectures.</p> + +<p>"Everything ready?" inquired the magistrate after an exchange of greetings +with Dr. Duprat.</p> + +<p>"Everything," answered the latter. "Is this the—er—the subject?" he +glanced at the prisoner.</p> + +<p>Hauteville nodded and the doctor beckoned to the guard.</p> + +<p>"Please bring him over here. That's right—in front of the lantern." Then +he spoke gently to Groener: "Now, my friend, we are not going to do +anything that will cause you the slightest pain or inconvenience. These +instruments look formidable, but they are really good friends, for they +help us to understand one another. Most of the trouble in this world comes +because half the people do not understand the other half. Please turn +sideways to the light."</p> + +<p>For some moments he studied the prisoner in silence.</p> + +<p>"Interesting, <i>ve</i>-ry interesting," murmured the doctor, his fine student's +face alight. "Especially the lobe of this ear! I will leave a note about it +for Bertillon himself, he mustn't miss the lobe of this ear. Please turn a +little for the back of the head. Thanks! Great width! Extraordinary +fullness. 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 is +even more remarkable. I must study this head when we have time—<i>ve</i>-ry +remarkable. Tell me, my friend, do you suffer from sudden shooting +pains—here, over your eyes?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Groener.</p> + +<p>"No? I should have thought you might. Well, well!" he proceeded kindly, "we +must have a talk one of these days. Perhaps I can make some suggestions. I +see so <i>many</i> heads, but—not many like yours, no, no, not many like +yours."</p> + +<p>He paused and glanced toward an assistant who was busy with the lantern. +The assistant looked up and nodded respectfully.</p> + +<p>"Ah, we can begin," continued the doctor. "We must have these off," he +pointed to the handcuffs. "Also the coat. Don't be alarmed! You will +experience nothing unpleasant—nothing. There! Now I want the right arm +bare above the elbow. No, no, it's the left arm, I remember, I want the +left arm bare above the elbow."</p> + +<p>When these directions had been carried out, Dr. Duprat pointed to a heavy +wooden chair with a high back and wide arms.</p> + +<p>"Please sit here," he went on, "and slip your left arm into this leather +sleeve. It's a little tight because it has a rubber lining, but you won't +mind it after a minute or two."</p> + +<p>Groener walked to the chair and then drew back. "What are you going to do +to me?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"We are going to show you some magic lantern pictures," answered the +doctor.</p> + +<p>"Why must I sit in this chair? Why do you want my arm in that leather +thing?"</p> + +<p>"I told you, Groener," put in the judge, "that we were coming here for the +visual test; it's part of your examination. Some pictures of persons and +places will be thrown on that sheet and, as each one appears, I want you to +say what it is. Most of the pictures are familiar to everyone."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but the leather sleeve?" persisted the prisoner.</p> + +<p>"The leather sleeve is like the stop watch, it records your emotions. Sit +down!"</p> + +<p>Groener hesitated and the guard pushed him toward the chair. "Wait!" he +said. "I want to know <i>how</i> it records my emotions."</p> + +<p>The magistrate answered with a patience that surprised M. Paul. "There is a +pneumatic arrangement," he explained, "by which the pulsations of your +heart and the blood pressure in your arteries are +registered—automatically. Now then! I warn you if you don't sit down +willingly—well, you had better sit down."</p> + +<p>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 and +then—then Groener sat down.</p> + +<p>Quickly and skillfully the assistant adjusted the leather sleeve over the +bared left arm and drew it close with straps.</p> + +<p>"Not too tight," said Duprat. "You feel a sense of throbbing at first, but +it is nothing. Besides, we shall take the sleeve off shortly. Now then," he +turned toward the lantern.</p> + +<p>Immediately a familiar scene appeared upon the sheet, a colored photograph +of the Place de la Concorde.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked the doctor pleasantly.</p> + +<p>The prisoner was silent.</p> + +<p>"You surely recognize this picture. Look! The obelisk and the fountain, the +Tuileries gardens, the arches of the Rue de Rivoli, and the Madeleine, +there at the end of the Rue Royale. Come, what is it?"</p> + +<p>"The Place de la Concorde," answered Groener sullenly.</p> + +<p>"Of course. You see how simple it is. Now another."</p> + +<p>The picture changed to a view of the grand opera house and at the same +moment a point of light appeared in the headpiece back of the chair. It was +shaded so that the prisoner could not see it and it illumined a graduated +white dial on which was a glass tube about thirty inches long, the whole +resembling a barometer. Inside the tube a red column moved regularly up and +down, up and down, in steady beats and Coquenil understood that this column +was registering the beating of Groener's heart. Standing behind the chair, +the doctor, the magistrate, and the detective could at the same time watch +the pulsating column and the pictures on the sheet; but the prisoner could +not see the column, he did not know it was there, he saw only the pictures.</p> + +<p>"What is that?" asked the doctor.</p> + +<p>Groener had evidently decided to make the best of the situation for he +answered at once: "The grand opera house."</p> + +<p>"Good! Now another! What is that?"</p> + +<p>"The Bastille column."</p> + +<p>"Right! And this?"</p> + +<p>"The Champs Elysées."</p> + +<p>"And this?"</p> + +<p>"Notre-Dame church."</p> + +<p>So far the beats had come uniformly about one in a second, for the man's +pulse was slow; at each beat the liquid in the tube shot up six inches and +then dropped six inches, but, at the view of Notre-Dame, the column rose +only three inches, then dropped back and shot up seven inches.</p> + +<p>The doctor nodded gravely while Coquenil, with breathless interest, with a, +morbid fascination, watched the beating of this red column. It was like the +beating of red blood.</p> + +<p>"<i>And this?</i>"</p> + +<p>As the picture changed there was a quiver in the pulsating column, a +hesitation with a quick fluttering at the bottom of the stroke, then the +red line shot up full nine inches.</p> + +<p>M. Paul glanced at the sheet and saw a perfect reproduction of private room +Number Six in the Ansonia. Everything was there as on the night of the +crime, 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 shape +took form upon the floor, more and more distinctly until the dissolving +lens brought a man's body into clear view, a body stretched face downward +in a dark red pool that grew and widened, slowly straining and wetting the +polished wood.</p> + +<p>"Groener," said the magistrate, his voice strangely formidable in the +shadows, "do you recognize this room?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the prisoner impassively, but the column was pulsing wildly.</p> + +<p>"You have been in this room?"</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"Nor looked through these eyeholes?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Nor seen that man lying on the floor?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>Now the prisoner's heart was beating evenly again, somehow he had regained +his self-possession.</p> + +<p>"You are lying, Groener," accused the judge. "You remember this man +perfectly. 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 leaped +forth on the sheet the head of Martinez, the murdered, mutilated head with +shattered eye and painted cheeks and the greenish death pallor showing +underneath. A ghastly, leering cadaver in collar and necktie, dressed up +and photographed at the morgue, and now flashed hideously at the prisoner +out of the darkness. Yet Groener's heart pulsed on steadily with only a +slight quickening, with less quickening than Coquenil felt in his own +heart.</p> + +<p>"Who is it?" demanded the judge.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," declared the accused.</p> + +<p>Again the picture changed.</p> + +<p>"Who is this?"</p> + +<p>"Napoleon Bonaparte."</p> + +<p>"And this?"</p> + +<p>"Prince Bismarck."</p> + +<p>"And this?"</p> + +<p>"Queen Victoria."</p> + +<p>Here, suddenly, at the view of England's peaceful sovereign, Groener seemed +thrown into frightful agitation, not Groener as he sat on the chair, cold +and self-contained, but Groener as revealed by the unsuspected dial. Up and +down in mad excitement leaped the red column with many little breaks and +quiverings at the bottom of the beats and with tremendous up-shootings as +if the frightened heart were trying to burst the tube with its spurting red +jet.</p> + +<p>The doctor put his mouth close to Coquenil's ear and whispered: "It's the +shock showing now, the shock that he held back after the body."</p> + +<p>Then he leaned over Groener's shoulder and asked kindly: "Do you feel your +heart beating fast, my friend?"</p> + +<p>"No," murmured the prisoner, "my—my heart is beating as usual."</p> + +<p>"You will certainly recognize the next picture," pursued the judge. "It +shows a woman and a little girl! There! Do you know these faces, Groener?"</p> + +<p>As he spoke there appeared the fake photograph that Coquenil had found in +Brussels, Alice at the age of twelve with the smooth young widow.</p> + +<p>The prisoner shook his head. "I don't know them—I never saw them."</p> + +<p>"Groener," warned the magistrate, "there is no use keeping up this denial, +you have betrayed yourself already."</p> + +<p>"No," cried the prisoner with a supreme rally of his will power, "I have +betrayed nothing—nothing," and, once more, while the doctor marveled, his +pulse steadied and strengthened and grew normal.</p> + +<p>"What a man!" muttered Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"We know the facts," went on Hauteville sternly, "we know why you killed +Martinez and why you disguised yourself as a wood carver."</p> + +<p>The prisoner's face lighted with a mocking smile. "If you know all that, +why waste time questioning me?"</p> + +<p>"You're a good actor, sir, but we shall strip off your mask and quiet your +impudence. Look at the girl in this <i>false</i> picture which you had cunningly +made in Brussels. Look at her! Who is she? There is the key to the mystery! +There is the reason for your killing Martinez! <i>He knew the truth about +this girl</i>."</p> + +<p>Now the prisoner's pulse was running wild, faster and faster, but with no +more violent spurtings and leapings; the red column throbbed swiftly and +faintly at the bottom of the tube as if the heart were weakening.</p> + +<p>"A hundred and sixty to the minute," whispered Duprat to the magistrate. +"It is dangerous to go on."</p> + +<p>Hauteville shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Martinez knew the truth," he went on, "Martinez held your secret. How had +Martinez come upon it? Who was Martinez? A billiard player, a shallow +fellow, vain of his conquests over silly women. The last man in Paris, one +would say, to interfere with your high purposes or penetrate the barriers +of wealth and power that surrounded you."</p> + +<p>"You—you flatter me! What am I, pray, a marquis or a duke?" chaffed the +other, but the trembling dial belied his gayety, and even from the side +Coquenil could see that the man's face was as tense and pallid as the sheet +before him.</p> + +<p>"As I said, the key to this murder," pursued the magistrate, "is the secret +that Martinez held. Without that nothing can be understood and no justice +can be done. The whole aim of this investigation has been to get the secret +and <i>we have got it!</i> Groener, you have delivered yourself into our hands, +you have written this secret for us in words of terror and we have read +them, we know what Martinez knew when you took his life, we know the story +of the medal that he wore on his breast. Do <i>you</i> know the story?"</p> + +<p>"I tell you I know nothing about this man or his medal," flung back the +prisoner.</p> + +<p>"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 saving +lives at the terrible Charity Bazaar fire. You have heard of the Charity +Bazaar fire, Groener?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I—I have heard of it."</p> + +<p>"But perhaps you never heard the details or, if you did, you may have +forgotten them. <i>Have</i> you forgotten the details of the Charity Bazaar +fire?"</p> + +<p>Charity Bazaar fire! Three times, with increasing emphasis, the magistrate +had spoken those sinister words, yet the dial gave no sign, the red column +throbbed on steadily.</p> + +<p>"I am not interested in the subject," answered the accused.</p> + +<p>"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 and +children! Our noblest families plunged into grief and bereavement! +Princesses burned to death! Duchesses burned to death! Beautiful women +burned to death! <i>Rich women burned to death!</i> Think of it, Groener, and—" +he signaled the operator, "<i>and look at it!</i>"</p> + +<p>As he spoke the awful tragedy began in one of those extraordinary moving +pictures that the French make after a catastrophe, giving to the imitation +even greater terrors than were in the genuine happening. Here before them +now leaped redder and fiercer flames than ever crackled through the real +Charity Bazaar; here were women and children perishing in more savage +torture than the actual victims endured; here were horrors piled on +horrors, exaggerated horrors, manufactured horrors, until the spectacle +became unendurable, until one all but heard the screams and breathed the +sickening odor of burning human flesh.</p> + +<p>Coquenil had seen this picture in one of the boulevard theaters and, +straightway, after the precious nine-second clew of the word test, he had +sent Papa Tignol off for it posthaste, during the supper intermission. If +the mere word "Charity Bazaar" had struck this man dumb with fear what +would the thing itself do, the revolting, ghastly thing?</p> + +<p>That was the question now, what would this hideous moving picture do to a +fire-fearing assassin already on the verge of collapse? Would it break the +last resistance of his overwrought nerves or would he still hold out?</p> + +<p>Silently, intently the three men waited, bending over the dial as the test +proceeded, as the fiends of torture and death swept past in lurid triumph.</p> + +<p>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 and +down, now a little higher, now a little quicker, but—for a minute, for two +minutes—nothing decisive happened, nothing that they had hoped for; yet +Coquenil felt, he knew that something was going to happen, he <i>knew</i> it by +the agonized tension of the room, by the atmosphere of <i>pain</i> about them. +If Groener had not spoken, he himself, in the poignancy of his own +distress, must have cried out or stamped on the floor or broken something, +just to end the silence.</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, the tension snapped, the prisoner sprang to his feet and, +tearing his arm from the leather sleeve, he faced his tormentors +desperately, eyes blazing, features convulsed:</p> + +<p>"No, no, no!" he shrieked. "You dogs! You cowards!"</p> + +<p>"Lights up," ordered Hauteville. Then to the guard: "Put the handcuffs on +him."</p> + +<a name="image-28"><!-- Image 28 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/028.jpg" height="300" width="408" +alt=""'No, no, no!' he shrieked. 'You dogs! You cowards!'""> +</center> + +<h5>"'No, no, no!' he shrieked. 'You dogs! You cowards!'"</h5> + +<p>But the prisoner would not be silenced. "What does all this prove?" he +screamed in rage. "Nothing! Nothing! You make me look at disgusting, +abominable pictures and—why <i>shouldn't</i> my heart beat? Anybody's heart +would beat—if he had a heart."</p> + +<p>The judge paid no attention to this outburst, but went on in a tone as keen +and cold as a knife: "Before you go to your cell, Groener, you shall hear +what we charge against you. Your wife perished in the Charity Bazaar fire. +She was a very rich woman, probably an American, who had been married +before and who had a daughter by her previous marriage. That daughter is +the girl you call Alice. Her true name is Mary. She was in the fire with +her mother and was rescued by Martinez, but the shock of seeing her mother +burned to death <i>and, perhaps, the shock of seeing you refuse to save her +mother——</i>"</p> + +<p>"It's a lie!" yelled the prisoner.</p> + +<p>"All this terror and anguish caused a violent mental disturbance in the +girl and resulted in a failure of her memory. When she came out of the fire +it was as if a curtain had fallen over her past life, she had lost the +sense of her own personality, she did not know her own name, she was +helpless, you could do as you pleased with her. <i>And she was a great +heiress!</i> If she lived, she inherited her mother's fortune; if she died, +this fortune reverted to you. So shrinking, perhaps, from the actual +killing 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 stolen +fortune while she sold candles in Notre-Dame church."</p> + +<p>"You have no proof of it!" shouted Groener.</p> + +<p>"No? What is this?" and he signaled the operator, whereupon the lights went +down and the picture of Alice and the widow appeared again. "There is the +girl whom you have wronged and defrauded. Now watch the woman, your +Brussels accomplice, watch her carefully—carefully," he motioned to the +operator and the smooth young widow faded gradually, while the face and +form of another woman took her place beside the girl. "Now we have the +picture as it was before you falsified it. Do you recognize <i>this</i> face?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered the prisoner, but his heart was pounding.</p> + +<p>"It is your wife. Look!"</p> + +<p>Under the picture came the inscription: "<i>To my dear husband Raoul with the +love of Margaret and her little Mary</i>."</p> + +<p>"I wish we had the dial on him now," whispered Duprat to M. Paul.</p> + +<p>"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 Charity +Bazaar unfortunates? It is a matter of a few hours' record searching. What +must we look for? A rich American lady who married a Frenchman. Her name is +Margaret. She had a daughter named Mary. The Frenchman's name is Raoul and +he probably has a title. We have, also, the lady's photograph and the +daughter's photograph and a specimen of the lady's handwriting. Could +anything be simpler? The first authority we meet on noble fortune hunters +will tell us all about it. And then, M. Adolf Groener, we shall know +whether it is a, marquis or a duke whose name <i>must be added to the list of +distinguished assassins</i>."</p> + +<p>He paused for a reply, but none came. The guard moved suddenly in the +shadows and called for help.</p> + +<p>"Lights!" said the doctor sharply and, as the lamps shone out, the prisoner +was seen limp and white, sprawling over a chair.</p> + +<p>Duprat hurried to him and pressed an ear to his heart.</p> + +<p>"He has fainted," said the doctor.</p> + +<p>Coquenil looked half pityingly at his stricken adversary. "Down and out," +he murmured.</p> + +<p>Duprat, meantime, was working over the prisoner, rubbing his wrists, +loosening his shirt and collar.</p> + +<p>"Ammonia—quick," he said to his assistant, and a moment later, with the +strong fumes at his nostrils, Groener stirred and opened his eyes weakly.</p> + +<p>Just then a sound was heard in the distance as of a galloping horse. The +white-faced prisoner started and listened eagerly. Nearer and nearer came +the rapid hoof beats, echoing through the deserted streets. Now the horse +was crossing the little bridge near the hospital, now he was coming madly +down the Boulevard du Palais. Who was this rider dashing so furiously +through the peaceful night?</p> + +<p>As they all turned wondering, the horse drew up suddenly before the palace +and a voice was heard in sharp command. Then the great iron gates swung +open and the horse stamped in.</p> + +<p>Hauteville hurried to the open window and stood there listening. Just below +him in the courtyard he made out of the flashing helmet and imposing +uniform of a mounted <i>garde de Paris</i>. And he caught some quick words that +made him start.</p> + +<p>"A messenger from the Prime Minister," muttered the judge, "on urgent +business <i>with me</i>."</p> + +<p>Groener heard and, with a long sigh, sank back against the chair and closed +his eyes, but Coquenil noticed uneasily that just a flicker of the old +patronizing smile was playing about his pallid lips.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a><h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<h3>COQUENIL'S MOTHER</h3> + +<p>In accordance with orders, Papa Tignol appeared at the Villa Montmorency +betimes the next morning. It was a perfect summer's day and the old man's +heart was light as he walked up the Avenue des Tilleuls, past vine-covered +walls and smiling gardens.</p> + +<p>"Eh, eh!" he chuckled, "it's good to be alive on a day like this and to +know what <i>I</i> know."</p> + +<p>He was thinking, with a delicious thrill, of the rapid march of events in +the 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. <i>Bon +dieu</i>, what a day!</p> + +<p>And now the chase was over! The murderer was tucked away safely in a cell +at 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 down +to him now. And Gibelin! Eh, eh! Gibelin!</p> + +<p>Tignol closed the iron gate carefully behind him and walked down the +graveled walk with as little crunching as possible. He had an idea that +Coquenil might still be sleeping and if anyone in Paris had earned a long +sleep it was Paul Coquenil.</p> + +<p>To his surprise, however, the detective was not only up and dressed, but he +was on his knees in the study before a large leather bag into which he was +hastily throwing various garments brought down by the faithful Melanie, +whose joy at having her master home again was evidently clouded by this +prospect of an imminent departure.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Papa Tignol!" said M. Paul as the old man entered, but there was no +heartiness in his tone. "Sit down, sit down."</p> + +<p>Tignol sank back in one of the red-leather chairs and waited wonderingly. +This was not the buoyant reception he had expected.</p> + +<p>"Is anything wrong?" he asked finally.</p> + +<p>"Why—er—why, yes," nodded Coquenil, but he went on packing and did not +say what was wrong. And Tignol did not ask.</p> + +<p>"Going away?" he ventured after a silence.</p> + +<p>M. Paul shut the bag with a jerk and tightened the side straps, then he +threw himself wearily into a chair.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I—I'm going away."</p> + +<p>The detective leaned back and closed his eyes, he looked worn and gray. +Tignol watched him anxiously through a long silence. What could be the +trouble? What had happened? He had never seen M. Paul like this, so broken +and—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 days +of strain, yes that was it.</p> + +<p>M. Paul opened his eyes and said in a dull tone: "Did you take the girl to +Pougeot last night?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she's all right. The commissary says he will look after her as if she +were his own daughter until he hears from you."</p> + +<p>"Good! And—you showed her the ring?"</p> + +<p>The old man nodded. "She understands, she will be careful, but—there's +nothing for her to worry about now—is there?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil's face darkened. "You'd better let me have the ring before I +forget it."</p> + +<p>"Thanks!" He slipped the old talisman on his finger, and then, after a +troubled pause, he said: "There is more for her to worry about than ever."</p> + +<p>"More? You mean on account of Groener?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"But he's caught, he's in prison."</p> + +<p>The detective shook his head. "He's not in prison."</p> + +<p>"Not in prison?"</p> + +<p>"He was set at liberty about—about two o'clock this morning."</p> + +<p>Tignol stared stupidly, scarcely taking in the words. "But—but he's +guilty."</p> + +<p>"I know."</p> + +<p>"You have all this evidence against him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then—then <i>how</i> is he at liberty?" stammered the other.</p> + +<p>Coquenil reached for a match, struck it deliberately and lighted a +cigarette.</p> + +<p>"<i>By order of the Prime Minister</i>," he said quietly, and blew out a long +white fragrant cloud.</p> + +<p>"You mean—without trial?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—without trial. He's a very important person, Papa Tignol."</p> + +<p>The old man scratched his head in perplexity. "I didn't know anybody was +too important to be tried for murder."</p> + +<p>"He <i>can't</i> be tried until he's committed for trial by a judge."</p> + +<p>"Well? And Hauteville?"</p> + +<p>"Hauteville will never commit him."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Because Hauteville has been removed from office."</p> + +<p>"Wha-at?"</p> + +<p>"His commission was revoked this morning by order of the Minister of +Justice."</p> + +<p>"Judge Hauteville—discharged!" murmured Tignol, in bewilderment.</p> + +<p>Coquenil nodded and then added sorrowfully: "And you, too, my poor friend. +<i>Everyone</i> who has had anything to do with this case, from the highest to +the lowest, will suffer. We all made a frightful mistake, they say, in +daring to arrest and persecute this most distinguished and honorable +citizen. Ha, ha!" he concluded bitterly as he lighted another cigarette.</p> + +<p>"<i>C'est épatant!</i>" exclaimed Tignol. "He must be a rich devil!"</p> + +<p>"He's rich and—much more."</p> + +<p>"Whe-ew! He must be a senator or—or something like that?"</p> + +<p>"Much more," said Coquenil grimly.</p> + +<p>"More than a senator? Then—then a cabinet minister? No, it isn't +possible?"</p> + +<p>"He is more important than a cabinet minister, far more important."</p> + +<p>"Holy snakes!" gasped Tignol. "I don't see anything left except the Prime +Minister himself."</p> + +<p>"This man is so highly placed," declared Coquenil gravely, "he is so +powerful that——"</p> + +<p>"Stop!" interrupted the other. "I know. He was in that coaching party; he +killed the dog, it was—it was the Duke de Montreuil."</p> + +<p>"No, it was not," replied Coquenil. "The Duke de Montreuil is rich and +powerful, as men go in France, but this man is of international +importance, his fortune amounts to a thousand million francs, at least, and +his power is—well—he could treat the Duke de Montreuil like a valet."</p> + +<p>"Who—who is he?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil pointed to his table where a book lay open. "Do you see that red +book? It's the <i>Annuaire de la Noblesse Française</i>. You'll find his name +there—marked with a pencil."</p> + +<p>Tignol went eagerly to the table, then, as he glanced at the printed page +there came over his face an expression of utter amazement.</p> + +<p>"It isn't possible!" he cried.</p> + +<p>"I know," agreed Coquenil, "it isn't possible, but—<i>it's true!</i>"</p> + +<p>"<i>Dieu de Dieu de Dieu!</i>" frowned the old man, bobbing his cropped head and +tugging at his sweeping black mustache. Then slowly in awe-struck tones he +read from the great authority on French titles:</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p>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.</p></div> + +<p>"You see, it's all there," said M. Paul. "His name is Raoul and his wife's +name was Margaret. She died in the Charity Bazaar fire, and his +stepdaughter Mary is put down as having died there, too. We know where +<i>she</i> is."</p> + +<p>"The devil! The devil! The devil!" muttered Tignol, his nut-cracker face +screwed up in comical perplexity. "This will rip things wide, <i>wide</i> open."</p> + +<p>The detective shook his head. "It won't rip anything open."</p> + +<p>"But if he is guilty?"</p> + +<p>"No one will know it, no one would believe it."</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> know it, you can prove it."</p> + +<p>"How can I prove it? The courts are closed against me. And even if they +weren't, do you suppose it would be possible to convict the Baron de +Heidelmann-Bruck of <i>any</i> crime? Nonsense! He's the most powerful man in +France. He controls the banks, the bourse, the government. He can cause a +money panic by lifting his hand. He can upset the ministry by a word over +the telephone. He financed the campaign that brought in the present radical +government, and his sister is the wife of the Prime Minister."</p> + +<p>"<i>And he killed Martinez!</i>" added Tignol.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>For fully a minute the two men faced each other in silence. M. Paul lighted +another cigarette.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you tell what you know in the newspapers?"</p> + +<p>"No newspaper in France would dare to print it," said Coquenil gravely.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps there is some mistake," suggested the other, "perhaps he isn't the +man."</p> + +<p>The detective opened his table drawer and drew out several photographs. +"Look at those!"</p> + +<p>One by one Tignol studied the photographs. "It's the man we arrested, all +right—without the beard."</p> + +<p>"It's the Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck," said Coquenil.</p> + +<p>Tignol gazed at the pictures with a kind of fascination.</p> + +<p>"How many millions did you say he has?"</p> + +<p>"A thousand—or more."</p> + +<p>"A thousand millions!" He screwed up his face again and pulled reflectively +on his long red nose. "And I put the handcuffs on him! Holy camels!"</p> + +<p>Coquenil lighted another cigarette and breathed in the smoke deeply.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you smoking too many of those things? That makes five in ten +minutes."</p> + +<p>M. Paul shrugged his shoulders. "What's the difference?"</p> + +<p>"I see, you're thinking out some plan," approved the other.</p> + +<p>"Plan for what?"</p> + +<p>"For putting this thousand-million-franc devil where he belongs," grinned +the old man.</p> + +<p>The detective eyed his friend keenly. "Papa Tignol, that's the prettiest +compliment anyone ever paid me. In spite of all I have said you have +confidence that I could do this man up—<i>somehow</i>, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, I don't know," reflected Coquenil, and a shadow of sadness +fell over his pale, weary face. "Perhaps I could, but—I'm not going to +try."</p> + +<p>"You—you're not going to try?"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm through, I wash my hands of the case. The Baron de +Heidelmann-Bruck can sleep easily as far as I am concerned."</p> + +<p>Tignol bounded to his feet and his little eyes flashed indignantly. "I +don't believe it," he cried. "I won't have it. You can't tell me Paul +Coquenil is afraid. <i>Are</i> you afraid?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so," smiled the other.</p> + +<p>"And Paul Coquenil hasn't been bought? He <i>can't</i> be bought—can he?"</p> + +<p>"I hope not."</p> + +<p>"Then—then what in thunder do you mean," he demanded fiercely, "by saying +you drop this case?"</p> + +<p>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 good +opinion."</p> + +<p>Slowly Tignol read the contents of the blue sheet.</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p>M. PAUL COQUENIL, Villa Montmorency, Paris. + +<p> 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.</p> + +<p> ERNESTINE.</p></div> + +<p>"<i>Quel malheur! Quel malheur!</i>" exclaimed the old man. "My poor M. Paul! +Forgive me! I'm a stupid fool," and he grasped his companion's hand in +quick sympathy.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, you didn't understand," said the other gently.</p> + +<p>"And you—you think it's <i>his</i> doing?"</p> + +<p>"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 Prime +Minister, but the Prime Minister was away inaugurating a statue; he didn't +return until after midnight. That is why the man wasn't set at liberty +sooner. No wonder he kept looking at the clock."</p> + +<p>"And Dubois telegraphed to have this hellish thing done?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, they had warned me, they had killed my dog, and—and now they +have struck at my mother." He bent down his head on his hands. "She's all +I've got, Tignol, she's seventy years old and—infirm and—no, no, I quit, +I'm through."</p> + +<p>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 under +his breath.</p> + +<p>"And the insurance?" he asked presently. "What does that mean?"</p> + +<p>"I sent the renewal money to this lawyer Abel," answered Coquenil in a dull +tone. "They have used him against me to—to take my savings. I had put +about all that I had into this home for my mother. You see they want to +break my heart and—they've just about done it."</p> + +<p>He was silent a moment, then glanced quickly at his watch. "Come, we have +no time to lose. My train leaves in an hour. I have important things to +explain—messages for Pougeot and the girl—I'll tell you in the carriage."</p> + +<p>Five minutes later they were speeding swiftly in an automobile toward the +Eastern railway station.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<p>There followed three days of pitiful anxiety for Coquenil. His mother's +health was feeble at the best, and the shock of this catastrophe, the +sudden awakening in the night to find flames roaring about her, the +difficult rescue, and the destruction of her peaceful home, all this was +very serious for the old lady; indeed, there were twenty-four hours during +which the village doctor could offer small comfort to the distracted son.</p> + +<p>Madam Coquenil, however, never wavered in her sweet faith that all was +well. She was comfortable now in the home of a hospitable neighbor and +declared she would soon be on her feet again. It was this faith that saved +her, vowed Ernestine, her devoted companion; but the doctor laughed and +said it was the presence of M. Paul.</p> + +<p>At any rate, within the week all danger was past and Coquenil observed +uneasily that, along with her strength and gay humor, his mother was +rapidly recovering her faculty of asking embarrassing questions and of +understanding things that had not been told her. In the matter of keen +intuitions it was like mother like son.</p> + +<p>So, delay as he would and evade as he would, the truth had finally to be +told, the whole unqualified truth; he had given up this case that he had +thought so important, he had abandoned a fight that he had called the +greatest of his life.</p> + +<p>"Why have you done it, my boy?" the old lady asked him gently, her +searching eyes fixed gravely on him. "Tell me—tell me everything."</p> + +<p>And he did as she bade him, just as he used to when he was little; he told +her all that had happened from the crime to the capture, then of the +assassin's release and his own baffling failure at the very moment of +success.</p> + +<p>His mother listened with absorbed interest, she thrilled, she radiated, she +sympathized; and she shivered at the thought of such power for evil.</p> + +<p>When he had finished, she lay silent, thinking it all over, not wishing to +speak hastily, while Paul stroked her white hand.</p> + +<p>"And the young man?" she asked presently. "The one who is innocent? What +about <i>him?</i>"</p> + +<p>"He is in prison, he will be tried."</p> + +<p>"And then? They have evidence against him, you said so—the footprints, the +pistol, perhaps more that this man can manufacture. Paul, he will be found +guilty?"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know."</p> + +<p>"But you think so?"</p> + +<p>"It's possible, mother, but—I've done all I can."</p> + +<p>"He will be found guilty," she repeated, "this innocent young man will be +found guilty. You know it, and—you give up the case."</p> + +<p>"That's unfair. I give up the case because your life is more precious to me +than the lives of fifty young men."</p> + +<p>The old lady paused a moment, holding his firm hand in her two slender +ones, then she said sweetly, yet in half reproach: "My son, do you think +your life is less precious to me than mine is to you?"</p> + +<p>"Why—why, no," he said.</p> + +<p>"It isn't, but we can't shirk our burdens, Paul." She pointed simply to the +picture 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 is +how your father felt when he left me to—to—you understand, my boy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother."</p> + +<p>"I want you to decide in that spirit. If it's right to drop this case, I +shall be glad, but I don't want you to drop it because you are afraid—for +me, or—for anything."</p> + +<p>"But mother——"</p> + +<p>"Listen, Paul; I know how you love me, but you mustn't put me first in this +matter, you must put your honor first, and the honor of your father's +name."</p> + +<p>"I've decided the thing"—he frowned—"it's all settled. I have sent word +by Tignol to the Brazilian embassy that I will accept that position in Rio +Janeiro. It's still open, and—mother," he went on eagerly, "I'm going to +take you with me."</p> + +<p>Her face brightened under its beautiful crown of silver-white hair, but she +shook her head.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't go, Paul; I could never bear that long sea journey, and I +should be unhappy away from these dear old mountains. If you go, you must +go alone. I don't say you mustn't go, I only ask you to think, <i>to think</i>."</p> + +<p>"I have thought," he answered impatiently. "I've done nothing but think, +ever since Ernestine sent that telegram."</p> + +<p>"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 a +guilty man will go unpunished?"</p> + +<p>"Hah! The guilty man! It's a jolly sure thing <i>he'll</i> go unpunished, +whatever I do."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it," cried the old lady, springing forward excitedly in +her invalid's chair, "such wickedness <i>cannot</i> go unpunished. No, my boy, +you can conquer, you <i>will</i> conquer."</p> + +<p>"I can't fight the whole of France," he retorted sharply. "You don't +understand this man's power, mother; I might as well try to conquer the +devil."</p> + +<p>"I don't ask you to do that," she laughed, "but—isn't there <i>anything</i> you +can think of? You've always won out in the past, and—what is this man's +intelligence to yours?" She paused and then went on more earnestly: "Paul, +I'm so proud of you, and—you <i>can't</i> rest under this wrong that has been +done you. I want the Government to make amends for putting you off the +force. I want them to publicly recognize your splendid services. And they +will, my son, they must, if you will only go ahead now, and—there I'm +getting foolish." She brushed away some springing tears. "Come, we'll talk +of something else."</p> + +<p>Nothing more was said about the case, but the seed was sown, and as the +evening passed, the wise old lady remarked that her son fell into moody +silences and strode about restlessly. And, knowing the signs, she left him +to his thoughts.</p> + +<p>When bedtime came, Paul kissed her tenderly good night and then turned to +withdraw, but he paused at the door, and with a look that she remembered +well from the days of his boyhood transgressions, a look of mingled +frankness and shamefacedness, he came back to her bedside.</p> + +<p>"Mother," he said, "I want to be perfectly honest about this thing; I told +you there is nothing that I could do against this man; as a matter of fact, +there is one thing that I could <i>possibly</i> do. It's a long shot, with the +odds 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."</p> + +<p>"My boy!" she cried. "My brave boy! I'm happy now. All I wanted was to have +you think this thing over alone, and—decide alone. Good night, Paul! God +bless you and—help you!"</p> + +<p>"Good night, mother," he said fondly. "I will decide before to-morrow, +and—whatever I do, I—I'll remember what you say."</p> + +<p>Then he went to his room and for hours through the night Ernestine, +watching by the patient, saw his light burning.</p> + +<p>The next morning he came again to his mother's bedside with his old buoyant +smile, and after loving greetings, he said simply: "It's all right, little +mother, I see my way. I'm going to take the chance, and," he nodded +confidently, "between you and me, it isn't such a slim chance, either."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a><h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<h3>THE DIARY</h3> + +<p>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 than +the means is of moment.</p> + +<p>The detective began by admitting the practical worthlessness of the +evidence in hand against this formidable adversary, and he abandoned, for +the moment, his purpose of proving that De Heidelmann-Bruck had killed +Martinez. Under the circumstances there was no way of proving it, for how +can the wheels of justice be made to turn against an individual who +absolutely controls the manner of their turning, who is able to remove +annoying magistrates with a snap of his fingers, and can use the full power +of government, the whole authority of the Prime Minister of France and the +Minister of Justice for his personal convenience and protection?</p> + +<p>The case was so extraordinary and unprecedented that it could obviously be +met only (if at all) by extraordinary and unprecedented measures. Such +measures Coquenil proceeded to conceive and carry out, realizing fully +that, in so doing, he was taking his life in his hands. His first intuition +had come true, he was facing a great criminal and must either destroy or be +destroyed; it was to be a ruthless fight to a finish between Paul Coquenil +and the Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck.</p> + +<p>And, true to his intuitions, as he had been from the start, M. Paul +resolved to seek the special and deadly arm that he needed against this +sinister enemy in the baron's immediate <i>entourage;</i> in fact, in his own +house 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 de +Varennes, the very center of the ancient nobility of Paris.</p> + +<p>In this purpose he finally succeeded, after what wiles and pains need not +be stated, being hired at moderate wages as a stable helper, with a small +room over the carriage house, and miscellaneous duties that included much +drudgery in cleaning the baron's numerous automobiles. It may truthfully be +said that no more willing pair of arms ever rubbed and scrubbed their +aristocratic brasses.</p> + +<p>The next thing was to gain the confidence, then the complicity of one of +the men servants in the <i>hôtel</i> itself, so that he might be given access to +the baron's private apartments at the opportune moment. In the horde of +hirelings about a great man there is always one whose ear is open to +temptation, 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 stockings +who was not above accepting some hundred-franc notes in return for sure +information as to the master's absences from home and for necessary +assistance in the way of keys and other things.</p> + +<p>Thus it came to pass that on a certain night in August, about two in the +morning, Paul Coquenil found himself alone in the baron's spacious, silent +library before a massive safe. The opening of this safe is another matter +that need not be gone into—a desperate case justifies desperate risk, and +an experienced burglar chaser naturally becomes a bit of a burglar +himself; at any rate, the safe swung open in due course, without accident +or interference, and the detective stood before it.</p> + +<p>All this Coquenil had done on a chance, without positive knowledge, save +for the assurance of the black-whiskered valet that the baron wrote +frequently in a diary which he kept locked in the safe. Whether this was +true, and, if so, whether the baron had been mad enough to put down with +his own hand a record of his own wickedness, were matters of pure +conjecture. Coquenil was convinced that this journal would contain what he +wanted; he did not believe that a man like De Heidelmann-Bruck would keep a +diary simply to fill in with insipidities. If he kept it at all, it would +be because it pleased him to analyze, fearlessly, his own extraordinary +doings, good or bad. The very fact that the baron was different from +ordinary men, a law unto himself, made it likely that he would disregard +what ordinary men would call prudence in a matter like this; there is no +such word as imprudence for one who is practically all-powerful, and, if it +tickled the baron's fancy to keep a journal of crime, it was tolerably +certain he would keep it.</p> + +<p>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 book +bound in black leather and fastened with heavy gold clasps. It was the +diary.</p> + +<p>With a thrill of triumph, Coquenil seized upon the volume, then, closing +the safe carefully, without touching anything else, he returned to his room +in the stable. His purpose was accomplished, and now he had only one +thought—to leave the <i>hôtel</i> as quickly as possible; it would be a matter +of a few moments to pack his modest belongings, then he could rouse the +doorkeeper and be off with his bag and the precious record.</p> + +<p>As he started to act on this decision, however, and steal softly down to +the courtyard, the detective paused and looked at his watch. It was not yet +three o'clock, and M. Paul, in the real burglar spirit, reflected that his +departure with a bag, at this unseasonable hour, might arouse the +doorkeeper's suspicion; whereas, if he waited until half past five, the +gate 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 one +would enter the library before seven or eight.</p> + +<p>While he waited, Coquenil opened the diary and began to read. There were +some four hundred neatly written pages, brief separate entries without +dates, separate thoughts as it were, and, as he turned through them he +found himself more and more absorbed until, presently, he forgot time, +place, danger, everything; an hour passed, two hours, and still the +detective read on while his candle guttered down to the stick and the +brightening day filled his mean stable room; he was absolutely lost in a +most extraordinary human document, in one of those terrible utterances, +shameless and fearless, that are flung out, once in a century or so, from +the hot somber depths of a man's being.</p> + +<div class="blkquot"><p>I + +<p> 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.</p> + +<p> II</p> + +<p> 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.</p> + +<p> III</p> + +<p> 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.</p> + +<p> IV</p> + +<p> 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. <i>Which I have!</i></p> + +<p> V</p> + +<p> 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!</p> + +<p> VI</p> + +<p> 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.</p> + +<p> VII</p> + +<p> 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!</p> + +<p> VIII</p> + +<p> 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!</p></div> + +<p>Coquenil had reached this point in his reading and was pressing on through +the pages, utterly oblivious to everything, when a harsh voice broke in +upon him: "You seem to have an interesting book, my friend?"</p> + +<p>Looking up with a start, M. Paul saw De Heidelmann-Bruck himself standing +in the open doorway. His hands were thrust carelessly in his coat pockets +and a mocking smile played about his lips, the smile that Coquenil had +learned to fear.</p> + +<p>"It's more than interesting, it's marvelous, it's unbelievable," answered +the detective quietly. "Please shut that door. There's a draught coming +in."</p> + +<p>As he spoke he sneezed twice and reached naturally toward his coat as if +for a handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"No, no! None of that!" warned the other sharply. "Hands up!" And Coquenil +obeyed. "My pistol is on you in this side pocket. If you move, I'll shoot +through the cloth."</p> + +<p>"That's a cowboy trick; you must have traveled in the Far West," said M. +Paul lightly.</p> + +<p>"Stand over there!" came the order. "Face against the wall! Hands high! Now +keep still!"</p> + +<p>Coquenil did as he was bidden. He stood against the wall while quick +fingers went through his clothes, he felt his pistol taken from him, then +something soft and wet pressed under his nostrils. He gasped and a +sweetish, sickening breath filled his lungs, he tried to struggle, but iron +arms held him helpless. He felt himself drifting into unconsciousness and +strove vainly against it. He knew he had lost the battle, there was nothing +to hope for from this man—nothing. Well—it had been a finish fight +and—one or the other had to go. <i>He</i> was the one, he was going—going. +He—he couldn't fix his thoughts. What queer lights! Hey, Cæsar! How silly! +Cæsar was dead—Oh! he must tell Papa Tignol that—a man shouldn't swear so +with a—red—nose. Stop! this must be the—<i>end</i> and——</p> + +<p>With a last rally of his darkening consciousness, Coquenil called up his +mother's face and, looking at it through the eyes of his soul, he spoke to +her across the miles, in a wild, voiceless cry: "I did the best I could, +little mother, the—the best I—could."</p> + +<p>Then utter blackness!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a><h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + +<h3>A GREAT CRIMINAL</h3> + +<p>Coquenil came back to consciousness his first thought was that the +adventure had brought him no pain; he moved his arms and legs and +discovered no injury, then he reached out a hand and found that he was +lying on a cold stone floor with his head on a rough sack filled apparently +with shavings.</p> + +<p>He did not open his eyes, but tried to think where he could be and to +imagine what had happened. It was not conceivable that his enemy would let +him escape, this delay was merely preliminary to something else and—he was +certainly a prisoner—somewhere.</p> + +<p>Reasoning thus he caught a sound as of rustling paper, then a faint +scratching. With eyes still shut, he turned his face toward the scratching +sound, then away from it, then toward it, then away from it. Now he sniffed +the air about him, now he rubbed a finger on the floor and smelled it, now +he lay quiet and listened. He had found a fascinating problem, and for a +long time he studied it without moving and without opening his eyes.</p> + +<p>Finally he spoke aloud in playful reproach: "It's a pity, baron, to write +in that wonderful diary of yours with a lead pencil."</p> + +<p>Instantly there came the scraping of a chair and quick approaching steps.</p> + +<p>"How did you see me?" asked a harsh voice.</p> + +<p>Coquenil smiled toward a faint light, but kept his eyes closed. "I didn't, +I haven't seen you yet."</p> + +<p>"But you knew I was writing in my diary?"</p> + +<p>"Because you were so absorbed that you did not hear me stir."</p> + +<p>"Humph! And the lead pencil?"</p> + +<p>"I heard you sharpen it. That was just before you stopped to eat the +orange."</p> + +<p>The light came nearer. M. Paul felt that the baron was bending over him.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter? Your eyes are shut."</p> + +<p>"It amuses me to keep them shut. Do you mind?"</p> + +<p>"Singular man!" mattered the other. "What makes you think I ate an orange?"</p> + +<a name="image-29"><!-- Image 29 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/029.jpg" height="300" width="342" +alt=""'What's the matter? Your eyes are shut.'""> +</center> + +<h5>"'What's the matter? Your eyes are shut.'"</h5> + +<p>"I got the smell of it when you tore the peel off and I heard the seeds +drop."</p> + +<p>The baron's voice showed growing interest. "Where do you think you are?"</p> + +<p>"In a deep underground room where you store firewood."</p> + +<p>"Extraordinary!"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. The floor is covered with chips of it and this bag is full of +shavings."</p> + +<p>"How do you know we are underground?"</p> + +<p>"By the smell of the floor and because you need a candle when it's full +daylight above."</p> + +<p>"Then you know what time it is?" asked the other incredulously.</p> + +<p>"Why—er—I can tell by looking." He opened his eyes. "Ah, it's earlier +than I thought, it's barely seven."</p> + +<p>"How the devil do you know that?"</p> + +<p>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 windowless +chamber. By the uncertain light of the baron's candle he made out an arched +passageway at one side and around the walls piles of logs carefully roped +and stacked together.</p> + +<p>"Your candle hasn't burned more than an hour," answered the detective.</p> + +<p>"It might be a second candle."</p> + +<p>M. Paul shook his head. "Then you wouldn't have been eating your breakfast +orange. And you wouldn't have been waiting so patiently."</p> + +<p>The two men eyed each other keenly.</p> + +<p>"Coquenil," said De Heidelmann-Bruck slowly, "I give you credit for +unusual cleverness, but if you tell me you have any inkling what I am +waiting for——"</p> + +<p>"It's more than inkling," answered the detective quietly, "I <i>know</i> that +you are waiting for the girl."</p> + +<p>"The girl?" The other started.</p> + +<p>"The girl Alice or—Mary your stepdaughter."</p> + +<p>"God Almighty!" burst out the baron. "What a guess!"</p> + +<p>M. Paul shook his head. "No, not a guess, a fair deduction. My ring is +gone. 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 bring +her, though <i>how</i> you knew it is more than I can understand."</p> + +<p>"Gibelin heard you speak of the ring to Pougeot that night in the +automobile."</p> + +<p>"Ah! And how did you know where the girl was?"</p> + +<p>"Guessed it partly and—had Pougeot followed."</p> + +<p>"And she's coming here?"</p> + +<p>The baron nodded. "She ought to be here shortly." Then with a quick, cruel +smile: "I suppose you know <i>why</i> I want her?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I do," said Coquenil.</p> + +<p>"Suppose we come in here," suggested the other. "I'm tired holding this +candle and you don't care particularly about lying on that bag of +shavings."</p> + +<p>With this he led the way through the arched passageway into another stone +chamber very much like the first, only smaller, and lined in the same way +with piled-up logs. In the middle of the floor was a rough table spread +with food, and two rough chairs. On the table lay the diary.</p> + +<p>"Sit down," continued the baron. "Later on you can eat, but first we'll +have 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've +given me trouble, but—that's all right, you played fair, and—I like you, +I like you."</p> + +<p>There was no doubt about the genuineness of this and M. Paul glanced +wonderingly across the table.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," he said simply.</p> + +<p>"It's a pity you couldn't see things my way. I wanted to be your friend, I +wanted to help you. Just think how many times I've gone out of my way to +give you chances, fine business chances."</p> + +<p>"I know."</p> + +<p>"And that night on the Champs Elysées! Didn't I warn you? Didn't I almost +plead with you to drop this case? And you wouldn't listen?"</p> + +<p>"That's true."</p> + +<p>"Now see where you are! See what you've forced me to do. It's a pity; it +cuts me up, Coquenil." He spoke with real sadness.</p> + +<p>"I understand," answered M. Paul. "I appreciate what you say. There's a +bond between a good detective and——"</p> + +<p>"A <i>great</i> detective!" put in the baron admiringly, "the greatest detective +Paris has known in fifty years or will know in fifty more. Yes, yes, it's a +pity!"</p> + +<p>"I was saying," resumed the other, "that there is a bond between a +detective and a criminal—I suppose it gets stronger between a—a great +detective," he smiled, "and a great criminal."</p> + +<p>De Heidelmann-Bruck looked pleased. "You regard <i>me</i> as a great criminal?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil nodded gravely. "I certainly do. The greatest since Ludovico +Schertzi—you know he had your identical little finger."</p> + +<p>"Really!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And your absolute lack of feeling about crime. Never a tremor! Never +a qualm of remorse! Just cold intelligence!"</p> + +<p>"Of course." The baron held his left hand close to the candle and looked at +it critically. "Strange about that little finger! And <i>pretty</i> the way you +caught the clew of it on that photographer's neck. Poor little devil!"</p> + +<p>"What did you do with the boots you were trying to return that night?" +questioned the detective.</p> + +<p>"Burned them."</p> + +<p>Coquenil was silent a moment. "And this American? What of him—now?"</p> + +<p>"He will be tried and——" The baron shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"And be found guilty?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but—with jealousy as an extenuating circumstance. He'll do a few +years, say five."</p> + +<p>"I never saw quite why you put the guilt on him."</p> + +<p>"It had to go on some one and—he was available."</p> + +<p>"You had nothing against him personally?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no. He was a pawn in the game."</p> + +<p>"A pawn to be sacrificed—like Martinez?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that brings me to the main point. How did Martinez get possession of +your secret?"</p> + +<p>"He met the girl accidentally and—remembered her."</p> + +<p>"As the one he had rescued from the Charity Bazaar fire?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You'd better eat a little. Try some of this cold meat and salad? My +cook makes rather good dressing."</p> + +<p>"No, thanks! Speaking of cooks, how did you know the name of that canary +bird?"</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha! Pete? I knew it from the husband of the woman who opens the big +gate of the Villa Montmorency. He cleans your windows, you know, and—he +was useful to me."</p> + +<p>"He knew you as—Groener?"</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"None of these people knew you really?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Not Dubois?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, Dubois knew me, of course, but—Dubois is an automaton to carry out +orders; he never knows what they mean. Anything else?"</p> + +<p>Coquenil thought a moment. "Oh! Did you know that private room Number Seven +would not be occupied that night by Wilmott and the dancing girl?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then how did you dare go in there?"</p> + +<p>"Wilmott and the girl were not due until nine and I had—finished by half +past eight."</p> + +<p>"How did you know Wilmott would not be there until nine?"</p> + +<p>"Martinez told me. It was in Anita's <i>petit bleu</i> that Mrs. Wilmott showed +him."</p> + +<p>"Had you no direct dealings with Anita?"</p> + +<p>The baron shook his head. "I never saw the girl. The thing just happened +and—I took my chance."</p> + +<p>"You bought the auger for Martinez and told him where to bore the holes?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And the key to the alleyway door?"</p> + +<p>"I got a duplicate key—through Dubois. Anything else?"</p> + +<p>"It's all very clever," reflected M. Paul, "but—isn't it <i>too</i> clever? Too +complicated? Why didn't you get rid of this billiard player in some simpler +way?"</p> + +<p>"A natural question," agreed De Heidelmann-Bruck. "I could have done it +easily in twenty ways—twenty stupid safe ways. But don't you see that is +what I didn't want? It was necessary to suppress Martinez, but, in +suppressing him as I did, there was also good sport. And when a man has +everything, Coquenil, good sport is mighty rare."</p> + +<p>"I see, I see," murmured the detective. "And you let Alice live all these +years for the same reason?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"The wood-carver game diverted you?"</p> + +<p>"Precisely. It put a bit of ginger into existence." He paused, and half +closing his eyes, added musingly: "I'll miss it now. And I'll miss the zest +of fighting you."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Coquenil. "By the way, how long have you known that I was +working here in your stable?"</p> + +<p>The baron smiled. "Since the first day."</p> + +<p>"And—you knew about the valet?"</p> + +<p>"Naturally."</p> + +<p>"And about the safe?"</p> + +<p>"It was all arranged."</p> + +<p>"Then—then you <i>wanted</i> me to read the diary?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the other with a strange expression. "I knew that if you +read my diary I should be protected."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"Of course not, but—" Suddenly his voice grew harsher and M. Paul thought +of the meeting on the Champs Elysées. "Do you realize, sir," the baron went +on, and his voice was almost menacing, "that not once but half a dozen +times since this affair started, I have been on the point of crushing you, +of sweeping you out of my path?"</p> + +<p>"I can believe that."</p> + +<p>"Why haven't I done it? Why have I held back the order that was trembling +on my lips? Because I admire you, I'm interested in the workings of your +mind, I, yes, by God, in spite of your stubbornness and everything, I like +you, Coquenil, and I don't want to harm you.</p> + +<p>"You may not believe it," he went on, "but when you sent word to the +Brazilian Embassy the other day that you would accept the Rio Janeiro +offer, after all, I was honestly happy <i>for you</i>, not for myself. What did +it matter to me? I was relieved to know that you were out of danger, that +you had come to your senses. Then suddenly you went mad again and, and did +this. So I said to myself: 'All right, he wants it, he'll get it,' and, I +let you read the diary."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Why?" cried the baron hoarsely. "Don't you <i>see</i> why? You know everything +now, <i>everything</i>. It isn't guesswork, it isn't deduction, it's absolute +certainty. You have <i>seen</i> my confession, you <i>know</i> that I killed +Martinez, that I robbed this girl of her fortune, that I am going to let an +innocent man suffer in my place. You know that to be true, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know it to be true."</p> + +<p>"And because it's true, and because we both know it to be true, neither one +of us can draw back. We <i>cannot</i> draw back if we would. Suppose I said to +you: 'Coquenil, I like you, I'm going to let you go free.' What would you +reply? You would say: 'Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck, I'm much obliged, but, as +an honest man, I tell you that, as soon as I am free, I shall proceed to +have this enormous fortune you have been wickedly enjoying taken from you +and given to its rightful owner.' Isn't that about what you would say?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose it is," answered M. Paul.</p> + +<p>"You know it is, and you would also say: 'Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck, I +shall not only take this fortune from you and make you very poor instead of +very rich, but I shall denounce you as a murderer and shall do my best to +have 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 together +and your shirt cut away at the back of the neck and then to have you bound +against an upright plank and tipped forward gently under a forty-pound +knife'—you see I know the details—and then, phsst! the knife falls and +behold the head of De Heidelmann-Bruck in one basket and his body in +another! That would be your general idea, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it would," nodded the other.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" smiled the baron. "You see how I have protected myself <i>against my +own weakness</i>. I must destroy you or be destroyed. <i>I am forced</i>, M. +Coquenil, to end my friendly tolerance of your existence."</p> + +<p>"I see," murmured M. Paul. "If I hadn't read that diary, your nerve would +have been a little dulled for this—business." He motioned meaningly toward +the shadows.</p> + +<p>"That's it."</p> + +<p>"Whereas now the thing <i>has</i> to be done and—you'll do it."</p> + +<p>"Exactly! Exactly!" replied the baron with the pleasure one might show at a +delicate compliment.</p> + +<p>For some moments the two were silent, then M. Paul asked gravely: "How soon +will the girl be here?"</p> + +<p>"She's undoubtedly here now. She is waiting outside." He pointed to a +heavily barred iron door.</p> + +<p>"Does she know it was a trick, about the ring?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet."</p> + +<p>Again there was a silence. Coquenil hesitated before he said with an +effort: "Do you think it's necessary to—to include <i>her</i> in this—affair?"</p> + +<p>The baron thought a moment. "I think I'd better make a clean job of it."</p> + +<p>"You mean <i>both?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>They seemed to understand by half words, by words not spoken, by little +signs, as brokers in a great stock-exchange battle dispose of fortunes with +a nod or a lift of the eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"But—she doesn't know anything about you or against you," added M. Paul, +and he seemed to be almost pleading.</p> + +<p>"She has caused me a lot of trouble and, she <i>might</i> know."</p> + +<p>"You mean, her memory?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it might come back."</p> + +<p>"Of course," agreed the other with judicial fairness. "I asked Duprat about +it and he said <i>it might</i>."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you see!"</p> + +<p>"And—when do you—begin?"</p> + +<p>"There's no hurry. When we get through talking. Is there anything else you +want to ask?"</p> + +<p>The detective reflected a moment. "Was it you personally who killed my +dog?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And my mother?" His face was very white and his voice trembled. "Did +you—did you intend to kill her?"</p> + +<p>The baron shrugged his shoulders. "I left that to chance."</p> + +<p>"That's all," said Coquenil. "I—I am ready now."</p> + +<p>With a look of mingled compassion and admiration De Heidelmann-Bruck met M. +Paul's unflinching gaze.</p> + +<p>"We take our medicine, eh? I took mine when you had me hitched to that +heart machine, and—now you'll take yours. Good-by, Coquenil," he held out +his hand, "I'm sorry."</p> + +<p>"Good-by," answered the detective with quiet dignity. "If it's all the same +to you, I—I won't shake hands."</p> + +<p>"No? Ah, well! I'll send in the girl." He moved toward the heavy door.</p> + +<p>"Wait!" said M. Paul. "You have left your diary." He pointed to the table.</p> + +<p>The baron smiled mockingly. "I intended to leave it; the book has served +its purpose, I'm tired of it. Don't be alarmed, <i>it will not be found</i>." He +glanced with grim confidence at the stacked wood. "You'll have fifteen or +twenty minutes after she comes in, that is, if you make no disturbance. +Good-by."</p> + +<p>The door swung open and a moment later Coquenil saw a dim, white-clad +figure among the shadows, and Alice, with beautiful, frightened eyes, +staggered toward him. Then the door clanged shut and the sound of grating +bolts was heard on the other side.</p> + +<p>Alice and Coquenil were alone.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a><h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> + +<h3>THE LOST DOLLY</h3> + +<p>As Alice saw M. Paul she ran forward with a glad cry and clung to his arm.</p> + +<p>"I've been <i>so</i> frightened," she trembled. "The man said you wanted me and +I came at once, but, in the automobile, I felt something was wrong and—you +know <i>he</i> is outside?" Her eyes widened anxiously.</p> + +<p>"I know. Sit down here." He pointed to the table. "Does Pougeot know about +this?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "The man came for M. Pougeot first. I wasn't down at +breakfast 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 man +came back and said M. Pougeot was with you and that he had been sent to +bring me to you. He showed me your ring and——"</p> + +<p>"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 of +helplessness.</p> + +<p>"But it's all right, now, M. Paul," she said confidently, "I am with +<i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>Her look of perfect trust came to him with a stab of pain.</p> + +<p>"My poor child," he muttered, peering about him, "I'm afraid we are—in +trouble—but—wait a minute."</p> + +<p>Taking the candle, Coquenil went through the arched opening into the +larger chamber and made a hurried inspection. The room was about fifteen +feet square and ten feet high, with everything of stone—walls, floor, and +arched ceiling. Save for the passage into the smaller room, there was no +sign of an opening anywhere except two small square holes near the ceiling, +probably ventilating shafts.</p> + +<center> +<img src="img/diag3.jpg" height="650" width="600" +alt="Diagram showing placement of objects in chambers"> +</center> + +<p>Around the four walls were logs piled evenly to the height of nearly six +feet, and at the archway the pile ran straight through into the smaller +room. The logs were in two-foot lengths, and as the archway was about four +feet wide, the passage between the two rooms was half blocked with wood.</p> + +<p>Coquenil walked slowly around the chamber, peering carefully into cracks +between the logs, as if searching for something. As he went on he held the +candle lower and lower, and presently got down upon his hands and knees and +crept along the base of the pile.</p> + +<p>"What <i>are</i> you doing?" asked Alice, watching him in wonder from the +archway.</p> + +<p>Without replying, the detective rose to his feet, and holding the candle +high above his head, examined the walls above the wood pile. Then he +reached 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 and +smelled them. His fingers were black with soot.</p> + +<p>"M. Paul, won't you speak to me?" begged the girl.</p> + +<p>"Just a minute, just a minute," he answered absently. Then he spoke with +quick decision: "I'm going to set you to work," he said. "By the way, have +you any idea where we are?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him in surprise. "Why, don't <i>you</i> know?"</p> + +<p>"I <i>think</i> we are on the Rue de Varennes—a big <i>hôtel</i> back of the high +wall?"</p> + +<p>"That's right," she said.</p> + +<p>"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. He +will get Tignol and Tignol knows I was here. But can they find us? Can they +find us? Tell me, did you come down many stairs?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "quite a long flight; but won't you please——"</p> + +<p>He cut her short, speaking kindly, but with authority.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't ask questions, there isn't time. I may as well tell you our +lives are in danger. He's going to set fire to this wood and——"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she cried, her eyes starting with terror.</p> + +<p>"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 by +blocking the passageway. Let's see!" He searched through his pockets. "He +has taken my knife. Ah, this will do!" and lifting a plate from the table +he broke it against the wall. "There! Take one of these pieces and see if +you can saw through the rope. Use the jagged edge—like this. That cuts it. +Try over there."</p> + +<p>Alice fell to work eagerly, and in a few moments they had freed a section +of the wood piled in the smaller chamber from the restraining ropes and +stakes.</p> + +<p>"Now then," directed Coquenil, "you carry the logs to me and I'll make a +barricade in the passageway."</p> + +<p>The word passageway is somewhat misleading—there was really a distance of +only three feet between the two chambers, this being the thickness of the +massive stone wall that separated them. Half of this opening was already +filled 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 from +chamber to chamber, and then laying other logs on top of these, and so on +as rapidly as the girl brought wood.</p> + +<p>They worked with all speed, Alice carrying the logs bravely, in spite of +splintered hands and weary back, and soon the passageway was solidly walled +with closely fitted logs to the height of six feet. Above this, in the +arched part, Coquenil worked more slowly, selecting logs of such shape and +size 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 a +draught, and a draught meant the spreading of the fire.</p> + +<p>"Now," said M. Paul, surveying the blocked passageway, "that is the best we +can do—with wood. We must stop these cracks with something else. What did +you wear?" He glanced at the chair where Alice had thrown her things. "A +white 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 and +vest. Rip them into strips and—Great God! There's the smoke now!"</p> + +<p>As he spoke, a thin grayish feather curled out between two of the upper +logs and floated away, another came below it, then another, each widening +and strengthening as it came. Somewhere, perhaps in his sumptuous library, +De Heidelmann-Bruck had pressed an electric button and, under the logs +piled 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.</p> + +<p>"Hurry, my child," urged Coquenil, and working madly with a piece of stick +that he had wrenched from one of the logs, he met each feather of smoke +with a strip of cloth, stuffing the cracks with shreds of garments, with +Alice's veil and hat ribbon, with the lining of his coat, then with the +body of it, with the waist of her dress, with his socks, with her +stockings, and still the smoke came through.</p> + +<p>"We <i>must</i> stop this," he cried, and tearing the shirt from his shoulders, +he ripped it into fragments and wedged these tight between the logs. The +smoke seemed to come more slowly, but—it came.</p> + +<p>"We must have more cloth," he said gravely. "It's our only chance, little +friend. I'll put out the candle! There! Let me have—whatever you can +and—be quick!"</p> + +<p>Again he worked with frantic haste, stuffing in the last shreds and rags +that could be spared from their bodies, whenever a dull glow from the other +side revealed a crack in the barricade. For agonized moments there was no +sound in that tomblike chamber save Alice's quick breathing and the +shrieking tear of garments, and the ramming thud of the stick as Coquenil +wedged cloth into crannies of the logs.</p> + +<p>"There," he panted, "that's the best we can do. <i>Now it's up to God!</i>"</p> + +<p>For a moment it seemed as if this rough prayer had been answered. There +were no more points in the barricade that showed a glow beyond and to +Coquenil, searching along the logs in the darkness by the sense of smell, +there was no sign of smoke coming through.</p> + +<p>"I believe we have stopped the draught," he said cheerfully; "as a final +touch I'll hang that cloak of yours over the whole thing," and, very +carefully, he tucked the white garment over the topmost logs and then at +the sides so that it covered most of the barricade.</p> + +<p>"You understand that a fire cannot burn without air," he explained, "and it +must be air that comes in from below to replace the hot air that rises. Now +I couldn't find any openings in that large room except two little +ventilators near the ceiling, so if that fire is going to burn, it must get +air from this room."</p> + +<p>"Where does this room get <i>its</i> air from?" asked Alice.</p> + +<p>Coquenil thought a moment. "It gets a lot under that iron door, and—there +must be ventilating shafts besides. Anyhow, the point is, if we have +blocked this passage between the rooms we have stopped the fire from +turning, or, anyhow, from burning enough to do us any harm. You see these +logs are quite cold. Feel them."</p> + +<p>Alice groped forward in the darkness toward the barricade and, as she +touched the logs, her bare arm touched Coquenil's bare arm.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a faint sound broke the stillness and the detective started +violently. He was in such a state of nervous tension that he would have +started at the rustle of a leaf.</p> + +<p>"Hark! What is that?"</p> + +<p>It was a low humming sound that presently grew stronger, and then sang on +steadily like a buzzing wheel.</p> + +<p>"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 nowhere +and—everywhere! What <i>is</i> it?"</p> + +<p>As he moved about in perplexity it seemed to him that he felt a current of +air. He put one hand in it, then the other hand, then he turned his face to +it; there certainly was a current of air.</p> + +<p>"Alice, come here!" he called. "Stand where I am! That's right. Now put out +your hand! Do you feel anything?"</p> + +<p>"I feel a draught," she answered.</p> + +<p>"There's no doubt about it," he muttered, "but—how <i>can</i> there be a +draught here?"</p> + +<p>As he spoke the humming sound strengthened and with it the draught blew +stronger.</p> + +<p>"Merciful God!" cried Coquenil in a flash of understanding, "it's a +blower!"</p> + +<p>"A blower?" repeated the girl.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"I—I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"He's <i>forcing</i> a draught from that room to this one. He has started a +blower, I tell you, and——"</p> + +<p>"What <i>is</i> a blower?" put in Alice.</p> + +<p>At her frightened tone Coquenil calmed himself and answered gently: "It's +like a big electric fan, it's drawing air out of this room very fast, with +a powerful suction, and I'm afraid—unless——"</p> + +<p>Just then there came a sharp pop followed by a hissing noise as if some one +were breathing in air through shut teeth.</p> + +<p>"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 blowing +through <i>toward</i> us? The blower has sucked out one of our cloth plugs. +There goes another!" he said, as the popping sound was repeated. "And +another! It's all off with our barricade, little girl!"</p> + +<p>"You—you mean the fire will come through now?" she gasped. He could hear +her teeth chattering and feel her whole body shaking in terror.</p> + +<p>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 whirling +blower was literally dragging the flames toward them through the dry wood +pile. Already the heat was increasing, it would soon be unbearable; at this +rate their hold on life was a matter of minutes.</p> + +<p>"The fire may come through—a little," he answered comfortingly, "but +I—I'll fix it so you will be—all right. Come! We'll build another +barricade. You know wood is a bad conductor of heat, and—if you have wood +all about you and—over you, why, the fire can't burn you."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Alice.</p> + +<p>"We'll go over to this door as far from the passageway as we can get. Now +bring me logs from that side pile! That's right!"</p> + +<p>He glanced at the old barricade and saw, with a shudder, that it was +already pierced with countless open cracks that showed the angry fire +beyond. And through these cracks great volumes of smoke were pouring.</p> + +<p>Fortunately, most of this smoke, especially at first, was borne away upward +by the blower's suction, and for some minutes Alice was able to help +Coquenil with the new barricade. They built this directly in front of the +iron door, with only space enough between it and the door to allow them to +crouch 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 had +to do the last part of the work alone, for Alice sank back overcome by the +smoke.</p> + +<p>"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 the +door. You'll have plenty of cool, sweet air. See? That's right. Now I'll +fix a roof over this thing and pretty soon, if it gets uncomfortable up +here, I'll crawl in beside you. It's better not to look at the silly old +barricade. Just shut your eyes and—rest. Understand little friend?"</p> + +<p>"Ye-es," she murmured faintly, and with sinking heart, he realized that +already she was drifting toward unconsciousness. Ah, well, perhaps that was +the best thing!</p> + +<p>He looked down at the fair young face and thought of her lover languishing +in prison. What a wretched fate theirs had been! What sufferings they had +borne! What injustice! And now this end to their dream of happiness!</p> + +<p>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 so +much pains for so paltry a result?</p> + +<p>He turned toward the barricade and saw that the flames were licking their +way through the wall of logs, shooting and curling their hungry red tongues +through many openings. The heat was becoming unbearable. Well, they were at +the last trench now, he was surprised at the clearness and calmness of his +mind. Death did not seem such a serious thing after all!</p> + +<p>Coquenil crawled in behind the shelter of logs and crouched down beside the +girl. She was quite unconscious now, but was breathing peacefully, +smilingly, with face flushed and red lips parted. The glorious masses of +her reddish hair were spread over the girls white shoulders, and it seemed +to M. Paul that he had never seen so beautiful a picture of youth and +innocence.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a crumbling of logs at the passageway and the chamber +became light as day while a blast of heat swept over them. Coquenil looked +out around the end of the shelter and saw flames a yard long shooting +toward 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.</p> + +<p>He reflected that, with the enormous amount of wood here, this fire would +rage hotter and hotter for hours until the stones themselves would be red +hot 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.</p> + +<p>Then he thought of his mother. He wished he might have sent her a +line—still she would know that her boy had fallen in a good cause, as his +father had fallen. He needn't worry about his mother—she would know.</p> + +<p>Now another log crumbled with a sharp crackling. Alice stirred uneasily and +opened her eyes. Then she sat up quickly, and there was something in her +face Coquenil had never seen there, something he had never seen in any +face.</p> + +<p>"Willie, you naughty, naughty boy!" she cried. "You have taken my beautiful +dolly. Poor little Esmeralda! You threw her up on that shelf, Willie; yes, +you did."</p> + +<p>Then, before Coquenil could prevent it, she slipped out from behind the +shelter and stood up in the fire-bound chamber.</p> + +<p>"Come back!" he cried, reaching after her, but the girl evaded him.</p> + +<p>"There it is, on that shelf," she went on positively, and, following her +finger, Coquenil saw, what he had not noticed before, a massive stone shelf +jutting out from the wall just over the wood pile. "You must get my dolly," +she ordered.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, I'll get it," said M. Paul soothingly. "Come back here +and—I'll get your dolly."</p> + +<p>She stamped her foot in displeasure. "Not at all; I don't <i>like</i> this +place. It's a hot, <i>nasty</i> place and—come"—she caught Coquenil's +hand—"we'll go out where the fairies are. That's a <i>much</i> nicer place to +play, Willie."</p> + +<p>Here there came to M. Paul an urging of mysterious guidance, as if an +inward 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.</p> + +<p>"All right," he said, "we'll go and play where the fairies are, but—how do +we get there?"</p> + +<p>"Through the door under the shelf. You know <i>perfectly</i> well, Willie!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he agreed, "I know about the door, but—I forget how to get it +open."</p> + +<p>"Silly!" She stamped her foot again. "You push on that stone thing under +the shelf."</p> + +<p>Shading his eyes against the glare, Coquenil looked at the shelf and saw +that it was supported by two stone brackets.</p> + +<p>"You mean the thing that holds the shelf up?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you must press it."</p> + +<p>"But there are two things that hold the shelf up. Is it the one on this +side that you press or the one on that side?"</p> + +<p>"Dear me, what an <i>aggravating</i> boy! It's the one <i>this</i> side, of course."</p> + +<p>"Good! You lie down now and I'll have it open in a jiffy."</p> + +<p>He started to force Alice behind the shelter, for the heat was actually +blistering the skin, but to his surprise he found her suddenly limp in his +arms. Having spoken these strange words of wisdom or of folly, she had gone +back into unconsciousness.</p> + +<p>Coquenil believed that they were words of wisdom, and without a moment's +hesitation, he acted on that belief. The wall underneath the shelf was half +covered with piled-up logs and these must be removed; which meant that he +must work there for several minutes with the fierce breath of the fire +hissing over him.</p> + +<p>It was the work of a madman, or of one inspired. Three times Coquenil fell +to the floor, gasping for breath, blinded by the flames that were roaring +all about him, poisoned by deadly fumes. The skin on his arms and neck was +hanging away in shreds, the pain was unbearable, yet he bore it, the task +was impossible, yet he did it.</p> + +<p>At last the space under the shelf was cleared, and staggering, blackened, +blinded, yet believing, Paul Coquenil stumbled forward and seized the +left-hand bracket in his two bruised hands and pressed it with all his +might.</p> + +<p>Instantly a door underneath, cunningly hidden in the wall, yawned open on a +square black passage.</p> + +<p>"It's here that the fairies play," muttered M. Paul, "and it's a mighty +good place for us!"</p> + +<p>With a bound he was back at the shelter and had Alice in his arms, smiling +again, as she slept—as she dreamed. And a moment later he had carried her +safely through flames that actually singed her hair, and laid her tenderly +in the cool passage. <i>And beside her he laid the baron's diary!</i></p> + +<a name="image-30"><!-- Image 30 --></a> +<center> +<img src="img/030.jpg" height="300" width="453" +alt=""And a moment later he had carried her safely through the flames.""> +</center> + +<h5>"And a moment later he had carried her safely through the flames."</h5> + +<p>Then he went back to close the door. It was high time, for the last +obstructing logs of the old barricade had fallen and the chamber was a +seething mass of fire.</p> + +<p>"I feel pretty rotten," reflected Coquenil with a whimsical smile. "My hair +is burned off and my eyebrows are gone and about half my skin, but—I guess +I'll take a chance on a burn or two more and rescue Esmeralda!"</p> + +<p>Whereupon he reached up inside that fiery furnace and, groping over the hot +stone shelf, brought down a scorched and battered and dust-covered little +figure that had lain there for many years.</p> + +<p>It was the lost dolly!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXX"></a><h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> + +<h3>MRS. LLOYD KITTREDGE</h3> + +<p>The details of the hours that followed remained blurred memories in the +minds of Alice and her rescuer. There was, first, a period of utter blank +when Coquenil, overcome by the violence of his struggle and the agony of +his burns, fell unconscious near the unconscious girl. How long they lay +thus in the dark playground of the fairies, so near the raging fire, yet +safe from it, was never known exactly; nor how long they wandered +afterwards through a strange subterranean region of passages and cross +passages, that widened and narrowed, that ascended and descended, that were +sometimes smooth under foot, but oftener blocked with rough stones and +always black as night. The fairies must have been sorry at their plight, +for, indeed, it was a pitiable one; bruised, blistered, covered with grime +and with little else, they stumbled on aimlessly, cutting their bare feet, +falling often in sheer weakness, and lying for minutes where they fell +before they could summon strength to stumble on. Surely no more pathetic +pair than these two ever braved the mazes of the Paris catacombs!</p> + +<p>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 of +darkness and weakness and pain there presently came hope—flickering +torches in the distance, then faint voices and the presence of friends, +some workingmen, occupied with drainage repairs, who produced stimulants +and rough garments and showed them the way to the upper world, to the +blessed sunshine.</p> + +<p>Then it was a matter of temporary relief at the nearest pharmacy, of +waiting until Pougeot, summoned by telephone, could arrive with all haste +in an automobile.</p> + +<p>An hour later M. Paul and Alice were in clean, cool beds at a private +hospital near the commissary's house, with nurses and doctors bending over +them. And on a chair beside the girl, battered and blackened, sat +Esmeralda, while under the detective's pillow was the scorched but unharmed +diary of De Heidelmann-Bruck!</p> + +<p>"Both cases serious," was the head doctor's grave judgment. "The man is +frightfully burned. The girl's injuries are not so bad, but she is +suffering from shock. We'll know more in twenty-four hours." Then, turning +to Pougeot: "Oh, he insists on seeing you alone. Only a minute mind!"</p> + +<p>With a thrill of emotion the commissary entered the silent, darkened room +where his friend lay, swathed in bandages and supported on a water bed to +lessen the pain.</p> + +<p>"It's all right Paul," said M. Pougeot, "I've just talked with the doctor."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, Lucien," answered a weak voice in the white bundle. "I'm going to +pull through—I've got to, but—if anything should go wrong, I want you to +have the main points. Come nearer."</p> + +<p>The commissary motioned to the nurse, who withdrew. Then he bent close to +the injured man and listened intently while Coquenil, speaking with an +effort and with frequent pauses, related briefly what had happened.</p> + +<p>"God in heaven!" muttered Pougeot. "He'll pay for this!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I—I think he'll pay for it, but—Lucien, do nothing until I am able +to decide things with you. Say nothing to anyone, not even to the doctor. +And don't give our names."</p> + +<p>"No, no, I'll see to that."</p> + +<p>"The girl mustn't talk, tell her she—<i>mustn't talk</i>. And—Lucien?"</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"She may be delirious—<i>I</i> may be delirious, I feel queer—now. You +must—make sure of these—nurses."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Paul, I will."</p> + +<p>"And—watch the girl! Something has happened to—her mind. She's forgotten +or—<i>remembered!</i> Get the best specialist in Paris and—get Duprat. Do +whatever they advise—no matter what it costs. Everything depends on—her."</p> + +<p>"I'll do exactly as you say, old friend," whispered the other. Then, at a +warning signal from the nurse: "Don't worry now. Just rest and get well." +He rose to go. "Until to-morrow, Paul."</p> + +<p>The sick man's reply was only a faint murmur, and Pougeot stole softly out +of the room, turning at the door for an anxious glance toward the white +bed.</p> + +<p>This was the first of many visits to the hospital by the devoted commissary +and of many anxious hours at that distressed bedside. Before midnight +Coquenil was in raging delirium with a temperature of one hundred and five, +and the next morning, when Pougeot called, the doctor looked grave. They +were in for a siege of brain fever with erysipelas to be fought off, if +possible.</p> + +<p>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 the +fire, he rescued Alice, he played with the fairies, he went back after the +doll. Over and over again!</p> + +<p>And when the fever fell and his mind grew calm, there followed a period of +nervous exhaustion when his stomach refused to do its work, when his heart, +for nothing at all, would leap into fits of violent beating. Pougeot could +not even see him now, and the doctor would make no promise as to how soon +it would be safe to mention the case to him. Perhaps not for weeks!</p> + +<p>For weeks! And, meantime, Lloyd Kittredge had been placed on trial for the +murder of Martinez and the evidence seemed overwhelmingly against him; in +fact, the general opinion was that the young American would be found +guilty.</p> + +<p>What should the commissary do?</p> + +<p>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 a +serious talk with the patient. A few days! Unfortunately, the trial began +to march along during these days—they dispose of murder cases +expeditiously in France—and, to make matters worse, Coquenil suffered a +relapse, so that the doctor was forced to retract his promise.</p> + +<p>What should the commissary do?</p> + +<p>In this emergency Coquenil himself came unexpectedly to Pougeot's relief; +instead of the apathy or indifference he had shown for days, he suddenly +developed his old keen interest in the case, and one morning insisted on +knowing how things were going and what the prospects were. In vain doctor +and nurse objected and reasoned; the patient only insisted the more +strongly, he wished to have a talk with M. Pougeot at once. And, as the +danger of opposing him was felt to be greater than that of yielding, it +resulted that M. Paul had his way, Pougeot came to his bedside and stayed +an hour—two hours, until the doctor absolutely ordered him away; but, +after luncheon, the detective took the bit in his teeth and told the doctor +plainly that, with or without permission, he was going to do his work. He +had learned things that he should have known long ago and there was not an +hour to lose. A man's life was at stake, and—his stomach, his nerves, his +heart, and his other organs might do what they pleased, he proposed to save +that life.</p> + +<p>Before this uncompromising attitude the doctor could only bow gracefully, +and when he was told by Pougeot (in strictest confidence) that this gaunt +and irascible patient, whom he had known as M. Martin, was none other than +the celebrated Paul Coquenil, he comforted himself with the thought that, +after all, a resolute mind can often do wonders with a weak body.</p> + +<p>It was a delightful September afternoon, with a brisk snap in the air and +floods of sunshine. Since early morning the streets about the Palais de +Justice had been, blocked with carriages and automobiles, and the courtyard +with clamorous crowds eager to witness the final scene in this celebrated +murder trial. The case would certainly go to the jury before night. The +last pleas would be made, the judge's grave words would be spoken, and +twelve solemn citizens would march out with the fate of this cheerful young +American in their hands. It was well worth seeing, and all Paris that could +get tickets, especially the American Colony, was there to see it. Pussy +Wilmott, in a most fetching gown, with her hair done ravishingly, sat near +the front and never took her eyes off the prisoner.</p> + +<p>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 the +end, and ready always with his good-natured smile. All the ladies liked +him. He had such nice teeth and such well-kept hands! A murderer with those +kind, jolly eyes? Never in the world! they vowed, and smiled and stared +their encouragement.</p> + +<p>A close observer would have noticed, however, that Lloyd's eyes were +anxious 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 had +she sent him no word? Was she ill? Had any harm befallen her? <i>Where was +Alice?</i></p> + +<p>So absorbed was Kittredge in these reflections that he scarcely heard the +thundering denunciations hurled at him by the public prosecutor in his +fierce and final demand that blood be the price of blood and that the +extreme penalty of the law be meted out to this young monster of wickedness +and dissimulation.</p> + +<p>Nor did Lloyd notice the stir when one of the court attendants made way +through the crush for a distinguished-looking man, evidently a person of +particular importance, who was given a chair on the platform occupied by +the three black-robed judges.</p> + +<p>"The Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck!" whispered eager tongues, and straightway +the awe-inspiring name was passed from mouth to mouth. The Baron de +Heidelmann-Bruck! He had dropped in in a dilettante spirit to hear the +spirited debate, and the judges were greatly honored.</p> + +<p>Alas for the baron! It was surely some sinister prompting that brought him +here to-day, so coldly complacent as he nodded to the presiding judge, so +quietly indifferent as he glanced at the prisoner through his single +eyeglass. The gods had given Coquenil a spectacular setting for his +triumph!</p> + +<p>And now, suddenly, the blow fell. As the prosecuting officer soared along +in his oratorial flight, a note was passed unobtrusively to the presiding +judge, a modest little note folded on itself without even an envelope to +hold it. For several minutes the note lay unnoticed; then the judge, with +careless eye, glanced over it; then he started, frowned, and his quick +rereading showed that a spark of something had flashed from that scrap of +paper.</p> + +<p>The presiding judge leaned quickly toward his associate on the right and +whispered earnestly, then toward his associate on the left, and, one after +another, the three magistrates studied this startling communication, +nodding learned heads and lowering judicial eyebrows. The public prosecutor +blazed through his peroration to an inattentive bench.</p> + +<p>No sooner had the speaker finished than the clerk of the court announced a +brief recess, during which the judges withdrew for deliberation and the +audience buzzed their wonder. During this interval the Baron de +Heidelmann-Bruck looked frankly bored.</p> + +<p>On the return of the three, an announcement was made by the presiding judge +that important new evidence in the case had been received, evidence of so +unusual a character that the judges had unanimously decided to interrupt +proceedings for a public hearing of the evidence in question. It was +further ordered that no one be allowed to leave the courtroom under any +circumstances.</p> + +<p>"Call the first witness!" ordered the judge, and amidst the excitement +caused by these ominous words a small door opened and a woman entered +leaning 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.</p> + +<p>The clerk of the court cleared his throat and called out something in +incomprehensible singsong.</p> + +<p>The woman came forward to the witness stand and lifted her veil. As she did +so, three distinct things happened: the audience murmured its admiration at +a vision of strange beauty, Kittredge stared in a daze of joy, and De +Heidelmann-Bruck felt the cold hand of death clutching at his heart.</p> + +<p>It was Alice come to her lover's need! Alice risen from the flames! Alice +here for chastening and justice!</p> + +<p>"What is your name?" questioned the judge.</p> + +<p>"Mary Coogan," was the clear answer.</p> + +<p>"Your nationality?"</p> + +<p>"I am an American."</p> + +<p>"You have lived a long time in France?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I came to France as a little girl."</p> + +<p>"How did that happen?"</p> + +<p>"My father died and—my mother married a second time."</p> + +<p>Her voice broke, but she shot a swift glance at the prisoner and seemed to +gain strength.</p> + +<p>"Your mother married a Frenchman?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"What is the name of the Frenchman whom your mother married?"</p> + +<p>The girl hesitated, and then looking straight at the baron, she said: "The +Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck."</p> + +<p>There was something in the girl's tone, in her manner, in the fearless +poise of her head, that sent a shiver of apprehension through the audience. +Every man and woman waited breathless for the next question. In their +absorbed interest in the girl they scarcely looked at the aristocratic +visitor.</p> + +<p>"Is your mother living?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"How did she die?"</p> + +<p>Again the witness turned to Kittredge and his eyes made her brave.</p> + +<p>"My mother was burned to death—in the Charity Bazaar fire," she answered +in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Were you present at the fire?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Were you in danger?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"State what you remember about the fire."</p> + +<p>The girl looked down and answered rapidly: "My mother and I went to the +Charity 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 us +through which some people were climbing. My mother and I got to this window +and would have been able to escape through it, but the Baron de +Heidelmann-Bruck pushed us back and climbed through himself."</p> + +<p>"It's a lie!" cried the baron hoarsely, while a murmur of dismay arose from +the courtroom.</p> + +<p>"Silence!" warned the clerk.</p> + +<p>"And after that?"</p> + +<p>The girl shook her head and there came into her face a look of terrible +sadness.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what happened after that for a long time. I was very ill +and—for years I did not remember these things."</p> + +<p>"You mean that for years you did not remember what you have just +testified?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is what I mean."</p> + +<p>The room was so hushed in expectation that the tension was like physical +pain.</p> + +<p>"You did not remember your mother during these years?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Not even her name?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "I did not remember my own name."</p> + +<p>"But now you remember everything?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, everything."</p> + +<p>"When did you recover your memory?"</p> + +<p>"It began to come back a few weeks ago."</p> + +<p>"Under what circumstances?"</p> + +<p>"Under circumstances like those when—when I lost it."</p> + +<p>"How do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I—I—" She turned slowly, as if drawn by some horrible fascination, and +looked at De Heidelmann-Bruck. The baron's face was ghastly white, but by a +supreme effort he kept an outward show of composure.</p> + +<p>"Yes?" encouraged the judge.</p> + +<p>"I was in another fire," she murmured, still staring at the baron. "I—I +nearly lost my life there."</p> + +<p>The witness had reached the end of her strength; she was twisting and +untwisting her white fingers piteously, while the pupils of her eyes +widened and contracted in terror. She staggered as if she would faint or +fall, and the guard was starting toward her when, through the anguished +silence, a clear, confident voice rang out:</p> + +<p>"<i>Alice!</i>"</p> + +<p>It was the prisoner who had spoken, it was the lover who had come to the +rescue and whose loyal cry broke the spell of horror. Instantly the girl +turned to Lloyd with a look of infinite love and gratitude, and before the +outraged 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.</p> + +<p>"Tell us in your own words," said the judge kindly, "how it was that you +nearly lost your life a second time in a fire."</p> + +<p>In a low voice, but steadily, Alice began her story. She spoke briefly of +her humble life with the Bonnetons, of her work at Notre-Dame, of the +occasional visits of her supposed cousin, the wood carver; then she came to +the recent tragic happenings, to her flight from Groener, to the kindness +of M. Pougeot, to the trick of the ring that lured her from the +commissary'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—to +perish.</p> + +<p>As she described their desperate struggle for life in that living furnace +and their final miraculous escape, the effect on the audience was +indescribable. Women screamed and fainted, men broke down and wept, even +the judges wiped pitying eyes as Alice told how Paul Coquenil built the +last barricade with fire roaring all about him, and then how he dashed +among leaping flames and, barehanded, all but naked, cleared a way to +safety.</p> + +<p>Through the tense silence that followed her recital came the judge's voice: +"And you accuse a certain person of committing this crime?"</p> + +<p>"I do," she answered firmly.</p> + +<p>"You make this accusation deliberately, realizing the gravity of what you +say?"</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"Whom do you accuse?"</p> + +<p>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, then +she turned formidably with the fires of slumbering vengeance burning in her +wonderful eyes—vengeance for her mother, for her lover, for her rescuer, +for herself—she turned slowly toward the cowering nobleman and said +distinctly: "I accuse the Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck."</p> + +<p>So monstrous, so unthinkable was the charge, that the audience sat stupidly +staring at the witness as if they doubted their own ears, and some +whispered that the thing had never happened, the girl was mad.</p> + +<p>Then all eyes turned to the accused. He struggled to speak but the words +choked in his throat. If ever a great man was guilty in appearance, the +Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck was that guilty great man!</p> + +<p>"I insist on saying—" he burst out finally, but the judge cut him short.</p> + +<p>"You will be heard presently, sir. Call the next witness."</p> + +<p>The girl withdrew, casting a last fond look at her lover, and the clerk's +voice was heard summoning M. Pougeot.</p> + +<p>The commissary appeared forthwith and, with all the authority of his +office, testified in confirmation of Alice's story. There was no possible +doubt that the girl would have perished in the flames but for the heroism +of Paul Coquenil.</p> + +<p>Pougeot was followed by Dr. Duprat, who gave evidence as to the return of +Alice's memory. He regarded her case as one of the most remarkable +psychological phenomena that had come under his observation, and he +declared, as an expert, that the girl's statements were absolutely worthy +of belief.</p> + +<p>"Call the next witness," directed the judge, and the clerk of the court +sang out:</p> + +<p>"<i>Paul Coquenil!</i>"</p> + +<p>A murmur of sympathy and surprise ran through the room as the small door +opened, just under the painting of justice, and a gaunt, pallid figure +appeared, a tall man, wasted and weakened. He came forward leaning on a +cane and his right hand was bandaged.</p> + +<p>"I would like to add, your Honor," said Dr. Duprat, "that M. Coquenil has +risen from a sick bed to come here; in fact, he has come against medical +advice to testify in favor of this young prisoner."</p> + +<p>The audience was like a powder mine waiting for a spark. Only a word was +needed to set off their quivering, pent-up enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"What is your name?" asked the judge as the witness took the stand.</p> + +<p>"Paul Coquenil," was the quiet answer.</p> + +<p>It was the needed word, the spark to fire the train. Paul Coquenil! Never +in modern times had a Paris courtroom witnessed a scene like that which +followed. Pussy Wilmott, who spent her life looking for new sensations, had +one now. And Kittredge manacled in the dock, yet wildly happy! And Alice +outside, almost fainting between hope and fear! And De Heidelmann-Bruck +with his brave eyeglass and groveling soul! They <i>all</i> had new sensations!</p> + +<p>As Coquenil spoke, there went up a great cry from the audience, an +irresistible tribute to his splendid bravery. It was spontaneous, it was +hysterical, it was tremendous. Men and women sprang to their feet, shouting +and waving and weeping. The crowd, crushed in the corridor, caught the cry +and passed it along.</p> + +<p>"Coquenil! Coquenil!"</p> + +<p>The down in the courtyard it sounded, and out into the street, where a +group of students started the old snappy refrain: + +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Oh, oh! Il nous faut-o!</span><br> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Beau, beau! Beau Cocono-o!"</span><br> + +<p>In vain the judge thundered admonitions and the clerk shouted for order. +That white-faced, silent witness leaning on his cane, stood for the moment +to these frantic people as the symbol of what they most admired in a +man—resourcefulness before danger and physical courage and the readiness +to die for a friend. For these three they seldom had a chance to shout and +weep, so they wept and shouted now!</p> + +<p>"Coquenil! Coquenil!"</p> + +<p>There had been bitter moments in the great detective's life, but this made +up for them; there had been proud, intoxicating moments, but this surpassed +them. Coquenil, too, had a new sensation!</p> + +<p>When at length the tumult was stilled and the panting, sobbing audience had +settled back in their seats, the presiding judge, lenient at heart to the +disorder, proceeded gravely with his examination.</p> + +<p>"Please state what you know about this case," he said, and again the +audience waited in deathlike stillness.</p> + +<p>"There is no need of many words," answered M. Paul; then pointing an +accusing arm at De Heidelmann-Bruck, "I know that this man shot Enrico +Martinez on the night of July 4th, at the Ansonia Hotel."</p> + +<p>The audience gave a long-troubled sigh, the nobleman sat rigid on his +chair, the judge went on with his questions.</p> + +<p>"You say you <i>know</i> this?" he demanded sharply.</p> + +<p>"I know it," declared Coquenil, "I have absolute proof of it—here." He +drew from his inner coat the baron's diary and handed it to the judge.</p> + +<p>"What is this?" asked the latter.</p> + +<p>"His own confession, written by himself and—Quick!" he cried, and sprang +toward the rich man, but Papa Tignol was there before him. With a bound the +old fox had leaped forward from the audience and reached the accused in +time to seize and stay his hand.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, your Honor," apologized the detective, "the man was going to +kill himself."</p> + +<p>"It's false!" screamed the baron. "I was getting my handkerchief."</p> + +<p>"Here's the handkerchief," said Tignol, holding up a pistol.</p> + +<p>At this there was fresh tumult in the audience, with men cursing and women +shrieking.</p> + +<p>The judge turned gravely to De Heidelmann-Bruck. "I have a painful duty to +perform, sir. Take this man out—<i>under arrest</i>, and—clear the room."</p> + +<p>M. Paul sank weakly into a chair and watched idly while the attendants led +away the unresisting millionaire, watched keenly as the judge opened the +baron's diary and began to read. He noted the magistrate's start of +amazement, the eager turning of pages and the increasingly absorbed +attention.</p> + +<p>"Astounding! Incredible!" muttered the judge. "A great achievement! I +congratulate you, M. Coquenil. It's the most brilliant coup I have ever +known. It will stir Paris to the depths and make you a—a hero."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, thank you," murmured the sick man.</p> + +<p>At this moment an awe-struck attendant came forward to say that the baron +wished a word with M. Paul.</p> + +<p>"By all means," consented the judge.</p> + +<p>Haltingly, on his cane, Coquenil made his way to an adjoining room where +De Heidelmann-Bruck was waiting under guard.</p> + +<p>As he glanced at the baron, M. Paul saw that once more the man had +demonstrated his extraordinary self-control, he was cold and composed as +usual.</p> + +<p>"We take our medicine, eh?" said the detective admiringly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the prisoner, "we take our medicine."</p> + +<p>"But there's a difference," reflected Coquenil. "The other day you said you +were sorry when you left me in that hot cellar. Now you're in a fairly hot +place yourself, baron, and—I'm <i>not</i> sorry."</p> + +<p>De Heidelmann-Bruck shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Any objection to my smoking a cigar?" he asked coolly and reached toward +his coat pocket.</p> + +<p>With a quick gesture Coquenil stopped the movement.</p> + +<p>"<i>I don't like smoke</i>," he said with grim meaning. "If there is anything +you want to say, sir, you had better say it."</p> + +<p>"I have only this to say, Coquenil," proceeded the baron, absolutely +unruffled; "we had had our little fight and—I have lost. We both did our +best with the weapons we had for the ends we hoped to achieve. I stood for +wickedness, you stood for virtue, and virtue has triumphed; but, between +ourselves"—he smiled and shrugged his shoulders—"they're both only words +and—it isn't important, anyhow."</p> + +<p>He paused while a contemplative, elusive smile played about his mouth.</p> + +<p>"The point is, I am going to pay the price that society exacts when this +sort of thing is—found out. I am perfectly willing to pay it, not in the +least afraid to pay it, and, above all, not in the least sorry for +anything. I want you to remember that and repeat it. I have no patience +with cowardly canting talk about remorse. I have never for one moment +regretted anything I have done, and I regret nothing now. Nothing! I have +had five years of the best this world can give—power, fortune, social +position, pleasure, <i>everything</i>, and whatever I pay, I'm ahead of the +game, way ahead. If I had it all to do over again and knew that this would +be the end, <i>I would change nothing</i>."</p> + +<p>"Except that secret door under the stone shelf—you might change that," put +in Coquenil dryly.</p> + +<p>"No wonder you feel bitter," mused the baron. "It was you or me, and—<i>I</i> +showed no pity. Why should you? I want you to believe, though, that I was +genuine when I said I liked you. I was ready to destroy you, but I liked +you. I like you now, Coquenil, and—this is perhaps our last talk, they +will take me off presently, and—you collect odd souvenirs—here is one—a +little good-by—from an adversary who was—game, anyway. You don't mind +accepting it?"</p> + +<p>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 handed +him, 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.</p> + +<p>"It's a beautiful stone, but—I cannot accept it; we never take gifts from +prisoners and—thank you."</p> + +<p>He handed back the ring.</p> + +<p>The baron's face darkened; he made an angry gesture as if he would dash the +trinket to the floor. Then he checked himself, and studying the ring sadly, +twisted it about in his fingers.</p> + +<p>"Ah, that pride of yours! You've been brilliant, you've been brave, but +never unkind before. It's only a bauble, Coquenil, and——"</p> + +<p>De Heidelmann-Bruck stopped suddenly and M. Paul caught a savage gleam in +his eyes; then, swiftly, the baron put the ring to his mouth, and sucking +in his breath, swallowed hard.</p> + +<p>The detective sprang forward, but it was too late.</p> + +<p>"A doctor—quick!" he called to the guard.</p> + +<p>"No use!" murmured the rich man, sinking forward.</p> + +<p>Coquenil tried to support him, but the body was too heavy for his bandaged +hand, and the prisoner sank to the floor.</p> + +<p>"I—I won the last trick, anyhow," the baron whispered as M. Paul bent over +him.</p> + +<p>Coquenil picked up the ring that had fallen from a nerveless hand. He put +it to his nose and sniffed it.</p> + +<p>"Prussic acid!" he muttered, and turned away from the last horrors.</p> + +<p>Two minutes later, when Dr. Duprat rushed in, the Baron de +Heidelmann-Bruck, unafraid and unrepentant, had gone to his last long +sleep. His face was calm, and even in death his lips seemed set in a +mocking smile of triumph.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> + +<p>And so it all ended, as the baron remarked, with virtue rewarded and right +triumphant over wrong. Only the doctors agreed that many a day must pass +before Coquenil could get back to his work, if, indeed, he ever went back +to it. There were reasons, independent of M. Paul's health, that made this +doubtful, reasons connected with the happiness of the lovers, for, after +all, it was to Coquenil that they owed everything; Kittredge owed him his +liberty and established innocence, Alice (we should say Mary) owed him her +memory, her lover, and her fortune; for, as the sole surviving heir of her +mother, the whole vast inheritance came to her. And, when a sweet young +girl finds herself in such serious debt to a man and at the same time one +of the richest heiresses in the world, she naturally wishes to give some +substantial form to her gratitude, even to the extent of a few odd millions +from her limitless store.</p> + +<p>At any rate, Coquenil was henceforth far beyond any need of following his +profession; whatever use he might in the future make of his brilliant +talents would be for the sheer joy of conquest and strictly in the spirit +of art for its own sake.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, if at any time he wished to undertake a case, it was +certain that the city of Paris or the government of France would tender him +their commissions on a silver salver, for now, of course, his justification +was complete and, by special arrangement, he was given a sort of roving +commission from headquarters with indefinite leave of absence. Best of all, +he was made chevalier of the Legion of Honor "<i>for conspicuous public +service</i>." What a day it was, to be sure, when Madam Coquenil first caught +sight of that precious red badge on her son's coat!</p> + +<p>So we leave Paul Coquenil resting and recuperating in the Vosges Mountains, +taking long drives with his mother and planning the rebuilding of their +mountain home.</p> + +<p>"You did your work, Paul, and I'm proud of you," the old lady said when she +heard the tragic tale, "but don't forget, my boy, it was the hand of God +that saved you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother," he said fondly, and added with a mischievous smile, "don't +forget that you had a little to do with it, too."</p> + +<p>As for the lovers, there is only this to be said: that they were +ridiculously, indescribably happy. The mystery of Alice's strange dreams +and clairvoyant glimpses (it should be Mary) was in great part accounted +for, so Dr. Duprat declared, by certain psychological abnormalities +connected with her loss of memory; these would quickly disappear, he +thought, with a little care and a certain electrical treatment that he +recommended. Lloyd was positive kisses would do the thing just as well; at +any rate, he proposed to give this theory a complete test.</p> + +<p>The young American had one grievance.</p> + +<p>"It's playing it low on a fellow," he said, "when he's just squared himself +to hustle for a poor candle seller to change her into a howling +millionaire. I'd like to know how the devil I'm going to be a hero now?"</p> + +<p>"Silly boy," she laughed, her radiant eyes burning on him, at which he +threatened to begin the treatment forthwith.</p> + +<p>"You darling!" he cried. "My little Alice! Hanged if I can <i>ever</i> call you +anything but Alice!"</p> + +<p>She looked up at him archly and nestled close.</p> + +<p>"Lloyd, dear, I know a nicer name than Alice."</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"A nicer name than Mary."</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"A nicer name than <i>any</i> name."</p> + +<p>"What is it, you little beauty?" he murmured, drawing her closer still and +pressing his lips to hers.</p> + +<p>"How can I—tell you—unless you—let me—speak?" she panted.</p> + +<p>Then, with wonderful dancing lights in those deep, strange windows of her +soul, she whispered: "The nicest name in the world <i>for me</i> is—<i>Mrs. Lloyd +Kittredge!</i>"</p> + +<h4>THE END</h4> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Through the Wall, by Cleveland Moffett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THROUGH THE WALL *** + +***** This file should be named 11373-h.htm or 11373-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/3/7/11373/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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a/old/11373.txt b/old/11373.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6ad9e8d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11373.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14181 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Through the Wall, by Cleveland Moffett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Through the Wall + +Author: Cleveland Moffett + +Release Date: February 29, 2004 [EBook #11373] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THROUGH THE WALL *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +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 SKY +II.--COQUENIL'S GREATEST CASE +III.--PRIVATE ROOM NUMBER SIX +IV.--"IN THE NAME OF THE LAW" +V.--COQUENIL GETS IN THE GAME +VI.--THE WEAPON +VII.--THE FOOTPRINTS +VIII.--THROUGH THE WALL +IX.--COQUENIL MARKS HIS MAN +X.--GIBELIN SCORES A POINT +XI.--THE TOWERS OF NOTRE-DAME +XII.--BY SPECIAL ORDER +XIII.--LLOYD AND ALICE +XIV.--THE WOMAN IN THE CASE +XV.--PUSSY WILMOTT'S CONFESSION +XVI.--THE THIRD PAIR OF BOOTS +XVII.--"FROM HIGHER UP" +XVIII.--A LONG LITTLE FINGER +XIX.--TOUCHING A YELLOW TOOTH +XX.--THE MEMORY OF A DOG +XXI.--THE WOOD CARVER +XXII.--AT THE HAIRDRESSER'S +XXIII.--GROENER AT BAY +XXIV.--THIRTY IMPORTANT WORDS +XXV.--THE MOVING PICTURE +XXVI.--COQUENIL'S MOTHER +XXVII.--THE DIARY +XXVIII.--A GREAT CRIMINAL +XXIX.--THE LOST DOLLY +XXX.--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 the +famous French detective, Paul Coquenil, was ever engaged, a case of more +baffling mystery than the Palais Royal diamond robbery and of far greater +peril to him than the Marseilles trunk drama--in short, a case that ranks +with the most important ones of modern police history--would never have +been undertaken by Coquenil (and in that event might never have been +solved) but for the extraordinary faith this man had in certain strange +intuitions or forms of half knowledge that came to him at critical moments +of his life, bringing marvelous guidance. Who but one possessed of such +faith would have given up fortune, high position, the reward of a whole +career, _simply because a girl whom he did not know spoke some chance words +that 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 had +known that year (1907) and M. Coquenil, followed by a splendid +white-and-brown shepherd dog, was walking down the Rue de la Cite, past the +somber mass of the city hospital. Before reaching the Place Notre-Dame he +stopped twice, once at a flower market that offered the grateful shade of +its gnarled polenia trees just beyond the Conciergerie prison, and once +under the heavy archway of the Prefecture de Police. At the flower market +he 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 a +smile and friendly word. She wondered if it was true, as people said, that +M. Coquenil always wore glasses with a slightly bluish tint so that no one +could see his eyes. + +The detective walked on, busy with pleasant thoughts. This was the hour of +his triumph and justification, this made up for the cruel blow that had +fallen two years before and resulted, no one understood why, in his leaving +the Paris detective force at the very moment of his glory, when the whole +city was praising him for the St. Germain investigation. _Beau Cocono!_ +That was the name they had given him; he could hear the night crowds +shouting 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 the +police force for personal reasons, said the newspapers. His health was +affected, some declared; he had laid by a tidy fortune and wished to enjoy +it, thought others; but many shook their heads mysteriously and whispered +that 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 the +detective service of a foreign capital, with a life position at the head +of this service and a much larger salary than he had ever received, a +larger 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 a +red-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 gray +eyes, 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 unshaven +chin, he pointed over his shoulder with a long, grimy thumb to the western +sky. + +"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 barred +with 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't +laugh 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 found +those two poor women stretched out in their white-and-gold _salon_? Well, I +must 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 watched +the slender, well-knit figure as the detective moved across the Place +Notre-Dame, snapping his fingers playfully at the splendid animal that +bounded beside him and speaking to the dog in confidential friendliness. + +"We'll show 'em, eh, Caesar?" And the dog answered with eager barking and +quick-wagging tail. + +[Illustration: "'We'll show 'em, eh, Caesar?'"] + +So these two companions advanced toward the great cathedral, directing +their steps to the left-hand portal under the Northern tower. Here they +paused before statues of various saints and angels that overhang the +blackened doorway while Coquenil said something to a professional beggar, +who straightway disappeared inside the church. Caesar, meantime, with +panting tongue, was eying the decapitated St. Denis, asking himself, one +would say, how even a saint could carry his head in his hands. + +And presently there appeared a white-bearded sacristan in a three-cornered +hat of blue and gold and a gold-embroidered coat. For all his brave apparel +he was a small, mild-mannered person, with kindly brown eyes and a way of +smiling sadly as if he had forgotten how to laugh. + +"Ah, Bonneton, my friend!" said Coquenil, and then, with a quizzical +glance: "My decorative friend!" + +"Good evening, M. Paul," answered the other, while he patted the dog +affectionately. "Shall I take Caesar?" + +"One moment; I have news for you." Then, while the other listened +anxiously, he told of his brilliant appointment in Rio Janeiro and of his +imminent departure. He was sailing for Brazil in three days. + +"_Mon Dieu!_" murmured Bonneton in dismay. "Sailing for Brazil! So our +friends 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 let +him 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 the +detective all unconscious that he had reached a critical moment in his +destiny. + +How the course of events would have been changed had Paul Coquenil remained +outside Notre-Dame on this occasion it is impossible to know; the fact is +he did not remain outside, but, growing impatient at Bonneton's delay, he +pushed open the double swinging doors, with their coverings of leather and +red velvet, and entered the sanctuary. _And immediately he saw the girl_. + +She was in the shadows near a statue of the Virgin before which candles +were burning. On the table were rosaries and talismans and candles of +different lengths that it was evidently the girl's business to sell. In +front of the Virgin's shrine was a _prie dieu_ at which a woman was +kneeling, but she presently rose and went out, and the girl sat there +alone. She was looking down at a piece of embroidery, and Coquenil noticed +her shapely white hands and the mass of red golden hair coiled above her +neck. When she lifted her eyes he saw that they were dark and beautiful, +though tinged with sadness. He was surprised to find this lovely young +woman selling candles here in Notre-Dame Church. + +And suddenly he was more surprised, for as the girl glanced up she met his +gaze fixed on her, and immediately there came into her face a look so +strange, so glad, and yet so frightened that Coquenil went to her quickly +with reassuring smile. He was sure he had never seen her before, yet he +realized that somehow she was equally sure that she knew him. + +What followed was seen by only one person, that is, the sacristan's wife, a +big, hard-faced woman with a faint mustache and a wart on her chin, who sat +by the great column near the door dispensing holy water out of a cracked +saucer and whining for pennies. Nothing escaped the hawklike eyes of Mother +Bonneton, and now, with growing curiosity, she watched the scene between +Coquenil and the candle seller. What interest could a great detective have +in this girl, Alice, whom she and her husband had taken in as a +half-charity boarder? Such airs as she gave herself! What was she saying +now? Why should he look at her like that? The baggage! + +"Holy saints, how she talks!" grumbled the sacristan's wife. "And see the +eyes she makes! And how he listens! The man must be crazy to waste his time +on 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 seems +afraid of her! He says something and starts to come away. Ah, now he turns +and stares at her as if he had seen a ghost! _Mon Dieu, quelle folie!_" + +This whole incident occupied scarcely five minutes, yet it wrought an +extraordinary change in Coquenil. All his buoyancy was gone, and he looked +worn, almost haggard, as he walked to the church door with hard-shut teeth +and face set in an ominous frown. + +"There's some devil's work in this," he muttered, and as his eyes caught +the 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 she +come 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 the +brows over his closed eyes as if he were combing away error. "No, no!" he +changed, "don't tell me yet. I must be alone; I must think. Come to me at +nine 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 he +started 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 was +such black rage in his look that Bonneton cowered away, clasping and +unclasping his hands and murmuring meekly: "Ah, yes, exactly." + + * * * * * + +So much for the humble influence that turned Paul Coquenil toward an +unbelievable decision and led him ultimately into the most desperate +struggle of his long and exciting career. A day of sinister portent this +must have been, for scarcely had Coquenil left Notre-Dame when another +scene was enacted there that should have been happy, but that, alas! showed +only a rough and devious way stretching before two lovers. And again it was +the girl who made trouble, this seller of candles, with her fine hands and +her 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 was +closing time, Mother Bonneton had shuffled off rheumatically after a +cutting word--she knew better than to ask what had happened--and the old +sacristan, lantern in hand and Caesar before him, was making his round of +the galleries, securing doors and windows. + +With a shiver of apprehension Alice turned away from the whispering shadows +and went to the Virgin's shrine, where she knelt and tried to pray. The +candles sputtered before her, and she shut her eyes tight, which made +colored patterns come and go behind the lids, fascinating geometrical +figures that changed and faded and grew stronger. And suddenly, inside a +widening green circle, she saw a face, the face of a young man with +laughing gray eyes, and her heart beat with joy. She loved him, she loved +him!--that was her secret and the cause of her unhappiness, for she must +hide her love, especially from him; she must give him some cold word, some +evasive reason, not the real one, when he should come presently for his +answer. Ah, that was the great fact, he was coming for his answer--he, her +hero man, her impetuous American with the name she liked so much, Lloyd +Kittredge--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 not +hope to make him understand--how could anyone understand?--and then, +perhaps, he would misjudge her, perhaps he would leave her in anger and not +come back any more. Not come back any more! The thought cut with a sharp +pang, and in her distress she moved her lips silently in the familiar +prayer printed before her: + + O Marie, souvenez vous du moment supreme ou Jesus votre divin Fils, + expirant sur la croix, nous confia a votre maternelle solicitude. + +Her thoughts wandered from the page and flew back to her lover; Why was he +so impatient? Why was he not willing to let their friendship go on as it +had been all these months? Why must he ask this inconceivable question and +insist on having an answer? His wife! Her cheeks flamed at the word and her +heart throbbed wildly. His wife! How wonderful that he should have chosen +her, so poor and obscure, for such an honor, the highest he could pay a +woman! Whatever happened she would at least have this beautiful memory to +comfort her loneliness and sorrow. + +A descending step on the tower stairs broke in upon her meditations, and +she rose quickly from her knees. The sacristan had finished his rounds and +was coming to close the outer doors. It was time for her to go. And, with a +glance at her hair in a little glass and a touch to her hat, she went out +into the garden back of Notre-Dame, where she knew her lover would be +waiting. There he was, strolling along the graveled walk near the fountain, +switching his cane impatiently. He had not seen her yet, and she stood +still, looking at him fondly, dreading what was to come, yet longing to +hear 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, boyish +smile. His face was ruddy and clean shaven, the twinkling eyes and humorous +lines about the mouth suggesting some joke or drollery always ready on his +lips. Yet his was a frank, manly face, easily likable. He was a man of +twenty-seven, slender of build, but carrying himself well. In dress he had +the quiet good taste that some men are born with, besides a willingness to +take pains about shirts, boots, and cravats--in short, he looked like a +well-groomed Englishman. Unlike the average Englishman, however, he spoke +almost perfect French, owing to the fact that his American father had +married into one of the old Creole families of New Orleans. + +"How is your royal American constitution?" She smiled, repeating in +excellent English one of the nonsensical phrases he was fond of using. She +tried to say it gayly, but he was not deceived, and answered seriously in +French: + +"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 a +friendly sycamore tree. "Now, then." + +She faced him with troubled eyes, searching vainly for words and finding +nothing. The crisis had come, and she did not know how to meet it. Her red +lips trembled, her eyes grew melting, and she sat there silent and +delicious in her perplexity. Kittredge thrilled under the spell of her +beauty; 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 this +old stone barn and took a turn around it. He saw the treasure and the fake +relics and the white marble French gentleman trying to get out of his +coffin. And he didn't care a hang about any of 'em until he saw you. Then +he began to take notice. The next day he came back and you sold him a +little red guidebook that told all about the twenty-five chapels and the +seven 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 of +the Candles. She had the most beautiful hands in the world, and all day +long she sat at a table making stitches on cloth of gold. Which was bad for +her eyes, by the way." + +"Ah, yes!" sighed Alice. + +"There are all kinds of miracles in Notre-Dame," he went on playfully, "but +the greatest miracle is how this saint with the eyes and the hands and the +hair ever dropped down at that little table. Nobody could explain it, so +the young fellow with the fur overcoat kept coming back and coming back to +see 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 all +blown in, overcoat up the spout, nothing ahead, and a whole year of--of +damned foolishness behind. Excuse _me_, but that's what it was. Well, he +blew in that day and--he walked over to where you were sitting, you darling +little saint!" + +"No, no," murmured Alice, "not a saint, only a poor girl who saw you were +unhappy and--and was sorry." + +Their eyes met tenderly, and for a moment neither spoke. Then Kittredge +went 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. I +said to myself: 'Lloyd Kittredge, if you're any good you'll cut out this +thing that's been raising hell with you'--excuse _me_, but that's what it +was--'and you'll make a new start, right now.' And I did it. There's a lot +you don't know, but you can bet all your rosaries and relics that I've made +a fair fight since then. I've worked and--been decent and--I did it all for +you." His voice was vibrant now with passion; he caught her hand in his +and repeated the words, leaning closer, so that she felt his warm breath on +her cheek. "All for you. You know that, don't you, Alice?" + +What a moment for a girl whose whole soul was quivering with fondness! What +a proud, beautiful moment! He loved her, he loved her! Yet she drew her +hand away and forced herself to say, as if reprovingly: "You mustn't do +that!" + +He looked at her in surprise, and then, with challenging directness: "Why +not?" + +"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 pronouncing +her 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 can +never be your wife." + +"But why? Why?" + +"I--I cannot tell you," she faltered. + +He was about to speak impatiently, but before her evident distress he +checked 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, if +you say so. God knows I was a fool, but I've kept straight since I knew +you, I'll swear to that." + +"I believe you, dear." + +"You believe me, you call me 'dear,' you look at me out of those wonderful +eyes 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 reminds +me of a verse I read," and drawing a small volume from his pocket he turned +the pages quickly. "Ah, here it is," and he marked some lines with a +pencil. "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 deloyale, + Je comptai tous les maux qu'elle m'avait causes." + +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 the +sight 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; say +that in six months or--or even a year you will be my own +sweetheart--promise me that and I'll wait patiently. Can't you promise me +that?" + +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? No +matter 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 I +don't understand; but there's no use talking any more. I'll take my +medicine 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 pull +a string and make me dance? Well, I guess not. Leave you? Of course I'll +leave you. I wish I had never seen you; I'm sorry I ever came inside this +blooming church!" + +"Oh!" she gasped, in sudden pain. + +"You don't play fair," he went on recklessly. "You haven't played fair at +all. You knew I loved you, and--you led me on, and--this is the end of +it." + +"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 would +have 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, if +it's all I have in life? How about that, Lloyd?" Under their dark lashes +her violet eyes were burning on him, but he hardened his heart to their +pleading. + +"It sounds well, but there's no sense in it. I can't stand for this +let-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 Elysees, very swell. I +didn'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 some +stories. I've _got_ to go. Besides, I wouldn't come to you, anyway. What's +the use? I've said all I can, and you've said 'No.' So it's all off--that's +right, Alice, _it's all off_." His eyes were kinder now, but he spoke +firmly. + +"Lloyd," she begged, "come _after_ the banquet." + +"No!" + +"I ask it for _you_. I--I feel that something is going to happen. Don't +laugh. Look at the sky, there beyond the black towers. It's red, red like +blood, and--Lloyd, I'm afraid." + +Her eyes were fixed in the west with an enthralled expression, as if she +saw something there besides the masses of red and purple that crowned the +setting sun, something strange and terrifying. And in her agitation she +took the book and pencil from the bench, and nervously, almost +unconsciously 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 the +book and giving him her own little hand. + +As he turned to go he picked up the volume and his eye fell on the fly +leaf. + +"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 a +puzzled look: "See here, I guess I've been too previous. I'll cut out that +banquet to-night--that is, I'll show up for soup and fish, and then I'll +come 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 the +blood-red western sky. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +COQUENIL'S GREATEST CASE + + +After leaving Notre-Dame, Paul Coquenil directed his steps toward the +prefecture of police, but halfway across the square he glanced back at the +church 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 walked +quickly to a little wine shop with flowers in the windows, the Tavern of +the Three Wise Men, an interesting fragment of old-time Paris that offers +its cheery but battered hospitality under the very shadow of the great +cathedral. + +"Ah, I thought so!" he muttered, as he recognized Papa Tignol at one of the +tables 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. Paul +again!" + +"I must see M. Pougeot," continued the detective. "It's important. Go to +his office. If he isn't there, go to his house. Anyhow, find him and tell +him 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 tell +Bonneton that he needn't come either." + +"I knew it, I knew it," chuckled Papa Tignol, as he trotted off. "There's +something 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 a +horse that could not possibly make more than four miles an hour. Behind +this deliberate animal he seated himself, and giving the driver his +address, he charged him gravely not to go too fast, and settled back +against the cushions to comfortable meditations. "There is no better way to +think out a tough problem," he used to insist, "than to take a very long +drive in a very slow cab." + +It may have been that this horse was not slow enough, for forty minutes +later Coquenil's frown was still unrelaxed when they drew up at the Villa +Montmorency, really a collection of villas, some dozens of them, in a +private park near the Bois de Boulogne, each villa a garden within a +garden, and the whole surrounded by a great stone wall that shuts out +noises and intrusions. They entered by a massive iron gateway on the Rue +Poussin and moved slowly up the ascending Avenue des Tilleuls, past lawns +and trees and vine-covered walls, leaving behind the rush and glare of the +city and entering a peaceful region of flowers and verdure where Coquenil +lived. + +The detective occupied a wing of the original Montmorency chateau, a +habitation of ten spacious rooms, more than enough for himself and his +mother and the faithful old servant, Melanie, who took care of them, +especially during these summer months, when Madame Coquenil was away at a +country place in the Vosges Mountains that her son had bought for her. Paul +Coquenil had never married, and his friends declared that, besides his +work, 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 room +to a meal that was waiting when he arrived and that Melanie served with +solicitous care, remarking sadly that her master scarcely touched anything, +his eyes roving here and there among painted mountain scenes that covered +the four walls above the brown-and-gold wainscoting, or out into the +garden through the long, open windows; he was searching, searching for +something, she knew the signs, and with a sigh she took away her most +tempting dishes untasted. + +At eight o'clock the detective rose from the table and withdrew into his +study, a large room opening off the dining room and furnished like no other +study in the world. Around the walls were low bookcases with wide tops on +which were spread, under glass, what Coquenil called his criminal museum. +This included souvenirs of cases on which he had been engaged, wonderful +sets of burglars' tools, weapons used by murderers--saws, picks, jointed +jimmies of tempered steel, that could be taken apart and folded up in the +space of a thick cigar and hidden about the person. Also a remarkable +collection of handcuffs from many countries and periods in history. Also a +collection of letters of criminals, some in cipher, with confessions of +prisoners and last words of suicides. Also plaster casts of hands of famous +criminals. And photographs of criminals, men and women, with faces often +distorted to avoid recognition. And various grewsome objects, a card case +of human skin, and the twisted scarf used by a strangler. + +As for the shelves underneath, they contained an unequaled special library +of subjects interesting to a detective, both science and fiction being +freely drawn upon in French, English, and German, for, while Coquenil was a +man 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 his +comfortable study thinking, thinking. + +Melanie entered presently with coffee and cigarettes, which she placed on a +table near the green-shaded lamp, within easy reach of the great +red-leather chair where M. Paul was seated. Then she stole out +noiselessly. It was five minutes past eight, and for an hour Coquenil +thought and smoked and drank coffee. Occasionally he frowned and moved +impatiently, and several times he took off his glasses and stroked his +brows over the eyes. + +Finally he gave a long sigh of relief, and shutting his hands and throwing +out 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, one +of these taken in the exact attitude and costume of the painting of +Whistler's mother in the Luxembourg gallery. M. Paul was proud of the +striking resemblance between the two women. For some moments he stood +before the fine, kindly face, and then he said aloud, as if speaking to +her: "It looks like a hard fight, little mother, but I'm not afraid." And +almost as he spoke, which seemed like a good omen, there came a clang at +the iron gate in the garden and the sound of quick, crunching steps on the +gravel walk. M. Pougeot had arrived. + +M. Lucien Pougeot was one of the eighty police commissaries who, each in +his own quarter, oversee the moral washing of Paris's dirty linen. A +commissary of police is first of all a magistrate, but, unless he is a +fool, he soon becomes a profound student of human nature, for he sees all +sides of life in the great gay capital, especially the darker sides. He +knows the sins of his fellow men and women, their follies and hypocrisies, +he receives incredible confessions, he is constantly summoned to the scenes +of revolting crime. Nothing, _absolutely nothing_, surprises him, and he +has no illusions, yet he usually manages to keep a store of grim pity for +erring humanity. M. Pougeot was one of the most distinguished and +intelligent members of this interesting body. He was a devoted friend of +Paul Coquenil. + +The newcomer was a middle-aged man of strong build and florid face, with a +brush of thick black hair. His quick-glancing eyes were at once cold and +kind, but the kindness had something terrifying in it, like the politeness +of an executioner. As the two men stood together they presented absolutely +opposite types: Coquenil, taller, younger, deep-eyed, spare of build, with +a certain serious reserve very different from the commissary's outspoken +directness. M. Pougeot prided himself on reading men's thoughts, but he +used to say that he could not even imagine what Coquenil was thinking or +fathom the depths of a nature that blended the eagerness of a child with +the austerity of a prophet. + +"Well," remarked the commissary when they were settled in their chairs, "I +suppose it's the Rio Janeiro thing? Some parting instructions, eh?" And he +turned 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 this +foreign offer, with its extraordinary money advantages; he had rejoiced in +his friend's good fortune after two unhappy years, and now--now Coquenil +informed 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 only +person in the world who _will_ know--everything. So listen! This afternoon +I went into Notre-Dame church and I saw a young girl there who sells +candles. I didn't know her, but she looked up in a queer way, as if she +wanted to speak to me, so I went to her and--well, she told me of a dream +she 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; I +know 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 the +two 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 a +man with a beard was talking to a woman and a little girl. Then she saw me +on 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 that +kept looking down at me. She says she often dreams of this wicked face, she +sees it first in a distant star that comes nearer and nearer, until it gets +to 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 if +the face ever reached her _before_ she awoke. That's about all." + +For some moments the commissary did not speak. "Did she try to interpret +this 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 over +his friend, "in that forest scene she brought up something that isn't +known, 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 was +discharged._" + +M. Pougeot stared in bewilderment, as if words failed him, and finally he +repeated weakly: "Discharged! Paul Coquenil discharged!" + +[Illustration: "'I _didn't_ resign; _I was discharged_.'"] + +"Yes, sir, discharged from the Paris detective force for refusing to arrest +a 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. I +don'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 over +France. We were clean off the track, and I made up my mind the only way to +get him was through his wife and child. They lived in a little house in the +woods not far from the place of the shooting. I went there as a peddler in +hard luck, and I played my part so well that the woman consented to take me +in as a boarder." + +"Wonderful man!" exclaimed the commissary. + +"For weeks it was a waiting game. I would go away on a peddling tour and +then come back as boarder. Nothing developed, but I could not get rid of +the 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 fear +from me_, and she did things more openly. One day I saw her put some food +in a basket and give it to the little girl. And the little girl went off +with the basket into the forest. Then I knew I was right, and the next day +I followed the little girl, and, sure enough, she led me to a rough cave +where her father was hiding. I hung about there for an hour or two, and +finally the man came out from the cave and I saw him talk to his wife and +child 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 over +and 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 wife +and child. The woman had been kind to me and trusted me, and--well, it was +a 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 to +man. 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 were +technically in the wrong, but it was a slight offense, and, after all, you +got 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, and +then, as if not satisfied with this, he clasped the detective's hand and +added heartily: "I'm proud of you, old friend, I honor you." + +Coquenil looked at Pougeot with an odd little smile. "You take it just as +I thought you would, just as I took it myself--until to-day. It seems like +a stupid blunder, doesn't it? Well, it wasn't a blunder; _it was a +necessary move in the game_." His face lighted with intense eagerness as he +waited 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 you +know the plan? You have evidence?" + +"I have what is perfectly clear evidence _to me_, so clear that I wonder I +never saw it before. Lucien, suppose you were a great criminal, I don't +mean the ordinary clever scoundrel who succeeds for a time and is finally +caught, 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 swindling +schemes, but he had no stability, no big purpose, and he finally came to +grief. There have been greater criminals than Vautrin, men whose crimes +have brought them _everything_--fortune, social position, political +supremacy--_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 very +few; I have documents to prove it"--he pointed to his bookcases; "but we +haven't time for that. Come back to my question: Suppose _you_ were such a +criminal, and suppose there was one person in this city who was thwarting +your purposes, perhaps jeopardizing your safety. What would you naturally +do?" + +"I'd try to get rid of him." + +"Exactly." Coquenil paused, and then, leaning closer to his friend, he said +with extraordinary earnestness: "Lucien, for over two years _some one has +been 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 the +dream and nothing on the girl. She simply brought together two facts that +belong together. Why she did it doesn't matter; she did it, and my reason +did the rest. There is a connection between this Rio Janeiro offer and my +discharge from the force. I know it. I'll show you other links in the +chain. Three times in the past two years I have received offers of business +positions away from Paris, tempting offers. Notice that--_business +positions away from Paris!_ Some one has extraordinary reasons for wanting +me out of this city and _out of detective work_." + +"And you think this 'some one' was responsible for your discharge from the +force?" + +"I tell you I know it. M. Giroux, the chief at that time, was distressed at +the order, he told me so himself; he said it came from _higher up_." + +The commissary raised incredulous eyebrows. "You mean that Paris has a +criminal able to overrule the wishes of a chief of police?" + +"Is that harder than to influence the Brazilian Government? Do you think +Rio Janeiro offered me a hundred thousand francs a year just for my +beautiful eyes?" + +"You're a great detective." + +"A great detective repudiated by his own city. That's another point: why +should the police department discharge me two years ago and recommend me +now 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 crime +is 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 of +France. Why? There can be only one reason--because I have been successful +in unraveling intricate crimes, more successful than other men on the +force. Is that saying too much?" + +The commissary replied impatiently: "It's conceded that you are the most +skillful detective in France; but you're off the force already. So why +should this person send you to Brazil?" + +M. Paul thought a moment. "I've considered that. It is because this crime +will be of so startling and unusual a character that it _must_ attract my +attention if I am here. And if it attracts my attention as a great criminal +problem, it is certain that I will try to solve it, whether on the force or +off it." + +"Well answered!" approved the other; he was coming gradually under the +spell of Coquenil's conviction. "And when--when do you think this crime may +be committed?" + +"Who can say? There must be great urgency to account for their insisting +that I sail to-morrow. Ah, you didn't know that? Yes, even now, at this +very moment, I am supposed to be on the steamer train, for the boat goes +out early in the morning _before the Paris papers can reach Cherbourg_." + +M. Pougeot started up, his eyes widening. "What!" he cried. "You mean +that--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 been +followed by a violent storm. + +Coquenil paid no heed to this, but answered quietly: "I mean that a great +fight is ahead, and I shall be in it. Somebody is playing for enormous +stakes, somebody who disposes of fortune and power and will stop at +_nothing_, somebody who will certainly crush me unless I crush him. It will +be a great case, Lucien, my greatest case, perhaps my last case." He +stopped and looked intently at his mother's picture, while his lips moved +inaudibly. + +"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 came +one of the strange coincidences of this extraordinary case. On the silence +of this room, with its tension of overwrought emotion, broke the sharp +summons of the telephone. + +"My God!" shivered the commissary. "What is that?" Both men sat +motionless, their eyes fixed on the ominous instrument. + +Again came the call, this time more strident and commanding. M. Pougeot +aroused 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 he +put the receiver to his ear. "Yes, this is M. Pougeot.... What?... The +Ansonia?... You say he's shot?... In a private dining room?... Dead?... +_Quel malheur!_"... Then he gave quick orders: "Send Papa Tignol over with +a doctor and three or four _agents_. Close the restaurant. Don't let anyone +go in or out. Don't let anyone leave the banquet room. I'll be there in +twenty 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, the +automobile is waiting." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +PRIVATE ROOM NUMBER SIX + + +The night was black and rain was falling in torrents as Paul Coquenil and +the commissary rolled away in response to this startling summons of crime. +Up the Rue Mozart they sped with sounding horn, feeling their way carefully +on account of troublesome car tracks, then faster up the Avenue Victor +Hugo, their advance being accompanied by vivid lightning flashes. + +"He was in luck to have this storm," muttered Coquenil. Then, in reply to +Pougeot's look: "I mean the thunder, it deadened the shot and gained time +for him." + +"Him? How do you know a man did it? A woman was in the room, and she's +gone. They telephoned that." + +The detective shook his head. "No, no, you'll find it's a man. Women are +not original in crime. And this is--_this is different_. How many murders +can you remember in Paris restaurants, I mean smart restaurants?" + +M. Pougeot thought a moment. "There was one at the Silver Pheasant and one +at the Pavillion and--and----" + +"And one at the Cafe Rouge. But those were stupid shooting cases, not +murders, 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 him +they would have told you, wouldn't they?" + +"Why--er----" + +"Of course they would. Well, think what it means to commit murder in a +crowded restaurant and get away. It means _brains_, Lucien. Ah, we're +nearly there!" + +They had reached Napoleon's arch, and the automobile, swinging sharply to +the right, started at full speed down the Champs Elysees. + +"It's bad for Gritz," reflected the commissary; then both men fell silent +in 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 the +rich and hungry wayfarer. He owned the famous Palace restaurant at Monte +Carlo, the Queen's in Piccadilly, London, and the Cafe Royal in Brussels. +Of all his ventures, however, this recently opened Ansonia (hotel and +restaurant) was by far the most ambitious. The building occupied a full +block on the Champs Elysees, just above the Rond Point, so that it was in +the center of fashionable Paris. It was the exact copy of a well-known +Venetian palace, and its exquisite white marble colonnade made it a real +adornment to the gay capital. Furthermore, M. Gritz had spent a fortune on +furnishings and decorations, the carvings, the mural paintings, the rugs, +the chairs, everything, in short, being up to the best millionaire +standard. He had the most high-priced chef in the world, with six chefs +under him, two of whom made a specialty of American dishes. He had his own +farm for vegetables and butter, his own vineyards, his own permanent +orchestra, and his own brand of Turkish coffee made before your eyes by a +salaaming Armenian in native costume. For all of which reasons the present +somber happening had particular importance. A murder anywhere was bad +enough, but a murder in the newest, the _chic_-est, and the costliest +restaurant in Paris must cause more than a nine days' wonder. As M. Pougeot +remarked, it was certainly bad for Gritz. + +Drawing up before the imposing entrance, they saw two policemen on guard at +the doors, one of whom, recognizing the commissary, came forward quickly to +the automobile with word that M. Gibelin and two other men from +headquarters had already arrived and were proceeding with the +investigation. + +"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-school +methods, and--he and I never got on very well. He has been sent to take +charge of the case, so--be tactful with him." + +"He can't object," answered Pougeot. "After all, I'm the commissary of this +quarter, 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 of +sensation seekers that blocked the sidewalk, he disappeared inside the +building. + +M. Pougeot's moment was prolonged to five full minutes, and when he +reappeared 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 from +headquarters.' 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 a +better 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. "When +shall I see you again?" + +Coquenil eyed his friend mysteriously. "I _think_ you'll see me before the +night is over. Now get to work, and," he smiled mockingly, "give M. Gibelin +the 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 going +on as usual, the orchestra was playing in its best manner and few of the +brilliant company suspected that anything was wrong. Those who started to +go out were met by M. Gritz himself, and, with a brief hint of trouble +upstairs, were assured that they would be allowed to leave shortly after +some necessary formalities. This delay most of them took good-naturedly and +went back to their tables. + +As M. Pougeot mounted to the first floor he was met at the head of the +stairs by a little yellow-bearded man, with luminous dark eyes, who came +toward him, hand extended. + +"Ah, Dr. Joubert!" said the commissary. + +The doctor nodded nervously. "It's a singular case," he whispered, "a very +singular 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, his +manners brusque, but there was no denying his intelligence. In a spirit of +conciliation he began to give M. Pougeot some details of the case, +whereupon the latter said stiffly: "Excuse me, sir, I need no assistance +from you in making this investigation. Come, doctor! In the field of his +jurisdiction a commissary of police is supreme, taking precedence even over +headquarters men." So Gibelin could only withdraw, muttering his +resentment, while Pougeot proceeded with his duties. + +In general plan the Ansonia was in the form of a large E, the main part of +the second floor, where the tragedy took place, being occupied by public +dining rooms, but the two wings, in accordance with Parisian custom, +containing a number of private rooms where delicious meals might be had +with discreet attendance by those who wished to dine alone. In each of the +wings were seven of these private rooms, all opening on a dark-red +passageway lighted by soft electric lamps. It was in one of the west wing +private rooms that the crime had been committed, and as the commissary +reached the wing the waiters' awe-struck looks showed him plainly enough +_which_ was the room--there, on the right, the second from the end, where +the patient policeman was standing guard. + +M. Pougeot paused at the turn of the corridor to ask some question, but he +was interrupted by a burst of singing on the left, a roaring chorus of +hilarity. + +"It's a banquet party," explained the doctor, "a lot of Americans. They +don'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 him +about the crime. It had been discovered half an hour before, more precisely +at ten minutes to nine, by a waiter Joseph, who was serving a couple in +Number Six, a dark-complexioned man and a strikingly handsome woman. They +had arrived at a quarter before eight and the meal had begun at once. Oddly +enough, after the soup, the gentleman told the waiter not to bring the next +course until he rang, at the same time slipping into his hand a ten-franc +piece. Whereupon Joseph had nodded his understanding--he had seen impatient +lovers before, although they usually restrained their ardor until after the +fish; still, _ma foi_, this was a woman to make a man lose his head, and +the night was to be a jolly one--how those young American devils were +singing!... so _vive l'amour_ and _vive la jeunesse!_ With which simple +philosophy and a twinkle of satisfaction Joseph had tucked away his gold +piece--and waited. + +Ten minutes! Fifteen minutes! An unconscionably _long time when you have a +delicious sole a la Regence_ getting cold on your hands. Joseph knocked +discreetly, then again after a decent pause, and finally, weary of waiting, +he opened the door with an official cough of warning and stepped inside the +room. 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 before +this, while I was waiting. She asked where the telephone was, and I told +her it was on the floor below. Then she went downstairs--at least I +suppose she did, for she never came back." + +"Did anyone see her leave the hotel?", demanded Pougeot sharply, looking at +the others. + +"It's extraordinary," answered the doctor, "but no one seems to have seen +this woman go out. M. Gibelin made inquiries, but he could learn nothing +except that she really went to the telephone booth. The girl there +remembers 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 a +stunner! Eyes and--shoulders and--um-m!" He described imaginary feminine +curves 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 his +men. + +Dr. Joubert, bowing gravely, opened the door of Number Six, and the +commissary entered, followed by his scribe, a very bald and pale young man, +and by the two policemen. Last came the doctor, closing the door carefully +behind him. + +It was the commissary's custom on arriving at the scene of a crime to +record his first impressions immediately, taking careful note of every fact +and detail in the picture that seemed to have the slightest bearing on the +case. These he would dictate rapidly to his secretary, walking back and +forth, searching everywhere with keen eyes and trained intelligence, +especially for signs of violence, a broken window, an overturned table, a +weapon, and noting all suspicious stains--mud stains, blood stains, the +print of a foot, the smear of a hand and, of course, describing carefully +the appearance of a victim's body, the wounds, the position, the expression +of the face, any tearing or disorder of the garments. Many times these +quick, haphazard jottings, made in the precious moments immediately +following a crime, had proved of incalculable value in the subsequent +investigation. + +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 and +flashing glasses, chairs in their places, pictures smiling down from the +white-and-gold walls, shaded electric lights diffusing a pleasant glow--in +short, no disorder, no sign of struggle, yet, there, stretched at full +length 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 evidently +dead. + +"Has anything been disturbed here? Has anyone touched this body?" demanded +Pougeot sharply. + +"No," said the doctor; "Gibelin came in with me, but neither of us touched +anything. 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 and +that 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 shot +in the right eye, a ball having penetrated the brain, killing him +instantly. The face showed marks of flame and powder, proving that the +weapon--undoubtedly a pistol--had been discharged from a very short +distance. + +This certainly looked like suicide, although the absence of the pistol +pointed to murder. The man's face was perfectly calm, with no suggestion of +fright or anger; his hands and body lay in a natural position and his +clothes were in no way disordered. Either he had met death willingly, or it +had come to him without warning, like a lightning stroke. + +"Doctor," asked the commissary, glancing at the open window, "if this man +shot himself, could he, in your opinion, with his last strength have thrown +the pistol out there?" + +"Certainly not," answered Joubert. "A man who received a wound like this +would 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 has +been found." + +"It must be murder," muttered Pougeot. "Was there any quarreling with the +woman?" + +"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 out +who this poor fellow was." + +[Illustration: "On the floor lay a man."] + +These instructions were carefully carried out, and it straightway became +clear that robbery, at any rate, had no part in the crime. In the dead +man's pockets was found a considerable sum of money, a bundle of five-pound +notes of the Bank of England, besides a handful of French gold. On his +fingers were several valuable rings, in his scarf was a large ruby set +with diamonds, and attached to his waistcoat was a massive gold medal that +at once established his identity. He was Enrico Martinez, a Spaniard widely +known as a professional billiard player, and also the hero of the terrible +Charity Bazaar fire, where, at the risk of his life, he had saved several +women from the flames. For this bravery the city of Paris had awarded him a +gold medal and people had praised him until his head was half turned. + +So familiar a figure was Martinez that there was no difficulty in finding +witnesses in the restaurant able to identify him positively as the dead +man. Several had seen him within a few days at the Olympia billiard +academy, where he had been practicing for a much-advertised match with an +American rival. All agreed that Martinez was quite the last man in Paris to +take his own life, for the simple reason that he enjoyed it altogether too +much. He was scarcely thirty and in excellent health, he made plenty of +money, he was fond of pleasure, and particularly fond of the ladies and had +no reason to complain of bad treatment at their hands; in fact, if the +truth must be told, he was ridiculously vain of his conquests among the +fair sex, and was always saying to whoever would listen: "Ah, _mon cher_, I +have met a woman! But _such_ a woman!" Then his dark eyes would glow and he +would snap his thumb nail under an upper tooth, with an expression of +ravishing joy that only a Castilian billiard player could assume. And, of +course, 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 examination +outside." + +With this they removed to the adjoining private room, Number Five, leaving +a policeman at the door of Number Six until proper disposal of the body +should be made. + +In the further questioning of Joseph the commissary brought out several +important facts. The waiter testified that, after serving the soup to +Martinez and the lady, he had not left the corridor outside the door of +Number Six until the moment when he entered the room and discovered the +crime. During this interval of perhaps a quarter of an hour he had moved +down the corridor a short distance, but not farther than the door of Number +Four. He was sure of this because one of the doors to the banquet room was +just opposite the door of Number Four, and he had stood there listening to +a Fourth-of-July speaker who was discussing the relations between France +and America. Joseph, being something of a politician, was greatly +interested 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 led +Joseph to the banquet-room door. + +"Like this," answered the waiter, and he placed himself so that his back +was turned to Number Six. + +"So you would not have seen anyone who might have come out of Number Six at +that time or gone into Number Six?" + +"I suppose not." + +"And if the door of Number Six had opened while your back was turned, would +you have heard it?" + +Joseph shook his head. "No, sir; there was a lot of applauding--like +that," 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 less +noise. And be careful no one leaves the banquet room _on any excuse_. I'll +be there presently." Then to the waiter: "Did you hear any sound from +Number Six? Anything like a shot?" + +"No, sir." + +"Hm! It must have been the thunder. Now tell me this, could anyone have +passed you in the corridor while you stood at the banquet-room door without +your 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 fill +it up, don't I, sir?" + +"You certainly do. Give me a sheet of paper." And with a few rapid pencil +strokes the commissary drew a rough plan of the banquet room, the corridor, +and the seven private dining rooms. He marked carefully the two doors +leading from the banquet room into the corridor, the one where Joseph +listened, opposite Number Four, and the one opposite Number Six. + +"Here you are, blocking the corridor at Number Four"; he made a mark on the +plan at that point. "By the way, are there any other exits from the banquet +room except these two corridor doors?" + +"No, sir." + +"Good! Now pay attention. While you were listening at this door--I'll mark +it _A_--with your back turned to Number Six, a person _might_ have left the +banquet room by the farther door--I'll mark it _B_--and stepped across the +corridor 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 or +Number 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 at +Fourth-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 in +corridor 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 minutes +he 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 the +hotel, 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, he +was 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 commissary +cried out with a startled expression: "A thousand thunders! Wait! That +woman--what did she wear?" + +The waiter turned eagerly. "Why, a beautiful evening gown, sir, cut low +with a lot of lace and----" + +"No, no. I mean, what did she wear outside? Her wraps? Weren't they in +Number 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 his +massive body down the stairs, and a few moments later returned, panting but +happy, with news that the lady in Number Six had left a cloak and leather +bag in the cloakroom. These articles were still there. + +"Ah, that is something!" murmured the commissary, and he hurried down to +see the things for himself. + +The cloak was of yellow silk, embroidered in white, a costly garment from a +fashionable maker; but there was nothing to indicate the wearer. The bag +was 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 some +samples of dress goods, a little money, and an unmarked handkerchief. + +"Don't move these things," directed M. Pougeot. "It's possible some one +will call for them, and if anyone _should_ call, why--that's Gibelin's +affair. Now we'll see these Americans." + +It was a quarter past ten, and the hilarity of proceedings at the +Fourth-of-July banquet (no ladies present) had reached its height. A very +French-looking student from Bridgeport, Connecticut, had just started an +uproarious rendering of "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean," with Latin-Quarter +variations, when there came a sudden hush and a turning of heads toward the +half-open door, through which a voice was heard in peremptory command. +Something had happened, something serious, if one could judge by the face +of Francois, the head waiter, who stood at the corridor entrance. + +"Not so fast," he insisted, holding the young men back, and a moment later +there entered a florid-faced man with authoritative mien, closely followed +by two policemen. + +"Horns of a purple cow!" muttered the Bridgeport art student, who loved +eccentric oaths. "The house is pulled!" + +"Gentlemen," began M. Pougeot, while the company listened in startled +silence, "I am sorry to interrupt this pleasant gathering, especially as I +understand that you are celebrating your national holiday; unfortunately, I +have a duty to perform that admits of no delay. While you have been +feasting and singing, as becomes your age and the occasion, an act of +violence has taken place within the sound of your voices--I may say under +cover of your voices." + +He paused and swept his eyes in keen scrutiny over the faces before him, as +if trying to read in one or the other of them the answer to some question +not yet asked. + +"My friends," he continued, and now his look became almost menacing, "I am +here as an officer of the law because I have reason to believe that a guest +at this banquet is connected with a crime committed in this restaurant +within the last hour or two." + +So extraordinary was this accusation and so utterly unexpected that for +some moments no one spoke. Then, after the first dismay, came indignant +protests; this man had a nerve to break in on a gathering of American +citizens with a fairy tale like that! + +"Silence!" rang out the commissary's voice sharply. "Who sat there?" He +pointed to a vacant seat at the long central table. + +All eyes turned to this empty chair, and heads came together in excited +whispers. + +"Bring me a plan of the tables," he continued, and when this was spread +before him: "I will read off the names marked here, and each one of you +will 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 know +why he went out, I must know when he went out--exactly when; I must know +how he acted before he left, what he said--in short, I must know all you +can tell me about him. Remember, the best service you can render your +friend 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 their +fellow-countryman and all that concerned him. It must have been about nine +o'clock when he went out, perhaps a few minutes earlier. No, there had been +nothing peculiar in his actions or manner; in fact, most of the guests had +not even noticed his absence. + +As to Kittredge's life and personality the result was scarcely more +satisfactory. He had appeared in Paris about a year before, just why was +not known, and had passed as a good fellow, perhaps a little wild and +hot-headed. Strangely enough, no one could say where Kittredge lived; he +had left rather expensive rooms near the boulevards that he had occupied at +first, and since then he had almost disappeared from his old haunts. Some +said that his money had given out and he had gone to work, but this was +only vague rumor. + +These facts having been duly recorded, the banqueters were informed that +they might depart, which they did in silence, the spirit of festivity +having vanished. + +Inquiries were now made in the hotel about Kittredge's movements, but +nothing came to light except the statement of a big, liveried doorkeeper, +who remembered distinctly the sudden appearance at about nine o'clock of a +young man who was very anxious to get a cab. The storm was then at its +height, and the doorkeeper had advised the young man to wait, feeling sure +the 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 he +would find a cab himself, and turning up his collar so that his face was +almost 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 the +policemen burst in to say that some one had called for the lady's cloak and +bag. It was a young man with a check for the things; he was waiting for +them 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 know +this?" + +"Yes, sir, we just told him." + +"Send Joseph here--quick." And to the waiter when he appeared: "Tell the +woman in the cloakroom to let this young man have the things. Don't let him +see 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 the +young man downstairs as the one who had passed him in the corridor, +Francois was positive he was the missing banquet guest. In other words, +they were facing this remarkable situation: that the cloak and leather bag +left by the mysterious woman of Number Six had now been called for by the +very man against whom suspicion was rapidly growing--Lloyd Kittredge +himself. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +"IN THE NAME OF THE LAW" + + +When Kittredge, with cloak and bag, stepped into his waiting cab and, for +the second time on this villainous night, started down the Champs Elysees +he was under no illusion as to his personal safety. He knew that he would +be followed and presently arrested, he knew this without even glancing +behind him, he had understood the whispers and searching looks in the +hotel; it was _certain_ that his moments of liberty were numbered, so he +must make a clean job of this thing that had to be done while still there +was time. He had told the driver to cross the bridge and go down the +Boulevard St. Germain, but now he changed the order and, half opening the +door, he bade the man turn to the right and drive on to the Rue de +Vaugirard. He knew that this was a long, ill-lighted street, one of the +longest 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 back +through the front window, he saw his eccentric fare absorbed in examining a +white leather bag. He could see him distinctly by the yellow light of his +two side lanterns. The young man had opened one of the inner pockets of the +bag, drawing out a flap of leather under which a name was stamped quite +visibly in gilt letters. Presently he took out a pocket knife and tried to +scrape off the name, but the letters were deeply marked and could not be +removed so easily. After a moment's hesitation the young man carefully drew +his blade across the base of the flap, severing it from the bag, which he +then threw back on the seat, holding the flap in apparent perplexity. + +All this the driver observed with increasing interest until presently +Kittredge looked up and caught his eye. + +"You've got a nerve," the young man muttered. "I'll fix you." And, drawing +the two black curtains, he shut off the driver's view. + +As they neared the end of the Rue de Vaugirard, the American opened the +door again and told the man to turn and drive back, he wanted to have a +look at Notre-Dame, three full miles away. The driver swore softly, but +obeyed, and back they went, passing another cab just behind them which also +turned immediately and followed, as Kittredge noticed with a gloomy smile. + +On the way to Notre-Dame, Kittredge changed their direction half a dozen +times, acting on accountable impulses, going by zigzags through narrow, +dark streets, instead of by the straight and natural way, so that it was +after midnight when they entered the Rue du Cloitre Notre-Dame, which runs +just beside the cathedral, and drew up at a house indicated by the +American. The other cab drew up behind them. + +"Tell your friend back there," remarked Kittredge to his driver as he got +out, "that I have important business here. There'll be plenty of time for +him to get a drink." Then, with a nervous tug at the bell, he disappeared +in the house, leaving the cloak and bag in the cab. + +And now two important things happened, one of them unexpected. The expected +thing was that M. Gibelin came forward immediately from the second cab +followed by Papa Tignol and a policeman. The shadowing detective was in a +vile humor which was not improved when he got the message left by the +flippant American. + +"Time for a drink! Infernal impudence! We'll teach him manners at the +depot! This farce is over," he flung out. "See where he went, ask the +_concierge_," he said to Tignol. And to the policeman: "Watch the +courtyard. 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 your +fare. You can go. I'm from headquarters. I have a warrant for this man's +arrest." 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 the +unexpected happening): "Well, I'll tell you one thing, my friend, _this is +the 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, waving +his hand in derision, he called back: "Ask Beau Cocono!" And then to his +horse: "_Hue, cocotte!_" + +Meantime Kittredge had climbed the four flights of stairs leading to the +sacristan's modest apartment. And, in order to explain how he happened to +be making so untimely a visit it is necessary to go back several hours to a +previous visit here that the young American had already made on this +momentous evening. + +After leaving the Ansonia banquet at about nine o'clock in the singular +manner noted by the big doorkeeper, Kittredge, in accordance with his +promise to Alice, had driven directly to the Rue du Cloitre Notre-Dame, and +at twenty minutes past nine by the clock in the Tavern of the Three Wise +Men he had drawn up at the house where the Bonnetons lived. Five minutes +later the young man was seated in the sacristan's little _salon_ assuring +Alice 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 and +reasonable little girl. + +[Illustration: "'Ask Beau Cocono,' he called back."] + +Alice welcomed her lover eagerly. She had been anxious about him, she did +not know why, and when the storm came she had been more anxious. But now +she 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 his +friends, left this fine banquet and, in spite of the pain she had given +him, 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 Alice +had never seemed so adorable, but for the sudden and ominous entrance of +Mother Bonneton. She eyed the visitor with frank unfriendliness and, +without mincing her words, proceeded to tell him certain things, notably +that his attentions to Alice must cease and that his visits here would +henceforth be unwelcome. + +In vain the poor girl protested against this breach of hospitality. Mother +Bonneton held her ground grimly, declaring that she had a duty to perform +and would perform it. + +"What duty?" asked the American. + +"A duty to M. Groener." + +At this name Alice started apprehensively. Kittredge knew that she had a +cousin named Groener, a wood carver who lived in Belgium, and who came to +Paris occasionally to see her and to get orders for his work. On one +occasion he had met this cousin and had judged him a well-meaning but +rather stupid fellow who need not be seriously considered in his efforts to +win Alice. + +"Do you mean that M. Groener does not approve of me?" pursued Kittredge. + +"M. Groener knows nothing about you," answered Mother Bonneton, "except +that you have been hanging around this foolish girl. But he understands his +responsibility as the only relation she has in the world and he knows she +will 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, he +asked me and my husband to make inquiries about _you_, and see what we +could find out." + +"It's abominable!" exclaimed Alice. + +"Abominable? Why is it abominable? Your cousin wants to know if this young +man 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 a +strangely anxious look. + +Mother Bonneton half closed her eyes and threw out her thick lips in an +ugly 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 by +gambling. 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 a +brazen 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 on +account of a certain person. I thought I loved her and--I made a fool of +myself. I gave up a good position in New York and--after I had been here a +while 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 alone +with 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 a +lady, and the proof of it is I--I wanted her to get a divorce and--and +marry me." + +"Oh!" winced Alice. + +"You see what he is," triumphed the sacristan's wife, "running after a +married woman." + +But Kittredge went on doggedly: "You've got to hear the rest now. One day +something 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 devil +with me. She did that good and plenty, so at last I decided to break away +and I did. It wasn't exactly a path of roses for me those weeks, but I +stuck to it, because--because I had some one to help me," he paused and +looked tenderly at Alice, "and--well, I cut the whole thing out, gambling +and all. That was six months ago." + +"And the lady?" sneered Mother Bonneton. "Do you mean to tell us you +haven'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. Groener +to-night and tell him the facts. Meantime--" She rose and pointed to the +door. + +Alice and Kittredge rose also, the one indignant and aggrieved at this +wanton affront to her lover, the other gloomily resigned to what seemed to +be his fate. + +"Well," said he, facing Alice with a discouraged gesture, "things are +against us. I'm grateful to you for believing in me and I--I'd like to know +why you turned me down this afternoon. But I probably never shall. I--I'll +be going now." + +He was actually moving toward the door, and she, almost fainting with +emotion, was rallying her strength for a last appeal when the bell in the +hall tinkled sharply. Mother Bonneton answered the call and returned a +moment later followed by the doorkeeper from below, a cheery little woman +who bustled in carrying a note. + +"It's for the gentleman," she explained, "from a lady waiting in a +carriage. It's very important." With this she delivered a note to Kittredge +and added in an exultant whisper to the sacristan's wife that the lady had +given her a franc for her trouble. + +"A lady waiting in a carriage!" chuckled Mother Bonneton. "What kind of a +lady?" + +"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 read +it again, then he crumpled it in his hand, muttering: "O God!" And his face +was white. + +"Good-by!" he said to Alice in extreme agitation. "I don't know what you +think of this, I can't stop to explain, I--I must go at once!" And taking +up 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_ come +back. 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 and +beautiful beyond words. + +"It may be very late," he stammered. + +"I'll wait until you come," she said simply, "no matter what time. I'll +wait. But you'll surely come, Lloyd?" + +He hesitated a moment and then, before the power of her eyes: "I'll surely +come," he promised, and a moment later he was gone. + +Then the hours passed, anxious, ominous hours! Ten, eleven, twelve! And +still Alice waited for her lover, silencing Mother Bonneton's grumblings +with a look that this hard old woman had once or twice seen in the girl's +face and had learned to respect. At half past twelve a carriage sounded in +the quiet street, then a quick step on the stairs. Kittredge had kept his +word. + +The door was opened by Mother Bonneton, very sleepy and arrayed in a +wrapper of purple and gold pieced together from discarded altar coverings. +She eyed the young man sternly but said nothing, for Alice was at her back +holding the lamp and there was something in the American's face, something +half reckless, half appealing, that startled her. She felt the cold breath +of a sinister happening and regretted Bonneton's absence at the church. + +"Well, I'm here," said Kittredge with a queer little smile. "I couldn't +come 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 a +matter of fact, _it_ hasn't begun yet. If you have any questions you'd +better ask 'em." + +Alice turned and said quietly: "Was the woman who came in the carriage the +one 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. I +haven't lied to you. I hadn't seen that woman for over six months. I didn't +know 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 growing +agitation which he tried vainly to control. + +Alice looked at him steadily for a moment and then in a low voice she spoke +the words that were pressing on her heart: "_What_ have you done?" + +"There's no use going into that," he answered unsteadily. "I can only ask +you to trust me." + +"I trust you, Lloyd," she said. + +While they were talking Mother Bonneton had gone to the window attracted by +sounds from below, and as she peered down her face showed surprise and +then intense excitement. + +"Kind saints!" she muttered. "The courtyard is full of policemen." Then +with sudden understanding she exclaimed: "Perhaps we will know now what he +has been doing." As she spoke a heavy tread was heard on the stairs and the +murmur 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 those +terrifying words: "_Open in the name of the law_." + +With a mingling of alarm and satisfaction Mother Bonneton obeyed the +summons, and a moment later, as she unlatched the door, a fat man with a +bristling red mustache and keen eyes pushed forward into the room where the +lovers were waiting. Two burly policemen followed him. + +"Ah!" exclaimed Gibelin with a gesture of relief as his eye fell on +Kittredge. Then producing a paper he said: "I am from headquarters. I am +looking for"--he studied the writing in perplexity--"for M. Lo-eed +Keetredge. 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 showed +the 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 know +what he's done, _he's charged with murder_." + +"Murder!" echoed the sacristan's wife. "Holy angels! A murderer in my +house!" + +"Take him," ordered the detective, and the two policemen laid hold of +Kittredge on either side. + +"Alice!" cried the young man, and his eyes yearned toward her. "Alice, I am +innocent." + +"Come," said the men gruffly, and Kittredge felt a sickening sense of shame +as he realized that he was a prisoner. + +"Wait! One moment!" protested the girl, and the men paused. Then, going +close to her lover, Alice spoke to him in low, thrilling words that came +straight from her soul: + +"Lloyd, I believe you, I trust you, I love you. No matter what you have +done, I love you. It was because my love is so great that I refused you +this 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 a +little. "I'm the happiest man in Paris, but--" He could say no more except +with a last longing look: "Good-by." + +Wildly, fiercely she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him +passionately 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 is +a land of infinite red tape where even such simple things as getting born +or getting married lead to endless formalities. Judge, then, of the +complicated procedure involved in so serious a matter as getting +murdered--especially in a fashionable restaurant! Long before the +commissary had finished his report there arrived no less a person than M. +Simon, the chief of police, round-faced and affable, a brisk, dapper man +whose ready smile had led more than one trusting criminal into regretted +confidences. + +And a little later came M. Hauteville, the judge in charge of the case, a +cold, severe figure, handsome in his younger days, but soured, it was said, +by social disappointments and ill health. He was in evening dress, having +been summoned posthaste from the theater. Both of these officials went over +the case with the commissary and the doctor, both viewed the body and +studied its surroundings and, having formed a theory of the crime, both +proceeded to draw up a report. And the doctor drew up _his_ report. And +already Gibelin (now at the prison with Kittredge) had made elaborate notes +for _his_ report. And outside the hotel, with eager notebooks, were a score +of reporters all busy with _their_ reports. No doubt that, in the matter of +paper and ink, full justice would be done to the sudden taking off of this +gallant billiard player! + +Meantime the official police photographer and his assistants had arrived +(this was long after midnight) with special apparatus for photographing the +victim and the scene of the crime. And their work occupied two full hours +owing largely to the difficult manipulation of a queer, clumsy camera that +photographed the body _from above_ as it lay on the floor. + +In the intervals of these formalities the officials discussed the case with +a wide variance in opinions and conclusions. The chief of police and M. +Pougeot were strong for the theory of murder, while M. Hauteville leaned +toward 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 was +fired 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 murderer +to get so close to him without a struggle. But there is not the slightest +sign of a struggle, no disorder in the room, no disarrangement of the man's +clothing. It's evidently suicide." + +"If it's suicide," objected Pougeot, "where is the weapon? The man died +instantly, 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 suspicion +on herself? Besides, I'll show you another reason why it's not suicide. The +man 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, there +is not one case where a man has shot himself in the eye. Did you ever hear +of 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 shrinking +from 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 must +understand the role of this American." + +"No woman ever fired that shot or planned this crime," declared the +commissary, unconsciously echoing Coquenil's opinion. + +"There's better reason to argue that the American never did it," retorted +the judge. + +"What reason?" + +"The woman ran away, didn't she? And the American didn't. If he had killed +this man, do you think _anything_ would have brought him back here for that +cloak 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 for +the 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 our +talk brings us back to this, _we must find that woman_." + +At half past one Gibelin appeared to announce the arrest of Kittredge. He +had tried vainly to get from the American some clew to the owner of cloak +and bag, but the young man had refused to speak and, with sullen +indifference, had allowed himself to be locked up in the big room at the +depot. + +"I'll see what _I_ can squeeze out of him in the morning," said Hauteville +grimly. There was no judge in the _parquet_ who had his reputation for +breaking down the resistance of obstinate prisoners. + +"You've got your work cut out," snapped the detective. "He's a stubborn +devil." + +In the midst of these perplexities and technicalities a note was brought in +for M. Pougeot. The commissary glanced at it quickly and then, with a word +of excuse, left the room, returning a few minutes later and whispering +earnestly to M. Simon. + +"You say _he_ is here?" exclaimed the latter. "I thought he was sailing +for----" + +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, that +is, all except Gibelin, whose curt nod and suspicious glances showed that +he found anything but satisfaction in the presence of this formidable +rival. + +"My dear Coquenil!" said Simon warmly. "This is like the old days! If you +were 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 help +you crack it." He spoke with that quiet but confident seriousness which +always carried conviction, and M. Simon and the judge, feeling the man's +power, waited his further words with growing interest; but Gibelin blinked +his small eyes and muttered under his breath: "The cheek of the fellow!" + +"As you know," explained Coquenil briefly, "I resigned from the force two +years ago. I need not go into details; the point is, I now ask to be taken +back. That is why I am here." + +"But, my dear fellow," replied the chief in frank astonishment, "I +understood 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 man +refuse a salary of a hundred thousand francs? The commissary watched his +friend 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 this +case." + +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 he +added with all the authority of his fine, grave face: "It's more than +interesting, _it's the most important criminal case Paris has known for +three generations_." + +Again they stared at him. + +"My dear Coquenil, you exaggerate," objected M. Simon. "After all, we have +only the shooting of a billiard player." + +M. Paul shook his head and replied impressively: "The billiard player was a +pawn in the game. He became troublesome and was sacrificed. He is of no +importance, but there's a greater game than billiards here with a master +player 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 the +Bon Marche was a notorious criminal, wanted by two countries? Why did I +think we should find the real clew to that Bordeaux counterfeiting gang in +a Passy wine shop? Why did I think it necessary to-night to be _on_ the cab +this young American took and not _behind_ it in another cab?" He shot a +quick glance at Gibelin. "Because a good detective _knows_ certain things +before he can prove them and acts on his knowledge. That is what +distinguishes 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 the +driver who took this American away from here to-night?" + +Coquenil smiled. "I was not _with_ the driver, I _was the driver_ and I had +the honor of receiving five francs from my distinguished associate." He +bowed mockingly to Gibelin and held up a silver piece. "I shall keep this +among my curiosities." + +"It was a foolish trick, a perfectly useless trick," declared Gibelin, +furious. + +"Perhaps not," answered the other with aggravating politeness; "perhaps it +was 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 the +most 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 a +real 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 had +discovered this name and address in the last few hours with nothing but his +wits to help him; in fact, with everything done to hinder him." He looked +meaningly 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 from +the 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 lantern +light and I saw exactly what he was doing. He opened the lady's bag and cut +out a leather flap that had her name and address stamped on it." + +"No," contradicted Gibelin, "there was _no_ name in the bag. I examined it +myself." + +"The name was on the _under side_ of the flap," laughed the other, "in gilt +letters." + +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, for +he 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 by +one as we drove through dark little streets. And I noted where he dropped +the 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 I +took 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, I +promise that." + +Coquenil drew an envelope from his breast pocket and from it he took a +number of white-leather fragments. And he showed the chief that most of +these fragments were stamped in gold letters or parts of letters. + +"I'm satisfied," declared Simon after examining several of the fragments +and returning them. "_Bon Dieu!_" he stormed at Gibelin. "And you had that +bag 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. What +are your terms?" + +"I told you," said Coquenil, "I want to be put back on the force. I want to +handle this case." + +M. Simon thought a moment. "That ought to be easily arranged. I will see +the _prefet de police_ about it in the morning." + +But the other demurred. "I ask you to see him to-night. It's ten minutes to +his house in an automobile. I'll wait here." + +The chief smiled. "You're in a hurry, aren't you? Well, so are we. Will you +come with me, Hauteville?" + +"If you like." + +"And I'll go, if you don't mind," put in the commissary. "I may have some +influence with the _prefet_." + +"He won't refuse me," declared Simon. "After all, I am responsible for the +pursuit of criminals in this city, and if I tell him that I absolutely need +Paul Coquenil back on the force, as I do, he will sign the commission at +once. Come, gentlemen." + +A moment later the three had hurried off, leaving Coquenil and Gibelin +together. + +"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, as +he lighted a cigarette. His companion did the same and the two smoked in +silence, Gibelin gnawing savagely at his little red mustache. + +"See here," broke in the latter, "wouldn't you be ugly if somebody butted +into a case that had been given to you?" + +"Why," smiled Coquenil, "if he thought he could handle it better than I +could, 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 _prefet de police_ is going to stand being pulled out +of 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. And +you'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 moved +toward the door. Then he turned sharply: "Say, how much did you pay that +driver?" + +"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't +forget that it was raining and dark and you had that rubber cape pulled up +over 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 you +don'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," snarled +the other. + +"Nonsense!" laughed Coquenil. "You're a good soldier, Gibelin; you like to +kick and growl, but you do your work. Tell you what I'll do as soon as I'm +put 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, "or +I'll do some work on this case you'll wish I hadn't done." With this he +flung himself out of the room, slamming the door behind him. + +"What did he mean by that?" muttered M. Paul, and he sat silent, lost in +thought, until the others returned. In a glance, he read the answer in +their faces. + +"It's all right," said the chief. + +"Congratulations, old friend," beamed Pougeot, squeezing Coquenil's hand. + +"The _prefet_ was extremely nice," added M. Hauteville; "he took our view +at 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 see +that you have every possible assistance. I expect you to be on deck +to-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 deck +to-night--now." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE WEAPON + + +Right across from the Ansonia on the Rue Marboeuf was a little wine shop +that remained open all night for the accommodation of cab drivers and +belated pedestrians and to this Coquenil and the commissary now withdrew. +Before anything else the detective wished to get from M. Pougeot his +impressions of the case. And he asked Papa Tignol to come with them for a +fortifying glass. + +"By the way," said the commissary to Tignol when they were seated in the +back room, "did you find out how that woman left the hotel without her +wraps and without being seen?" + +The old man nodded. "When she came out of the telephone booth she slipped +on a long black rain coat that was hanging there. It belonged to the +telephone girl and it's missing. The rain coat had a hood to it which the +woman pulled over her head. Then she walked out quietly and no one paid any +attention 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, Coquenil +listening with intense concentration, interrupting now and then with a +question or to consult the rough plan drawn by Pougeot. + +"Are you sure there is no exit from the banquet room and from these private +rooms 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, this +case 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 he +made 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 commissary +a little nettled. + +Coquenil shook his head. + +"My dear Lucien, you have given me _some_ of the facts; before morning I +hope we'll have others and--hello!" + +He stopped abruptly to look at a comical little man with a very large +mouth, the owner of the place, who had been hovering about for some moments +as 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 was +something on her conscience and she couldn't sleep without telling it. + +"Well?" broke in Pougeot impatiently, but Coquenil gave the woman a +reassuring look and she went on to explain that she was a spinster living +in a little attic room of the next house, overlooking the Rue Marboeuf. She +worked as a seamstress all day in a hot, crowded _atelier_, and when she +came home at night she loved to go out on her balcony, especially these +fine summer evenings. She would stand there and brush her hair while she +watched the sunset deepen and the swallows circle over the chimney tops. It +was an excellent thing for a woman's hair to brush it a long time every +night; she always brushed hers for half an hour--that was why it was so +thick and glossy. + +"But, my dear woman," smiled Coquenil, "what has that to do with me? I have +very little hair and no time to brush it." + +The seamstress begged his pardon, the point was that on the previous +evening, just as she had nearly finished brushing her hair, she suddenly +heard 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 and +watched where it fell beyond the high wall that separated the Ansonia Hotel +from an adjoining courtyard. She had not thought much about it at the +moment, but, having heard that something dreadful had happened---- + +Coquenil could contain himself no longer and, taking the woman's arm, he +hurried her to the door. + +"Now," he said, "show me just _where_ you saw this glittering object thrown +over the wall." + +"There," she replied, pointing, "it lies to the left of that heavy doorway +on 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 quick +instructions, whereupon the old man hurried across the street and pulled +the 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 swung +open and Papa Tignol disappeared within. + +"Did you happen to see the person who threw this thing?" continued M. Paul +gently. + +"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 detective +looked at her anxiously. + +"Yes, indeed, it is easy to remember; it's the end window, on the first +floor of the hotel. There!" + +Coquenil felt a thrill of excitement, for, unless he had misunderstood the +commissary's diagram, the seamstress was pointing not to private room +Number Six, _but to private room Number Seven!_ + +"Lucien!" he called, and, taking his friend aside, he asked: "Does that end +window 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 shall +speak of you to the chief." + +"Oh, sir," she murmured in confusion. + +"But one point is not quite clear. Just look across again. You see two +open windows, the end window and the one next to it. Isn't it possible that +this 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 a +mistake." + +She shook her head positively. "I have made no mistake, _it was the end +window_." + +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. Nothing +could make me touch it." + +"Good! Papa Tignol, I want you to stay here until I come back. Things are +marching along." + +Again he rejoined the seamstress and, with his serious, friendly air, he +began: "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 thousand +pardons, 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 room +and don't breathe a word of this to anyone." + +"But," she stammered, "would monsieur be so kind as to say what the bright +object was?" + +The detective bent nearer and whispered mysteriously: "It was a comb, a +silver comb!" + +"_Mon Dieu!_ A silver comb!" exclaimed the unsuspecting spinster. + +"Now back to your room and finish brushing your hair," he urged, and the +woman hurried away trembling with excitement. + +A few moments later Coquenil and the commissary and Papa Tignol were +standing in the courtyard near two green tubs of foliage plants between +which the pistol had fallen. The doorkeeper of the house, a crabbed +individual who had only become mildly respectful when he learned that he +was dealing with the police, had joined them, his crustiness tempered by +curiosity. + +"See here," said the detective, addressing him, "do you want to earn five +francs?" The doorkeeper brightened. "I'll make it ten", continued the +other, "if you do exactly what I say. You are to take a cab, here is the +money, and drive to Notre-Dame. At the right of the church is a high iron +railing around the archbishop's house. In the railing is an iron gate with +a night bell for Extreme Unction. Ring this bell and ask to see the +sacristan Bonneton, and when he comes out give him this." Coquenil wrote +hastily on a card. "It's an order to let you have a dog named Caesar--my +dog--he's guarding the church with Bonneton. Pat Caesar and tell him he's +going to see M. Paul, that's me. Tell him to jump in the cab and keep +still. He'll understand--he knows more than most men. Then drive back here +as quick as you can." + +The doorkeeper touched his cap and departed. + +Coquenil turned to Tignol. "Watch the pistol. When the doorkeeper comes +back 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 after +three o'clock?" + +"Never mind, I must see him. A lot depends on it. Get him out of bed for +me, Lucien, and--then you can go home." + +"I'll try," grumbled the other, "but what in Heaven's name are you going to +do with that dog?" + +"_Use him,_" answered Coquenil. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE FOOTPRINTS + + +One of the great lessons Coquenil had learned in his long experience with +mysterious crimes was to be careful of hastily rejecting any evidence +because it conflicted with some preconceived theory. It would have been +easy now, for instance, to assume that this prim spinster was mistaken in +declaring that she had seen the pistol thrown from the window of Number +Seven. That, of course, seemed most unlikely, since the shooting was done +in Number Six, yet how account for the woman's positiveness? She seemed a +truthful, well-meaning person, and the murderer _might_ have gone into +Number Seven after committing the crime. It was evidently important to get +as 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 thin +black hair, rather curly and oily, and a rapacious nose. He appeared +(having been induced to come down by the commissary) in a richly +embroidered blue-silk house garment, and his efforts at affability were +obviously based on apprehension. + +Coquenil began at once with questions about private room Number Seven. We +had 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 an +old client, who, at the last moment, had sent a _petit bleu_ to say that he +had changed his plans and would not require the room. The _petit bleu_ did +not arrive until after the crime was discovered, so the room remained +empty. 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 and +entered Number Seven?" + +"It is possible," admitted M. Gritz, "but very improbable. The room was +dark, and an ordinary person seeing a door locked and a room dark----" + +"We are not talking about an ordinary person," retorted the detective, "we +are talking about a murderer. Come, we must look into this," and he led the +way down the corridor, nodding to the policeman outside Number Six and +stopping 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 adjoining +room of the tragedy, then, turning the key in Number Seven, he tried to +open the door. + +"Hello! It's locked on the inside, too!" + +"_Tiens!_ You're right," said Gritz, and he rumpled his scanty locks in +perplexity. + +"Some one has been inside, some one may be inside now." + +The proprietor shook his head and, rather reluctantly, went on to explain +that Number Seven was different from the other private rooms in this, that +it had a separate exit with separate stairs leading to an alleyway between +the hotel and a wall surrounding it. A few habitues knew of this exit and +used it occasionally for greater privacy. The alleyway led to a gate in the +wall opening on the Rue Marboeuf, so a particularly discreet couple, let us +say, could drive up to this gate, pass through the alleyway, and then, by +the private stairs, enter Number Seven without being seen by anyone, +assuming, of course, that they had a key to the alleyway door. And they +could leave the restaurant in the same unobserved manner. + +As Coquenil listened, his mouth drew into an ominous thin line and his deep +eyes burned angrily. + +"M. Gritz," he said in a cold, cutting voice, "you are a man of +intelligence, you must be. This crime was committed last night about nine +o'clock; it's now half past three in the morning. Will you please tell me +how it happens that this fact _of vital importance_ has been concealed from +the 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 Number +Seven?" + +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 have +many clients who do not give us their names, they have their own reasons +for that; some of them are married, and, as a man of the world, _I_ respect +their reserve." M. Gritz prided himself on being a man of the world. He had +started as a penniless Swiss waiter and had reached the magnificent point +where broken-down aristocrats were willing to owe him money and sometimes +borrow it--and he appreciated the honor. + +"But what do you call him?" persisted Coquenil. "You must call him +something." + +"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 he +didn't come to-night?" + +"How do you know he didn't come? He had a key to the alleyway door, didn't +he?" + +"Yes, but I tell you he sent a _petit bleu_." + +The detective shrugged his shoulders. "_Some one_ has been here and locked +this 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, the +proprietor assuring M. Paul that only a single key was ever given out for +the alleyway door and this to none but trusted clients, who returned it the +same 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 into +Rue Marboeuf when the _concierge_ from across the way met them with word +that Caesar had arrived. + +"Caesar?" questioned Gritz. + +"He's my dog. Ph-h-eet! Ph-h-eet! Ah, here he is!" and out of the shadows +the splendid animal came bounding. At his master's call he had made a +mighty plunge and broken away from Papa Tignol's hold. + +"Good old fellow!" murmured M. Paul, holding the dog's eager head with his +two 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 connected +with 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 murderer +once three miles across rough country near Liege and found him hidden in a +barn. But he had better conditions there. We'll see." + +They had entered the courtyard now and Coquenil led Caesar to the spot +where the weapon lay still undisturbed. + +"_Cherche!_" he ordered, and the dog nosed the pistol with concentrated +effort. Then silently, anxiously, one would say, he darted away, circling +the courtyard back and forth, sniffing the ground as he went, pausing +occasionally or retracing his steps and presently stopping before M. Paul +with a little bark of disappointment. + +"Nothing, eh? Quite right. Give me the pistol, Papa Tignol. We'll try +outside. There!" He pointed to the open door where the _concierge_ was +waiting. "Now then, _cherche!_" + +In an instant Caesar was out in the Rue Marboeuf, circling again and again +in larger and larger arcs, as he had been taught, back and forth, until he +had covered a certain length of street and sidewalk, every foot of the +space between opposite walls, then moving on for another length and then +for another, looking up at his master now and then for a word of +encouragement. + +[Illustration: "'_Cherche!_' he ordered."] + +"It's a hard test," muttered Coquenil. "Footprints and weapons have lain +for hours in a drenching rain, but--Ah!" Caesar had stopped with a little +whine and was half crouching at the edge of the sidewalk, head low, eyes +fiercely 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 opposite +sidewalk _away_ from the Champs Elysees, running easily, nose down, past +the Rue Francois Premier, past the Rue Clement-Marot, then out into the +street again and stopping suddenly. + +"He's lost it," mourned Papa Tignol. + +"Lost it? Of course he's lost it," triumphed the detective. And turning to +M. Gritz: "There's where your murderer picked up a cab. It's perfectly +clear. No one has touched that pistol since the man who used it threw it +from 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 see +where he left the hotel." And hurrying toward his dog, he called: "Back, +Caesar!" + +Obediently the dog trotted back along the trail, recrossing the street +where he had crossed it before, and presently reaching the point where he +had 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 and +fondled the panting animal. "We wouldn't sell our best friend, would we, +Caesar?" + +Evidently Caesar did not think this the moment for sentiment; he growled +impatiently, straining toward the scent. + +"He knows there's work to be done and he's right." Then quickly he gave the +word again and once more Caesar was away, darting back along the sidewalk +_toward_ the Champs Elysees, moving nearer and nearer to the houses and +presently stopping at a gateway, against which he pressed and whined. It +was a gateway in the wall surrounding the Ansonia Hotel. + +"The man came out here," declared Coquenil, and, unlatching the gate, he +looked inside, the dog pushing after him. + +"Down Caesar!" ordered M. Paul, and unwillingly the ardent creature +crouched at his feet. + +The wall surrounding the Ansonia was of polished granite about six feet +high, and between this wall and the hotel itself was a space of equal width +planted with slim fir trees that stood out in decorative dignity against +the 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 a +switch, he threw upon the ground a strong white ray; whereupon a confusion +of footprints became visible, as if a number of persons had trod back and +forth here. + +"What does this mean?" he cried. + +Papa Tignol explained shamefacedly: "_We_ did it looking for the pistol; it +was Gibelin's orders." + +"_Bon Dieu!_ What a pity! We can never get a clean print in this mess. But +wait! How far along the alleyway did you look?" + +"As far as that back wall. Poor Gibelin! He never thought of looking on the +other side of it. Eh, eh!" + +Coquenil breathed more freely. "We may be all right yet. Ah, yes," he +cried, going quickly to this back wall where the alleyway turned to the +right along the rear of the hotel. Again he threw his white light before +him and, with a start of satisfaction, pointed to the ground. There, +clearly marked, was a line of footprints, _a single line_, with no breaks +or imperfections, the plain record on the rain-soaked earth that one +person, 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 row +of trees where the trail was confused, and then, at the corner, dashing +ahead swiftly, only to stop again after a few yards and stand scratching +uneasily 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 the +top 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 was +empty. + +"Let me turn up the electrics," said the proprietor, and he did so, showing +furnishings like those in Number Six except that here the prevailing tint +was 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 the +courtyard and examined it with extreme care, then he unlocked the corridor +door and looked out. The policeman was still on guard before Number Six. + +"I shall want to go in there shortly," said the detective. The policeman +saluted 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, but +I'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 tell +me you make wonderful Turkish coffee here. Do you suppose I could have +some?" + +"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 beady +eyes, he said: "So you're going in _there?_" and he jerked his fat thumb +toward 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, beyond +which 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 his +blue-silk garments, wagging his heavy head and muttering to himself: "More +important than _that! Mon Dieu!_" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THROUGH THE WALL + + +Coquenil's examination of the pistol showed that it was a weapon of good +make and that only a single shot had been fired from it; also that this +shot had been fired within a few hours. Which, with the evidence of the +seamstress and the dog, gave a strong probability that the instrument of +the crime had been found. If the ball in the body corresponded with balls +still in the pistol, this probability would become a practical certainty. +And yet, the detective knit his brows. Suppose it was established beyond a +doubt that this pistol killed the billiard player, there still remained the +question _how_ the shooting was accomplished. The murderer was in Number +Seven, he could not and did not go into the corridor, for the corridor door +was locked. But the billiard player was in Number Six, he was shot in +Number Six, and he died in Number Six. How were these two facts to be +reconciled? The seamstress's testimony alone might be put aside but not the +dog's testimony. _The murderer certainly remained in Number Seven_. + +Holding this conviction, the detective entered the room of the tragedy and +turned up the lights, all of them, so that he might see whatever was to be +seen. He walked back and forth examining the carpet, examining the walls, +examining the furniture, but paying little heed to the body. He went to the +open 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 behind +him. It was just as the commissary had said _with the exception of one +thing_. + +When he returned to Number Seven, M. Paul found that Gritz had kept his +promise and sent him a pot of fragrant Turkish coffee, steaming hot, and a +box of the choicest Egyptian cigarettes. Ah, that was kind! This was +something like it! And, piling up cushions in the sofa corner, Coquenil +settled back comfortably to think and dream. This was the time he loved +best, these precious silent hours when the city slept and his mind became +most active--this was the time when chiefly he received those flashes of +inspiration or intuition that had so often and so wonderfully guided him. + +For half an hour or so the detective smoked continuously and sipped the +powdered delight of Stamboul, his gaze moving about the room in friendly +scrutiny as if he would, by patience and good nature, persuade the walls +or, chairs to give up their secret. Presently he took off his glasses and, +leaning farther back against the cushions, closed his eyes in pleasant +meditation. Or was it a brief snatch of sleep? Whichever it was, a discreet +knock at the corridor door shortly ended it, and Papa Tignol entered to say +that he had finished the footprint molds. + +M. Paul roused himself with an effort and, sitting up, his elbow resting +against the sofa back, motioned his associate to a chair. + +"By the way," he asked, "what do you think of _that?_" He pointed to a +Japanese 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," muttered +the old _agent_. + +Coquenil laughed at this candid judgment. "All the same, it has a bearing +on 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 this +crime, but I haven't verified it. I am now going to give myself an +intellectual treat." + +"Wha-at?" + +"I am going to prove practically whether my mind has grown rusty in the +last two years." + +"I wish you'd say things so a plain man can understand 'em," grumbled the +other. + +"You understand that we are in private room Number Seven, don't you? On the +other side of that wall is private room Number Six where a man has just +been 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 went +out through _that_ door into the alleyway and then into the street. He +couldn't have gone into the corridor because the door was locked on the +outside." + +"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 the +outside, not on the inside; but when we came in here, _it was locked on the +inside_. No, sir, that door to the corridor has not been used this +evening. The murderer bolted it on the inside when he entered from the +alleyway 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 is +the problem I have been working at for an hour. And I believe I have solved +it. Listen. Between these rooms is a solid wooden partition with no door in +it--no passageway of any kind. Yet the man in there is dead, we're sure of +that. The pistol was here, the bullet went there--somehow. _How_ did it go +there? _Think_." + +The detective paused and looked fixedly at the wall near the heavy +sideboard. Tignol, half fascinated, stared at the same spot, and then, as a +new idea took form in his brain, he blurted out: "You mean it went _through +the wall?_" + +"Is there any other way?" + +The old man laid a perplexed forefinger along his illuminated nose. "But +there is no hole--through the wall," he muttered. + +"There is either a hole or a miracle. And between the two, I conclude that +there _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 a +heavy piece covered with plates and glasses. Besides, if the sideboard had +been moved, there would be marks on the floor and there are none. Now you +understand 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 the +picture, I know nothing about the picture, but unless there is some flaw in +my reasoning----" + +"I'll give my tongue to the cats to eat!" burst out the other, "if ever I +saw a man lie on a sofa and blow blue circles in the air and spin pretty +theories 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 darn +thing off its nail." + +Coquenil smiled. "I've thought of that," he drawled, "but I like the +suspense. Half the charm of life is in suspense, Papa Tignol. However, you +have a practical mind, so go ahead, lift it off." + +The old man did not wait for a second bidding, he stepped forward quickly +and 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 holes +about an inch in diameter and something less than three inches apart. +Around the left hole, which was close to the sideboard, were black dots +sprinkled over the painted woodwork like grains of pepper. + +"Powder marks!" muttered Coquenil, examining the hole. "He fired at close +range 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, the +detective made a long and careful examination of the holes while Papa +Tignol watched him with unqualified disgust. + +"Asses! Idiots! That's what we are," muttered the old man. "For half an +hour 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 did +everything 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 a +paper and showed a few grains of coarse brownish powder. "You see there are +only board partitions between these rooms, the boards are about an inch +thick, so a sharp auger would make the holes quickly. But there would be +dust and chips." + +"Of course." + +"Well, this is some of the dust. The woman probably threw the chips out of +the window." + +"The woman?" + +Coquenil nodded. "She helped Martinez while he bored the holes." + +Tignol listened in amazement. "You think Martinez bored those holes? The +man who was murdered?" + +"Undoubtedly. The spirals from the auger blade inside the holes show +plainly 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 his +head. "You're a fine detective, M. Paul, but I was a carpenter for six +years before I went on the force and I know more about auger holes than you +do. I say you can't be sure which side of the wall this hole was bored +from. You talk about spirals, but there's no sense in that. They're the +same either way. You _might_ tell by the chipping, but this is hard wood +covered 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 into +Number Six. + +The old man drew back the sofa hangings and exposed two holes exactly like +the others--in fact, the same holes. "You see," he went on, "the edges are +clean, without a sign of chipping. There is no more reason to say that +these holes were bored this side than from that." + +M. Paul made no reply, but going to the sofa he knelt down by it, and using +his glass, proceeded to go over its surface with infinite care. + +"Turn up all the lights," he said. "That's better," and he continued his +search. "Ah!" he cried presently. "You think there is no reason to say the +holes were bored from this side. I'll give you a reason. Take this piece of +white 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 that +silver bird. Do you see? Now compare the heel prints." + +Papa Tignol knelt down as directed and examined the sofa seat, which was +covered 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 are +five feet above the floor. And I'm enough of a carpenter, Papa Tignol," he +smiled, "to know that a man cannot work an auger at that height without +standing on something. And here was the very thing for him to stand on, a +sofa just in place. So, _if_ Martinez bored these holes, he stood on this +sofa to do it, and, in that case, the marks of his heels must have remained +on the delicate satin. And here they are." + +"Yes, here they are, nails and all," admitted Tignol admiringly. "I'm an +old fool, but--but----" + +"Well?" + +"Tell me _why Martinez did it_." + +Coquenil's face darkened. "Ah, that's the question. We'll know that when we +talk to the woman." + +The old man leaned forward eagerly: "_Why do you think the woman helped +him?_" + +"_Somebody_ helped him or the chips would still be there, _somebody_ held +back those hangings while he worked the auger, and somebody carried the +auger 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 into +place and covered the holes?" + +"That's it," replied the detective absently. + +"And the man in Number Seven, the murderer, lifted that picture from its +nail 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 of +thought, while the other was still grappling with his first surprise. + +"Then this murderer must have _known_ that the billiard player was going to +bore these holes," went on Papa Tignol half to himself. "He must have been +waiting in Number Seven, he must have stood there with his pistol ready +while the holes were coming through, he must have let Martinez finish one +hole and then bore the other, he must have kept Number Seven dark so they +couldn't see him----" + +"A good point, that," approved Coquenil, paying attention. "He certainly +kept Number Seven dark." + +"And he _probably_ looked into Number Six through the first hole while +Martinez was boring the second. I suppose _you_ can tell which of the two +holes was bored first?" chuckled Tignol. + +M. Paul started, paused in a flash of thought, and then, with sudden +eagerness: "I see, _that's it!_" + +"What's it?" gasped the other. + +"He bored _this_ hole first," said Coquenil rapidly, "it's the right-hand +one when you're in this room, the left-hand one when you're in Number +Seven. As you say, the murderer looked through the first hole while he +waited for the second to be bored; so, naturally, he fired through the hole +where his eye was. _That was his first great mistake_." + +Tignol screwed up his face in perplexity. "What difference does it make +which hole the man fired through so long as he shot straight and got away?" + +"What difference? Just this difference, that, by firing through the +left-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 had +returned to Number Seven, he continued: "Take the pistol. Pretend you are +the murderer. You've been waiting your moment, holding your breath on one +side of the wall while the auger grinds through from the other. The first +hole is finished. You see the point of the auger as it comes through the +second, now the wood breaks and a length of turning steel shoves toward +you. You grip your pistol and look through the left-hand hole, you see the +woman holding back the curtains, you see Martinez draw out the auger from +the right-hand hole and lay it down. Now he leans forward, pressing his +face to the completed eyeholes, you see the whites of his eyes, not three +inches away. Quick! Pistol up! Ready to fire! No, no, through the +_left-hand_ hole where _he_ fired." + +"_Sacre matin!_" muttered Tignol, "it's awkward aiming through this +left-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 sight +along 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 hand +and I couldn't hit a cow that way." + +Coquenil looked at Tignol steadily. "_You could if you were a left-handed +man_." + +"You mean to say--" The other stared. + +"I mean to say that _this_ man, at a critical moment, fired through that +awkward hole near the sideboard when he might just as well have fired +through the other hole away from the sideboard. Which shows that it was an +easy and natural thing for him to do, consequently----" + +"Consequently," exulted the old man, "we've got to look for a left-handed +murderer, is that it?" + +"What do _you_ think?" smiled the detective. + +Papa Tignol paused, and then, bobbing his head in comical seriousness: "I +think, if I were this man, I'd sooner have the devil after me than Paul +Coquenil." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +COQUENIL MARKS HIS MAN + + +It was nearly four o'clock when Coquenil left the Ansonia and started up +the Champs Elysees, breathing deep of the early morning air. The night was +still dark, although day was breaking in the east. And what a night it had +been! How much had happened since he walked with his dog to Notre-Dame the +evening before! Here was the whole course of his life changed, yes, and his +prospects put in jeopardy by this extraordinary decision. How could he +explain what he had done to his wise old mother? How could he unsay all +that he had said to her a few days before when he had shown her that this +trip to Brazil was quite for the best and bade her a fond farewell? Could +he explain it to anyone, even to himself? Did he honestly believe all the +plausible 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 he +acted on? A girl's dream and an odd coincidence. Was that enough? Was that +enough 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 and +fascinate him? What was there in this crime that made it different from +many other crimes on which he had been engaged? Those holes through the +wall? Well, yes, he had never seen anything quite like that. And the +billiard player's motive in boring the holes and the woman's role and the +intricacy and ingenuity of the murderer's plan--all these offered an +extraordinary problem. And it certainly was strange that this +candle-selling girl with the dreams and the purplish eyes had appeared +again as the suspected American's sweetheart! He had heard this from Papa +Tignol, and how Alice had stood ready to brave everything for her lover +when 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 by +it, his commission was signed, his duty lay before him. By nine o'clock he +must be at the Palais de Justice to report to Hauteville. No use going +home. Better have a rubdown and a cold plunge at the _haman_, then a turn +on the mat with the professional wrestler, and then a few hours sleep. That +would put him in shape for the day's work with its main business of running +down this woman in the case, this lady of the cloak and leather bag, whose +name and address he fortunately had. Ah, he looked forward to his interview +with her! And he must prepare for it! + +Coquenil was just glancing about for a cab to the Turkish bath place, in +fact he was signaling one that he saw jogging up the Avenue de la Grande +Armee, when he became aware that a gentleman was approaching him with the +intention of speaking. Turning quickly, he saw in the uncertain light a man +of medium height with a dark beard tinged with gray, wearing a loose black +cape overcoat and a silk hat. The stranger saluted politely and said with a +slight foreign accent: "How are you, M. Louis? I have been expecting you." + +The words were simple enough, yet they contained a double surprise for +Coquenil. He was at a loss to understand how he could have been expected +here where he had come by the merest accident, and, certainly, this was the +first time in twenty years that anyone, except his mother, had addressed +him as Louis. He had been christened Louis Paul, but long ago he had +dropped the former name, and his most intimate friends knew him only as +Paul Coquenil. + +"How do you know that my name is Louis?" answered the detective with a +sharp glance. + +"I know a great deal about you," answered the other, and then with +significant emphasis: "_I know that you are interested in dreams_. May I +walk along with you?" + +"You may," said Coquenil, and at once his keen mind was absorbed in this +new 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 your +decision." His voice was harsh and he spoke in a quick, brusque way, as one +accustomed 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 bored +these 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 unaccountable +frankness. And more than ever the detective was on his guard. + +"I see you know something about the affair," he said dryly. "What do you +want with me?" + +"The persons I represent----" + +"Say the _person_ you represent," interrupted Coquenil. "A criminal of this +type 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, yet +there was something vaguely formidable in the stranger's tone, as if a +great person had spoken, one absolutely sure of himself and of his power to +command. + +"Naturally," retorted Coquenil. + +"Why do you say naturally?" + +"It's natural for a criminal to wish that an effort against him should +cease. Tell your friend or employer that I am only mildly interested in his +wishes." + +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 fastened +with an elastic band and handed it to the detective. "Whatever your time is +worth," he said in a rasping voice, "I will pay for it. Please look at +this." + +Coquenil's curiosity was stirred. Here was no commonplace encounter, at +least it was a departure from ordinary criminal methods. Who was this +supercilious man? How dared he come on such an errand to him, Paul +Coquenil? 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 it +contained 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 you +the day you sail for Brazil. Just a moment--let me finish. This sum is a +bonus in addition to the salary already fixed. And, remember, you have a +life position there with a brilliant chance of fame. That is what you care +about, 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 to +work out this case for the sheer joy of doing it." + +"You will _never_ work out this case!" The man spoke so sternly and with +such a menacing ring in his voice that M. Paul felt a chill of +apprehension. + +"Why not?" he asked. + +"Because you will not be allowed to; it's doubtful if you _could_ work it +out, but there's a chance that you could and we don't purpose to take that +chance. You're a free agent, you can persist in this course, but if you +do----" + +He paused as if to check too vehement an utterance, and M. Paul caught a +threatening gleam in his eyes that he long remembered. + +"Why?" + +"If you do, you will be thwarted at every turn, you will be made to suffer +in ways you do not dream of, through those who are dear to you, through +your dog, through your mother----" + +"You dare--" cried Coquenil. + +"We dare _anything_," flashed the stranger. "I'm daring something now, am I +not? Don't you suppose I know what you are thinking? Well, I take the risk +because--_because you are intelligent_." + +There was something almost captivating in the very arrogance and +recklessness of this audacious stranger. Never in all his experience had +Coquenil known a criminal or a person directly associated with crime, as +this man must be, to boldly confront the powers of justice. Undoubtedly, +the fellow realized his danger, yet he deliberately faced it. What plan +could he have for getting away once his message was delivered? It must be +practically delivered already, there was nothing more to say, he had +offered a bribe and made a threat. A few words now for the answer, the +refusal, the defiance, and--then what? Surely this brusque individual did +not imagine that he, Coquenil, would be simple enough to let him go now +that he had him in his power? But wait! Was that true, _was_ this man in +his power? + +As if answering the thought, the stranger said: "It is hopeless for you to +struggle against our knowledge and our resources, quite hopeless. We have, +for example, the _fullest_ information about you and your life down to the +smallest detail." + +"Yes?" answered Coquenil, and a twinkle of humor shone in his eyes. "What's +the 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 eyes +faded. + +"We know the important things, too, all that concerns you, from your +_forced resignation_ two years ago down to your talk yesterday with the +girl at Notre-Dame. So how can you fight us? How can you shadow people who +shadow you? Who watch your actions from day to day, from hour to hour? Who +know _exactly_ the moment when you are weak and unprepared, as I know now +that 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, I +will give you a glimpse of it, just the briefest glimpse. Suppose you try +to arrest me. You have been thinking of it, _now act_. I'm a suspicious +character, I ought to be investigated. Well, do your duty. I might point +out that such an arrest would accomplish absolutely nothing, for you +haven't the slightest evidence against me and can get none, but I waive +that point because I want to show you that, even in so simple an effort +against 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 distinct +advantage in position, here on the Champs Elysees with policemen all about +us, _you cannot arrest me_." + +"We'll see about that," answered M. Paul, a grim purpose showing in his +deep-set eyes. + +"I say this in no spirit of bravado," continued the other with irritating +insolence, "but so that you may remember my words and this warning when I +am gone." Then, with a final fling of defiance: "This is the first time you +have seen me, M. Coquenil, and you will probably never see me again, but +you will hear from me. _Now blow your whistle!_" + +Coquenil was puzzled. If this was a bluff, it was the maddest, most +incomprehensible bluff that a criminal ever made. But if it was _not_ a +bluff? Could there be a hidden purpose here? Was the man deliberately +making some subtle move in the game he was playing? The detective paused to +think. They had come down the Champs Elysees, past the Ansonia, and were +nearing the Rond Point, the best guarded part of Paris, where the shrill +summons of his police call would be answered almost instantly. And yet he +hesitated. + +"There is no hurry, I suppose," said the detective. "I'd like to ask a +question or two." + +"As many as you please." + +With all the strength of his mind and memory Coquenil was studying his +adversary. That beard? Could it be false? And the swarthy tone of the skin +which he noticed now in the improving light, was that natural? If not +natural, then wonderfully imitated. And the hands, the arms? He had watched +these from the first, noting every movement, particularly the _left_ hand +and the _left_ arm, but he had detected nothing significant; the man used +his hands like anyone else, he carried a cane in the right hand, lifted his +hat with the right hand, offered the envelope with the right hand. There +was 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 stirred +by this cynical avowal, but because just then there shot around the corner +from the Avenue Montaigne a large red automobile which crossed the Champs +Elysees slowly, past the fountain and the tulip beds, and, turning into the +Avenue Gabrielle, stopped under the chestnut trees, its engines throbbing. +Like a flash it came into the detective's mind that the same automobile had +passed them once before some streets back. Ah, here was the intended way of +escape! On the front seat were two men, strong-looking fellows, +accomplices, no doubt. He must act at once while the wide street was still +between them. + +"I ask because--" began M. Paul with his indifferent drawl, then swiftly +drawing his whistle, he sounded a danger call that cut the air in sinister +alarm. The stranger sprang away, but Coquenil was on him in a bound, +clutching him by the throat and pressing him back with intertwining legs +for a sudden fall. The bearded man saved himself by a quick turn, and with +a great heave of his shoulders broke the detective's grip, then suddenly +_he_ attacked, smiting for the neck, not with clenched fist but with the +open hand held sideways in the treacherous cleaving blow that the Japanese +use when they strike for the carotid. Coquenil ducked forward, saving +himself, 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 and +rejoiced, for he knew the deadly Jitsu reply to this. Hardening his neck +muscles 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 the +wrist, one at the elbow, and as his trained fingers sought the painful +pressure points, his two free arms started a resistless torsion movement on +the captured arm. There is no escape from this movement, no enduring its +excruciating pain; to a man taken at such a disadvantage one of two things +may happen. He may yield, and in that case he is hurled helpless over his +adversary's shoulder, or he may resist, with the result that the tendons +are torn from his lacerated arm and he faints in agony. + +Such was the master hold gained by M. Paul in the first minute of the +struggle; long and carefully he had practiced this coup with a wrestling +professional. It never failed, it could not fail, and, in savage triumph, +he prolonged his victory, slowly increasing the pressure, slowly as he felt +the tendons stretching, the bones cracking in this helpless right arm. A +few seconds more and the end would come, a few seconds more and--then a +crashing, shattering pain drove through Coquenil's lower heart region, his +arms relaxed, his hands relaxed, his senses dimmed, and he sank weakly to +the ground. His enemy had done an extraordinary thing, had delivered a +blow 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 in +Yokohama style but in the best manner of the old English prize ring, his +clenched fist falling full on the point of the heart, full on the unguarded +solar-plexus nerves which God put there for the undoing of the vainglorious +fighters. And Coquenil dropped like a smitten ox with this thought humming +in 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 his +opponent by the leg, he held him desperately with his failing strength; but +the spasms of pain overcame him, his muscles would not act, and with a +furious sense of helplessness and failure, he felt the clutched leg +slipping from his grasp. Then, as consciousness faded, the brute instinct +in him rallied in a last fierce effort and _he bit the man deeply under the +knee_. + +When Coquenil came to himself he was lying on the ground and several +policemen were bending over him. He lifted his head weakly and looked about +him. The stranger was gone. The automobile was gone. And it all came back +to him in sickening memory, the flaunting challenge of this man, the fierce +struggle, his own overconfidence, and then his crushing defeat. Ah, what a +blow that last one was with the conquering left! + +And suddenly it flashed through his mind that he had been outwitted from +the 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 and +planned for, because--_because_--In feverish haste Coquenil felt in his +breast pocket for the envelope with the precious leather fragments. It was +not 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 it +was called. The newspapers printed long accounts of it with elaborate +details, and various conjectures were made as to the disappearance of +Martinez's fair companion. More or less plausible theories were also put +forth touching the arrested American, prudently referred to as "Monsieur +K., a well-known New Yorker." It was furthermore dwelt upon as significant +that the famous detective, Paul Coquenil, had returned to his old place on +the force for the especial purpose of working on this case. And M. Coquenil +was reported to have already, by one of his brilliant strokes, secured a +clew that would lead shortly to important revelations. Alas, no one knew +under what distressing circumstances this precious clew had been lost! + +Shortly before nine by the white clock over the columned entrance to the +Palais de Justice, M. Paul passed through the great iron and gilt barrier +that fronts the street and turning to the left, mounted the wide stone +stairway. He had had his snatch of sleep at the _haman_, his rubdown and +cold plunge, but not his intended bout with the wrestling professional. He +had had wrestling enough for one day, and now he had come to keep his +appointment with Judge Hauteville. + +Two flights up the detective found himself in a spacious corridor off which +opened seven doors leading to the offices of seven judges. Seven! Strange +this resemblance to the fatal corridor at the Ansonia! And stranger still +that Judge Hauteville's office should be Number Six! + +Coquenil moved on past palace guards in bright apparel, past sad-faced +witnesses and brisk lawyers of the court in black robes with amusing white +bibs at their throats. And presently he entered Judge Hauteville's private +room, where an amiable _greffier_ asked him to sit down until the judge +should arrive. + +There was nothing in the plain and rather businesslike furnishings of this +room to suggest the somber and sordid scenes daily enacted here. On the +dull leather of a long table, covered with its usual litter of papers, had +been spread the criminal facts of a generation, the sinister harvest of +ignorance and vice and poverty. On these battered chairs had sat and +twisted hundreds of poor wretches, innocent and guilty, petty thieves, +shifty-eyed scoundrels, dull brutes of murderers, and occasionally a +criminal of a higher class, summoned for the preliminary examinations. +Here, under the eye of a bored guard, they had passed miserable hours while +the judge, smiling or frowning, hands in his pockets, strode back and forth +over the shabby red-and-green carpet putting endless questions, sifting out +truth from falsehood, struggling against stupidity and cunning, studying +each new case as a separate problem with infinite tact and insight, never +wearying, never losing his temper, coming back again and again to the +essential point until more than one stubborn criminal had broken down and, +from sheer exhaustion, confessed, like the assassin who finally blurted +out: "Well, yes, I did it. I'd rather be guillotined than bothered like +this." + +Such was Judge Hauteville, cold, patient, inexorable in the pursuit of +truth. 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 chair +he proceeded to relate the events of the night, ending with a frank account +of his misadventure on the Champs Elysees. + +The judge listened with grave attention. This was a more serious affair +than 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 most +dangerous type and one possessed of extraordinary resources. + +"You believe it was the assassin himself who met you?" questioned +Hauteville. + +"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. How +did he know that you hadn't copied the name and given it to one of us--say +to me?" + +"Ah, if I only had," sighed the detective. + +"How did he know that you wouldn't remember the name? Can't you remember +it--at all?" + +"That's what I've been trying to do," replied the other gloomily, "I've +tried and tried, but the name won't come back. I put those pieces together +and read the words distinctly, the name and the address. It was a foreign +name, English I should say, and the street was an avenue near the Champs +Elysees, the Avenue d'Eylau, or the Avenue d'Iena, I cannot be sure. I +didn't fix the thing in my mind because I had it in my pocket, and in the +work of the night it faded away." + +"A great pity! Still, this man could neither have known that nor guessed +it. He took the address from you on a chance, but his chief purpose must +have been to impress you with his knowledge and his power." + +Coquenil stared at his brown seal ring and then muttered savagely: "How did +he know the name of that infernal canary bird?" + +The judge smiled. "He has established some very complete system of +surveillance that we must try to circumvent. For the moment we had better +decide upon immediate steps." + +With this they turned to a fresh consideration of the case. Already the +machinery of justice had begun to move. Martinez's body and the weapon had +been taken to the morgue for an autopsy, the man's jewelry and money were +in the hands of the judge, and photographs of the scene of the tragedy +would be ready shortly as well as plaster impressions of the alleyway +footprints. An hour before, as arranged the previous night, Papa Tignol had +started out to search for Kittredge's lodgings, since the American, when +questioned by Gibelin at the prison, had obstinately refused to tell where +he lived and an examination of his quarters was a matter of immediate +importance. + +It was not Papa Tignol, however, who was to furnish this information, but +the discomfited Gibelin whose presence in the outer office was at this +moment 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 fairly +bristle in triumph. + +"Ah, you have news for us!" exclaimed the judge. + +Gibelin beamed. "I haven't wasted my time," he nodded. Then, with a +sarcastic glance at Coquenil: "The old school has its good points, after +all." + +"No doubt," agreed Coquenil curtly. + +"Although I am no longer in charge of this case," rasped the fat man, "I +suppose 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 I +just looked in there." + +"Ah!" said the judge, and Coquenil rubbed his glasses nervously. There is +no detective big-souled enough not to tingle with resentment when he finds +that a rival has scored a point. + +"Our friend lives at the Hotel des Etrangers, near the corner of the +Boulevard St. Michel," went on Gibelin. "I _happened_ to be talking with +the man who sent out the banquet invitations and he told me. M. Kittredge +has 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!" His +small eyes brightened. + +"You examined his things?" + +"_Pour sur!_ I spent an hour there. And talked the soul out of the +chambermaid. 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, after +all.'"] + +Gibelin lifted his pudgy hands deprecatingly. "For one thing I discovered a +photograph 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 and +address." He shot a keen glance at his rival. + +M. Paul was silent. What humiliation was this! No doubt Gibelin had heard +the 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 quite +a story. I suppose you know that when this woman slipped out of the +Ansonia, 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 remembers +perfectly a lady in an evening gown with a rain coat over it like the one +this woman escaped in. This lady sent a note by the _concierge_ up to the +apartment of that she-dragon, the sacristan's wife, where M. Kittredge was +calling 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 the +lady. Fifteen minutes later they stopped at his hotel and he went up to his +room, two steps, at a time, while she waited in the cab. And Jean, the +_garcon_, 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 had +often 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 the +photograph and a lot of letters--_her_ letters, probably. The fireplace was +full of fresh ashes. Rose says it was clean before he went up, so I picked +out the best fragments--here they are." He drew a small package from his +pocket, and opening it carefully, showed a number of charred or half-burned +pieces of paper on which words in a woman's handwriting could be plainly +read. + +"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 is +something." And, turning to the judge: "Wouldn't it be a good idea to send +a man to London with this? You can make out part of a lace skirt and the +tip of a slipper. It might be enough." + +"That's true," agreed Hauteville. + +"Whoever goes," continued Coquenil, "had better carry him the five-pound +notes found on Martinez and see if he can trace them through the Bank of +England. They often take the names of persons to whom their notes are +issued." + +"Excellent. I'll see to it at once," and, ringing for his secretary, the +judge gave orders to this effect. + +To all of which Gibelin listened with a mocking smile. "But why so much +trouble," 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 few +words 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 seen +this lady before?" + +"Yes, but not recently. It seems that Kittredge moved to the Hotel des +Etrangers about seven months ago, and soon after that the lady came to see +him. 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 she +remembers." + +"Hm! Have you anything else to report?" + +Gibelin chuckled harshly. "I have kept the most important thing for the +last. I'm afraid it will annoy my distinguished colleague even more than +the 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 mean +that your debut in this case hasn't been exactly--ha, ha!--well, not +exactly brilliant." + +"Here, here!" reproved the judge. "Let us have the facts." + +"Well," continued the red-haired man, "I have found the owner of the pistol +that 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 are +identical with the ball extracted from the body. The autopsy proves it, so +Dr. Joubert says. And this pistol belongs in a leather holster that I +found in Mr. Kittredge's room. Dr. Joubert let me take the pistol for +verification and--there, you can see for yourselves." + +With this he produced the holster and the pistol and laid them before the +judge. 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 as +the property of the American. He always kept it in a certain drawer, she +noticed it there a few days ago, but yesterday it was gone and the holster +was 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 solve +problems in _difficult_ ways. We don't reject a solution merely because +it'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 truth +turns out to be the truth, then you ought to be in charge of this case and +I'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 last +night." + +"How do you know he didn't change his boots when he burned the letters? Go +back to his hotel and see if they noticed a muddy pair in his room this +morning. Bring me whatever boots of his you find. Also stop at the depot +and get the pair he had on when arrested. Be quick!" + +"I will," answered Gibelin, and he went out, pausing at the door to salute +M. Paul mockingly. + +"Ill-tempered brute!" said Hauteville. "I will see that he has nothing more +to do with this case." Then he touched an electric bell. + +"That American, Kittredge, who was arrested last night?" he said to the +clerk. "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 preliminary +examination. Make out his commitment papers for the Sante. He is to be _au +secret_." + +"Yes, sir." The clerk bowed and withdrew. + +"You really think this young man innocent, do you?" remarked the judge to +Coquenil. + +"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. The +amiable lover becomes a desperate criminal able to conceive and carry out +the most intricate murder of our time. I don't believe it. If he is guilty +he must have had the key to that alleyway door. How did he get it? He must +have known, that the 'tall blonde' who had engaged Number Seven would not +occupy it. How did he know that? And he must have relations with the man +who met me on the Champs Elysees. How could that be? Remember, he's a poor +devil of a foreigner living in a Latin-Quarter attic. The thing isn't +reasonable." + +"But the pistol?" + +"The pistol may not really be his. Gibelin's whole story needs looking +into." + +The judge nodded. "Of course. I leave that to you. Still, I shall feel +better satisfied when we have compared the soles of his boots with the +plaster casts of those alleyway footprints." + +"So shall I," said Coquenil. "Suppose I see the workman who is finishing +the casts?" he suggested; "it won't take long, and perhaps I can bring them +back with me." + +"Excellent," approved Hauteville, and he bowed with grave friendliness as +the detective left the room. + +Then, for nearly an hour, the judge buried himself in the details of this +case, turning his trained mind, with absorbed concentration, upon the +papers at hand, reviewing the evidence, comparing the various reports and +opinions, and, in the light of clear reason, searching for a plausible +theory of the crime. He also began notes of questions that he wished to ask +Kittredge, and was deep in these when the clerk entered to inform him that +Coquenil and Gibelin had returned. + +"Let them come in at once," directed Hauteville, and presently the two +detectives were again before him. + +"Well?" he inquired with a quick glance. + +Coquenil was silent, but Gibelin replied exultingly: "We have found a pair +of Kittredge's boots that absolutely correspond with the plaster casts of +the 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 measured +tones: "It makes a _strong_ chain now. What do you think?" + +Coquenil hesitated, and then with a frown of perplexity and exasperation he +snapped 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 the +torturing scene of her lover's arrest. She would almost have preferred her +haunting dreams to this pitiful reality. What had Lloyd done? Why had this +woman come for him? And what would happen now? Again and again, as +weariness brought slumber, the sickening fact stirred her to +wakefulness--they had taken Kittredge away to prison charged with an +abominable crime. And she loved him, she loved him now more than ever, she +was absolutely his, as she never would have been if this trouble had not +come. Ah, there was her only ray of comfort that just at the last she had +made him happy. She would never forget his look of gratitude as she cried +out 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 the +darkness of her chamber her cheeks flamed at the thought. + +Soon after five she rose and dressed. This was Sunday, her busiest day, she +must be in Notre-Dame for the early masses. There was a worn place in a +chasuble that needed some touches of her needle; Father Anselm had asked +her to see to it. And this duty done, there was the special Sunday sale of +candles and rosaries and little red guidebooks of the church to keep her +busy. + +Alice was in the midst of all this when, shortly before ten, Mother +Bonneton approached, cringing at the side of a visitor, a lady of striking +beauty whose dress and general air proclaimed a lavish purse. In a first +glance 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 with +a cunning wink at the girl. "I tell her it's hard for you to leave your +candles, especially now when people are coming in for high mass, but I can +take 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 great +disgust. "I love the towers on a day like this." + +So they started up the winding stone stairs of the Northern tower, the lady +going first with lithe, nervous steps, although Alice counseled her not to +hurry. + +"It's a long way to the top," cautioned the girl, "three hundred and +seventy 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, past +narrow slips of fortress windows through the massive walls, round and round +in narrowing circles until finally, with sighs of relief, they came out +into the first gallery and stood looking down on Paris laughing under the +yellow sun. + +"Ouf!" panted the lady, "it _is_ a climb." + +They were standing on the graceful stone passageway that joins the two +towers at the height of the bells and were looking to the west over the +columned balustrade, over the Place Notre-Dame, dotted with queer little +people, tinkling with bells of cab horses, clanging with gongs of yonder +trolley cars curving from the Pont Neuf past old Charlemagne astride of his +great bronze horse. Then on along the tree-lined river, on with widening +view 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 of +the Sainte Chapelle, the square of the Louvre, the gilded dome of +Napoleon's tomb, the crumbling Tour Saint Jacques, disfigured now with +scaffolding for repairs, and the Sacre Cour, shining resplendent on the +Montmartre hill. + +To all of which the lady listened indifferently. She was plainly thinking +of 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 one +toward which her thoughts were tending, the _conciergerie_, the grim prison +where her lover was! + +"It is there," she replied, struggling with her emotion, "behind that +cupola 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 strange +insistence. + +"Why, yes," stammered the girl, "I think so--that is, the depot is part of +the _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, I +know _why_ you are thinking about that prison." + +Alice stared at her with widening eyes and heaving bosom. The woman's tone +was kind, her look almost appealing, yet the girl drew back, guided by an +instinct of danger. + +"Who are you?" she demanded. + +"Don't you _know_ who I am?" answered the other, and now her emotion broke +through the mask of calm. "I am the lady who--who called for M. Kittredge +last 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'm +going down." And she started for the stairs. + +"Wait!" cried the visitor. "You _shall_ hear me. I have come to help the +man you love." + +"The man _you_ love," blazed the girl. "The man whose life you have +ruined." + +"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, he +didn't tell your name, he _never_ would tell it. But I know enough, I +know that you tortured him and--when he got free from you, after struggling +and--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 her +dark 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 this +wicked, 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 to +know." + +"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 to +search 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. She +sells postal cards up here. Unless you tell me the truth, I shall ask her +to 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 Papa +Bonneton to come here at once. Say it's important. Hurry!" + +With an understanding nod Valentine disappeared inside the tower and the +quick 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 know +what it was, I haven't read the papers, but he has." + +"Do you want to ruin me?" cried the woman; then, with a supplicating +gesture: "Spare me this shame; I will give you money, a large sum. See +here!" and, opening her gold bag, she drew out some folded notes. "I'll +give you a thousand francs--five thousand. Don't turn away! I'll give you +more--my jewels, my pearls, my rings. Look at them." She held out her +hands, flashing with precious stones. + +Suddenly she felt the girl's eyes on her in utter scorn. "You are not even +intelligent," Alice flung back; "you were a fool to come here; now you are +stupid enough to think you can buy my silence. _Mon Dieu_, what a base +soul!" + +"Forgive me, I don't know what I am saying," begged the other. "Don't be +angry. Listen; you say I was a fool to come here, but it isn't true. I +realized 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 because +there 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 beg +your pardon sincerely for offering you money. I know you are loyal and kind +and--I'm ashamed of myself. I have suffered so much since last night +that--as you say, I must be mad." + +It was a strange picture--this brilliant beauty, forgetful of pride and +station, humbling herself to a poor candle seller. Alice looked at her in +wonder. + +"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 and +will never come into it again. I want to save him because it's right that I +should, because he has been accused of this crime through me and I know he +is innocent." + +"Ah," murmured Alice joyfully, "you know he is innocent." + +"Yes; and, if necessary, I will give evidence to clear him. I will tell +exactly what happened." + +"What happened where?" + +"In the room where this man was--was shot. Ugh!" She pressed her hands over +her 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't +you 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 the +girl. + +"You don't understand. There is no case against Lloyd. He is bound to be +released for want of evidence against him. I only ask you to be patient a +few 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 bank +notes." 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 him +in 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 it +mean? 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! To +make him suffer!" + +"Suffer?" + +"Why not? Don't you suppose he will suffer to find that you have no +sympathy 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 he +wanted to be saved that way, wouldn't he denounce me himself? He knows my +name, he knows the whole story. Wouldn't he tell it himself if he wanted it +told?" + +The girl hesitated, taken aback at this new view. "I suppose he thinks it a +matter of honor." + +"Exactly. And you who pretend to love him have so little heart, so little +delicacy, that you care nothing for what he thinks a matter of honor. A +pretty thing _your_ sense of honor must be!" + +"Oh!" shrank Alice, and the woman, seeing her advantage, pursued it +relentlessly. "Did you ever hear of a _debt_ of honor? How do you know that +your lover doesn't owe _me_ such a debt and isn't paying it now down +there?" + +So biting were the words, so fierce the scorn, that Alice found herself +wavering. After all, she knew nothing of what had happened, nor could she +be sure of Lloyd's wishes. He had certainly spoken of things in his life +that he regretted. Could it be that he was bound in honor to save this +woman _at any cost?_ As she stood irresolute, there came up from below the +sound of steps on the stairs, ascending steps, nearer and nearer, then +distinctly the clatter of Valentine's wooden shoes, then another and a +heavier tread. The sacristan was coming. + +"Here is your chance," taunted the lady; "give me up, denounce me, and then +remember what Lloyd will remember _always_, that when a distressed and +helpless 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 torture +of this former rival; and now the loud breathing of the sacristan was +plainly heard on the stairs. + +"Remember," flung out the other in a final defiance that was also a final +appeal, "remember that nothing brought me here but the sacredness of a love +that is gone, a sacredness that _I_ respect and _he_ respects but that _you +trample on_." + +As she said this Valentine emerged from the tower door followed wearily by +Papa Bonneton, in full regalia, his mild face expressing all that it could +of severity. + +"What has happened?" he said sharply to Alice. Then, with a habit of +deference, he lifted his three-cornered hat to the lady: "Madam will +understand that it was difficult for me to leave my duties." + +Madam stood silent, ghastly white, hands clinched so hard that the gems cut +into 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 the +great bell. She asked me to strike it with the hammer, but I told her that +is forbidden during high mass. Madam offered ten francs--twenty francs--she +is going away and is very anxious to hear the bell; she has read about its +beautiful tone. When madam offered twenty francs, I thought it my duty to +let you know." All this with a self-possession that the daughters of Eve +have acquired through centuries of practice. + +"Twenty francs!" muttered the guileless Bonneton. "You were right, my +child, perfectly right. That rule was made for ordinary visitors, but with +madam it is different. I myself will strike the bell for madam." And with +all 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 bless +you!" + +Alice tried to speak, but the words choked her, and, leaning over the +balustrade, she looked yearningly toward the prison, her lips moving in +silence: "Lloyd! Lloyd!" Then the great bell struck and she turned with a +start, brushing away the tears that dimmed her eyes. + +A moment later Papa Bonneton reappeared, scarcely believing that already he +had earned his louis and insisting on telling madam various things about +the bell--that it was presented by Louis XIV, and weighed over seventeen +tons; that eight men were required to ring it, two poised at each corner of +the rocking framework; that the note it sounded was _fa diese_--did madam +understand that? _Do, re, mi, fa?_ And more of the sort until madam assured +him that she was fully satisfied and would not keep him longer from his +duties. Whereupon, with a torrent of thanks, the old man disappeared in the +tower, looking unbelievingly at the gold piece in his hand. + +"And now what?" asked Alice with feverish eagerness when they were alone +again. + +"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 over +her 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 a +dignity to her rather selfish beauty. "Or, rather, we will save him +together. First, I want you to take this money--you will take it now _for +him?_ That's right, put it in your dress. Ah," she smiled as Alice obeyed +her. "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 that +would involve explanations. We need a man to advise us, some one who knows +about 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 of +it." + +Alice shook her head. "That doesn't matter, does it? He would tell us +exactly what to do. I saw him in Notre-Dame only yesterday and--and he +spoke to me so kindly. You know, M. Coquenil is a friend of Papa +Bonneton's; he lends him his dog Caesar to guard the church." + +"It seems like providence," murmured the lady. "Yes, that is the thing to +do, you must go to M. Coquenil at once. Tell the old sacristan I have sent +you 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 if +necessary. Tell him what has happened between us and then put yourself in +his 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 no +mistake. Here is a pencil and here is a piece of paper." With nervous haste +she tore a page from a little memorandum book. "Now, then," and she +dictated the following statement which Alice took down carefully: "_Tell M. +Kittredge that the lady who called for him in the carriage knows now that +the person she thought guilty last night is NOT guilty. She knows this +absolutely, 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 and +start for the Villa Montmorency--in fact, it was nearly five when, with +mingled feelings of confidence and shrinking, she opened the iron gate in +the ivy-covered wall of Coquenil's house and advanced down the neat walk +between the double hedges to the solid gray mass of the villa, at once +dignified and cheerful. Melanie came to the door and showed, by a jealous +glance, that she did not approve of her master receiving visits from young +and good-looking females. + +"M. Paul is resting," she grumbled; "he worked all last night and he's +worked 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 in +Notre-Dame." + +"Huh! I'll tell him. Wait here," and with scant courtesy the old servant +left Alice standing in the blue-tiled hallway, near a long diamond-paned +window. A moment later Melanie reappeared with mollified countenance. "M. +Paul says will you please take a seat in here." She opened the study door +and pointed to one of the big red-leather chairs. "He'll be down in a +moment." + +Left alone, Alice glanced in surprise about this strange room. She saw a +photograph of Caesar and his master on the wall and went nearer to look at +it. Then she noticed the collection of plaster hands and was just bending +over it when Coquenil entered, wearing a loosely cut house garment of pale +yellow with dark-green braid around the jacket and down the legs of the +trousers. He looked pale, almost haggard, but his face lighted in welcome +as 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 a +little finger as long as this one?" + +"Yes; it's as long as the third finger and square at the end. I've often +noticed it." + +"Then you have seen something very uncommon, mademoiselle, something _I_ +have never seen. That is the most remarkable hand in my collection; it is +the hand of a man who lived nearly two hundred years ago. He was one of the +greatest criminals the world has ever known." + +"Really?" cried Alice, her eyes wide with sudden fright. "I--I must have +been mistaken." + +But now the detective's curiosity was aroused. "Would you mind telling me +the 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 name +after 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 a +strange, 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 bring +it in. Then we can talk comfortably. By the way, you haven't told me your +name." + +"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 a +wood carver, in Brussels. He has been very kind to me and would pay my +board with the Bonnetons, but I don't want to be a burden, so I work at the +church." + +"I see," he said approvingly. + +The girl was seated in the full light, and as they talked, Coquenil +observed her attentively, noting the pleasant tones of her voice and the +charming lights in her eyes, studying her with a personal as well as a +professional interest; for was not this the young woman who had so suddenly +and so unaccountably influenced his life? Who was she, what was she, this +dreaming candle seller? In spite of her shyness and modest ways, she was +brave and strong of will, that was evident, and, plain dress or not, she +looked the aristocrat every inch of her. Where did she get that unconscious +air of quiet poise, that trick of the lifted chin? And how did she learn to +use 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 at +Notre-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?" she +asked anxiously, and it seemed to him that her emotion was out of all +proportion to its cause. + +"I suppose not," he answered kindly. "I thought you might have +some--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 say +something more, but she checked the impulse, if it was there, and Coquenil +did not press his demand. + +"There's one other thing," he went on reassuringly. "I'm asking this in the +interest of M. Kittredge. Tell me if you know anything about this crime of +which he is accused?" + +"Why, no," she replied with evident sincerity. "I haven't even read the +papers." + +"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 question +almost aimlessly. + +"You knew Martinez very well?" he repeated, scarcely believing his ears. + +"I often saw him," she explained, "at the cafe 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 said +all 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, "but +aren't you keeping something back?" + +"No, no," she insisted. "I just thought of--of a little thing that made me +unhappy, but it has nothing to do with this case. You believe me, don't +you?" + +She spoke with pleading earnestness, and again M. Paul followed an +intuition that told him he might get everything from this girl by going +slowly and gently, whereas, by trying to force her confidence, he would get +nothing. + +"Of course I believe you," he smiled. "Now I'm going to give you some of +this tea; I'm afraid it's getting cold." + +And he proceeded to do the honors in so friendly a way that Alice was +presently quite at her ease again. + +"Now," he resumed, "we'll settle down comfortably and you can tell me what +brought you here, tell me all about it. You won't mind if I smoke a +cigarette? Be sure to tell me _everything_--there is plenty of time." + +So Alice began and told him about the mysterious lady and their agitated +visit to the tower, omitting nothing, while M. Paul listened with startled +interest, nodding and frowning and asking frequent questions. + +"This is very important," he said gravely when she had finished. "What a +pity 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 is +absolutely 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 colors +than French ladies, more embroideries, more things on their hats; I've +often noticed it in church. I even know them by their shiny finger nails +and 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. Kittredge +that the lady who called for him in the carriage knows now that the person +she thought guilty last night is NOT guilty. She knows this absolutely, 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_." + +"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 she +drop 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 his +pockets, head forward, eyes on the floor, back and forth several times +without a word. Then he stopped before Alice, eying her intently as if +making up his mind about something. + +"I'm going to trust you, mademoiselle, with an important mission. You're +only a girl, but--you've been thrown into this tragic affair, and--you'll +be glad to help your lover, won't you?" + +"Oh, yes," she answered eagerly. + +"You may as well know that we are facing a situation not +altogether--er--encouraging. I believe M. Kittredge is innocent and I hope +to prove it, but others think differently and they have serious things +against him." + +"What things?" she demanded, her cheeks paling. + +"No matter now." + +"There can be _nothing_ against him," declared the girl, "he is the soul of +honor." + +"I hope so," answered the detective dryly, "but he is also in prison, and +unless 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. The +quickest way to do that is through Kittredge himself. He knows all about +her, if we can make him speak. So far he has refused to say a word, but +there is one person who ought to unseal his lips--that is the girl he +loves." + +"Oh, yes," exclaimed Alice, her face lighting with new hope, "I think I +could, 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 Sante and I +think----" + +"You mean the director of the depot?" + +"No, for M. Kittredge was transferred from the depot this morning. You know +the depot is only a temporary receiving station, but the Sante is one of +the regular French prisons. It's there they send men charged with murder." + +Alice shivered at the word. "Yes," she murmured, "and--what were you +saying?" + +"I say that I know the director of the Sante and I think, if I send you to +him 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 and +quickly addressed an urgent appeal to M. Dedet, director of the Sante, +asking him to grant the bearer a request that she would make in person, and +assuring him that, by so doing, he would confer upon Paul Coquenil a +deeply appreciated favor. Alice watched him with a sense of awe, and she +thought uneasily of her dream about the face in the angry sun and the land +of the black people. + +"There," he said, handing her the note. "Now listen. You are to find out +certain 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 and +your 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 honorable +for him to tell her name?" + +"You must make him see that it _is_ honorable. The lady herself says she is +ready to testify if necessary. At first she was afraid of implicating some +person 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 a +few days whether he tells us or not, so he may as well save us valuable +time. 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 or +short? Does Kittredge know him? Has he ever had words with him or any +trouble? 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 him +say he likes it better than golf." + +"Ah! Then ask him--see here. I'll show you," and going to a corner between +the bookcase and the wall, M. Paul picked out a tennis racket among a +number of canes. "Now, then," he continued while she watched him with +perplexity, "I hold my racket _so_ in my right hand, and if a ball comes on +my left, I return it with a back-hand stroke _so_, using my right hand; but +there 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 or +only the one hand. And I want to know _which_ hand he uses chiefly, that +is, 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 Hotel des Etrangers. +It is a piece of old oak, rather worm-eaten, but it has good bronzes for +the 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 my +friend 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 preparing +a--a little surprise." + +"Oh! And what about the chest of drawers?" + +"It's about one particular drawer, the small upper one on the right-hand +side--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 be +a methodical person, and I want to know if he remembers opening it a few +days ago and finding, it unlocked. Have you got that?" + +"Yes." + +"Good! Oh, one thing more. Find out if M. Kittredge ever suffers from +rheumatism or gout." + +The girl smiled. "Of course he doesn't; he is only twenty-eight." + +"Please do not take this lightly, mademoiselle," the detective chided +gently. "It is perhaps the most important point of all--his release from +prison may depend on it." + +"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not taking it lightly, indeed I'm not," and, with tears +in her eyes, Alice assured M. Paul that she fully realized the importance +of 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 was +not only to see her lover but to serve him. + +It was after six when Alice left the circular railway at the Montrouge +station. She was in a remote and unfamiliar part of Paris, the region of +the catacombs and the Gobelin tapestry works, and, although M. Paul had +given her precise instructions, she wandered about for some time among +streets of hospitals and convents until at last she came to an open place +where she recognized Bartholdi's famous Belfort lion. Then she knew her +way, and hurrying along the Boulevard Arago, she came presently to the +gloomy mass of the Sante prison, which, with its diverging wings and +galleries, spreads out like a great gray spider in the triangular space +between the Rue Humboldt, the Rue de la Sante and the Boulevard Arago. + +A kind-faced policeman pointed out a massive stone archway where she must +enter, and passing here, beside a stolid soldier in his sentry box, she +came presently to a black iron door in front of which were waiting two +yellow-and-black prison vans, windowless. In this prison door were four +glass-covered observation holes, and through these Alice saw a guard +within, who, as she lifted the black iron knocker, drew forth a long brass +key and turned the bolt. The door swung back, and with a shiver of +repulsion the girl stepped inside. This was the prison, these men standing +about 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 endure +for his sake. + +No sooner had the guard heard that she came with a note from M. Paul +Coquenil (that was a name to conjure with) than he showed her politely to a +small waiting room, assuring her that the note would be given at once to +the director of the prison. And a few moments later another door opened and +a 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 speak +with him alone. + +The jailer snapped his teeth and narrowed his brows in a hard stare. "Did +Paul Coquenil send you here for _that?_" he questioned. + +"Yes, sir," answered the girl, and her heart began to sink. "You see, it's +a very special case and----" + +"Special case," laughed the other harshly; "I should say so--it's a case of +murder." + +"But he is innocent, perfectly innocent," pleaded Alice. + +"Of course, but if I let every murderer who says he's innocent see his +sweetheart--well, this would be a fine prison. No, no, little one," he went +on with offensive familiarity, "I am sorry to disappoint you and I hate to +refuse M. Paul, but it can't be done. This man is _au secret_, which means +that he must not see _anyone_ except his lawyer. You know they assign a +lawyer 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 her +hands appealingly. "If you only knew the circumstances, if I could only +make you understand." + +"Haven't time to listen," he said impatiently, "there's no use whining. I +can't do it and that's the end of it. If I let you talk with this man and +the thing were known, I might lost my position." He rose abruptly as if to +dismiss her. + +Alice did not move. She had been sitting by a table on which a large sheet +of pink blotting paper was spread before writing materials. And as she +listened to the director's rough words, she took up a pencil and twisted it +nervously in her fingers. Then, with increasing agitation, as she realized +that her effort for Lloyd had failed, she began, without thinking, to make +little marks on the blotter, and then a written scrawl--all with a +singular fixed look in her eyes. + +"You'll have to excuse me," said the jailer gruffly, seeing that she did +not 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 that +even this calloused man felt a thrill of pity and stepped forward to assist +her. 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 a +printed form, filled it out quickly and handed it to her. + +"There," he said, and his voice was almost gentle, "I guess I don't quite +understand 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 asked +for, 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 through +the horrors of his first night at the depot, which he passed with the scum +of Paris streets, thieves, beggars, vagrants, the miserable crop of +Saturday-night police takings, all herded into one foul room on filthy +bunks so close together that a turn either way brought a man into direct +contact with his neighbor. + +Lloyd lay between an old pickpocket and a drunkard. He did not sleep, but +passed the hours thinking. And when he could think no longer, he listened +to the pickpocket who was also wakeful, and who told wonderful yarns of his +conquests among the fair sex in the time of the Commune, when he was a +strapping artilleryman. + +"You're a pretty poor pickpocket, old chap," reflected Kittredge, "but +you're an awful good liar!" + +In spite of little sleep, he was serene and good-natured when they took +him, handcuffed, before Judge Hauteville the next morning for his +preliminary examination--a mere formality to establish the prisoner's +identity. Kittredge gave the desired facts about himself with perfect +willingness; his age, nationality, occupation, and present address. He +realized that there was no use hiding these. When asked if he had money to +employ a lawyer, he said "no"; and when told that the court would assign +Maitre Pleindeaux for his defense, he thanked the judge and went off +smiling 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 Bertillon +measuring department and stood him up against the wall, bare as a babe, +arms extended, and noted down his dimensions one by one, every limb and +feature being precisely described in length and breadth, every physical +peculiarity recorded, down to the impression of his thumb lines and the +precise location of a small mole on his left arm. + +All this happened Sunday morning, and in the afternoon other experiences +awaited him--his first ride in a prison van, known as a _panier a salade_, +and his initiation into real prison life at the Sante. The cell he took +calmly, as well as the prison dress and food and the hard bed, for he had +known rough camping in the Maine woods and was used to plain fare, but he +winced a little at the regulation once a week prison shave, and the +regulation bath once a month! And what disturbed him chiefly was the +thought that now he would have absolutely nothing to do but sit in his cell +and wait wearily for the hours to pass. Prisoners under sentence may be put +to work, but one _au secret_ is shut up not only from the rest of the +world, 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 were +invented for until now. Let me have part of a pack, just enough to play +old-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 from +wildest Bohemia to primest Presbyterian tea parties, Lloyd added: "That's a +hell of a way to treat a murderer!" + +The Sunday morning service was just ending when Kittredge reached the +prison, and he got his first impressions of the place as he listened to +resounding Gregorian tones chanted, or rather shouted, by tiers on tiers of +prisoners, each joining in the unison with full lung power through cell +doors chained ajar. The making of this rough music was one of the pleasures +of the week, and at once the newcomer's heart was gripped by the +indescribable sadness of it. + +[Illustration: "And when he could think no longer, he listened to the +pickpocket."] + +Having gone through the formalities of arrival and been instructed as to +various detail of prison routine, Lloyd settled down as comfortably as +might 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 as +popular among French convicts as the translated works of Fenimore Cooper. +"Good old Stars and Stripes!" murmured Kittredge, but he stared at the same +page for a long time before he began to read. And once he brushed a quick +hand across his eyes. + +Scarcely had Lloyd finished a single chapter when one of the guards +appeared with as much of surprise on his stolid countenance as an +overworked under jailer can show; for an unprecedented thing had +happened--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 order +from the director of the prison. Moreover, he was to see her in the private +parlor, 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 the +open door with instructions not to interfere except for serious reasons. In +the memory of the oldest inhabitant such a thing had not been known! + +Kittredge, however, was not surprised, first, because nothing could +surprise him, and, also, because he had no idea what an extraordinary +exception had been made in his favor. So he walked before the guard +indifferently enough toward the door indicated, but when he crossed the +threshold he started back with a cry of amazement. + +"Alice!" he gasped, and his face lighted with transfiguring joy. It was a +bare room with bare floors and bare yellow painted walls, the only +furnishings being two cane chairs and a cheap table, but to Kittredge it +was a marvelous and radiantly happy place, for Alice was there; he stared +at her almost unbelieving, but it was true--by some kind miracle Alice, his +Alice, was there! + +Then, without any prelude, without so much as asking for an explanation or +giving her time to make one, Lloyd sprang forward and caught the trembling +girl in his arms and drew her close to him with tender words, while the +guard 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 her +lover's arms about her and his warm breath on her face, she forgot the +message that she brought and the questions she was to ask, she forgot his +danger and her own responsibility, she forgot everything but this one +blessed fact of their great love, his and hers, the love that had drawn +them together and was holding them together now here, together, close +together, she and her Lloyd. + +"You darling," he whispered, "you brave, beautiful darling! I love you! I +love you!" And he would have said it still again had not his lips been +closed by her warm, red lips. So they stood silent, she limp in his arms, +gasping, thrilling, weeping and laughing, he feasting insatiable on her +lips, 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," and +with an effort she freed herself. "I can only stay here half an hour, and I +don't know how much of it we have wasted already." She tried to look at him +reproachfully, but her eyes were swimming with tenderness. + +"It wasn't wasted, dear," he answered fondly. "To have held you in my arms +like that will give me courage for whatever is to come." + +"But, Lloyd," she reasoned, "nothing bad will come if you do what I say. I +am 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 some +questions. 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 I +can." + +"Good. I'll begin with the easiest question," she said, consulting her +list. "Sit down here--that's right. Now, then, have you ever had gout or +rheumatism? 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 the +left?" + +"I use both hands," he answered, and she wrote it down. + +"Now," she continued, "you have a chest of drawers in your room with two +brass 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't +you?" + +"That's true." + +"Do you remember going to this drawer any time lately and finding it +unlocked?" + +He thought a moment. "No, I don't." + +Alice hesitated, and then, with a flush of embarrassment, she went on +bravely: "Now, Lloyd, I come to the hardest part. You must help me and--and +not 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--so +naturally 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 at +the church. "And I have this message for you from her and--and _this_." She +handed him the note and the folded bank notes. + +Lloyd's face clouded. "She sent me money?" he said in a changed voice, and +his 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 he +handed 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 in +perplexity. + +"Return them." + +"Ah, yes," she agreed, snatching at a new idea. "I will return them, I will +say that you thank her, that _we_ thank her, Lloyd, but we cannot accept +the money. Is that right?" + +"Exactly." + +"I will go to her apartment in the morning. Let me see, it's on the +Avenue--Where did I put her address?" and she went through the form of +searching in her pocketbook. + +"The Avenue Kleber," he supplied, unsuspecting. + +"Of course, the Avenue Kleber. Where _is_ that card? I've forgotten the +number, too. Do you remember it, dear?" + +Poor child, she tried so hard to speak naturally, but her emotion betrayed +her. Indeed, it seemed to Alice, in that moment of suspense, that her lover +must hear the loud beating of her heart. + +"Ah, I see," he cried, eying her steadily, "she did not give you her +address 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 out +of this hole, but--we've got to play fair, eh? Now let's drop all that +and--do you want to make me the happiest man in the world? I'm the happiest +man in Paris already, even here, but if you will tell me one +thing--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 if +it's going to make you feel badly, but, you see, I've got some lonely hours +to get through here and--well, I think of you most of the time and--" He +took 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't +mind, why--er----" + +Alice started to her feet, and Lloyd noticed, as she faced him, that the +pupils of her eyes widened and then grew small as if from fright or violent +emotion. + +"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't +anything, just say so, and if there is, what's the matter with telling a +chap who loves you and worships you and whose love wouldn't change for +fifty 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 when +they arrested me and put me in prison? Yes, by Jove, it _did_ change, it +grew 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 was +reassured, 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 come +between us, why--it would just kill me." + +"Nothing will come between us," he said simply, and then after a pause: "So +there _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 all +I've had to do here, and--for instance, I said to myself: 'How the devil +does she happen to speak English without any accent?' You can't tell me +that the cousin of a poor wood carver in Belgium would know English as you +do. 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 those +corking fine embroideries that the priests are so stuck on? But how did you +learn? And how does it come that you look like a dead swell? And where did +you 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 kind +of mystery you think, Lloyd; I--I can't tell you about it very +well--because--" She hesitated. + +"Don't you worry, little sweetheart. I don't care what it is, I don't care +if you're the daughter of a Zulu chief." Then, seeing her distress, he said +tenderly: "Is it something you don't understand?" + +"That's it," she answered in a low voice, "it's something I don't +understand." + +"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 widening +and 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, the +girl was almost fainting under the strain of these questions. + +"You dear, darling child," said Lloyd, as a wave of pity took him, "I'm a +brute to make you talk about this." + +But Alice answered anxiously: "You understand it's nothing I have done that +is wrong, nothing I'm ashamed of?" + +"Of course," he assured her. "Let's drop it. We'll never speak of it +again." + +"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 and +that--frightens me--especially at night." + +"What do you expect?" he answered in a matter-of-fact tone, "when you spend +all your time in a cold, black church full of bones and ghosts? Wait till I +get you away from there, wait till we're over in God's country, living in a +nice 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 happy +you'll never think about your soul--no, sir, and you won't be afraid +nights, either! Oh, you beauty, you little beauty!" he burst out, and was +about to take her in his arms again when the guard came forward to warn +them 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 his +eyes. "It's tough, but never mind. You've made a man of me, little one, and +I'll prove it. I used to have a sort of religion and then I lost it, and +now I've got it again, a new religion and a new creed. It's short and easy +to say, but it's all I need, and it's going to keep me game through this +whole 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 that +woman'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, and +throwing her arms about him, she murmured: "Kiss me, kiss me as much as you +like. I am yours, yours." + +Then there was a long, delicious, agonizing moment of passion and pain +until the guard's gruff voice came between them. + +"One moment," Kittredge said, and then to the clinging girl: "Why do you +ask that woman's name when you know it already?" + +Wide-eyed, she faced him and shook her head. "I don't know her name, I +don't want to know it." + +"You don't know her name?" he repeated, and even in the tumult of their +last farewell her frank and honest denial lingered in his mind. + +She did not know the woman's name! Back in his lonely cell Kittredge +pondered this, and reaching for his little volume of De Musset, his +treasured pocket companion that the jailer had let him keep, he opened it +at 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 of +Alice's visit to the prison. This was merely one move in the game, and it +had 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 with +gout or rheumatism. This last point was of extreme importance. + +And the detective was speedily put in excellent humor by news awaiting him +at the Palais de Justice Monday morning that the man sent to London to +trace the burned photograph and the five-pound notes had already met with +success and had telegraphed that the notes in question had been issued to +Addison Wilmott, whose bankers were Munroe and Co., Rue Scribe. + +Quick inquiries revealed the fact that Addison Wilmott was a well-known New +Yorker, living in Paris, a man of leisure who was enjoying to the full a +large inherited fortune. He and his dashing wife lived in a private _hotel_ +on the Avenue Kleber, where they led a gay existence in the smartest and +most spectacular circle of the American Colony. They gave brilliant +dinners, they had several automobiles, they did all the foolish and +extravagant things that the others did and a few more. + +He was dull, good-natured, and a little fat; she was a beautiful woman with +extraordinary charm and a lithe, girlish figure of which she took infinite +care; he was supposed to kick up his heels in a quiet way while she did +the thing brilliantly and kept the wheels of American Colony gossip (busy +enough, anyway) turning and spinning until they groaned in utter weariness. + +What was there that Pussy Wilmott had not done or would not do if the +impulse seized her? This was a matter of tireless speculation in the +ultra-chic salons through which this fascinating lady flitted, envied and +censured. She was known to be the daughter of a California millionaire who +had left her a fortune, of which the last shred was long ago dispersed. +Before marrying Wilmott she had divorced two husbands, had traveled all +over the world, had hunted tigers in India and canoed the breakers, native +style, 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 swear +and love; she was altogether selfish, altogether delightful, altogether +impossible; in short, she was a law unto herself, and her brilliant +personality so far overshadowed Addison that, although he had the money and +most of the right in their frequent quarrels, no one ever spoke of him +except as "Pussy Wilmott's husband." + +In spite of her willfulness and caprices Mrs. Wilmott was full of generous +impulses and loyal to her friends. She was certainly not a snob, as witness +the fact that she had openly snubbed a certain grand duke, not for his +immoralities, which she declared afterwards were nobody's business, but +because of his insufferable stupidity. She rather liked a sinner, but she +couldn't stand a fool! + +Such was the information M. Paul had been able to gather from swift and +special police sources when he presented himself at the Wilmott _hotel_, +about luncheon time on Monday. Addison was just starting with some friends +for a run down to Fontainebleau in his new Panhard, and he listened +impatiently to Coquenil's explanation that he had come in regard to some +English bank notes recently paid to Mr. Wilmott, and possibly clever +forgeries. + +"Really!" exclaimed Addison. + +Coquenil hoped that Mr. Wilmott would give him the notes in question in +exchange for genuine ones. This would help the investigation. + +"Of course, my dear sir," said the American, "but I haven't the notes, they +were spent long ago." + +Coquenil was sorry to hear this--he wondered if Mr. Wilmott could remember +where the notes were spent. After an intellectual effort Addison remembered +that he had changed one into French money at Henry's and had paid two or +three to a shirt maker on the Rue de la Paix, and the rest--he reflected +again, and then said positively: "Why, yes, I gave five or six of them, I +think there were six, I'm sure there were, because--" He stopped with a new +idea. + +"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 polite +assurances, whereupon the unsuspecting Addison tooted away complacently for +Fontainebleau. + +It was now about two o'clock, and the next three hours M. Paul spent with +his sources of information studying the career of Pussy Wilmott from +special points of view in preparation for a call upon the lady, which he +proposed to make later in the afternoon. + +He discovered two significant things: first, that, whatever her actual +conduct, Mrs. Wilmott had never openly compromised herself. Love affairs +she might have had, but no one could say when or where or with whom she had +had 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 connected +Mrs. Wilmott directly with Martinez. It appeared that, among her other +excitements, Pussy was passionately fond of gambling. She was known to have +won and lost large sums at Monte Carlo, and she was a regular follower of +the fashionable races in Paris. She had also been seen at the Olympia +billiard academy, near the Grand Hotel, where Martinez and other experts +played regularly before eager audiences, among whom betting on the games +was the great attraction. The detective found two bet markers who +remembered distinctly that, on several occasions, a handsome woman, +answering to the description of Mrs. Wilmott, had wagered five or ten louis +on Martinez and had shown a decided admiration for his remarkable skill +with the cue. + +"He used to talk about this lady," said one of the markers; "he called her +his 'belle Americaine,' but I am sure he did not know her real name." The +man smiled at Martinez's inordinate vanity over his supposed fascination +for women--he was convinced that no member of the fair sex could resist his +advances. + +With so much in mind Coquenil started up the Champs Elysees about five +o'clock. He counted on finding Mrs. Wilmott home at tea time, and as he +strolled along, turning the problem over in his mind, he found it +conceivable that this eccentric lady, in a moment of ennui or for the +novelty of the thing, might have consented to dine with Martinez in a +private room. It was certain no scruples would have deterred her if the +adventure had seemed amusing, especially as Martinez had no idea who she +was. With her, excitement and a new sensation were the only rules of +conduct, and her husband's opinion was a matter of the smallest possible +consequence. 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 women +extend to tradespeople. But presently when he explained that he was a +detective and began to question her about the Ansonia affair, she rose with +a haughty gesture that was meant to banish him in confusion from her +presence. Coquenil, however, did not "banish" so easily. He had dealt with +haughty ladies before. + +"My dear madam, please sit down," he said quietly. "I must ask you to +explain how it happens that a number of five-pound notes, given to you by +your 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 not +responsible 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 doing +with 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 you +to--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 the +Ansonia," pursued M. Paul. + +"It isn't true!" + +"Your name was found stamped in gold letters under a leather flap in the +bag." + +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 bag +and then cut it into small pieces and scattered the pieces from his cab +through 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 near +him, 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 in +my life, but this is the most foolish. I _did_ give Martinez the +five-pound notes. You see, he was to play a match this week with a Russian +and he offered to lay the money for me. He said he could get good odds and +he was sure to win." + +"But the dinner? The private room?" + +She shrugged her shoulders. "I went there for a perfectly proper reason. I +needed 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 me +and--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 she +did not see what bearing her purpose had on the case since it had not been +accomplished. + +"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, but +checked herself and simply insisted that she knew nothing about the +shooting. No one had entered the room except herself and Martinez and the +waiter who served them. They had finished the soup; Martinez had left his +seat for a moment; he was standing near her when--when the shot was fired +and he fell to the floor. She had no idea where the shot came from or who +fired 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 the +hotel in the telephone girl's rain coat." + +"You know that?" + +He nodded and went on: "This cab driver remembers that you had something +under 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 man +I 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 me +a cup of tea. The fact is, I have been so busy with this case I forgot to +eat and I--I feel a little faint." He pressed a hand against his forehead +and Pussy saw that he was very white. + +"You poor man!" she cried in concern. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? I'll +fix it myself. There! Take some of these toasted muffins. What an +extraordinary life you must lead! I can almost forgive you for being so +outrageous because you're so--so interesting." She let her siren eyes shine +on 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 every +lady who could throw a clumsy thing like an auger from a moving cab over a +wide roadway and a stone wall and land it in a river. I suppose you threw +it over on the right-hand side?" + +"Yes." + +"How far across the bridge had you got when you threw it? This may help the +divers." + +She thought a moment. "We were a little more than halfway across, I should +say." + +"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 I +knew 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 thought +your husband guilty?" + +"Yes, but afterwards I changed my mind. My husband had nothing to do with +it. If he had, do you suppose I would have told you this? No doubt he has +misconducted 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 ruse +or deceit, took refuge in simple truth and told quite charmingly how this +whole tragic adventure had grown out of a foolish fit of jealousy. + +"You see, I found a _petit bleu_ on my husband's dressing table one +morning--I wish to Heaven he would be more careful--and I--I read it. It +began '_Mon gros bebe_,' and was signed '_Ta petite Anita_,' and--naturally +I was furious. I have often been jealous of Addison, but he has always +managed 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 the +exact rendezvous was given, nine o'clock Saturday evening, in private room +Number Seven at the Ansonia. I had only to be there, but, of course, I +couldn't go alone, so I got this man, Martinez--he was a perfect fool, I'm +sorry he's been shot, but he was--I got him to take me, because, as I told +you, he didn't know me, and being such a fool, he would do whatever I +wished." + +"What day was it you found the _petit bleu?_" put in Coquenil. + +"It was Thursday. I saw Martinez that afternoon, and on Friday, he reserved +private 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 without +making a scandal, and I agreed with him; it was the first clever idea I +ever 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 not +accustomed to have men inattentive when she sat near them. + +"There's one thing that doesn't seem very clever, though," reflected the +detective. "Didn't Martinez think your husband or Anita would see those +holes in the wall?" + +"No, because he had prepared for that. There was a tall palm in Number +Seven 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 Friday +when 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 waiter +wouldn'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 palm +in Number Six_." + +"No?" + +"No." + +"That's strange!" + +"Yes, it _is_ strange," and again she felt that he was following a separate +train 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 have +done 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 him +moving about in his room and I was afraid to speak to him, the thing seemed +so awful; but, at last, I went in and asked him where he had been. He began +to lie in the usual way--you know any man will if he's in a hole like +that--but finally I couldn't stand it any longer and I said: 'Addison, for +God's sake, don't lie to me. I know something terrible has happened, and if +I 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 been +committed at the Ansonia in private room Number Seven. I wish you could +have seen his face. He never said a word, he just stared at me. 'Why don't +you speak?' I begged. 'Addison, it wasn't you, tell me it wasn't you. Never +mind this Anita woman, I'll forgive that if you'll only tell me where +you've been to-night.' + +"Well, it was the longest time before I could get anything out of him. You +see, it was quite a shock for Addison getting all this together, caught +with the woman and then the murder on top of it; I had to cry and scold and +get him whisky before he could pull himself together, but he finally did +and made a clean breast of everything." + +"'Pussy,' he said, 'you're all right, you're a plucky little woman, and I'm +a bad lot, but I'm not as bad as that. I wasn't in that room, I didn't go +to the Ansonia to-night, and I swear to God I don't know any more about +this murder than you do.' + +"Then he explained what had happened in his blundering way, stopping every +minute or so to tell me what a saint I am, and the Lord knows _that's_ a +joke, and the gist of it was that he had started for the Ansonia with this +woman, but she had changed her mind in the cab and they had gone to the +Cafe de Paris instead and spent the evening there. I was pretty sure he +was telling the truth, for Addison isn't clever and I usually know when +he's lying, although I don't tell him so; but this was such an awful thing +that I couldn't take chances, so I said: 'Addison, put your things right +on, we're going to the Cafe de Paris.' 'What for?' said he. 'To settle this +business,' said I. And off we went and got there at half past one; but the +waiters hadn't gone, and they all swore black and blue that Addison told +the truth, he had really been there all the evening with this woman. And +_that_," she concluded triumphantly, "is how I know my husband is +innocent." + +[Illustration: "'They all swore black and blue that Addison told the +truth.'"] + +"Hm!" reflected Coquenil. "I wonder why Anita changed her mind?" + +"I'm not responsible for Anita," answered Pussy with a dignified whisk of +her shoulders. + +"No, of course not, of course not," he murmured absently; then, after a +moment's thought, he said gravely: "I never really doubted your husband's +innocence, now I'm sure of it; unfortunately, this does not lessen your +responsibility; you were in the room, you witnessed the crime; in fact, you +were 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 characteristic +deliberation. "I hope you can prove it." + +"Of course I can prove it," she declared. "M. Kittredge was arrested +because he called for my things, but I asked him to do that. I was in +terrible trouble and--he was an old friend and--and I knew I could depend +on 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 ask +a 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 had +been _everything_ between you he couldn't have done more, could he? And he +couldn't have done less. So a jury might easily conclude, in the absence of +contrary evidence, that there was everything between you." + +"It's false," she cried, while Coquenil with keen discernment watched the +outward signs of her trouble, the clinching of her hands, the heaving of +her bosom, the indignant flashing of her eyes. + +"I beg your pardon for expressing such a thought," he said simply. "It's a +matter that concerns the judge, only ladies dislike going to the Palais de +Justice." + +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 questions +and--and then tell him. Go on, I don't mind. M. Kittredge was _not_ my +lover--there! Please make that perfectly clear. He was a dear, loyal +friend, 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 found +the lady he was dear and loyal to having supper with another man in a +private room, he _might_ be jealous." + +To which Pussy replied with an accent of finality but with a shade of +pique: "The best proof that M. Kittredge would not be jealous of me is that +he 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 am +going 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 your +friend, you gave money for a lawyer to defend him, you even said you would +come 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 to +tell you that your generous purposes have accomplished nothing. He refuses +to 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 better +evidence 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, and +for 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 hatred +of the Spaniard might be a motive, but if we can prove that there was no +such love and no such hatred, then we shall have rendered him a great +service and enormously improved his chances of getting out of prison. Do +you follow me?" + +"Perfectly. But how can we prove it?" + +The detective leaned closer and said impressively: "If these things are +true, 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 nodded +complacently. "He never wrote me letters--that is, not many, and--whatever +there were, I--I destroyed." + +Coquenil eyed her keenly and shook his head. "A woman like you would never +write to a man oftener than he wrote to her, and Kittredge had a thick +bundle 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 was +ghastly, it was positively uncanny the things this man had found out. She +looked at him in frightened appeal, and then, with a gesture of half +surrender: "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 in +that desk." He pointed to a charming piece of old mahogany inlaid with +ivory. He had made this last deduction by following her eyes through these +last tortured minutes. + +"It isn't true; I--I tell you I destroyed the letters." And he knew she was +lying. + +M. Paul glanced at his watch and then said quietly: "Would you mind asking +if some one is waiting for me outside?" + +So thoroughly was the agitated lady under the spell of Coquenil's power +that she now attached extraordinary importance to his slightest word or +act. It seemed to her, as she pressed the bell, that she was precipitating +some nameless catastrophe. + +"Is anyone waiting for this gentleman?" she asked, all in a tremble, when +the 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." And +when the valet had withdrawn: "They have come from the prefecture in regard +to these letters." + +Pussy rose and her face was deathly white. "You mean they are policemen? My +house 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 come +for the letters." + +"You told them to come?" + +"No, the judge told them to come. I hoped I might be able to spare you the +annoyance of a search." + +"A search?" she cried, and realizing her helplessness, she sank down on a +sofa and began to cry. "It will disgrace me, it will break up my home, it +will ruin my life!" She could hear the gossips of the American Colony +rolling this choice morsel under their tongues, Pussy Wilmott's house had +been searched by the police for letters from her lover! + +Then, suddenly, clutching at a last straw of hope, she yielded or seemed to +yield. "As long as a search must be made," she said with a sort of +half-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 believe +me, 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 drawers +in a raised part at the back, there was a long, wide drawer in front, and +over this a space like a drawer under a large inlaid cover, hinged at the +back. He searched everywhere here, but found no sign of the expected +letters. + +"I must have been mistaken," he muttered, and he continued his search in +other parts of the room, Pussy hovering about with changing expressions +that reminded M. Paul of children's faces when they play the game of "hot +or 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 relief +that he turned to her suddenly and said almost regretfully, as a generous +adversary might speak to one whom he hopelessly outclasses: "Madam, I hear +you are fond of gambling. You should study the game of poker, which teaches +us to hide our feelings. Now then," he walked back quickly to the desk, "I +want you to open this secret drawer." + +He spoke with a sudden sternness that quite disconcerted poor Pussy. She +stood before him frozen with fear, unable to lie any more, unable even to +speak. A big tear of weakness and humiliation gathered and rolled down her +cheek, and then, still silent, she took a hairpin from her hair, inserted +one leg of it into a tiny hole quite lost in the ornamental work at the +back of the desk, pushed against a hidden spring, and presto! a small +secret drawer shot forward. In this drawer lay a packet of letters tied +with 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 he +took the packet from the drawer. + +Then, seeing herself beaten at every point, Pussy Wilmott gave way entirely +and wept angrily, bitterly, her face buried in the sofa pillows. + +"I'm sorry," repeated M. Paul, and for the first time in the interview he +felt 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 the +best part of my life, the tenderest, the happiest. I've been a weak, wicked +woman!" + +"Any secrets in these letters will be scrupulously respected," he assured +her, "unless they have a bearing on this crime. Is there anything you wish +to say before I go?" + +"Are you going?" she said weakly. And then, turning to him with +tear-stained face, she asked for a moment to collect herself. "I want to +say this," she went on, "that I didn't tell you the truth about Kittredge +and Martinez. There _was_ trouble between them; he speaks about it in one +of 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 and +afraid of him at the same time. Martinez told me what an extraordinary +effect 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 those +letters." + +"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 break +his 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 the +mystery, Kittredge found himself, on Tuesday morning, facing an ordeal +worse than the solitude of a prison cell. The seventh of July! What a date +for the American! How little he realized what was before him as he bumped +along in a prison van breathing the sweet air of a delicious summer +morning! He had been summoned for the double test put upon suspected +assassins in France, a visit to the scene of the crime and a viewing of the +victim's body. In Lloyd's behalf there was present at this grim ceremony +Maitre 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 a +dollar 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 had +never seen these holes through the wall, he had never been in the alleyway, +he was absolutely innocent. Maitre Pleindeaux nodded in approval. At the +morgue, however, Lloyd showed a certain emotion when a door was opened +suddenly and he was pushed into a room where he saw Martinez sitting on a +chair and looking at him, Martinez with his shattered eye replaced by a +glass one, and his dead face painted to a horrid semblance of life. This +is one of the theatrical tricks of modern procedure, and the American was +not prepared for it. + +"My God!" he muttered, "he looks alive." + +Nothing was accomplished, however, by the questioning here, nothing was +extorted from the prisoner; he had known Martinez, he had never liked him +particularly, but he had never wished to do him harm, and he had certainly +not killed him. That was all Kittredge would say, however the questions +were turned, and he declared repeatedly that he had had no quarrel with +Martinez. 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. He +was told to sit down on a chair beside Maitre Pleindeaux. A patient +secretary sat at his desk, a formidable guard stood before the door with a +saber sword in his belt. Then the examination began. + +So far Kittredge had heard the voice of justice only in mild and polite +questioning, 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 state +and 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." He +offered the pistol to Lloyd's manacled hands. Maitre Pleindeaux took it +with a frown of surprise. + +"Excuse me, your honor," he bowed, "I would like to speak to my client +before he answers that question." + +But Kittredge waved him aside. "What's the use," he said. "That is my +pistol; I know it; there's no doubt about it." + +"Ah!" exclaimed Hauteville. "It is also the pistol that killed Martinez. It +was thrown from private room Number Seven at the Ansonia. A woman saw it +thrown, and it was picked up in a neighboring courtyard. One ball was +missing, and that ball was found in the body." + +"There's some mistake," objected Pleindeaux with professional asperity, at +the same time flashing a wrathful look at Lloyd that said plainly: "You see +what you have done!" + +"Now," continued the judge, "you say you have never been in the alleyway +that we showed you at the Ansonia. Look at these boots. Do you recognize +them?" + +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 always +keep 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 were +arrested." + +"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 by +the alleyway and left his footprints on the soft earth. We have made +plaster casts of them. There they are; our experts have examined them and +find that they correspond in every particular with the soles of these +boots. 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 back +and 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 his +counsel, 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 forth +a 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 the +judge 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, you +have so far refused to speak of the lady to whom you wrote this letter. Now +you must speak of her. It is evident she is the person who called for you +in 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's +prompting. + +"Ah!" shrugged the judge, and turning to his secretary: "_Ask the lady to +come in_." + +Then, in a moment of sickening misery, Kittredge saw the door open and a +black figure enter, a black figure with an ashen-white face and frightened +eyes. It was Pussy Wilmott, treading the hard way of the transgressor with +her 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 Maitre Pleindeaux, who passed out +first, followed by the prisoner and then by the guard himself. At the +threshold 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 hour +he talked to her, questioned her, tortured her. He knew all that Coquenil +knew about her life, and more; all about her two divorces and her various +sentimental escapades. And he presented this knowledge with such startling +effectiveness that before she had been five minutes in his presence poor +Pussy 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 with +Kittredge, going back to their first acquaintance. This was in New York +about a year before, while she was there on business connected with some +property deeded to her by her second husband, in regard to which there had +been 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 seen +a good deal of M. Kittredge, who frequently spent the evenings with her at +the Hotel Waldorf, where she was stopping. She had met him through mutual +friends, for he was well connected socially in New York, and had soon grown +fond of him. He had been perfectly delightful to her, and--well, things +move rapidly in America, especially in hot weather, and before she realized +it or could prevent it, he was seriously infatuated, and--the end of it +was, when she returned to Paris he followed her on another steamer, an +extremely foolish proceeding, as it involved his giving up a fine position +and getting into trouble with his family. + +"You say he had a fine position in New York?" questioned the judge. "In +what?" + +"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, and +he 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 accepted +it, but this happened just as I was sailing for France. He sent it to the +steamer." + +"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 four +hundred dollars. When I saw M. Kittredge in Paris I told him he was a +foolish boy to have spent all that money, but he was so sweet about it and +said he was so glad to give me pleasure that I hadn't the heart to refuse +it." + +After a pause for dramatic effect the judge said impressively: "Madam, you +may be surprised to hear that M. Kittredge returned to France on the same +steamer that carried you." + +"No, no," she declared, "I saw all the passengers, and he was not among +them." + +"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 second +cabin, _he went in the steerage!_" + +"In the steerage!" she murmured aghast. + +"And during the five or six months here in Paris, while he was dancing +attendance on you, he was practically without resources." + +"I know better," she insisted; "he took me out all the time and spent money +freely." + +The judge shook his head. "He spent on you what he got by pawning his +jewelry, 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 have +been 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 every +possible way, but I _must_ have the truth. Was the trouble caused by this +other 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 moment +later Kittredge was again in his place beside Maitre Pleindeaux, with the +woman a few feet distant. + +"Now," began Hauteville, addressing both Lloyd and Mrs. Wilmott, "I come to +an important point. I have here a packet of letters written by you, +Kittredge, to this lady. You have already identified the handwriting as +your own; and you, madam, will not deny that these letters were addressed +to you. You admit that, do you not?" + +"Yes," answered Pussy weakly. + +The judge turned over the letters and selected one from which he read a +passage full of passion. "Would any man write words like that to a woman +unless 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 letter +overwhelmingly compromising. There were references to the woman's physical +charm, to the beauty of her body, to the deliciousness of her caresses--it +was a letter that could only have been written by a man in a transport of +passion. Kittredge grew white as he listened, and Mrs. Wilmott burned with +shame. + +"Is there any doubt about it?" pursued the judge pitilessly. "And I have +only read two bits from two letters. There are many others. Now I want the +truth 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 will +give you five minutes. Unless you admit within that time what is perfectly +evident, namely, that you were this man's mistress, I shall continue the +reading 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 the +girl from Notre-Dame and let _her_ say what she thinks of this +correspondence." + +Lloyd staggered under the blow. He was fortified against everything but +this; he would endure prison, pain, humiliation, but he could not bear the +thought that this fine girl, his Alice, who had taught him what love really +was, this fond creature who trusted him, should be forced to hear that +shameful reading. + +"You wouldn't do that?" he pleaded. "I don't ask you to spare me--I've been +no saint, God knows, and I'll take my medicine, but you can't drag an +innocent girl into this thing just because you have the power." + +"Were you this woman's lover?" repeated the judge, and again he looked at +his watch. "Three minutes!" + +Kittredge was in torture. Once his eyes turned to Mrs. Wilmott in a message +of unspeakable bitterness. "You're a judge," he said in a strained, tense +voice, "and I'm a prisoner; you have all the power and I have none, but +there's something back of that, something we both have, I mean a common +manhood, and you know, if you have any sense of honor, that _no man_ has a +right to ask another man that question." + +"The point is well taken," approved Maitre 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 my +orders. He will get them by telephone, and will bring your husband here in +a 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 his +arm reached toward the electric bell, and Pussy Wilmott's heart almost +stopped 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 to +Kittredge. "I take your silence as consent, and, after all, the lady's +confession is sufficient. You were her lover. And the evidence shows that +you 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 a +cunning and intricate plan, you succeeded in killing the man you hated. We +have found the weapon of this murder, and it belongs to you; we have found +a letter written by you full of violent threats against the murdered man; +we have found footprints made by the assassin, and they absolutely fit +your boots; in short, we have the fact of the murder, the motive for the +murder, and the evidence that you committed the murder. What have you to +say for yourself?" + +Kittredge thought a moment, and then said quietly: "The fact of the murder +you have, of course; the evidence against me you seem to have, although it +is false evidence; but----" + +"How do you mean false evidence? Do you deny threatening Martinez with +violence?" + +"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 had +a motive for this crime. You're mistaken, I had _no_ motive." + +"Passion and jealousy have stood as motives for murder from the beginning +of time." + +"There was _no_ passion and _no_ jealousy," answered Lloyd steadily. + +"Are you mocking me?" cried the judge. "What is there in these letters," he +touched the packet before him, "but passion and jealousy? Didn't you give +up your position in America for this woman?" + +"Yes, but----" + +"Didn't you follow her to Europe in the steerage because of your +infatuation? 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 order +to refresh your memory?" + +"No," said Kittredge hoarsely, and his eye was beginning to flame, "my +memory needs no refreshing; I know what I did, I know what I endured. There +was passion enough and jealousy enough, but that was a year ago. If I had +found her then dining with a man in a private room, I don't know what I +might 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 deal +about passion, sir; did you ever hear that it can change into loathing?" + +"You mean--" began the judge with a puzzled look, while Mrs. Wilmott +recoiled in dismay. + +"I mean that I am fighting for my life, and now that _she_ has admitted +this 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 was +only a base imitation. I offered her my youth, my strength, my future, and +she would have taken them and--broken them and scattered them in my face +and--and laughed at me. When I found it out, I--well, never mind, but you +can bet all your pretty French philosophy I didn't go about Paris looking +for billiard players to kill on her account." + +It was not a gallant speech, but it rang true, a desperate cry from the +soul depths of this unhappy man, and Pussy Wilmott shrank away as she +listened. + +"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'd +fight fair, I wouldn't shoot through any hole in a wall." + +"Then you consider your love for this other woman--I presume you mean the +girl at Notre-Dame?" + +"Yes." + +"You consider your love for her a fine, pure love in contrast to the other +love?" + +"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 been +something like a man through love. I was selfish and reckless through +passion, I've been a little unselfish and halfway decent through love. I +was a gambler and a pleasure seeker through passion, I've gone to work at a +mean little job and stuck to it and lived on what I've earned--through +love. Do you think it's easy to give up gambling? Try it! Do you think it's +easy to live in a measly little room up six flights of black, smelly +stairs, with no fire in winter? Anyhow, it wasn't easy for me, but I did +it--through love, yes, sir, _pure_ love." + +As Hauteville listened, his frown deepened, his eyes grew harder. "That's +all very fine," he objected, "but if you hated this woman, why did you risk +prison and--worse, to get her things? You knew what you were risking, I +suppose?" + +"Yes, I knew." + +"Why did you do it?" + +Kittredge hesitated. "I did it for--for what she had been to me. It meant +ruin and disgrace for her and--well, if she could ask such a thing, I could +grant 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 love +you?" + +Pussy Wilmott, with her fine eyes to the floor, answered almost in a +whisper: "Yes, I knew it." + +"Do you know what he means by saying that you would have spoiled his life +and--and all that?" + +"N-not exactly." + +"You _do_ know!" cried the American. "You know I had given you my life in +sacred pledge, and you made a plaything of it. You told me you were +unhappy, married to a man you loathed, a dull brute; but when I offered you +freedom and my love, you drew back. When I begged you to leave him and +become my wife, with the law's sanction, you said no, because I was poor +and he was rich. You wanted a lover, but you wanted your luxury, too; and I +saw that what I had thought the call of your soul was only the call of your +body. Your beauty had blinded me, your eyes, your mouth, your voice, the +smell of you, the taste of you, the devilish siren power of you, all these +had blinded me. I saw that your talk about love was a lie. Love! What did +you know about love? You wanted me, along with your ease and your +pleasures, as a coarse creator of sensations, and you couldn't have me on +those terms. In my madness I would have done anything for you, borne +anything; I would have starved for you, toiled for you, yes, gladly; but +you didn't want that kind of sacrifice. You couldn't see why I worried +about money. There was plenty for us both where yours came from. God! Where +yours came from! Why couldn't I leave well enough alone and enjoy an easy +life in Paris, with a nicely furnished _rez de chaussee_ off the Champs +Elysees, where madam could drive up in her carriage after luncheon and +break the Seventh Commandment comfortably three of four afternoons a week, +and be home in time to dress for dinner! That was what you wanted," he +paused 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 of +the 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 him +for trial." + +Coquenil was not listening; he had drawn two squares of shiny paper from +his pocket, and was studying them with a magnifying glass. The judge looked +at 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 circumstantial +evidence," 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 he +sprang to his feet. "Great God of Heaven!" he cried in excitement, and +hurrying to the window he stood there in the full light, his eye glued to +the magnifying glass, his whole soul concentrated on those two pieces of +paper, 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's +boots." + +"But you said they were, the experts said they were." + +"We were mistaken; they are _almost_ identical, but not quite; in shape and +size they are identical, in the number and placing of the nails in the heel +they are identical, in the worn places they are identical, but when you +compare them under the magnifying glass, this photograph of the footprints +with this one of the boot soles, you see unmistakable differences in the +scratches on separate nails in the heel, unmistakable differences." + +Hauteville shrugged his shoulders. "That's cutting it pretty fine to +compare 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 his +comparison. "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 are +not the same set of nails; it's impossible. Look for yourself. Compare any +two 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 turn +studied the photographs. As he looked, his frown deepened. + +"It seems true, it certainly seems true," he grumbled, "but--how do you +account for it?" + +Coquenil smiled in satisfied conviction. "Kittredge told you he had three +pairs of boots; they were machine made and the same size; he says he kept +them all going, so they were all worn approximately alike. We have the pair +that he wore that night, and another pair found in his room, but the third +pair is missing. _It's the third pair of boots that made those alleyway +footprints!_" + +"Then you think--" began the judge. + +"I think we shall have found Martinez's murderer when we find the man who +stole 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 with +gout or rheumatism." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +"FROM HIGHER UP" + + +A great detective must have infinite patience. That is, the quality next to +imagination that will serve him best. Indeed, without patience, his +imagination will serve him but indifferently. Take, for instance, so small +a thing as the auger used at the Ansonia. Coquenil felt sure it had been +bought for the occasion--billiard players do not have augers conveniently +at hand. It was probably a new one, and somewhere in Paris there was a +clerk who _might_ remember selling it and _might_ be able to say whether +the purchaser was Martinez or some other man. M. Paul believed it was +another man. His imagination told him that the person who committed this +crime had suggested the manner of it, and overseen the details of it down +to even the precise placing of the eye holes. It must be so or the plan +would not have succeeded. The assassin, then, was a friend of +Martinez--that is, the Spaniard had considered him a friend, and, as it was +of the last importance that these holes through the wall be large enough +and not too large, this friend might well have seen personally to the +purchase of the auger, not leaving it to a rattle-brained billiard player +who, 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 of +this smallish object dropped into the Seine by Pussy Wilmott, and, betimes +on the morning after that lady's examination, a diver began work along the +Concorde bridge under the guidance of a young detective named Bobet, +selected for this duty by M. Paul himself. This was _one_ thread to be +followed, a thread that might lead poor Bobet through weary days and nights +until, among all the hardware shops in Paris, he had found the particular +one where that particular auger had been sold! + +Another thread, meanwhile, was leading another trustworthy man in and out +among friends of Martinez, whom he must study one by one until the false +friend had been discovered. And another thread was hurrying still another +man along the trail of the fascinating Anita, for Coquenil wanted to find +out _why_ she had changed her mind that night, and what she knew about the +key to the alleyway door. Somebody gave that key to the assassin! + +Besides all this, and more important, M. Paul had planned a piece of work +for Papa Tignol when the old man reported for instructions this same +Wednesday morning just as the detective was finishing his chocolate and +toast under the trees in the garden. + +"Ah, Tignol!" he exclaimed with a buoyant smile. "It's a fine day, all the +birds are singing and--we're going to do great things." He rubbed his hands +exultantly, "I want you to do a little job at the Hotel des Etrangers, +where Kittredge lived. You are to take a room on the sixth floor, if +possible, 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 so +quickly in touch with his neighbors as a man learning to play the flute." + +"Ah!" grinned the other shrewdly. "You're after information from the sixth +floor?" + +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 the +flute!" + +"Meet me at nine to-night at the Three Wise Men and--good luck. I'm off to +the Sante." + +As he drove to the prison Coquenil thought with absorbed interest of the +test he was planning to settle this question of the footprints. He was +satisfied, from a study of the plaster casts, that the assassin had limped +slightly on his left foot as he escaped through the alleyway. The +impressions showed this, the left heel being heavily marked, while the ball +of the left foot was much fainter, as if the left ankle movement had been +hampered by rheumatism or gout. It was for this reason that Coquenil had +been at such pains to learn whether Kittredge suffered from these maladies. +It appeared that he did not. Indeed, M. Paul himself remembered the young +man's quick, springy step when he left the cab that fatal night to enter +Bonneton's house. So now he proposed to make Lloyd walk back and forth +several times in a pair of his own boots over soft earth in the prison yard +and then show that impressions of these new footprints were different _in +the pressure marks_, and probably in the length of stride, from those left +in the alleyway. This would be further indication, along with the +differences already noted in the nails, that the alleyway footprints were +not made by Kittredge. + +Not made by Kittredge, reflected the detective, but by a man wearing +Kittredge'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 he +had doubtless stolen the pistol, to throw suspicion on an innocent person. +No other conclusion was possible; yet, he had not returned the boots to +Kittredge's room after the crime. Why not? It was essential to his purpose +that they be found in Kittredge's room, he must have intended to return +them, 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's +private room, and he noticed that M. Dedet received him with a strange +mixture of surliness and suspicion. + +"What's the trouble?" asked the detective. + +"Everything," snarled the other, then he burst out: "What the devil did you +mean 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 some +envelopes, and producing a square of faded blotting paper, he opened it +before 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 what +this means," he declared. + +"You lie!" retorted the jailer. + +M. Paul sprang to his feet. "Take that back," he ordered with a look of +menace, and the rough man grumbled an apology. "Just the same," he +muttered, "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're +straight, after all, but--_how_ did she come to write that?" He scratched +his dull head in mystification. + +"I have no idea." + +"See here," went on Dedet, almost appealingly, "do you believe a girl I +never 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 think +I'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 these +words 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, and +then in a businesslike tone: "Well, I'd better get to work. I want that +prisoner 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 the +telephone, 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 more +discussion, 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 island +city, 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 the +auger." + +"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 your +orders 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 the +office of Judge Hauteville. On the stairs he met Gibelin, fat and +perspiring. + +"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 waste +time 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 derisive +thumb 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 and +concern. + +"My dear Coquenil," exclaimed Hauteville, with cordial hand extended. "I'm +glad 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 the +force. Your commission is canceled." + +"But--but why?" stammered the other. + +"For influencing Dedet to break a rule about a prisoner _au secret_; as a +matter 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 given +it to you, and then there would have been no trouble." + +"It was late and the matter was urgent. After all you approve of what I +did?" + +"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 as +unimportant, 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 his +office." + +"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 in +the 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 sudden +thought. "After all, what I do is not important, but I'll tell you what +Gibelin will do, and that _is_ important, _he will let this American go to +trial and be found guilty for want of evidence that would save him_." + +"Not if I can help it," replied Hauteville, ruffled at this reflection on +his judicial guidance of the investigation. + +"No offense," said M. Paul, "but this is a case where even as able a judge +as yourself must have special assistance and--Gibelin couldn't find the +truth 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't +mind 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 in +conference with one of the other judges and for some minutes he walked +slowly up and down the long corridor, smiling bitterly, until presently +one of the doors opened and the chief came out followed by a black bearded +judge, who was bidding him obsequious farewell. + +As M. Simon moved away briskly, his eye fell on the waiting detective, and +his genial face clouded. + +"Ah, Coquenil," he said, and with a kindly movement he took M. Paul's arm +in his. "I want a word with you--over here," and he led the way to a wide +window 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't +help it, I had nothing to do with it." + +Coquenil stared at him incredulously. "Aren't you chief of the detective +bureau?" + +"Yes," answered the other in a low tone, "but the order came from--from +higher up." + +"You mean from the _prefet de police?_" + +M. Simon laid a warning finger on his lips. "This is in strictest +confidence, the order came through his office, but I don't believe the +_prefet_ issued it personally. _It came from higher up!_" + +"From higher up!" repeated M. Paul, and his thoughts flashed back to that +sinister meeting on the Champs Elysees, to that harsh voice and flaunting +defiance. + +"He said he had power, that left-handed devil," muttered the detective, "he +said 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 found +Papa Tignol waiting for him, his face troubled even to the tip of his +luminous purple nose. In vain the old man tried to show interest in a +neighboring game of dominoes; the detective saw at a glance that his +faithful friend had heard the bad news and was mourning over it. + +"Ah, M. Paul," cried Tignol. "This is a pretty thing they tell me. _Nom +d'un chien_, what a pack of fools they are!" + +"Not so loud," cautioned Coquenil with a quiet smile. "It's all right, Papa +Tignol, 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. Good +evening, Lucien," and he shook hands cordially with the commissary, whose +face wore a serious, inquiring look. "Will you have something, or shall we +move 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 up +to the ears in bushy gray furs, despite the mild night. There was a +leather bag beside him. + +"Is this your man?" asked Pougeot. + +"Yes," said M. Paul, "get in. If you don't mind I'll lower this front +window so that we can feel the air." Then, when the commissary and Tignol +were 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 were +running smoothly to the west, over the wooden pavement of the Rue de +Rivoli. + +"Now we can talk," said Coquenil with an air of relief. "I suppose you both +know what has happened?" + +The two men replied with sympathetic nods. + +"I regard you, Lucien, as my best friend, and you, Papa Tignol, are the +only man on the force I believe I can absolutely trust." + +Tignol bobbed his little bullet head back and forth, and pulled furiously +at his absurd black mustache. This, was the greatest compliment he had ever +received. The commissary laid an affectionate hand on Coquenil's arm. "You +know 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 have +thrown myself into it. This is Wednesday night, the crime was committed +last Saturday, and in these four days I haven't slept twelve hours. As to +eating--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 morning +that my commission was canceled, and I have reached an important +conclusion. In the first place, I am not sure that I haven't fallen into +the old error of allowing my judgment to be too much influenced by a +preconceived theory. I wouldn't admit this for the world to anyone but you +two. I'd rather cut my tongue out than let Gibelin know it. Careful, +there," he said sharply, as their wheels swung dangerously near a stone +shelter 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 the +commissary. + +"Never in the world!" grumbled Tignol. + +"I don't say he is guilty," answered M. Paul, "but I am not so sure he is +innocent. And, if there is doubt about that, then there is doubt whether +this case is really a great one. I have assumed that Martinez was killed by +an extraordinary criminal, for some extraordinary reason, but--I may have +been mistaken." + +"Of course," agreed Pougeot. "And if you were mistaken?" + +"Then I've been wasting my time on a second-class investigation that a +second-class man like Gibelin could have carried on as well as I; and +losing the Rio Janeiro offer besides." He leaned forward suddenly toward +the chauffeur. "See here, what are you trying to do?" As he spoke they +barely escaped colliding with a cab coming down the Champs Elysees. + +"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 automobile +descended the Avenue de la Grande Armee. + +"Are you thinking of accepting the Rio Janeiro offer?" asked the commissary +presently. + +"Very seriously; but I don't know whether it's still open. I thought +perhaps 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, my +dear Paul, aren't you a little on your nerves to-night; oughtn't you to +think the whole matter over before deciding?" + +"That's right," agreed Tignol. + +"What is there to think about?" said Coquenil. "If you've got anything to +say, either of you, say it now. Run on through the _bois_," he directed the +chauffeur, "and then out on the St. Cloud road. This air is doing me a lot +of good," he added, drawing in deep breaths. + +For some minutes they sat silent, speeding along through the Bois de +Boulogne, dimly beautiful under a crescent moon, on past crowded +restaurants with red-clad musicians on the terraces, on past the silent +lake and then through narrow and deserted roads until they had crossed the +great 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 to +me." + +Then, clearly and concisely, the commissary went over the situation, +considering his friend's problem from various points of view; and so +absorbed was he in fairly setting forth the advantages and disadvantages of +the Rio Janeiro position that he did not observe Coquenil's utter +indifference to what he was saying. But Papa Tignol saw this, and +gradually, as he watched the detective with his shrewd little eyes, it +dawned upon the old man that they were not speeding along here in the +night, a dozen miles out of Paris, simply for their health, but that +something special was preparing. + +"What in the mischief is Coquenil up to?" wondered Tignol. + +And presently, even Pougeot, in spite of his preoccupation, began to +realize that there was something peculiar about this night promenade, for +as they reached a crossroad, M. Paul ordered the chauffeur to turn into it +and go ahead as fast as he pleased. The chauffeur hesitated, muttered some +words 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 that +his spirits were reviving. + +They ran along this rough way for several miles, and presently came to a +small house standing some distance back from the road. + +"Stop here!" ordered the detective. "Now," he turned to Pougeot, "I shall +learn something that may fix my decision." Then, leaning forward to the +chauffeur, he said impressively: "Ten francs extra if you help me now." + +These words had an immediate effect upon the man, who touched his cap and +asked what he was to do. + +"Go to this house," pointed M. Paul, "ring the bell and ask if there is a +note 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 strode +away 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. Then +to the man: "There's a bad piece of ground in the yard; you'd better have +this," and, without warning, he flashed his electric lantern full in the +chauffeur's face. + +"_Merci, m'sieur,_" said the latter stolidly after a slight start, and +again 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 a +mustache! Only half of it was blacked." + +"Good; that's all I want," and, stepping out of the auto, Coquenil changed +quickly to the front seat. Then he drew the starting lever and the machine +began 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 a +rage. + +"Try to be more original in your detective work," called M. Paul. "_Au +revoir_." + +They shot away rapidly, while the outraged and discomfited fat man stood in +the middle of the road hurling after them torrents of blasphemous abuse +that 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 to +drive 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 detour, and Coquenil +drove cautiously; but they arrived safely, shortly after one, and left the +automobile at the company's garage, with the explanation (readily accepted, +since a police commissary gave it) that the man who belonged with the +machine had met with an accident; indeed, this was true, for the genuine +chauffeur had used Gibelin's bribe money in unwise libations and appeared +the next morning with a battered head and a glib story that was never fully +investigated. + +"Now," said Coquenil, as they left the garage, "where can we go and be +quiet? A cafe is out of the question--we mustn't be seen. Ah, that room you +were 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 have +something to eat sent in and--" he smiled indulgently at Tignol--"and +something to drink. Hey, _cocher!_" he called to a passing cab, and a +moment later the three men were rolling away to the Latin Quarter, with +Coquenil'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 to +imagine that all Paris was in a conspiracy to follow them. + +"I've been watched every minute since I started on this case," he said +thoughtfully. "My house has been watched, my servant has been watched, my +letters have been opened; there isn't one thing I've done that they don't +know." + +"They? Who?" asked the commissary. + +"Ah, who?" repeated M. Paul. "If I only knew. You saw what they did with +Gibelin to-night, set him after me when he is supposed to be handling this +case. 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 straight +in this thing. _It's some one above the chief_. Lucien, I told you this was +a great case and--it is." + +"Then you didn't mean what you were saying in the automobile about having +doubts?" + +"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 at +the last." + +"And you're _not_ thinking of going to Rio Janeiro?" + +Coquenil shut his teeth hard, and there came into his eyes a look of +indomitable purpose. "Not while the murderer of Martinez is walking about +this town laughing at me. I expect to do some laughing myself before I get +through 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 barely +begun." + +"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 with +the whole prefecture to help you?" + +Coquenil paused, and then said mysteriously: "That's the point, _did_ they +help me? Or hinder me? One thing is certain: that if I work alone, I won't +have 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 explaining +the facts. I was discharged for a trivial offense just as I had evidence +that would prove this American innocent. They don't _want_ him proved +innocent. And they are so afraid I will discover the truth that they let +the whole investigation wait while Gibelin shadows me. Well, he's off my +track now, and by to-morrow they can search Paris with a fine-tooth comb +and 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 in +the 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 go +for more. Besides, my old partner here is going to lay off for a few weeks +and 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 have +to call on you suddenly; you may get some strange message by some queer +messenger. Look at this ring. Will you know it? A brown stone marked with +Greek 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'll +listen to anyone who brings you this ring, old friend? Eh?" + +Pougeot grasped M. Paul's hand and wrung it affectionately. "And honor his +request to the half of my kingdom," he laughed, but his eyes were moist. He +had a vivid impression that his friend was entering on a way of great and +unknown peril. + +"Well," said Coquenil cheerfully, "I guess that's all for to-night. There's +a couple of hours' work still for Papa Tignol and me, but it's half past +two, Lucien, and, unless you think of something----" + +"No, except to wish you luck," replied the commissary, and he started to +go. + +"Wait," put in Tignol, "there's something _I_ think of. You forget I've +been 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 next +room. If it wasn't so late I'd bring him in. He's a little shrimp of a +photographer, 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 a +balcony running along the front of the hotel. + +"There! Let me tell you first how this floor is arranged. There are six +rooms opening on that balcony. See here," and taking a sheet of paper, he +made a rough diagram. + +[Illustration: Diagram of floor-plan of rooms.] + +"Now, then," continued Papa Tignol, surveying his handiwork with pride, "I +think that is clear. B, here, is the balcony just outside, and there are +the six rooms with windows opening on it. We are in this room D, and my +friend, the little photographer, is in the next room E, peacefully +sleeping; but he wasn't peaceful when he came home to-night and heard me +playing that flute, although I played in my best manner, eh, eh! He stood +it for about ten minutes, and then, eh, eh! It was another case of through +the wall, first one boot, bang! then another boot, smash! only there were +no holes for the boots to come through. And then it was profanity! For a +small 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 he +likes; then he apologized and told me his troubles. Poor fellow, I don't +wonder his nerves are unstrung! He's in love with a pretty dressmaker who +lives in this room C. She is fair but fickle--he tells me she has made him +unhappy by flirting with a medical student who lives in this room G. Just a +minute, I'm coming to the point. + +"It seems the little photographer has been getting more and more jealous +lately. He was satisfied that his lady love and the medical student used +this balcony as a lover's lane, and he began lying in wait at his window +for 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 a +patient 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 he +stood waiting and listening, he heard a cautious step coming along the +balcony from the direction of the medical student's room, G. Then he saw a +man pass his window, and he was sure it was the medical student. He stepped +out softly and followed him as far as the window of room C. Then, feeling +certain 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, for +the 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 hand +shut like a vise on the shrimp's throat and nearly choked the life out of +him. You can see the nail marks still on the cheek and neck; but he +remembers 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 they +were not wrapped up, he was going to leave 'em in Kittredge's room--here it +is, 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 he +shook him two or three times and dropped him back into his own room; _and +he never said a word_." + +"And the boots?" + +"He must have taken the boots with him. The shrimp peeped out and saw him +go back into this room F, which has been empty for several weeks. Then he +heard steps on the stairs and the slam of the heavy street door. The man +was gone." + +Coquenil's face grew somber. "It was the assassin," he said; "there's no +doubt 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 he +hasn't trusted anyone. Besides, the fierce way he turned on the +photographer 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 his +nail marks show?" + +Tignol shrugged his shoulders. "They show as little scratches, but not +enough for any funny business with a microscope." + +"Little scratches are all I want," said the other, snapping his fingers +excitedly. "It's simply a question which side of his throat bears the thumb +mark. We know the murderer is a left-handed man, and, being suddenly +attacked, he certainly used the full strength of his left hand in the first +desperate 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 the +photographer's throat, whereas if a right-handed man had done it, the thumb +mark 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 into +the hall. + +A few moments later they returned with a thin, sleepy little person wrapped +in 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 for +inspection, while Coquenil, holding a candle close, studied the marks on +his face. There, plainly marked _on the left side of the throat_ was a +single imprint, the curving red mark where a thumb nail had closed hard +against the jugular vein (this man knew the deadly pressure points), while +on 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 had +sharp nails!" + +"_Parbleu!_" mumbled the shrimp. + +"Here over the cheek bone is the mark of his first finger. And here, in +front of the ear, is his second finger, and here is his third finger, just +behind the ear, and here, way down on the neck, is his little finger. Lord +of 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 mark +of the little finger nail. I've got long fingers myself, but I can't come +within an inch of it. You try." + +[Illustration: "'Stand still, I won't hurt you.'"] + +Patiently the photographer stood still while the commissary and Tignol +tried to stretch their fingers over the red marks that scarred his +countenance. And neither of them succeeded. They could cover all the marks +except that of the little finger, which was quite beyond their reach. + +"He has a very long little finger," remarked the commissary, and, in an +instant, Coquenil remembered Alice's words that day as she looked at his +plaster casts. + +A very long little finger! Here it was! One that must equal the length of +that famous seventeenth-century criminal's little finger in his collection. +But _this_ man was living! He had brought back Kittredge's boots! He was +left-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 Hotel +des Etrangers; he wore a soft black hat pulled down over his eyes, and a +shabby black coat turned up around his throat; and he carried the leather +bag taken from the automobile. The streets were silent and deserted, yet +the detective studied every doorway and corner with vigilant care, while a +hundred yards behind him, in exactly similar dress, came Papa Tignol, +peering into the shadows with sharpest watchfulness against human shadows +bent on harming M. Paul. + +So they moved cautiously down the Boulevard St. Michel, then over the +bridge and along the river to Notre-Dame, whose massive towers stood out in +mysterious beauty against the faintly lighted eastern sky. Here the leader +paused 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, thinking +over 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 his +capture except the fact of the long little finger. The man had left +absolutely nothing in his room at the hotel (this they verified with the +help 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 of +the 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 same +night 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 difference +of opinion between the hotel doorkeeper and the _garcon_, both of whom saw +him and spoke to him. The one declared he had light hair and a beard, the +other that he had dark hair and no beard; the one thought he was a +Frenchman, the other was sure he was a foreigner. Evidently the man was +disguised either coming or going, so this testimony was practically +worthless. + +Despite all this, Coquenil was pleased and confident as he rang the night +bell at the archbishop's house beside the cathedral, for he had one +precious clew, he had the indication of this extraordinarily long little +finger, and he did not believe that in all France there were two men with +hands like that. And he knew there was one such man, for Alice had seen +him. Where had she seen him? She said she had often noticed his long little +finger, so she must often have been close enough to him to observe such a +small 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 get +from the sacristan this information which the girl herself might withhold. +Hence this nocturnal visit to Notre Dame--it was of the utmost importance +that Coquenil have an immediate talk with Papa Bonneton. + +And presently, after a sleepy salutation from the archbishop's servant, and +a brief explanation, M. Paul was shown through a stone passageway that +connects the church with the house, and on pushing open a wide door covered +with red velvet, he found himself alone in Notre Dame, alone in utter +darkness save for a point of red light on the shadowy altar before the +Blessed Sacrament. + +As he stood uncertain which way to turn, the detective heard a step and a +low growl, and peering among the arches of the choir he saw a lantern +advancing, then a figure holding the lantern, then another crouching figure +moving 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 eager +head. "It's all right, Bonneton," and coming forward, he held out his hand +as the guardian lifted his lantern in suspicious scrutiny. + +"M. Paul, upon my soul!" exclaimed the sacristan. "What are you doing here +at this hour?" + +"It's a little--er--personal matter," coughed Coquenil discreetly, "partly +about Caesar. Can we sit down somewhere?" + +Still wondering, Bonneton led the way to a small room adjoining the +treasure chamber, where a dim lamp was burning; here he and his associates +got alternate snatches of sleep during the night. + +"Hey, Francois!" He shook a sleeping figure on a cot bed, and the latter +roused himself and sat up. "It's time to make the round." + +Francois looked stupidly at Coquenil and then, with a yawn and a shrug of +indifference, 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 have +many 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 who +sells 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 a +soul, least of all your wife." + +"You can trust me, M. Paul," declared Papa Bonneton rubbing his hands in +excitement. + +"To begin with, who is the man with the long little finger that she told me +about?" He put the questions carelessly, as if it were of no particular +moment. + +"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 to +you some day--and there's one with a long little finger that the candle +girl noticed. Is her cousin's little finger really very long?" + +"It's pretty long," said Bonneton. "I used to think it had been stretched +in some machine. You know he's a wood carver." + +"I know. Well, that's neither here nor there. The point is, this girl had a +dream that--why, what's the matter?" + +"Don't talk to me about her dreams!" exclaimed the sacristan. "She used to +have 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 surprising +vehemence. + +"Bonneton," continued the detective mysteriously, "I don't know whether +it's from her dreams or in some other way, but that girl knows things +that--that she has no business to know." + +Then, briefly and impressively, Coquenil told of the extraordinary +revelations that Alice had made, not only to him, but to the director of +the Sante prison. + +"_Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!_" muttered the old man. "I think she's possessed of +the devil." + +"She's possessed of dangerous knowledge, and I want to know where she got +it. 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 queer +thing 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 six +months and spends two nights with us--never more, never less. He eats his +meals, attends to his commissions for wood carving, takes Alice out once in +the afternoon or evening, gives my wife the money for her board, and +that's all. For five years it's been the same--you know as much about him +in one visit as you would in a hundred. There's nothing much to know; he's +just 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 nervous +just before his visits, and sort of sad after them. My wife says the girl +has 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 inhaled +long breaths of the fragrant smoke. "Not a word, Bonneton! I want to +think." Then for full five minutes he sat silent. + +"I have it!" he exclaimed presently. "Tell me about this man Francois." + +"Francois?" answered the sacristan in surprise. "Why, he helps me with the +night 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 the +treasure. When do you expect this wood carver again?" + +"It's odd you should ask that, for my wife only told me this morning she's +had a letter from him. We didn't expect him for six weeks yet, but it +seems he'll be here next Wednesday. Something must have happened." + +"Next Wednesday," reflected Coquenil. "He always comes when he says he +will?" + +"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 want +Francois to have a little vacation; he looks tired. I want him to go into +the 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 Francois's place. I'll be the best assistant you ever had and +I shall enjoy Mother Bonneton's cooking." + +"You will take your meals with us?" cried the sacristan aghast. "But they +all 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 my +wife has sharp eyes." + +"If she knows me, or if the candle girl knows me, I'll give you a thousand +francs instead of five hundred. Now, here is the money for Francois"--he +handed the sacristan a hundred-franc note--"and here are five hundred +francs for you. I shall come on Tuesday, ready for work. When do you want +me?" + +"At six o'clock," answered the sacristan doubtfully. "But what shall I say +if anyone asks me about it?" + +"Say Francois was sick, and you got your old friend Matthieu to replace him +for a few days. I'm Matthieu!" + +Papa Bonneton touched the five crisp bank notes caressingly; their clean +blue 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 you +anything but friendship? When old Max died and you asked me to lend you +Caesar I did it, didn't I? And you know what Caesar is to me. I _love_ that +dog, if anything happened to him--well, I don't like to think of it, but I +let you have him, didn't I? That proves my trust; now I want yours. I can't +explain my reasons; it isn't necessary, but I tell you that what I'm asking +cannot do you the least harm, and may do me the greatest good. There, it's +up 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 an +infernal tongue and----" + +"She will never know anything about this," smiled the other, "and, if she +should, give her one or two of these bank notes. It's wonderful how they +change a woman's point of view. Besides, you can prepare her by talking +about Francois's bad health." + +"A good idea!" brightened Bonneton. + +"Then it's understood. Tuesday, at six, your friend Matthieu will be here +to replace Francois. Remember--Matthieu!" + +"I'll remember." + +The detective rose to go. "Good night--or, rather, good morning, for the +day is shining through that rose window. Pretty, isn't it? Ouf, I wonder +when I'll get the sleep I need!" He moved toward the door. "Oh, I forgot +about the dog. Tignol will come for him Tuesday morning with a line from +me. 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_--until +Tuesday." + +M. Paul went through the side door and then through the high iron gateway +before the archbishop's house. He glanced at his watch and it was after +five. Across the square Papa Tignol was waiting. + +"Things are marching along," smiled Coquenil some minutes later as they +rolled along toward the Eastern railway station. "You know what you have to +do. And I know what I have to do! _Bon Dieu!_ what a life! You'd better +have more money--here," and he handed the other some bank notes. "We meet +Tuesday at noon near the Auteuil station beneath the first arch of the +viaduct." + +"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 Tuesday +or speak to me or make any sign to me unless you are absolutely sure you +have not been followed. If you are in any doubt, put your message under +the dog's collar and let him find me. By the way, you'd better have Caesar +clipped. 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 nothing +more to say. You have my letter--_for her_. You'll explain that it isn't +safe for me to write through the post office. And she mustn't try to write +me. I'll come to her as soon as I can. You have the money for her; say I +want her to buy a new dress, a nice one, and if there's anything else she +wants, why, she must have it. Understand?" + +Tignol nodded. + +Then, dropping the cab window, M. Paul told the driver to stop, and they +drew up before the terraced fountains of the Trinite church. + +"Good-by and good luck," said Coquenil, clasping Tignol's hand, "and--don't +let her worry." + +The cab rolled on, and M. Paul, bag in hand, strode down a side street; but +just at the corner he turned and looked after the hurrying vehicle, and his +eyes were full of sadness and yearning. + + * * * * * + +Tuesday, the fourteenth of July! The great French holiday! All Paris in the +streets, bands playing, soldiers marching, everybody happy or looking +happy! And from early morning all trains, 'buses, cabs, automobiles, in +short, all moving things in the gay city were rolling a jubilant multitude +toward the Bois de Boulogne, where the President of the Republique was to +review the troops before a million or so of his fellow-citizens. Coquenil +had certainly chosen the busiest end of Paris for his meeting with Papa +Tignol. + +Their rendezvous was at noon, but two hours earlier Tignol took the train +at the St. Lazare station. And with him came Caesar, such a changed, +unrecognizable Caesar! Poor dog! His beautiful, glossy coat of brown and +white had been clipped to ridiculous shortness, and he crouched at the old +man's feet in evident humiliation. + +"It was a shame, old fellow," said Tignol consolingly, "but we had to obey +orders, eh? Never mind, it will grow out again." + +Leaving the train at Auteuil, they walked down the Rue La Fontaine to a +tavern near the Rue Mozart, where the old man left Caesar in charge of the +proprietor, a friend of his. It was now a quarter to eleven, and Tignol +spent the next hour riding back and forth on the circular railway between +Auteuil and various other stations; he did this because Coquenil had +charged him to be sure he was not followed; he felt reasonably certain that +he was not, but he wished to be absolutely certain. + +So he rode back to the Avenue Henri Martin, where he crossed the platform +and boarded a returning train for the Champs de Mars, telling the guard he +had made a mistake. Two other passengers did the same, a young fellow and a +man of about fifty, with a rough gray beard. Tignol did not see the young +fellow again, but when he got off at the Champs de Mars, the gray-bearded +man 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 to +return a few minutes later and buy another ticket for the Avenue Henri +Martin. There once more he crossed the platform and took a train for the +Champs de Mars, and this time he congratulated himself that no one had +followed him; but when he got off, as before, at the Champs de Mars and +crossed 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 was +seated alone. And, taking out pencil and paper, he proceeded to write a +note for Coquenil. Their meeting was now impossible, so he must fasten this +explanation, along with his full report, under Caesar's collar and let the +dog be messenger, as had been arranged. + +"I am sending this by Caesar," he wrote, "because I am watched. The man +following 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 corners +of 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 seizing +one of his yellow fangs between thumb and first finger he gave a quick +wrench. "There!" he said with a hideous grin, and he handed Tignol the +tooth. + +They were just coming into the Auteuil station as this extraordinary +maneuver was accomplished. + +"I'll be damned!" exclaimed Tignol. + +[Illustration: "'There!' he said with a hideous grin, and he handed Tignol +the tooth."] + +"Is it really as good as that?" asked the stranger, in a tone that made the +old man jump. + +Tignol leaned closer, and then in a burst of admiration he cried: "_Nom de +dieu! It's Coquenil!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE MEMORY OF A DOG + + +"It's a composition of rubber," laughed Coquenil. "You slip it on over your +own 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 as +the train stopped. + +"Yes, yes?" questioned M. Paul eagerly. "Tell me about my mother. Is she +well? Is she worried? Did you give her all my messages? Have you a letter +for me?" + +Tignol smiled. "There's a devoted son! But the old lady wouldn't like you +with those teeth. Eh, eh! Shades of Vidocq, what a make-up! We'd better get +out! I'll tell you about my visit as we walk along." + +"Where are you going?" asked the detective, as the old man led the way +toward 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. I +have a room on the Rue Poussin; I'll go back there first and take off some +of this." + +"As you please," said Tignol, and he proceeded to give Coquenil the latest +news 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 his +voice contrasted oddly with the ugliness of his disguise. + +"Suppose I get the dog while you are changing?" suggested Tignol. "You know +he's been clipped?" + +"Poor Caesar! Yes, get him. My room is across the street. Walk back and +forth along here until I come down." + +Half an hour later Coquenil reappeared almost his ordinary self, except +that he wore neither mustache nor eyeglasses, and, instead of his usual +neat dress he had put on the shabby black coat and the battered soft hat +that he had worn in leaving the Hotel des Etrangers. + +"Ah, Caesar! Old fellow!" he cried fondly as the dog rushed to meet him +with barks of joy. "It's good to have a friend like that! Where is the man +who cares so much? Or the woman either--except one?" + +"There's one woman who seems to care a lot about this dog," remarked +Tignol. "I mean the candle girl. Such a fuss as she made when I went to get +him!" + +M. Paul listened in surprise. "What did she do?" + +"Do? She cried and carried on in a great way. She said something was going +to 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 back +to-night. When she had heard that she caught my two hands in hers and said +I must tell you she wanted to see you very much. There's something on her +mind or--or she's afraid of something." + +Coquenil frowned and twisted his seal ring, then he changed it deliberately +from 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 know +the truth about that girl. Papa Tignol, I want you to go right back to +Notre-Dame and keep an eye on her. If she is afraid of something, there's +something to be afraid of, _for she knows_. Don't talk to her; just hang +about 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." Then +yielding to his growing curiosity: "Have you found out much?" + +Coquenil's eyes twinkled. "You're dying to know what I've been doing these +last five days, eh?" + +"Nothing of the sort," said the old man testily. "If you want to leave me +in 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 to +tell you to-night, but Bonneton will be with us, so--come, we'll stroll +through the _bois_ as far as Passy, and I'll give you the main points. Then +you can take a cab." + +Papa Tignol was enormously pleased at this mark of confidence, but he +merely gave one of his jerky little nods and walked along solemnly beside +his brilliant associate. In his loyalty for M. Paul this tough old veteran +would have allowed himself to be cut into small pieces, but he would have +spluttered and grumbled throughout the operation. + +"Let's see," began Coquenil, as they entered the beautiful park, "I have +five days to account for. Well, I spent two days in Paris and three in +Brussels." + +"Where the wood carver lives?" + +"Exactly. I got his address from Papa Bonneton. I thought I'd look the man +over in his home when he was not expecting me. And before I started I put +in two days studying wood carving, watching the work and questioning the +workmen 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 decide +whether 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 away +on a trip when I got to Brussels, away on this trip that will bring him to +Paris 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, I +stopped there, and I talked to the woman who runs it, a sharp-eyed young +widow with a smooth tongue; and I saw the place where he works; it's a +wood-carving shop, all right, and I talked to the men there--two big strong +fellows with jolly red faces, and--well--" he hesitated. + +"Well?" + +The detective crossed his arms and faced the old man with a grim, searching +look. + +"Papa Tignol," he said impressively, "they all tell a simple, straight +story. His name _is_ Adolf Groener, he _does_ live in Brussels, he makes +his living at wood carving, and the widow who runs the confounded boarding +house 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 have +cussed 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 I +was ready to drop the thing, I admit it, only I went for a walk that +night--and there's a lot in walking. I wandered for hours through that nice +little town of Brussels, in the crowd and then alone, and the more I +thought the more I came back to the same idea, _he can't be a wood +carver!_" + +"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 people +and asked more questions, then I saw the same people again and tried to +trip 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 is +over and forgotten, when this man has gone where he belongs, and I know +where that is"--he brought his hand down sideways swiftly--"I shall have +the lesson of this Brussels search cut on a block of stone and set in my +study 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 he +gets inside himself!_" + +Tignol had never seen M. Paul more deeply stirred. "_Sacre matin!_" he +exclaimed. "Then you did find something?" + +"Ah, but I deserve no credit for it, I ought to have failed. I weakened; I +had my bag packed and was actually starting for Paris, convinced that +Groener 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 believing +in 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 fallen +into a hole you might have broken your leg! Well, you didn't fall into the +hole!" + +Coquenil smiled. "You're right, I ought to be pleased, I am pleased. After +all, it was a neat bit of work. You see, I was waiting in the parlor of +this boarding house for the widow to bring me my bill--I had spent two days +there--and I happened to glance at a photograph she had shown me when I +first came, a picture of Alice and herself, taken five years ago, when +Alice was twelve years old. There was no doubt about the girl, and it was a +good likeness of the widow. She told me she was a great friend of Alice's +mother, and the picture was taken when the mother died, just before Alice +went to Paris. + +"Well, as I looked at the picture now, I noticed that it had no +photographer's name on it, which is unusual, and it seemed to me there was +something queer about the girl's hand; I went to the window and was +studying the picture with my magnifying glass when I heard the woman's step +outside, so I slipped it into my pocket. Then I paid my bill and came +away." + +"You _needed_ that picture," approved Tignol. + +"As soon as I was outside I jumped into a cab and drove to the principal +photographers in Brussels. There were three of them, and at each place I +showed this picture and asked how much it would cost to copy it, and as I +asked the question I watched the man's face. The first two were perfectly +businesslike, but the third man gave a little start and looked at me in an +odd way. I made up my mind he had seen the picture before, but I didn't get +anything out of him--then. In fact, I didn't try very hard, for I had my +plan. + +"From here I drove straight to police headquarters and had a talk with the +chief. He knew me by reputation, and a note that I brought from Pougeot +helped, and--well, an hour later that photographer was ready to tell me the +innermost 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 weeks +ago_." + +"Six weeks ago!" stared the other. "But the widow told you it was taken +five 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 Alice +and a lady, perhaps her mother. This photographer had blotted out the lady +and printed in the widow without changing the pose. It's a simple trick in +photography." + +"You saw the genuine picture?" + +"Of course--that is, I saw a reproduction of it which the photographer made +on his own account. He suspected some crooked work, and he didn't like the +man who gave him the order." + +"You mean the wood carver?" + +Coquenil shrugged his shoulders. "Call him a wood carver, call him what you +like. He didn't go to the photographer in his wood-carver disguise, he +went as a gentleman in a great hurry, and willing to pay any price for the +work." + +Tignol twisted the long ends of his black mustache reflectively. "He was +covering his tracks in advance?" + +"Evidently." + +"And the smooth young widow lied?" + +"Lied?" snapped the detective savagely. "I should say she did. She lied +about this, and lied about the whole affair. So did the men at the shop. It +was manufactured testimony, bought and paid for, and a manufactured +picture." + +"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--" Coquenil +hesitated, 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 that +left-handed jolt under the heart, he's the man who choked your shrimp +photographer, 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 you +a good dinner against a box of those vile cigarettes you smoke that this +man who calls himself Alice's cousin has the marks of my teeth on the calf +of 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 desperate +and full of resources, I know that, but, with the precautions I have +taken, I don't see how he can escape--if he goes to Bonneton's house +to-morrow." + +Tignol scratched his head in perplexity. "Why in thunder is he such a fool +as 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 Brussels +photograph--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 and +her little Mary.' You notice it says _her_ little Mary. That one word +throws 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--that +she _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 a +mystery. 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. Paul +entered the quieter paths of the great park, and presently came to a +thickly wooded region that has almost the air of a natural forest. Here the +two romped delightedly together, and Coquenil put the dog through many of +his tricks, the fine creature fairly outdoing himself in eagerness and +intelligence. + +"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 out +comfortably at his feet. And so the one dozed as the other drifted far away +in smoke-laden reverie. + +What days these had been, to be sure! How tired he was! He hadn't noticed +it before, but now that everything was ready, now that he had finished his +preparations--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 that +were fretting him. Who was Groener? Why had he killed Martinez? How had he +profited by the death of this unfortunate billiard player? And why did he +hate Kittredge? Was it because the American loved Alice? And who was Alice, +this girl whose dreams and fears changed the lives of serious men? From +whichever side he studied the crime he always came back to her--Kittredge +loved her, Martinez knew her, he himself had started on the case on her +account. _Who was Alice?_ + +During these reflections Coquenil had been vaguely aware of gay sounds from +the neighboring woods, and now a sudden burst of laughter brought him back +to the consciousness of things about him. + +"We're too serious, my boy," he said with an effort at lightness; "this is +a 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 cool +glade, carpeted in gold and green as the sunbeams sprinkled down through +the trees upon the spreading moss. Here he came into plain view of a +company of ladies and gentlemen, who, having witnessed the review, had +chosen this delightful spot for luncheon. They were evidently rich and +fashionable people, for they had come as a coaching party on a very smart +break, with four beautiful horses, and some in a flashing red-and-black +automobile that was now drawn up beside the larger vehicle. + +With an idle eye M. Paul observed the details of the luncheon, red-coated +servants emptying bounteous hampers and passing tempting food from group to +group, others opening bottles of champagne, with popping corks, and filling +bubbling glasses, while the men of the party passed back and forth from +break to automobile with jests and gay words, or strolled under the trees +enjoying post-prandial cigars. + +Altogether it was a pleasing picture, and Coquenil's interest was +heightened when he overheard a passing couple say that these were the +guests of no less a person than the Duke of Montreuil, whose lavish +entertainments were the talk of Paris. There he was, on the break, this +favorite of fortune! What a brilliant figure of a man! Famous as a +sportsman, enormously rich, popular in society, at the head of vast +industrial enterprises, and known to have almost controlling power in +affairs 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 around +through 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 to +follow 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 the +ground before him, back and forth, in widening curves, as Coquenil had +taught him. + +"Have you found something--sure?" + +The animal barked joyously. + +M. Paul was puzzled. Evidently there was a scent here, but what scent? He +had made no experiments with Caesar since the night of the crime, when the +dog 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 had +never seen him more impatient for permission to be off. Could a dog +remember a scent for ten days? + +"After all, what harm can it do?" reflected the detective, becoming +interested 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 the +scent, moving carefully among the trees, and once or twice losing the +trail, but quickly finding it again, and, presently, as he reached more +open ground, running ahead swiftly, straight toward the coaching party. + +In a flash Coquenil realized the danger and called loudly to the dog, but +the distance was too great, and his voice was drowned by the cries of +ladies on the break, who, seeing the bounding animal, screamed their +fright. And no wonder, for this powerful, close-clipped creature, in his +sudden rush looked like some formidable beast of prey; even the men started +up in alarm. + +"Caesar!" shouted M. Paul, but it was too late. The dog was flying full at +the break, eyes fixed, body tense; now he was gathering strength to +spring, and now, with a splendid effort, he was actually hurling himself +through the air, when among the confused figures on the coach a man leaned +forward suddenly, and something flashed in his hand. There was a feather +of smoke, a sharp report, and then, with a stab of pain, Coquenil saw +Caesar fall back to the ground and lie still. + +"My dog, my dog!" he cried, and coming up to the stricken creature, he +knelt beside him with ashen face. + +One glance showed there was nothing to be done, the bullet had crashed into +the broad breast in front of the left shoulder and--it was all over with +Caesar. + +"My friend, my dear old friend!" murmured M. Paul in broken tones, and he +took the poor head in his arms. At the master's voice Caesar opened his +beautiful 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 no +business 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's +presentiment. + +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 gay +party 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 playing +his part, regardless of personal feelings. Sorrow brings him no reprieve +from duty, so the next morning after the last sad offices for poor Caesar, +Coquenil faced the emergency before him with steady nerve and calm +resolution. There was an assassin to be brought to justice and the time for +action had come. This was, perhaps, the most momentous day of his whole +career. + +Up to the very hour of luncheon M. Paul doubted whether the wood carver +would keep his appointment at the Bonnetons'. Why should he take such a +risk? 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 Elysees) and had +then walked calmly out again; but this time the detective promised himself +things should happen differently. His precautions were taken, and if +Groener came within his clutches to-day, he would have a lively time +getting out of them. There was a score to be settled between them, a heavy +score, and--let the wood carver beware! + +The wood carver kept his appointment. More than that, he seemed in +excellent spirits, and as he sat down to Mother Bonneton's modest luncheon +he nodded good-naturedly to Matthieu, the substitute watchman, whom the +sacristan introduced, not too awkwardly, then he fell to eating with a +hearty appetite and without any sign of embarrassment or suspicion. + +"It's a strong game he's playing," reflected the detective, "but he's going +to lose." + +The wood carver appeared to be a man approaching forty, of medium height +and 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. He +had thick, brown hair, a short, yellowish mustache, and a close-cut, +brownish beard. He was dressed like a superior workingman, in a flannel +shirt, a rough, blue suit, oil-stained and dust-sprinkled, and he wore +thick-soled boots. His hands were strong and red and not too clean, with +several broken nails and calloused places. In a word, he looked the wood +carver, every inch of him, and the detective was forced to admit that, if +this was a disguise, it was the most admirable one he had ever seen. If +this beard and hair and mustache were false, then his own make-up, the best +he had ever created, was a poor thing in comparison. + +During the meal Groener talked freely, speaking with a slight Belgian +accent, but fluently enough. He seemed to have a naive 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 American +girls in one compartment and a newly married couple in the next one, with a +little glass window between. Well, the young bridegroom wanted to kiss his +bride, naturally, ha, ha! It was a good chance, for they were alone, but he +was afraid some one might look through the little window and see him, so he +kept looking through it himself to make sure it was all right. Well, the +American 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 it +down. She thought it was a curtain cord; she wanted to cover the window so +the 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 great +relish of the joke, "it was the emergency signal, which, by the +regulations, must only be used in great danger, so the first thing we knew +the train drew up with a terrible jerk, and there was a great shouting and +opening of doors and rushing about of officials. And finally, ha, ha! they +discovered that the Brussels express had been stopped, ha, ha, ha! because +a bashful young fellow wanted to kiss his girl." + +M. Paul marveled at the man's self-possession. Not a tone or a glance or a +muscle betrayed him, he was perfectly at ease, buoyantly satisfied, one +would say, with himself and all the world--in short, he suggested nothing +so little as a close-tracked assassin. + +In vain Coquenil tried to decide whether Groener was really unconscious of +impending danger. Was he deceived by this Matthieu disguise? Or was it +possible, _could_ it be possible, that he was what he appeared to be, a +simple-minded wood carver free from any wickedness or duplicity? No, no, it +was marvelous acting, an extraordinary make-up, but this was his man, all +right. There was the long little finger, plainly visible, the identical +finger of his seventeenth-century cast. Yes, this was the enemy, the +murderer, delivered into his hands through some unaccountable fortune, and +now to be watched like precious prey, and presently to be taken and +delivered over to justice. It seemed too good to be true, too easy, yet +there was the man before him, and despite his habit of caution and his +knowledge that this was no ordinary adversary, the detective thrilled as +over a victory already won. + +The wood carver went on to express delight at being back in Paris, where +his work would keep him three or four days. Business was brisk, thank +Heaven, with an extraordinary demand for old sideboards with carved panels +of the Louis XV period, which they turned out by the dozen, ha, ha, ha! in +the Brussels shop. He described with gusto and with evident inside +knowledge how they got the worm holes in these panels by shooting fine shot +into them and the old appearance by burying them in the ground. Then he +told how they distributed the finished sideboards among farmhouses in +various 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 the +simple-minded farmers, working on commission, who had inherited these +treasures from their ancestors. + +Across the table Matthieu, with grinning yellow teeth, showed his +appreciation of this trick in art catering, and presently, when the coffee +was served, he made bold to ask M. Groener if there would be any chance for +a man like himself in a wood-carving shop. He was strong and willing +and--his present job at Notre-Dame was only for a few days. Papa Bonneton +nearly choked over his _demi tasse_ as he listened to this plea, but the +wood carver took it seriously. + +"I'll help you with pleasure," he said; "I'll take you around with me to +several shops to-morrow." + +"To-morrow, not to-day?" asked Matthieu, apparently disappointed. + +"To-day," smiled Groener, "I enjoy myself. This afternoon I escort my +pretty cousin to hear some music. Did you know that, Alice?" He turned +gayly to the girl. + +Since the meal began Alice had scarcely spoken, but had sat looking down at +her plate save at certain moments when she would lift her eyes suddenly and +fix them on Groener with a strange, half-frightened expression. + +"You are very kind, Cousin Adolf," she answered timidly, "but--I'm not +feeling well to-day." + +"Why, what's the matter?" he asked in a tone of concern that had just a +touch 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 riddance +it was." + +"You have no right to say that," flashed Alice. + +"I have a right to tell your cousin about this foolishness. I've tried my +best to look after you and be a mother to you, but when a girl won't listen +to 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 the +church 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 Papa +Bonneton warningly under the table. + +Groener looked straight at the detective and answered with perfect +simplicity: "No wonder you smile, M. Matthieu, but think how far away from +Paris 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 and +put 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 words +failed her; it seemed to Coquenil that her eyes met his in desperate +appeal, and then, with a glance at Groener, half of submission, half of +defiance, she turned and left the room. + +"Now Madam Bonneton," resumed Groener cheerfully, "while the young lady +gets into her finery we might have a little talk. There are a few +matters--er--" He looked apologetically at the others. "You and I will meet +to-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 they +descended the four flights in silence. + +"Now, Bonneton," ordered the detective sharply, when they were in the lower +hallway, "don't ask questions, just do what I say. I want you to go right +across to Notre-Dame, and when you get to the door take your hat off and +stand there for a minute or so fanning yourself. Understand?" + +The simple-minded sacristan was in a daze with all this mystery, but he +repeated the words resignedly: "I'm to stand at the church door and fan +myself with my hat. Is that it?" + +"That's it. Then Tignol, who's watching in one of these doorways, the sly +old fox, will come across and join you. Tell him to be ready to move any +minute now. He'd better loaf around the corner of the church until he gets +a 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 the +few 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 some +eager purpose. + +"Oh, M. Matthieu!" exclaimed the girl in apparent surprise. Then going +close to him she said in a low tone that quivered with emotion: "I came +after 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 widened +and then grew small. "I'm afraid so," she murmured, and then added these +singular words: "_He knows everything_." + +M. Paul laid a soothing hand on her arm and said kindly: "Are you afraid of +him?" + +"Ye-es." Her voice was almost inaudible. + +"Is he planning something?" + +For a moment Alice hesitated, biting her red lips, then with a quick +impulse, she lifted her dark eyes to Coquenil. "I _must_ tell you, I have +no one else to tell, and I am so distressed, so--so afraid." She caught his +hands 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. I +overheard him just now telling Mother Bonneton to pack my trunk. He says he +will spend three or four days in Paris, but that may not be true, he may go +at once to-night. You can't believe him or trust him, and, if he takes me +away, I--I may never come back." + +"He won't take you away," said M. Paul reassuring, "that is, he won't +if--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. "Let +me think a moment," and he turned back and forth in the hall, brows +contracted, hands deep in his pockets. "I have it!" he exclaimed presently, +his face brightening. "Now listen," and speaking slowly and distinctly, the +detective 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 shivered +in alarm. + +Coquenil smiled confidently. "Don't worry about me." + +She shook her head anxiously. "You don't know, you can't understand what +a"--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 more +when we have time; we mustn't talk now, _we must act_." + +"Yes, of course," agreed Alice, "I will obey orders; you can depend on me +and"--she held out her slim hand in a grateful movement--"thank you." + +For a moment he pressed the trembling fingers in a reassuring clasp, then +he watched her wonderingly, as, with a brave little smile, she turned and +went back up the stairs. + +"She has the air of a princess, that girl," he mused, "Who is she? What is +she? I ought to know in a few hours now," and moving to the wide space of +the 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 buildings +of the square were outlined on the asphalt in sharp black shadows. A 'bus +lumbered sleepily over the bridge with three straining horses. A big +yellow-and-black automobile throbbed quietly before the hospital. Some +tourists passed, mopping red faces. A beggar crouched in the shade near the +entrance to the cathedral, intoning his woes. Coquenil took out his watch +and proceeded to wind it slowly. At which the beggar dragged himself lazily +out 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 all +right, I've fixed the doorkeeper." + +And a moment later the two associates were talking earnestly near the +doorkeeper's lodge. + +Meantime, Alice, with new life in her heart, was putting on her best dress +and hat as Groener had bidden her, and presently she joined her cousin in +the salon where he sat smoking a cheap cigar and finishing his talk with +Mother 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 to +leave them. + +"Now," he began kindly, when the woman had gone, "sit down here and tell me +what has made my little cousin unhappy." + +He spoke in a pleasant, sympathetic tone, and the girl approached him as if +trying to overcome an instinctive shrinking, but she did not take the +offered chair, she simply stood beside it. + +"It's only a little thing," she answered with an effort, "but I was afraid +you 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 past +three?" + +"Why--er--what's the matter?" + +Alice hesitated, then with pleading eyes: "I've been troubled about +different things lately, so I spoke to Father Anselm yesterday and he said +I 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'll +be here by ten minutes past three." + +He eyed her keenly. "You needn't trouble to come back, I'll go to the +church 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-eyed +but altogether lovely in flower-spread hat and a fleecy pink gown, entered +Notre-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 chair +would 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 various +recessed chapels, past various confessional boxes, each bearing the name of +the priest who officiated there. And presently as they came to a +confessional 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 go +along there back of the choir and down a little stairway, you will come to +the treasure room. It might interest you." + +He looked at her in frank amusement. "I'm interested already. I'll get +along very nicely here. Now go ahead and get through with it." + +The girl glanced about her with a helpless gesture, and then, sighing +resignedly, she entered the confessional. Groener seated himself on one of +the little chairs and leaned back with a satisfied chuckle. He was so near +the confessional that he could hear a faint murmur of voices--Alice's sweet +tones 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, saw +Matthieu polishing the carved stalls. Some ladies passed with a guide who +was showing them the church. Groener rose and paced back and forth +nervously. What a time the girl was taking! Then the door of the +confessional box opened and a black-robed priest came out and moved +solemnly away. _Enfin!_ It was over! And with a feeling of relief Groener +watched the priest as he disappeared in the passage leading to the +sacristy. + +Still Alice lingered, saying a last prayer, no doubt. But the hour was +advancing. 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 the +curtain. + +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 Alice +had vanished was one not in use at the moment, owing to repairs in the wall +behind it. These repairs had necessitated the removal of several large +stones, replaced temporarily by lengths of supporting timbers between which +a person might easily pass. Coquenil, with his habit of careful +observation, had remarked this fact during his night in the church, and now +he had taken advantage of it to effect Alice's escape. The girl had entered +the confessional in the usual way, had remained there long enough to let +Groener hear her voice, and had then slipped out through the open wall into +the sacristy passage beyond. _And the priest was Tignol!_ + +"I scored on him that time," chuckled Coquenil, rubbing away at the +woodwork and thinking of Alice hastening to the safe place he had chosen +for 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 has +happened. Look at that!" and he opened the door of the confessional. "She +has gone--run away!" + +Matthieu stared in blank surprise. "Name of a pipe!" he muttered. "Not your +cousin?" + +Groener nodded with half-shut eyes in which the detective caught a flash of +black rage, but only a flash. In a moment the man's face was placid and +good-natured as before. + +"Yes," he said quietly, "my cousin has run away. It makes me sad +because--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 later +the two men were seated under the awning of the Three Wise Men. + +"Now," began Groener, with perfect simplicity and friendliness, "I'll +explain the trouble between Alice and me. I've had a hard time with that +girl, M. Matthieu, a very hard time. If it wasn't for her mother, I'd have +washed my hands of her long ago; but her mother was a fine woman, a noble +woman. It's true she made one mistake that ruined her life and practically +killed her, still----" + +"What mistake was that?" inquired Matthieu with sympathy. + +"Why, she married an American who was--the less we say about him the +better. The point is, Alice is half American, and ever since she has been +old enough to take notice, she has been crazy about American men." He +leaned closer and, lowering his voice, added: "That's why I had to send her +to 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 in +Brussels, 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 horrible +crime. Think of that! As soon as Mother Bonneton wrote me about it, I saw +I'd have to take the girl away again. I told her this morning she must pack +up her things and go back to Brussels with me, and that made the trouble." + +"Ah!" exclaimed Matthieu with an understanding nod. "Then she knew at +luncheon that you would take her back to Brussels?" + +"Of course she did. You know how she acted; she had made up her mind she +wouldn't go. Only she was tricky about it. She knew I had my eye on her, so +she 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 Father +Anselm has been encouraging the girl for months, filling her up with +nonsense 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 wood +carver closely. "Did _you_ see his face?" + +"Certainly I did. He passed within ten feet of me. I saw his face +distinctly." + +"Are you sure it was he? I don't doubt you, M. Groener, but I'm a sort of +official here and this is a serious charge, so I ask if you are _sure_ it +was Father Anselm?". + +"I'm absolutely sure it was Father Anselm," answered the wood carver +positively. He paused a moment while the detective wondered what was the +meaning of this extraordinary statement. Why was the man giving him these +details about Alice, and how much of them was true? Did Groener know he was +talking to Paul Coquenil? If so, he knew that Coquenil must know he was +lying 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 must +find 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 think +Groener had really been deceived by the Matthieu disguise. After all, why +not? 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, I +won't leave you." + +"Good! Now then!" He threw down some money for the drinks, then he hailed a +passing carriage. + +"Rue Tronchet, near the Place de la Madeleine," he directed, and as they +rolled away, he added: "Stop at the nearest telegraph office." + +The adventure was taking a new turn. Groener, evidently, had some definite +plan which he hoped to carry out. Coquenil felt for cigarettes in his coat +pocket and his hand touched the friendly barrel of a revolver. Then he +glanced back and saw the big automobile, which had been waiting for hours, +trailing discreetly behind with Tignol (no longer a priest) and two sturdy +fellows, making four men with the chauffeur, all ready to rush up for +attack or defense at the lift of his hand. There must be some miraculous +interposition if this man beside him, this baby-faced wood carver, was to +get away now as he did that night on the Champs Elysees. + +"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 the +noisy traffic of the Rue de Rivoli, "I'll tell you how I expect to find +Alice. 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 a +hairdresser on the Rue Tronchet, kind-hearted woman with children of her +own. She comes to see the Bonnetons and is fond of Alice. Well, she'll know +where 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 her +brother. Hello! Here's the telegraph office! Just a minute." + +He sprang lightly from the cab and hurried across the sidewalk. At the same +moment Coquenil lifted his hand and brought it down quickly, twice, in the +direction of the doorway through which Groener had passed. And a moment +later Tignol was in the telegraph office writing a dispatch beside the wood +carver. + +"I've telegraphed the Paris agent of a big furniture dealer in Rouen," +explained the latter as they drove on, "canceling an appointment for +to-morrow. He was coming on especially, but I can't see him--I can't do any +business until I've found Alice. She's a sweet girl, in spite of +everything, and I'm very fond of her." There was a quiver of emotion in his +voice. + +"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 her +with you to back me up." He smiled meaningly. + +"I? What can I do?" + +"Everything, my friend. You can testify that Father Anselm planned Alice's +escape, 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 me +and my friend, M. Matthieu--he's waiting outside, in a cab--you're not +going to force us to charge your reverend brother with abducting a young +lady? That wouldn't be a nice story to tell the commissary of police, would +it? 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 drive +right back with us to Notre-Dame and put a little sense into her brother's +shaven head. It's four o'clock now," he concluded gayly; "I'll bet you we +have 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 in +his glib chatter that, in spite of himself, Coquenil kept a last lingering +wonder if Groener _could_ be telling the truth. If not, what was his motive +in this elaborate fooling? He must know that his hypocrisy and deceit would +presently be exposed. So what did he expect to gain by it? What could he be +driving at? + +"Stop at the third doorway in the Rue Tronchet," directed the wood carver +as they entered the Place de la Madeleine, and pointing to a hairdresser's +sign, he added: "There is her place, up one flight. Now, if you will be +patient 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 seizing +him 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 house +there was no chance of the fellow escaping, and it was possible his visit +here might reveal something. Besides, a detective has the sportsman's +instinct, he likes to play his fish before landing it. + +"All right," nodded M. Paul, "I'll be patient," and as the wood carver +disappeared, 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 from +that you can go out either into the Place de la Madeleine or the Rue de +l'Arcade. I've got a man at each exit but"----he shook his head +dubiously--"one man may not be enough." + +"_Tonnere de Dieu_, it's Madam Cecile's!" cried Coquenil. Then he gave +quick orders: "Put the chauffeur with one of your men in the Rue de +l'Arcade, bring your other man here and we'll double him up with this +driver. Listen," he said to the jehu; "you get twenty francs extra to help +watch this doorway for the man who just went in. We have a warrant for his +arrest. You mustn't let him get past. Understand?" + +"Twenty francs," grinned the driver, a red-faced Norman with rugged +shoulders; "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 straightway +stationed in the courtyard. + +"Now," went on Coquenil, "you and I will take the exit on the Place de la +Madeleine. 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 on +the white stone floor and the glimpse of an imposing stairway. + +"Of course, of course," muttered M. Paul. "To think that I had forgotten +it! After all, one loses some of the old tricks in two years." + +"Remember that blackmail case," whispered Tignol, "when we sneaked the +countess 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 +_coupe_ from which a lady, thickly veiled, was descending, and he followed +her 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, all +right, 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 up +Dubois," and he put the paper in his pocket. "Better go in now and locate +this fellow. Look over the two courtyards, have a word with the +doorkeepers, see if he really went into the hairdresser's; if not, find out +where he did go. Tell our men at the other exits not to let a yellow dog +slip 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 it +seemed a long time. Two ladies arrived in carriages and passed inside +quickly with exaggerated self-possession. A couple came down the stairs +smiling and separated coldly at the door. Then a man came out alone, and +the detective's eyes bored into him. It wasn't Groener. + +Finally, Tignol returned and reported all well at the other exits; no one +had gone out who could possibly be the wood carver. Groener had not been +near the hairdresser; he had gone straight through into the second +courtyard, 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 to +me, 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 to +have nailed him when I had him. He's too dangerous a man to take chances +with 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'll +give him five minutes more. If he isn't out then, we'll search the whole +block from roof to cellar. Papa Tignol, it will break my heart if this +fellow 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 handsome +couple advanced toward them, both dressed in the height of fashion, the +woman 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 the +better light he could see no resemblance between the wood carver and this +gentleman with his smart clothes, his glossy silk hat, and his haughty +eyeglass. 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 was +clean shaven--finally, the wood carver was shorter and heavier than this +man. + +While the detective wavered, the gentleman stepped forward courteously and +opened the door of a waiting _coupe_. The lady caught up her silken skirts +and was about to enter when Coquenil brushed against her, as if by +accident, and her purse fell to the ground. + +"Stupid brute!" exclaimed the gentleman angrily, as he bent over and +reached for the purse with his gloved hand. + +At the same moment Coquenil seized the extended wrist in such fierce and +sudden attack that, before the man could think of resisting, he was held +helpless with his left arm bent behind him in twisted torture. + +"No nonsense, or you'll break your arm," he warned his captive as the +latter made an ineffectual effort against him. "Call the others," he +ordered, and Tignol blew a shrill summons. "Rip off this glove. I want to +see his hand. Come, come, none of that. Open it up. No? I'll _make_ you +open it. There, I thought so," as an excruciating wrench forced the +stubborn fist to yield. "Now then, off with that glove! Ah!" he cried as +the bare hand came to view. "I thought so. It's too bad you couldn't hide +that long little finger! Tignol, quick with the handcuffs! There, I think +we 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 of +withering 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 at +the Palais de Justice, hurrying through a meal that had been brought in +from a restaurant. + +"There," he muttered, wiping his mouth, "that will keep me going for a few +hours," 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 and +I'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 let +that go. Remember, you have no standing in this case. The work has been +done by Tignol, the warrant was served by Tignol, and the witnesses have +been summoned by Tignol. Is that understood?" + +"Of course." + +"That is my official attitude," smiled Hauteville, unbending a little; "I +needn't add that, between ourselves, I appreciate what you have done, and +if this affair turns out as I hope it will, I shall do my best to have your +services 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 bedside +of a dying woman, but we have his signed statement that he had nothing to +do 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 the +witnesses." + +"Quite right. He'd better not see them when he comes through the outer +office. You attend to that." + +"_Bien!_" + +"Is there anything else before I send for him? Oh, the things he wore? Did +you find them?" + +The detective nodded. "We found that he has a room on the fifth floor, over +Madam Cecile's. He keeps it by the year. He made his change there, and we +found everything that he took off--the wig, the beard, and the rough +clothes." + +The judge rubbed his hands. "Capital! Capital! It's a great coup. We may as +well 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 of +sight and then bring in the man." + +A few moments later the prisoner entered, walking with hands manacled, at +the 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 seemed +to regard both handcuffs and guard as petty details unworthy of his +attention, and he eyed the judge and Coquenil with almost patronizing +scrutiny. + +"Sit there," said Hauteville, pointing to a chair, and the newcomer obeyed +indifferently. + +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 you +have money to employ a lawyer?" + +"Possibly, but I wish no lawyer." + +"That is not the question. You are under suspicion of having committed a +crime and----" + +"What crime?" asked the prisoner sharply. + +"Murder," said the judge; then impressively, after a pause: "We have reason +to 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 Hauteville +grimly. "The law requires that a prisoner have the advantage of counsel +during 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 Maitre Cure to +come in," he directed the clerk. + +"It's quite useless," shrugged the prisoner with careless arrogance, "I +will have nothing to do with Maitre Cure." + +"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 questions +as I please or--or not at all." + +At this moment the clerk returned followed by Maitre Cure, 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 his +services, and established himself comfortably in a corner of the room as an +interested spectator. + +Then the magistrate resumed sternly: "You were arrested, sir, this +afternoon 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 sneering +answer. + +"Groener," said Hauteville sternly, "you say this woman is a person of your +acquaintance. 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 too +red to be real. She bowed to the judge with excessive affability and sat +down. + +"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 him +before?" + +"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 a +lady he wanted, and he said he wanted a real lady, not a fake. I told him I +had 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 hundred +francs 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 is +a 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 left +the room. + +"What do you say to that, Groener?" questioned the judge. + +"She's a disreputable person and her testimony has no value," answered the +prisoner 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 this +man," 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 was +almost fainting with fright. + +The judge rose courteously and pointed to a chair. "Sit down, madam. Try to +control yourself. I shall detain you only a minute. Now--what is your +name?" + +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 the +records--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 him +inaudibly. + +"Really!" he exclaimed, eying her in surprise as she stood before him, face +down, the picture of shame. + +"I have only two questions to ask," he proceeded. "Look at this man and +tell 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 this +afternoon." + +"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 of +money, 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. You +may go." + +Staggering, gasping for breath, clinging weakly to the guard's arm, the +lady 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 truth +in such a predicament, wouldn't she?" + +At this the judge leaned over to Coquenil and, after some low words, he +spoke to the clerk who bowed and went out. + +"You denied a moment ago," resumed the questioner, "that your name is +Groener. Also that you were disguised this afternoon as a wood carver. Do +you deny that you have a room, rented by the year, in the house where Madam +Cecile has her apartment? Ah, that went home!" he exclaimed. "You thought +we 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 at +Madam Cecile's?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Call Jules," said Hauteville to the sleepy guard standing at the door, and +straightway the clerk reappeared with a large leather bag. + +"Open it," directed the magistrate. "Spread the things on the table. Let +the prisoner look at them. Now then, my stubborn friend, what about these +garments? What about this wig and false beard?" + +Groener rose wearily from his chair, walked deliberately to the table and +glanced at the exposed objects without betraying the slightest interest or +confusion. + +"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 all +right!" + +The judge sat silent, playing with his lead pencil, then he folded a sheet +of paper and proceeded to mark it with a series of rough geometrical +patterns, afterwards going over them again, shading them carefully. Finally +he 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 socks +and 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 legs +bare 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 are +taken." Then to the guard: "Do what I said." + +Again the guard obeyed, and Coquenil stood by in eager watchfulness as the +prisoner's lower legs were uncovered. + +"Ah!" he cried in triumph, "I knew it, I was sure of it! There!" he pointed +to an egg-shaped wound on the right calf, two red semicircles plainly +imprinted in the white flesh. "It's the first time I ever marked a man with +my teeth and--it's a jolly good thing I did." + +"How about this, Groener?" questioned the judge. "Do you admit having had a +struggle 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 spoke +three words that came to him by lightning intuition, three simple words +that, nevertheless, seemed to smite the prisoner with sudden fear: "_Oh, +nothing, Raoul!_" + +So evident was the prisoner's emotion that Hauteville turned for an +explanation to the detective, who said something under his breath. + +"Very strange! Very important!" reflected the magistrate. Then to the +accused: "In the morning we'll have that wound studied by experts who will +tell us whether it was made by a dog or a man. Now I want you to put on the +things that were in that bag." + +For the first time a sense of his humiliation seemed to possess the +prisoner. He clinched his hands fiercely and a wave of uncontrollable anger +swept 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 a +breakdown, but they rejoiced too soon, for by a marvelous effort of the +will, the man recovered his self-mastery and calm. + +"After all," he corrected himself, "what does it matter? I'll put the +things 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 wood +carver. 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 elaborate +collection of paints, powders, and brushes that were in the bag, he +presently had accomplished a startling change in the unresisting +prisoner--he had literally transformed him into the wood carver. + +"If you're not Groener now," said Coquenil, surveying his work with a +satisfied smile, "I'll swear you're his twin brother. It's the best +disguise I ever saw, I'll take my hat off to you on that." + +"Extraordinary!" murmured the judge. "Groener, do you still deny that this +disguise belongs to you?" + +[Illustration: "'It's the best disguise I ever saw, I'll take my hat off to +you 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 the +magistrate, and Alice herself had entered the room. + +"Turn around!" ordered the judge sharply, and as the accused obeyed he came +suddenly 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 in +any 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--am +I?" + +Alice shook her head in perplexity. "It's not my cousin's voice," she +admitted. + +"And it's _not_ your cousin," declared the prisoner. Then he faced the +judge. "Is it reasonable that I could have lived with this girl for years +in 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. Did +you ever suspect that your cousin wore a wig or a false beard?" he asked +Alice. + +"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 her +cousin, for the excellent reason that I'm not her cousin. You can't change +a man's personality by making him wear another man's clothes and false +hair. 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 unless +you 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." + +Maitre Cure nodded gravely in response to this appeal. "The prisoner is +correct," he said. + +Here Coquenil whispered to the judge. + +"Certainly," nodded the latter, and, turning to Alice, who sat wondering +and trembling through this agitated scene, he said: "Thank you, +mademoiselle, you may go." + +The girl rose and, bowing gratefully and sweetly, left the room, followed +by M. Paul. + +"Groener, you say that we have not yet shown you guilty of any crime. Be +patient and we will overcome that objection. Where were you about midnight +on 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 the +bell. + +Coquenil entered, followed by the shrimp photographer, who was evidently +much depressed. + +"Do you recognize this man?" questioned Hauteville, studying the prisoner +closely. + +"No," came the answer with a careless shrug. + +The shrimp turned to the prisoner and, at the sight of him, started forward +accusingly. + +"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 Hotel des Etrangers on the Rue Racine?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"You are engaged to a young dressmaker who has a room near yours on the +sixth floor?" + +"I _was_ engaged to her," said Alexander sorrowfully, "but there's a +medical student on the same floor and----" + +"No matter. You were suspicious of this young person. And on the night of +July 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 is +he--he--" Alexander stroked his neck ruefully. + +"I understand, he turned and nearly choked you. The marks of his nails are +still 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 you +were 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 the +nails 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! And +now the little finger! Don't cramp it up, reach it out. Ah!" + +With breathless interest Coquenil watched the test, and, as the long little +finger slowly extended to its full length, he felt a sudden mad desire to +shout or leap in the pure joy of victory, for the nails of the prisoner's +left hand corresponded exactly with the nail marks on the shrimp +photographer's neck! + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THIRTY IMPORTANT WORDS + + +"Now, Groener," resumed the magistrate after the shrimp had withdrawn, "why +were 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 better +defense 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 the +hand that made them is abnormally, extraordinarily long. Experts say that +in a hundred thousand hands you will not find one with so long a little +finger, perhaps not one in a million. It happens that _you_ have such a +hand 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 try +to fit their fingers in those finger marks, there would be only two or +three 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 positively +identified as the man who choked the photographer _and that one is +yourself_. There is the point; we have against you the evidence of Godin +who _saw_ you that night and _remembers_ you, and the evidence of your own +hand." + +So clearly was the charge made that, for the first time, the prisoner +dropped 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 a +strong probability that you killed Martinez." + +"How so?" + +"The photographer saw you stealing toward Kittredge's room carrying a pair +of 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 to +throw suspicion on an innocent man. They were stolen when the pistol was +stolen, and the murderer tried to return them so that they might be +discovered in Kittredge's room and found to match the alleyway footprints +and damn Kittredge." + +"I don't know who Kittredge is, and I don't know what alleyway you refer +to," put in Groener. + +Hauteville ignored this bravado and proceeded: "In order to steal these +boots and be able to return them the murderer must have had access to +Kittredge's room. How? The simplest way was to take a room in the same +hotel, on the same floor, opening on the same balcony. _Which is exactly +what 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 the +day of the crime." + +"My dear sir, all this is away from the point. Granting that I choked the +photographer, which I don't grant, and that I carried a pair of boots along +a balcony and rented a room which I didn't occupy, how does that connect me +with 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 prisoner +facetiously. "What had I to gain by his death? Can you make that clear? Can +you even prove that I was at the place where he was murdered at the +critical moment? By the way, where _was_ the gentleman murdered? If I'm to +defend myself I ought to have some details of the affair." + +The judge and Coquenil exchanged some whispered words. Then the magistrate +said quietly: "I'll give you one detail about the murderer; he is a +left-handed man." + +"Yes? And _am_ I left-handed?" + +"We'll know that definitely in the morning when you undergo the Bertillon +measurements. In the meantime M. Coquenil can testify that you use your +left hand with wonderful skill." + +"Referring, I suppose," sneered the prisoner, "to our imaginary encounter +on the Champs Elysees, when M. Coquenil claims to have used his teeth on my +leg." + +Quick as a flash M. Paul bent toward the judge and said something in a low +tone. + +"Ah, yes!" exclaimed Hauteville with a start of satisfaction. Then to +Groener: "How do you happen to know that this encounter took place on the +Champs Elysees?" + +"Why--er--he said so just now," answered the other uneasily. + +"I think not. Was the Champs Elysees mentioned, Jules?" he turned to the +clerk. + +Jules looked back conscientiously through his notes and shook his head. +"Nothing has been said about the Champs Elysees." + +"I must have imagined it," muttered the prisoner. + +"Very clever of you, Groener," said the judge dryly, "to imagine the exact +street where the encounter took place. You couldn't have done better if you +had known it." + +"You see what comes of talking without the advice of counsel," remarked +Maitre Cure 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, his +whole manner changed. + +"Groener," he said, and his voice rang sternly, "I've been patient with you +so far, I've tolerated your outrageous arrogance and impertinence, partly +to entrap you, as I have, and partly because I always give suspected +persons a certain amount of latitude at first. Now, my friend, you've had +your little fling and--it's my turn. We are coming to a part of this +examination that you will not find quite so amusing. In fact you will +realize before you have been twenty-four hours at the Sante that----" + +"I'm not going to the Sante," 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 swept +with furious anger. + +"Mark my words, Judge Hauteville," he threatened fiercely, "you have +ordered 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 last +time_.'"] + +But almost instantly Groener had become calm again. "I beg your pardon," he +said, "I'm a little on my nerves. I'll behave myself now, I'm ready for +those 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 they +did not understand. + +"Groener," demanded the magistrate impressively, "do you still deny any +connection 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 impression +about Kittredge--the evidence seemed strong against him, and I should +certainly have committed him for trial had it not been for the remarkable +work on the case done by M. Coquenil." + +"I realize that," replied Groener with a swift and evil glance at the +detective, "but even M. Coquenil might make a mistake." + +Back of the quiet-spoken words M. Paul felt a controlled rage and a +violence of hatred that made him mutter to himself: "It's just as well this +fellow is where he can't do any more harm!" + +"I warned you," pursued the judge, "that we are coming to an unpleasant +part of this examination. It is unpleasant because it forces a guilty +person to betray himself and reveal more or less of the truth that he tries +to hide." + +The prisoner looked up incredulously. "You say it _forces_ him to betray +himself?" + +"That's practically what it does. There may be men strong enough and +self-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 thoroughly +tested, but so far we have had wonderful results and--it's just the thing +for your case." + +Groener was listening carefully. "Why?" + +"Because, if you are guilty, we shall know it, and can go on confidently +looking 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--if +you _are_ innocent, Groener, here is your chance to prove it." + +If the prisoner's fear was stirred he did not show it, for he answered +mockingly: "How convenient! I suppose you have a scales that registers +innocent or guilty when the accused stands on it?" + +Hauteville shook his head. "It's simpler than that. We make the accused +register 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 paper +ruled in squares. Then he took out his watch. + +"On these sheets," he explained, "M. Coquenil and I have written down about +a hundred words, simple, everyday words, most of them, such as 'house,' +'music,' 'tree,' 'baby,' that have no particular significance; among these +words, however, we have introduced thirty that have some association with +this crime, words like 'Ansonia,' 'billiards,' 'pistol.' Do you +understand?" + +"Yes." + +"I shall speak these words slowly, one by one, and when I speak a word I +want 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.' Of +course you are free to say any word you please, but you will find yourself +irresistibly drawn toward certain ones according as you are innocent or +guilty. + +"For instance, Martinez, the Spaniard, was widely known as a billiard +player. Now, if I should say 'billiard player,' and you had no personal +feeling about Martinez, you might easily, by association of ideas, say +'Spaniard'; but, if you had killed Martinez and wished to conceal your +crime then, when I said 'billiard player' you would _not_ say 'Spaniard,' +but would choose some innocent word like table or chalk. That is a crude +illustration, 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 a +quarter or even more for his reply; each person has his or her average time +for the thought process, some longer, some shorter. But that time process +is always lengthened after one of the critical or emotional words, I mean +if the person is guilty. Thus, if I say, 'Ansonia' to you, and you are the +murderer of Martinez, it will take you one or two or three seconds longer +to 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. Do +you 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 a +wonderful 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 smile +flickered about his mouth, "that if I were guilty of this crime I could +not 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 of +two things," he said; "either that you are innocent or that you are a man +of extraordinary mental power. I don't believe the latter so--yes, I should +think you innocent." + +"Let me understand this," laughed the prisoner; "you say over a number of +words and I answer with other words. You note the exact moment when you +speak your word and the exact moment when I speak mine, then you see how +many 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 you +willing 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 your +little game. It rather amuses me." + +And, without more difficulty, the test began, Hauteville speaking the +prepared words and handling the stop watch while Coquenil, sitting beside +him, wrote down the answered words and the precise time intervals. + +First, they established Groener's average or normal time of reply when +there was no emotion or mental effort involved. The judge said "milk" and +Groener 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 four +fifths of a second to a second and a fifth, which was taken as the +prisoner'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 entire +list which included thirty important words scattered among seventy +unimportant 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 ELYSEES. 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 carefully +recorded, which took nearly an hour; then they turned back to the beginning +and 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 the +same, especially in the seventy unimportant words. Thus both times he +answered "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 same +unimportant word at the second questioning that he had given at the first +questioning. + +It was different, however, with the important words, as Hauteville pointed +out when the test was finished, in over half the cases the accused had +answered different words in the two questionings. + +"You made up your mind, Groener," said the judge as he glanced over the +sheets, "that you would answer the critical words within your average time +of reply and you have done it, but you have betrayed yourself in another +way, as I knew you would. In your desire to answer quickly you repeatedly +chose words that you would not have chosen if you had reflected longer; +then, in going through the list a second time, you realized this and +improved on your first answers by substituting more innocent words. For +example, the first time you answered 'hole' when I said 'auger,' but the +second time you answered 'hammer.' You said to yourself: 'Hole is not a +good answer because he will think I am thinking, of those eyeholes, so +I'll change it to "hammer" which, means nothing.' For the same reason when +I 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. And +when I said 'watchdog' you answered first 'scent' and then 'tail'; when I +said 'Brazil' you answered first 'ship' and then 'coffee,' when I said +'dreams' you answered first 'fear' and then 'sleep'; you made these changes +with the deliberate purpose to get as far away as possible from +associations with the crime." + +"Not at all," contradicted Groener, "I made the changes because every word +has 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 to +remember the answers I had given the first time." + +"Ah, but that is just the point," insisted the magistrate, "in the seventy +unimportant words you _did_ remember and you _did_ answer practically the +same words both times, your memory only failed in the thirty important +words. Besides, in spite of your will power, the test reveals emotional +disturbance." + +"In me?" scoffed the prisoner. + +"Precisely. It is true you kept your answers to the important words within +your normal tone of reply, but in at least five cases you went beyond this +normal time in answering the _unimportant_ words." + +Groener shrugged his shoulders. "The words are unimportant and so are the +answers." + +"Do you think so? Then explain this. You were answering regularly at the +rate of one answer in a second or so when suddenly you hesitated and +clenched your hands and waited _four and two fifths seconds_ before +answering 'feather' to the simple word 'hat.'" + +"Perhaps I was tired, perhaps I was bored." + +The magistrate leaned nearer. "Yes, and perhaps you were inwardly disturbed +by the shock and strain of answering the _previous_ word quickly and +unconcernedly. I didn't warn you of that danger. Do you know what the +previous 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 quickly +and wait _six and one fifth seconds_ before answering 'violin' when I gave +you the word 'music'?" + +"I'm sure I don't know." + +"Then I'll tell you; it was because you were again deeply agitated by the +previous word 'coaching party' which you had answered instantly with +'horses.'" + +"I don't see anything agitating in the word 'coaching party,'" said +Groener. + +Hauteville measured the prisoner for a moment in grim silence, then, +throwing into his voice and manner all the impressiveness of his office and +his stern personality he said: "And why did you start from your seat and +tremble nervously and wait _nine and four fifths seconds_ before you were +able 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 head +throbbing, your whole mental machinery was clogged and numbed by the shock +of 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 no +right to torture me like this!" His face was deathly white, his eyes were +staring. + +"We've got him going now," muttered Coquenil. + +"Sit down!" ordered the judge. "You can stop this examination very easily +by telling the truth." + +The prisoner dropped back weakly on his chair and sat with eyes closed and +head fallen forward. He did not speak. + +"Do you hear, Groener?" continued Hauteville. "You can save yourself a +great 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 face +was 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 several +swallows. + +"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 that +clock and you'll see what was the matter. It's after ten, you've had me +here for five hours and--I've had no food since noon. It doesn't make a man +a 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 eaten +and he could not quite believe in this sudden exhaustion. Several times, +furthermore, he fancied he had caught Groener's eye fixed anxiously on the +clock. Was it possible the fellow was trying to gain time? But why? How +could that serve him? What could he be waiting for? + +As the detective puzzled over this there shot through his mind an idea for +a move against Groener's resistance, so simple, yet promising such dramatic +effectiveness that he turned quickly to Hauteville and said: "I _think_ it +might be as well to let him have some supper." + +The judge nodded in acquiescence and directed the guard to take the +prisoner into the outer office and have something to eat brought in for +him. + +"Well," he asked when they were alone, "what is it?" + +Then, for several minutes Coquenil talked earnestly, convincingly, while +the 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 about +finish him." + +"Possibly, possibly," reflected the judge. "Anyhow it's worth trying," and +he 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 it +costs. 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 and +stood there for a long time blowing contemplative smoke rings into the +quiet summer night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +THE MOVING PICTURE + + +"Are you feeling better?" asked the judge an hour later when the accused +was led back. + +"Yes," answered Groener with recovered self-possession, and again the +detective noticed that he glanced anxiously at the clock. It was a quarter +past eleven. + +"We will have the visual test now," said Hauteville; "we must go to another +room. Take the prisoner to Dr. Duprat's laboratory," he directed the guard. + +Passing down the wide staircase, strangely silent now, they entered a long +narrow passageway leading to a remote wing of the Palais de Justice. First +went the guard with Groener close beside him, then twenty paces, behind +came M. Paul and the magistrate and last came the weary clerk with Maitre +Cure. Their footsteps, echoed ominously along the stone floor, their +shadows danced fantastically before them and behind them under gas jets +that flared through the tunnel. + +"I hope this goes off well," whispered the judge uneasily. "You don't think +they have forgotten anything?" + +"Trust Papa Tignol to obey orders," replied Coquenil. "Ah!" he started and +gripped his companion's arm. "Do you remember what I told you about those +alleyway footprints? About the pressure marks? Look!" and he pointed ahead +excitedly. "I knew it, he has gout or rheumatism, just touches that come +and go. He had it that night when he escaped from the Ansonia and he has +it now. See!" + +The judge observed the prisoner carefully and nodded in agreement. There +was no doubt about it, as he walked _Groener was limping noticeably on his +left foot!_ + +Dr. Duprat was waiting for them in his laboratory, absorbed in recording +the results of his latest experiments. A kind-eyed, grave-faced man was +this, who, for all his modesty, was famous over Europe as a brilliant +worker in psychological criminology. Bertillon had given the world a method +of identifying criminals' bodies, and now Duprat was perfecting a method of +recognizing their mental states, especially any emotional disturbances +connected 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 a +sheet stretched at the other end. The light reflected from this sheet +showed the dim outlines of a tiered amphitheater before which was a long +table spread with strange-looking instruments, electrical machines and +special apparatus for psychological experiments. On the walls were charts +and diagrams used by the doctor in his lectures. + +"Everything ready?" inquired the magistrate after an exchange of greetings +with Dr. Duprat. + +"Everything," answered the latter. "Is this the--er--the subject?" he +glanced 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." Then +he spoke gently to Groener: "Now, my friend, we are not going to do +anything that will cause you the slightest pain or inconvenience. These +instruments look formidable, but they are really good friends, for they +help us to understand one another. Most of the trouble in this world comes +because half the people do not understand the other half. Please turn +sideways to the light." + +For some moments he studied the prisoner in silence. + +"Interesting, _ve_-ry interesting," murmured the doctor, his fine student's +face alight. "Especially the lobe of this ear! I will leave a note about it +for Bertillon himself, he mustn't miss the lobe of this ear. Please turn a +little for the back of the head. Thanks! Great width! Extraordinary +fullness. 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 is +even more remarkable. I must study this head when we have time--_ve_-ry +remarkable. Tell me, my friend, do you suffer from sudden shooting +pains--here, over your eyes?" + +"No," said Groener. + +"No? I should have thought you might. Well, well!" he proceeded kindly, "we +must have a talk one of these days. Perhaps I can make some suggestions. I +see so _many_ heads, but--not many like yours, no, no, not many like +yours." + +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," he +pointed to the handcuffs. "Also the coat. Don't be alarmed! You will +experience nothing unpleasant--nothing. There! Now I want the right arm +bare above the elbow. No, no, it's the left arm, I remember, I want the +left arm bare above the elbow." + +When these directions had been carried out, Dr. Duprat pointed to a heavy +wooden chair with a high back and wide arms. + +"Please sit here," he went on, "and slip your left arm into this leather +sleeve. It's a little tight because it has a rubber lining, but you won't +mind it after a minute or two." + +Groener walked to the chair and then drew back. "What are you going to do +to me?" he asked. + +"We are going to show you some magic lantern pictures," answered the +doctor. + +"Why must I sit in this chair? Why do you want my arm in that leather +thing?" + +"I told you, Groener," put in the judge, "that we were coming here for the +visual test; it's part of your examination. Some pictures of persons and +places will be thrown on that sheet and, as each one appears, I want you to +say 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. Sit +down!" + +Groener hesitated and the guard pushed him toward the chair. "Wait!" he +said. "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 the +pulsations of your heart and the blood pressure in your arteries +are registered--automatically. Now then! I warn you if you don't +sit 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 and +then--then Groener sat down. + +Quickly and skillfully the assistant adjusted the leather sleeve over the +bared left arm and drew it close with straps. + +"Not too tight," said Duprat. "You feel a sense of throbbing at first, but +it is nothing. Besides, we shall take the sleeve off shortly. Now then," he +turned toward the lantern. + +Immediately a familiar scene appeared upon the sheet, a colored photograph +of 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, the +Tuileries 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 same +moment a point of light appeared in the headpiece back of the chair. It was +shaded so that the prisoner could not see it and it illumined a graduated +white dial on which was a glass tube about thirty inches long, the whole +resembling a barometer. Inside the tube a red column moved regularly up and +down, up and down, in steady beats and Coquenil understood that this column +was registering the beating of Groener's heart. Standing behind the chair, +the doctor, the magistrate, and the detective could at the same time watch +the pulsating column and the pictures on the sheet; but the prisoner could +not 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 he +answered at once: "The grand opera house." + +"Good! Now another! What is that?" + +"The Bastille column." + +"Right! And this?" + +"The Champs Elysees." + +"And this?" + +"Notre-Dame church." + +So far the beats had come uniformly about one in a second, for the man's +pulse was slow; at each beat the liquid in the tube shot up six inches and +then dropped six inches, but, at the view of Notre-Dame, the column rose +only 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 the +beating of red blood. + +"_And this?_" + +As the picture changed there was a quiver in the pulsating column, a +hesitation with a quick fluttering at the bottom of the stroke, then the +red line shot up full nine inches. + +M. Paul glanced at the sheet and saw a perfect reproduction of private room +Number Six in the Ansonia. Everything was there as on the night of the +crime, 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 shape +took form upon the floor, more and more distinctly until the dissolving +lens brought a man's body into clear view, a body stretched face downward +in a dark red pool that grew and widened, slowly straining and wetting the +polished wood. + +"Groener," said the magistrate, his voice strangely formidable in the +shadows, "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 regained +his self-possession. + +"You are lying, Groener," accused the judge. "You remember this man +perfectly. 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 leaped +forth on the sheet the head of Martinez, the murdered, mutilated head with +shattered eye and painted cheeks and the greenish death pallor showing +underneath. A ghastly, leering cadaver in collar and necktie, dressed up +and photographed at the morgue, and now flashed hideously at the prisoner +out of the darkness. Yet Groener's heart pulsed on steadily with only a +slight quickening, with less quickening than Coquenil felt in his own +heart. + +"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 seemed +thrown into frightful agitation, not Groener as he sat on the chair, cold +and self-contained, but Groener as revealed by the unsuspected dial. Up and +down in mad excitement leaped the red column with many little breaks and +quiverings at the bottom of the beats and with tremendous up-shootings as +if the frightened heart were trying to burst the tube with its spurting red +jet. + +The doctor put his mouth close to Coquenil's ear and whispered: "It's the +shock showing now, the shock that he held back after the body." + +Then he leaned over Groener's shoulder and asked kindly: "Do you feel your +heart 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. "It +shows 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 in +Brussels, 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 have +betrayed nothing--nothing," and, once more, while the doctor marveled, his +pulse steadied and strengthened and grew normal. + +"What a man!" muttered Coquenil. + +"We know the facts," went on Hauteville sternly, "we know why you killed +Martinez 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 your +impudence. Look at the girl in this _false_ picture which you had cunningly +made 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 about +this girl_." + +Now the prisoner's pulse was running wild, faster and faster, but with no +more violent spurtings and leapings; the red column throbbed swiftly and +faintly 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 had +Martinez come upon it? Who was Martinez? A billiard player, a shallow +fellow, vain of his conquests over silly women. The last man in Paris, one +would say, to interfere with your high purposes or penetrate the barriers +of wealth and power that surrounded you." + +"You--you flatter me! What am I, pray, a marquis or a duke?" chaffed the +other, but the trembling dial belied his gayety, and even from the side +Coquenil could see that the man's face was as tense and pallid as the sheet +before him. + +"As I said, the key to this murder," pursued the magistrate, "is the secret +that Martinez held. Without that nothing can be understood and no justice +can be done. The whole aim of this investigation has been to get the secret +and _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 read +them, we know what Martinez knew when you took his life, we know the story +of 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 the +prisoner. + +"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 saving +lives at the terrible Charity Bazaar fire. You have heard of the Charity +Bazaar fire, Groener?" + +"Yes, I--I have heard of it." + +"But perhaps you never heard the details or, if you did, you may have +forgotten them. _Have_ you forgotten the details of the Charity Bazaar +fire?" + +Charity Bazaar fire! Three times, with increasing emphasis, the magistrate +had spoken those sinister words, yet the dial gave no sign, the red column +throbbed 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 and +children! Our noblest families plunged into grief and bereavement! +Princesses burned to death! Duchesses burned to death! Beautiful women +burned 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 moving +pictures that the French make after a catastrophe, giving to the imitation +even greater terrors than were in the genuine happening. Here before them +now leaped redder and fiercer flames than ever crackled through the real +Charity Bazaar; here were women and children perishing in more savage +torture than the actual victims endured; here were horrors piled on +horrors, exaggerated horrors, manufactured horrors, until the spectacle +became unendurable, until one all but heard the screams and breathed the +sickening 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 had +sent Papa Tignol off for it posthaste, during the supper intermission. If +the mere word "Charity Bazaar" had struck this man dumb with fear what +would the thing itself do, the revolting, ghastly thing? + +That was the question now, what would this hideous moving picture do to a +fire-fearing assassin already on the verge of collapse? Would it break the +last resistance of his overwrought nerves or would he still hold out? + +Silently, intently the three men waited, bending over the dial as the test +proceeded, 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 and +down, now a little higher, now a little quicker, but--for a minute, for two +minutes--nothing decisive happened, nothing that they had hoped for; yet +Coquenil felt, he knew that something was going to happen, he _knew_ it by +the agonized tension of the room, by the atmosphere of _pain_ about them. +If Groener had not spoken, he himself, in the poignancy of his own +distress, 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 tormentors +desperately, eyes blazing, features convulsed: + +"No, no, no!" he shrieked. "You dogs! You cowards!" + +"Lights up," ordered Hauteville. Then to the guard: "Put the handcuffs on +him." + +[Illustration: "'No, no, no!' he shrieked. 'You dogs! You cowards!'"] + +But the prisoner would not be silenced. "What does all this prove?" he +screamed in rage. "Nothing! Nothing! You make me look at disgusting, +abominable pictures and--why _shouldn't_ my heart beat? Anybody's heart +would beat--if he had a heart." + +The judge paid no attention to this outburst, but went on in a tone as keen +and cold as a knife: "Before you go to your cell, Groener, you shall hear +what we charge against you. Your wife perished in the Charity Bazaar fire. +She was a very rich woman, probably an American, who had been married +before and who had a daughter by her previous marriage. That daughter is +the girl you call Alice. Her true name is Mary. She was in the fire with +her mother and was rescued by Martinez, but the shock of seeing her mother +burned to death _and, perhaps, the shock of seeing you refuse to save her +mother----_" + +"It's a lie!" yelled the prisoner. + +"All this terror and anguish caused a violent mental disturbance in the +girl and resulted in a failure of her memory. When she came out of the fire +it was as if a curtain had fallen over her past life, she had lost the +sense of her own personality, she did not know her own name, she was +helpless, you could do as you pleased with her. _And she was a great +heiress!_ If she lived, she inherited her mother's fortune; if she died, +this fortune reverted to you. So shrinking, perhaps, from the actual +killing 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 stolen +fortune 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 went +down and the picture of Alice and the widow appeared again. "There is the +girl whom you have wronged and defrauded. Now watch the woman, your +Brussels accomplice, watch her carefully--carefully," he motioned to the +operator and the smooth young widow faded gradually, while the face and +form of another woman took her place beside the girl. "Now we have the +picture 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 the +love 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 Charity +Bazaar unfortunates? It is a matter of a few hours' record searching. What +must we look for? A rich American lady who married a Frenchman. Her name is +Margaret. She had a daughter named Mary. The Frenchman's name is Raoul and +he probably has a title. We have, also, the lady's photograph and the +daughter's photograph and a specimen of the lady's handwriting. Could +anything be simpler? The first authority we meet on noble fortune hunters +will tell us all about it. And then, M. Adolf Groener, we shall know +whether it is a, marquis or a duke whose name _must be added to the list of +distinguished assassins_." + +He paused for a reply, but none came. The guard moved suddenly in the +shadows and called for help. + +"Lights!" said the doctor sharply and, as the lamps shone out, the prisoner +was 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 the +strong 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. The +white-faced prisoner started and listened eagerly. Nearer and nearer came +the rapid hoof beats, echoing through the deserted streets. Now the horse +was crossing the little bridge near the hospital, now he was coming madly +down the Boulevard du Palais. Who was this rider dashing so furiously +through the peaceful night? + +As they all turned wondering, the horse drew up suddenly before the palace +and a voice was heard in sharp command. Then the great iron gates swung +open and the horse stamped in. + +Hauteville hurried to the open window and stood there listening. Just below +him in the courtyard he made out of the flashing helmet and imposing +uniform of a mounted _garde de Paris_. And he caught some quick words that +made him start. + +"A messenger from the Prime Minister," muttered the judge, "on urgent +business _with me_." + +Groener heard and, with a long sigh, sank back against the chair and closed +his eyes, but Coquenil noticed uneasily that just a flicker of the old +patronizing smile was playing about his pallid lips. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +COQUENIL'S MOTHER + + +In accordance with orders, Papa Tignol appeared at the Villa Montmorency +betimes the next morning. It was a perfect summer's day and the old man's +heart was light as he walked up the Avenue des Tilleuls, past vine-covered +walls and smiling gardens. + +"Eh, eh!" he chuckled, "it's good to be alive on a day like this and to +know what _I_ know." + +He was thinking, with a delicious thrill, of the rapid march of events in +the 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. _Bon +dieu_, what a day! + +And now the chase was over! The murderer was tucked away safely in a cell +at 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 down +to him now. And Gibelin! Eh, eh! Gibelin! + +Tignol closed the iron gate carefully behind him and walked down the +graveled walk with as little crunching as possible. He had an idea that +Coquenil might still be sleeping and if anyone in Paris had earned a long +sleep it was Paul Coquenil. + +To his surprise, however, the detective was not only up and dressed, but he +was on his knees in the study before a large leather bag into which he was +hastily throwing various garments brought down by the faithful Melanie, +whose joy at having her master home again was evidently clouded by this +prospect of an imminent departure. + +"Ah, Papa Tignol!" said M. Paul as the old man entered, but there was no +heartiness 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 not +say 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 he +threw 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 the +trouble? What had happened? He had never seen M. Paul like this, so broken +and--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 days +of strain, yes that was it. + +M. Paul opened his eyes and said in a dull tone: "Did you take the girl to +Pougeot last night?" + +"Yes, she's all right. The commissary says he will look after her as if she +were 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's +nothing for her to worry about now--is there?" + +Coquenil's face darkened. "You'd better let me have the ring before I +forget it." + +"Thanks!" He slipped the old talisman on his finger, and then, after a +troubled 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's +guilty." + +"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 a +cigarette. + +"_By order of the Prime Minister_," he said quietly, and blew out a long +white 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 was +too 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 of +Justice." + +"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 to +the lowest, will suffer. We all made a frightful mistake, they say, in +daring to arrest and persecute this most distinguished and honorable +citizen. Ha, ha!" he concluded bitterly as he lighted another cigarette. + +"_C'est epatant!_" 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't +possible?" + +"He is more important than a cabinet minister, far more important." + +"Holy snakes!" gasped Tignol. "I don't see anything left except the Prime +Minister himself." + +"This man is so highly placed," declared Coquenil gravely, "he is so +powerful that----" + +"Stop!" interrupted the other. "I know. He was in that coaching party; he +killed the dog, it was--it was the Duke de Montreuil." + +"No, it was not," replied Coquenil. "The Duke de Montreuil is rich and +powerful, as men go in France, but this man is of international +importance, his fortune amounts to a thousand million francs, at least, and +his 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 red +book? It's the _Annuaire de la Noblesse Francaise_. You'll find his name +there--marked with a pencil." + +Tignol went eagerly to the table, then, as he glanced at the printed page +there 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 and +tugging at his sweeping black mustache. Then slowly in awe-struck tones he +read 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 Chateau 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's +name was Margaret. She died in the Charity Bazaar fire, and his +stepdaughter 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 face +screwed 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 they +weren't, do you suppose it would be possible to convict the Baron de +Heidelmann-Bruck of _any_ crime? Nonsense! He's the most powerful man in +France. He controls the banks, the bourse, the government. He can cause a +money panic by lifting his hand. He can upset the ministry by a word over +the telephone. He financed the campaign that brought in the present radical +government, 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 lighted +another 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 the +man." + +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, all +right--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 reflectively +on 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 ten +minutes." + +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," grinned +the old man. + +The detective eyed his friend keenly. "Papa Tignol, that's the prettiest +compliment anyone ever paid me. In spite of all I have said you have +confidence that I could do this man up--_somehow_, eh?" + +"Sure!" + +"I don't know, I don't know," reflected Coquenil, and a shadow of sadness +fell over his pale, weary face. "Perhaps I could, but--I'm not going to +try." + +"You--you're not going to try?" + +"No, I'm through, I wash my hands of the case. The Baron de +Heidelmann-Bruck can sleep easily as far as I am concerned." + +Tignol bounded to his feet and his little eyes flashed indignantly. "I +don't believe it," he cried. "I won't have it. You can't tell me Paul +Coquenil 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 saying +you 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 good +opinion." + +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 in +quick 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 Prime +Minister, but the Prime Minister was away inaugurating a statue; he didn't +return until after midnight. That is why the man wasn't set at liberty +sooner. 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 they +have struck at my mother." He bent down his head on his hands. "She's all +I'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 under +his breath. + +"And the insurance?" he asked presently. "What does that mean?" + +"I sent the renewal money to this lawyer Abel," answered Coquenil in a dull +tone. "They have used him against me to--to take my savings. I had put +about all that I had into this home for my mother. You see they want to +break my heart and--they've just about done it." + +He was silent a moment, then glanced quickly at his watch. "Come, we have +no time to lose. My train leaves in an hour. I have important things to +explain--messages for Pougeot and the girl--I'll tell you in the carriage." + +Five minutes later they were speeding swiftly in an automobile toward the +Eastern railway station. + + * * * * * + +There followed three days of pitiful anxiety for Coquenil. His mother's +health was feeble at the best, and the shock of this catastrophe, the +sudden awakening in the night to find flames roaring about her, the +difficult rescue, and the destruction of her peaceful home, all this was +very serious for the old lady; indeed, there were twenty-four hours during +which the village doctor could offer small comfort to the distracted son. + +Madam Coquenil, however, never wavered in her sweet faith that all was +well. She was comfortable now in the home of a hospitable neighbor and +declared she would soon be on her feet again. It was this faith that saved +her, vowed Ernestine, her devoted companion; but the doctor laughed and +said it was the presence of M. Paul. + +At any rate, within the week all danger was past and Coquenil observed +uneasily that, along with her strength and gay humor, his mother was +rapidly recovering her faculty of asking embarrassing questions and of +understanding things that had not been told her. In the matter of keen +intuitions it was like mother like son. + +So, delay as he would and evade as he would, the truth had finally to be +told, the whole unqualified truth; he had given up this case that he had +thought so important, he had abandoned a fight that he had called the +greatest of his life. + +"Why have you done it, my boy?" the old lady asked him gently, her +searching 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 told +her all that had happened from the crime to the capture, then of the +assassin's release and his own baffling failure at the very moment of +success. + +His mother listened with absorbed interest, she thrilled, she radiated, she +sympathized; and she shivered at the thought of such power for evil. + +When he had finished, she lay silent, thinking it all over, not wishing to +speak hastily, while Paul stroked her white hand. + +"And the young man?" she asked presently. "The one who is innocent? What +about _him?_" + +"He is in prison, he will be tried." + +"And then? They have evidence against him, you said so--the footprints, the +pistol, perhaps more that this man can manufacture. Paul, he will be found +guilty?" + +"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 be +found 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 me +than the lives of fifty young men." + +The old lady paused a moment, holding his firm hand in her two slender +ones, then she said sweetly, yet in half reproach: "My son, do you think +your 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 the +picture 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 is +how 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, I +shall be glad, but I don't want you to drop it because you are afraid--for +me, or--for anything." + +"But mother----" + +"Listen, Paul; I know how you love me, but you mustn't put me first in this +matter, you must put your honor first, and the honor of your father's +name." + +"I've decided the thing"--he frowned--"it's all settled. I have sent word +by Tignol to the Brazilian embassy that I will accept that position in Rio +Janeiro. It's still open, and--mother," he went on eagerly, "I'm going to +take you with me." + +Her face brightened under its beautiful crown of silver-white hair, but she +shook her head. + +"I couldn't go, Paul; I could never bear that long sea journey, and I +should be unhappy away from these dear old mountains. If you go, you must +go 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 a +guilty 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 in +her 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't +understand this man's power, mother; I might as well try to conquer the +devil." + +"I don't ask you to do that," she laughed, "but--isn't there _anything_ you +can think of? You've always won out in the past, and--what is this man's +intelligence 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 been +done you. I want the Government to make amends for putting you off the +force. I want them to publicly recognize your splendid services. And they +will, my son, they must, if you will only go ahead now, and--there I'm +getting foolish." She brushed away some springing tears. "Come, we'll talk +of something else." + +Nothing more was said about the case, but the seed was sown, and as the +evening passed, the wise old lady remarked that her son fell into moody +silences and strode about restlessly. And, knowing the signs, she left him +to his thoughts. + +When bedtime came, Paul kissed her tenderly good night and then turned to +withdraw, but he paused at the door, and with a look that she remembered +well from the days of his boyhood transgressions, a look of mingled +frankness and shamefacedness, he came back to her bedside. + +"Mother," he said, "I want to be perfectly honest about this thing; I told +you 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 the +odds 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 have +you think this thing over alone, and--decide alone. Good night, Paul! God +bless 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 buoyant +smile, and after loving greetings, he said simply: "It's all right, little +mother, I see my way. I'm going to take the chance, and," he nodded +confidently, "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 than +the means is of moment. + +The detective began by admitting the practical worthlessness of the +evidence in hand against this formidable adversary, and he abandoned, for +the moment, his purpose of proving that De Heidelmann-Bruck had killed +Martinez. Under the circumstances there was no way of proving it, for how +can the wheels of justice be made to turn against an individual who +absolutely controls the manner of their turning, who is able to remove +annoying magistrates with a snap of his fingers, and can use the full power +of government, the whole authority of the Prime Minister of France and the +Minister of Justice for his personal convenience and protection? + +The case was so extraordinary and unprecedented that it could obviously be +met only (if at all) by extraordinary and unprecedented measures. Such +measures Coquenil proceeded to conceive and carry out, realizing fully +that, in so doing, he was taking his life in his hands. His first intuition +had come true, he was facing a great criminal and must either destroy or be +destroyed; it was to be a ruthless fight to a finish between Paul Coquenil +and the Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck. + +And, true to his intuitions, as he had been from the start, M. Paul +resolved to seek the special and deadly arm that he needed against this +sinister enemy in the baron's immediate _entourage;_ in fact, in his own +house 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 de +Varennes, the very center of the ancient nobility of Paris. + +In this purpose he finally succeeded, after what wiles and pains need not +be stated, being hired at moderate wages as a stable helper, with a small +room over the carriage house, and miscellaneous duties that included much +drudgery in cleaning the baron's numerous automobiles. It may truthfully be +said that no more willing pair of arms ever rubbed and scrubbed their +aristocratic brasses. + +The next thing was to gain the confidence, then the complicity of one of +the men servants in the _hotel_ itself, so that he might be given access to +the baron's private apartments at the opportune moment. In the horde of +hirelings about a great man there is always one whose ear is open to +temptation, 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 stockings +who was not above accepting some hundred-franc notes in return for sure +information as to the master's absences from home and for necessary +assistance in the way of keys and other things. + +Thus it came to pass that on a certain night in August, about two in the +morning, Paul Coquenil found himself alone in the baron's spacious, silent +library before a massive safe. The opening of this safe is another matter +that need not be gone into--a desperate case justifies desperate risk, and +an experienced burglar chaser naturally becomes a bit of a burglar +himself; at any rate, the safe swung open in due course, without accident +or interference, and the detective stood before it. + +All this Coquenil had done on a chance, without positive knowledge, save +for the assurance of the black-whiskered valet that the baron wrote +frequently in a diary which he kept locked in the safe. Whether this was +true, and, if so, whether the baron had been mad enough to put down with +his own hand a record of his own wickedness, were matters of pure +conjecture. Coquenil was convinced that this journal would contain what he +wanted; he did not believe that a man like De Heidelmann-Bruck would keep a +diary simply to fill in with insipidities. If he kept it at all, it would +be because it pleased him to analyze, fearlessly, his own extraordinary +doings, good or bad. The very fact that the baron was different from +ordinary men, a law unto himself, made it likely that he would disregard +what ordinary men would call prudence in a matter like this; there is no +such word as imprudence for one who is practically all-powerful, and, if it +tickled the baron's fancy to keep a journal of crime, it was tolerably +certain 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 book +bound in black leather and fastened with heavy gold clasps. It was the +diary. + +With a thrill of triumph, Coquenil seized upon the volume, then, closing +the safe carefully, without touching anything else, he returned to his room +in the stable. His purpose was accomplished, and now he had only one +thought--to leave the _hotel_ as quickly as possible; it would be a matter +of a few moments to pack his modest belongings, then he could rouse the +doorkeeper and be off with his bag and the precious record. + +As he started to act on this decision, however, and steal softly down to +the courtyard, the detective paused and looked at his watch. It was not yet +three o'clock, and M. Paul, in the real burglar spirit, reflected that his +departure with a bag, at this unseasonable hour, might arouse the +doorkeeper's suspicion; whereas, if he waited until half past five, the +gate 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 one +would enter the library before seven or eight. + +While he waited, Coquenil opened the diary and began to read. There were +some four hundred neatly written pages, brief separate entries without +dates, separate thoughts as it were, and, as he turned through them he +found himself more and more absorbed until, presently, he forgot time, +place, danger, everything; an hour passed, two hours, and still the +detective read on while his candle guttered down to the stick and the +brightening day filled his mean stable room; he was absolutely lost in a +most extraordinary human document, in one of those terrible utterances, +shameless and fearless, that are flung out, once in a century or so, from +the 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 through +the pages, utterly oblivious to everything, when a harsh voice broke in +upon him: "You seem to have an interesting book, my friend?" + +Looking up with a start, M. Paul saw De Heidelmann-Bruck himself standing +in the open doorway. His hands were thrust carelessly in his coat pockets +and a mocking smile played about his lips, the smile that Coquenil had +learned to fear. + +"It's more than interesting, it's marvelous, it's unbelievable," answered +the detective quietly. "Please shut that door. There's a draught coming +in." + +As he spoke he sneezed twice and reached naturally toward his coat as if +for a handkerchief. + +"No, no! None of that!" warned the other sharply. "Hands up!" And Coquenil +obeyed. "My pistol is on you in this side pocket. If you move, I'll shoot +through 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! Now +keep still!" + +Coquenil did as he was bidden. He stood against the wall while quick +fingers went through his clothes, he felt his pistol taken from him, then +something soft and wet pressed under his nostrils. He gasped and a +sweetish, sickening breath filled his lungs, he tried to struggle, but +iron arms held him helpless. He felt himself drifting into unconsciousness +and strove vainly against it. He knew he had lost the battle, there was +nothing to hope for from this man--nothing. Well--it had been a finish +fight and--one or the other had to go. _He_ was the one, he was +going--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--a +man 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 his +mother's face and, looking at it through the eyes of his soul, he spoke to +her 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 the +adventure had brought him no pain; he moved his arms and legs and +discovered no injury, then he reached out a hand and found that he was +lying on a cold stone floor with his head on a rough sack filled apparently +with shavings. + +He did not open his eyes, but tried to think where he could be and to +imagine what had happened. It was not conceivable that his enemy would let +him escape, this delay was merely preliminary to something else and--he was +certainly a prisoner--somewhere. + +Reasoning thus he caught a sound as of rustling paper, then a faint +scratching. With eyes still shut, he turned his face toward the scratching +sound, then away from it, then toward it, then away from it. Now he sniffed +the air about him, now he rubbed a finger on the floor and smelled it, now +he lay quiet and listened. He had found a fascinating problem, and for a +long time he studied it without moving and without opening his eyes. + +Finally he spoke aloud in playful reproach: "It's a pity, baron, to write +in 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 the +orange." + +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 seeds +drop." + +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 of +shavings." + +"How do you know we are underground?" + +"By the smell of the floor and because you need a candle when it's full +daylight 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 earlier +than 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 windowless +chamber. By the uncertain light of the baron's candle he made out an arched +passageway at one side and around the walls piles of logs carefully roped +and 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 breakfast +orange. 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 for +unusual cleverness, but if you tell me you have any inkling what I am +waiting for----" + +"It's more than inkling," answered the detective quietly, "I _know_ that +you 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 is +gone. 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 bring +her, though _how_ you knew it is more than I can understand." + +"Gibelin heard you speak of the ring to Pougeot that night in the +automobile." + +"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, cruel +smile: "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 this +candle and you don't care particularly about lying on that bag of +shavings." + +With this he led the way through the arched passageway into another stone +chamber very much like the first, only smaller, and lined in the same way +with piled-up logs. In the middle of the floor was a rough table spread +with food, and two rough chairs. On the table lay the diary. + +"Sit down," continued the baron. "Later on you can eat, but first we'll +have 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've +given 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 glanced +wonderingly across the table. + +"Thanks," he said simply. + +"It's a pity you couldn't see things my way. I wanted to be your friend, I +wanted to help you. Just think how many times I've gone out of my way to +give you chances, fine business chances." + +"I know." + +"And that night on the Champs Elysees! Didn't I warn you? Didn't I almost +plead 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; it +cuts me up, Coquenil." He spoke with real sadness. + +"I understand," answered M. Paul. "I appreciate what you say. There's a +bond between a good detective and----" + +"A _great_ detective!" put in the baron admiringly, "the greatest detective +Paris has known in fifty years or will know in fifty more. Yes, yes, it's a +pity!" + +"I was saying," resumed the other, "that there is a bond between a +detective and a criminal--I suppose it gets stronger between a--a great +detective," 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 Ludovico +Schertzi--you know he had your identical little finger." + +"Really!" + +"Yes. And your absolute lack of feeling about crime. Never a tremor! Never +a qualm of remorse! Just cold intelligence!" + +"Of course." The baron held his left hand close to the candle and looked at +it critically. "Strange about that little finger! And _pretty_ the way you +caught 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 few +years, 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 of +your 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? My +cook makes rather good dressing." + +"No, thanks! Speaking of cooks, how did you know the name of that canary +bird?" + +"Ha, ha! Pete? I knew it from the husband of the woman who opens the big +gate of the Villa Montmorency. He cleans your windows, you know, and--he +was 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 out +orders; he never knows what they mean. Anything else?" + +Coquenil thought a moment. "Oh! Did you know that private room Number Seven +would 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 half +past 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 showed +him." + +"Had you no direct dealings with Anita?" + +The baron shook his head. "I never saw the girl. The thing just happened +and--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? Too +complicated? Why didn't you get rid of this billiard player in some simpler +way?" + +"A natural question," agreed De Heidelmann-Bruck. "I could have done it +easily in twenty ways--twenty stupid safe ways. But don't you see that is +what I didn't want? It was necessary to suppress Martinez, but, in +suppressing him as I did, there was also good sport. And when a man has +everything, Coquenil, good sport is mighty rare." + +"I see, I see," murmured the detective. "And you let Alice live all these +years for the same reason?" + +"Yes." + +"The wood-carver game diverted you?" + +"Precisely. It put a bit of ginger into existence." He paused, and half +closing his eyes, added musingly: "I'll miss it now. And I'll miss the zest +of fighting you." + +"Ah!" said Coquenil. "By the way, how long have you known that I was +working 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 you +read my diary I should be protected." + +"I don't understand." + +"Of course not, but--" Suddenly his voice grew harsher and M. Paul thought +of the meeting on the Champs Elysees. "Do you realize, sir," the baron went +on, and his voice was almost menacing, "that not once but half a dozen +times 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 trembling +on my lips? Because I admire you, I'm interested in the workings of your +mind, I, yes, by God, in spite of your stubbornness and everything, I like +you, Coquenil, and I don't want to harm you. + +"You may not believe it," he went on, "but when you sent word to the +Brazilian Embassy the other day that you would accept the Rio Janeiro +offer, after all, I was honestly happy _for you_, not for myself. What did +it matter to me? I was relieved to know that you were out of danger, that +you had come to your senses. Then suddenly you went mad again and, and did +this. So I said to myself: 'All right, he wants it, he'll get it,' and, I +let you read the diary." + +"Why?" + +"Why?" cried the baron hoarsely. "Don't you _see_ why? You know everything +now, _everything_. It isn't guesswork, it isn't deduction, it's absolute +certainty. You have _seen_ my confession, you _know_ that I killed +Martinez, that I robbed this girl of her fortune, that I am going to let an +innocent 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 one +of us can draw back. We _cannot_ draw back if we would. Suppose I said to +you: 'Coquenil, I like you, I'm going to let you go free.' What would you +reply? You would say: 'Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck, I'm much obliged, but, as +an honest man, I tell you that, as soon as I am free, I shall proceed to +have this enormous fortune you have been wickedly enjoying taken from you +and 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, I +shall not only take this fortune from you and make you very poor instead of +very rich, but I shall denounce you as a murderer and shall do my best to +have 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 together +and your shirt cut away at the back of the neck and then to have you bound +against an upright plank and tipped forward gently under a forty-pound +knife'--you see I know the details--and then, phsst! the knife falls and +behold the head of De Heidelmann-Bruck in one basket and his body in +another! 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 my +own 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 would +have been a little dulled for this--business." He motioned meaningly toward +the 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 a +delicate compliment. + +For some moments the two were silent, then M. Paul asked gravely: "How soon +will the girl be here?" + +"She's undoubtedly here now. She is waiting outside." He pointed to a +heavily 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 an +effort: "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 little +signs, as brokers in a great stock-exchange battle dispose of fortunes with +a 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 about +it 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 you +want to ask?" + +The detective reflected a moment. "Was it you personally who killed my +dog?" + +"Yes." + +"And my mother?" His face was very white and his voice trembled. "Did +you--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 that +heart machine, and--now you'll take yours. Good-by, Coquenil," he held out +his hand, "I'm sorry." + +"Good-by," answered the detective with quiet dignity. "If it's all the same +to 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 served +its purpose, I'm tired of it. Don't be alarmed, _it will not be found_." He +glanced with grim confidence at the stacked wood. "You'll have fifteen or +twenty 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-clad +figure among the shadows, and Alice, with beautiful, frightened eyes, +staggered toward him. Then the door clanged shut and the sound of grating +bolts 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 and +I came at once, but, in the automobile, I felt something was wrong and--you +know _he_ is outside?" Her eyes widened anxiously. + +"I know. Sit down here." He pointed to the table. "Does Pougeot know about +this?" + +She shook her head. "The man came for M. Pougeot first. I wasn't down at +breakfast 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 man +came back and said M. Pougeot was with you and that he had been sent to +bring 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 of +helplessness. + +"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--in +trouble--but--wait a minute." + +Taking the candle, Coquenil went through the arched opening into the +larger chamber and made a hurried inspection. The room was about fifteen +feet square and ten feet high, with everything of stone--walls, floor, and +arched ceiling. Save for the passage into the smaller room, there was no +sign 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 large +underground chamber. + +B. Table and two chairs in smaller chamber where de Heidelmann-Bruck was +writing. + +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 built +a 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 six +feet, and at the archway the pile ran straight through into the smaller +room. The logs were in two-foot lengths, and as the archway was about four +feet wide, the passage between the two rooms was half blocked with wood. + +Coquenil walked slowly around the chamber, peering carefully into cracks +between the logs, as if searching for something. As he went on he held the +candle lower and lower, and presently got down upon his hands and knees and +crept along the base of the pile. + +"What _are_ you doing?" asked Alice, watching him in wonder from the +archway. + +Without replying, the detective rose to his feet, and holding the candle +high above his head, examined the walls above the wood pile. Then he +reached 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 and +smelled 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 with +quick decision: "I'm going to set you to work," he said. "By the way, have +you 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 _hotel_ back of the high +wall?" + +"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. He +will get Tignol and Tignol knows I was here. But can they find us? Can they +find 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 our +lives 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 by +blocking the passageway. Let's see!" He searched through his pockets. "He +has taken my knife. Ah, this will do!" and lifting a plate from the table +he broke it against the wall. "There! Take one of these pieces and see if +you 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 section +of the wood piled in the smaller chamber from the restraining ropes and +stakes. + +"Now then," directed Coquenil, "you carry the logs to me and I'll make a +barricade in the passageway." + +The word passageway is somewhat misleading--there was really a distance of +only three feet between the two chambers, this being the thickness of the +massive stone wall that separated them. Half of this opening was already +filled 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 from +chamber to chamber, and then laying other logs on top of these, and so on +as rapidly as the girl brought wood. + +They worked with all speed, Alice carrying the logs bravely, in spite of +splintered hands and weary back, and soon the passageway was solidly walled +with closely fitted logs to the height of six feet. Above this, in the +arched part, Coquenil worked more slowly, selecting logs of such shape and +size 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 a +draught, and a draught meant the spreading of the fire. + +"Now," said M. Paul, surveying the blocked passageway, "that is the best we +can do--with wood. We must stop these cracks with something else. What did +you wear?" He glanced at the chair where Alice had thrown her things. "A +white 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 and +vest. 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 upper +logs and floated away, another came below it, then another, each widening +and strengthening as it came. Somewhere, perhaps in his sumptuous library, +De Heidelmann-Bruck had pressed an electric button and, under the logs +piled 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 stick +that he had wrenched from one of the logs, he met each feather of smoke +with a strip of cloth, stuffing the cracks with shreds of garments, with +Alice's veil and hat ribbon, with the lining of his coat, then with the +body of it, with the waist of her dress, with his socks, with her +stockings, 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. The +smoke seemed to come more slowly, but--it came. + +"We must have more cloth," he said gravely. "It's our only chance, little +friend. I'll put out the candle! There! Let me have--whatever you can +and--be quick!" + +Again he worked with frantic haste, stuffing in the last shreds and rags +that could be spared from their bodies, whenever a dull glow from the other +side revealed a crack in the barricade. For agonized moments there was no +sound in that tomblike chamber save Alice's quick breathing and the +shrieking tear of garments, and the ramming thud of the stick as Coquenil +wedged 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. There +were no more points in the barricade that showed a glow beyond and to +Coquenil, 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 final +touch I'll hang that cloak of yours over the whole thing," and, very +carefully, he tucked the white garment over the topmost logs and then at +the sides so that it covered most of the barricade. + +"You understand that a fire cannot burn without air," he explained, "and it +must be air that comes in from below to replace the hot air that rises. Now +I couldn't find any openings in that large room except two little +ventilators near the ceiling, so if that fire is going to burn, it must get +air 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--there +must be ventilating shafts besides. Anyhow, the point is, if we have +blocked this passage between the rooms we have stopped the fire from +turning, or, anyhow, from burning enough to do us any harm. You see these +logs are quite cold. Feel them." + +Alice groped forward in the darkness toward the barricade and, as she +touched the logs, her bare arm touched Coquenil's bare arm. + +Suddenly a faint sound broke the stillness and the detective started +violently. He was in such a state of nervous tension that he would have +started at the rustle of a leaf. + +"Hark! What is that?" + +It was a low humming sound that presently grew stronger, and then sang on +steadily 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 nowhere +and--everywhere! What _is_ it?" + +As he moved about in perplexity it seemed to him that he felt a current of +air. He put one hand in it, then the other hand, then he turned his face to +it; there certainly was a current of air. + +"Alice, come here!" he called. "Stand where I am! That's right. Now put out +your hand! Do you feel anything?" + +"I feel a draught," she answered. + +"There's no doubt about it," he muttered, "but--how _can_ there be a +draught here?" + +As he spoke the humming sound strengthened and with it the draught blew +stronger. + +"Merciful God!" cried Coquenil in a flash of understanding, "it's a +blower!" + +"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 a +blower, I tell you, and----" + +"What _is_ a blower?" put in Alice. + +At her frightened tone Coquenil calmed himself and answered gently: "It's +like a big electric fan, it's drawing air out of this room very fast, with +a powerful suction, and I'm afraid--unless----" + +Just then there came a sharp pop followed by a hissing noise as if some one +were 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 blowing +through _toward_ us? The blower has sucked out one of our cloth plugs. +There goes another!" he said, as the popping sound was repeated. "And +another! It's all off with our barricade, little girl!" + +"You--you mean the fire will come through now?" she gasped. He could hear +her 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 whirling +blower was literally dragging the flames toward them through the dry wood +pile. Already the heat was increasing, it would soon be unbearable; at this +rate their hold on life was a matter of minutes. + +"The fire may come through--a little," he answered comfortingly, "but +I--I'll fix it so you will be--all right. Come! We'll build another +barricade. You know wood is a bad conductor of heat, and--if you have wood +all 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. Now +bring me logs from that side pile! That's right!" + +He glanced at the old barricade and saw, with a shudder, that it was +already pierced with countless open cracks that showed the angry fire +beyond. And through these cracks great volumes of smoke were pouring. + +Fortunately, most of this smoke, especially at first, was borne away upward +by the blower's suction, and for some minutes Alice was able to help +Coquenil with the new barricade. They built this directly in front of the +iron door, with only space enough between it and the door to allow them to +crouch 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 had +to do the last part of the work alone, for Alice sank back overcome by the +smoke. + +"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 the +door. You'll have plenty of cool, sweet air. See? That's right. Now I'll +fix a roof over this thing and pretty soon, if it gets uncomfortable up +here, I'll crawl in beside you. It's better not to look at the silly old +barricade. Just shut your eyes and--rest. Understand little friend?" + +"Ye-es," she murmured faintly, and with sinking heart, he realized that +already she was drifting toward unconsciousness. Ah, well, perhaps that was +the best thing! + +He looked down at the fair young face and thought of her lover languishing +in prison. What a wretched fate theirs had been! What sufferings they had +borne! 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 so +much pains for so paltry a result? + +He turned toward the barricade and saw that the flames were licking their +way through the wall of logs, shooting and curling their hungry red tongues +through many openings. The heat was becoming unbearable. Well, they were at +the last trench now, he was surprised at the clearness and calmness of his +mind. Death did not seem such a serious thing after all! + +Coquenil crawled in behind the shelter of logs and crouched down beside the +girl. She was quite unconscious now, but was breathing peacefully, +smilingly, with face flushed and red lips parted. The glorious masses of +her reddish hair were spread over the girls white shoulders, and it seemed +to M. Paul that he had never seen so beautiful a picture of youth and +innocence. + +Suddenly there was a crumbling of logs at the passageway and the chamber +became light as day while a blast of heat swept over them. Coquenil looked +out around the end of the shelter and saw flames a yard long shooting +toward 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 would +rage hotter and hotter for hours until the stones themselves would be red +hot 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 a +line--still she would know that her boy had fallen in a good cause, as his +father had fallen. He needn't worry about his mother--she would know. + +Now another log crumbled with a sharp crackling. Alice stirred uneasily and +opened her eyes. Then she sat up quickly, and there was something in her +face Coquenil had never seen there, something he had never seen in any +face. + +"Willie, you naughty, naughty boy!" she cried. "You have taken my beautiful +dolly. 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 the +shelter 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 her +finger, Coquenil saw, what he had not noticed before, a massive stone shelf +jutting 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 here +and--I'll get your dolly." + +She stamped her foot in displeasure. "Not at all; I don't _like_ this +place. It's a hot, _nasty_ place and--come"--she caught Coquenil's +hand--"we'll go out where the fairies are. That's a _much_ nicer place to +play, Willie." + +Here there came to M. Paul an urging of mysterious guidance, as if an +inward 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 do +we 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 it +open." + +"Silly!" She stamped her foot again. "You push on that stone thing under +the shelf." + +Shading his eyes against the glare, Coquenil looked at the shelf and saw +that 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 this +side 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 actually +blistering the skin, but to his surprise he found her suddenly limp in his +arms. Having spoken these strange words of wisdom or of folly, she had gone +back into unconsciousness. + +Coquenil believed that they were words of wisdom, and without a moment's +hesitation, he acted on that belief. The wall underneath the shelf was half +covered with piled-up logs and these must be removed; which meant that he +must work there for several minutes with the fierce breath of the fire +hissing over him. + +It was the work of a madman, or of one inspired. Three times Coquenil fell +to the floor, gasping for breath, blinded by the flames that were roaring +all about him, poisoned by deadly fumes. The skin on his arms and neck was +hanging away in shreds, the pain was unbearable, yet he bore it, the task +was 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 the +left-hand bracket in his two bruised hands and pressed it with all his +might. + +Instantly a door underneath, cunningly hidden in the wall, yawned open on a +square black passage. + +"It's here that the fairies play," muttered M. Paul, "and it's a mighty +good place for us!" + +With a bound he was back at the shelter and had Alice in his arms, smiling +again, as she slept--as she dreamed. And a moment later he had carried her +safely through flames that actually singed her hair, and laid her tenderly +in the cool passage. _And beside her he laid the baron's diary!_ + +[Illustration: "And a moment later he had carried her safely through the +flames."] + +Then he went back to close the door. It was high time, for the last +obstructing logs of the old barricade had fallen and the chamber was a +seething mass of fire. + +"I feel pretty rotten," reflected Coquenil with a whimsical smile. "My hair +is burned off and my eyebrows are gone and about half my skin, but--I guess +I'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 hot +stone shelf, brought down a scorched and battered and dust-covered little +figure 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 the +minds of Alice and her rescuer. There was, first, a period of utter blank +when Coquenil, overcome by the violence of his struggle and the agony of +his burns, fell unconscious near the unconscious girl. How long they lay +thus in the dark playground of the fairies, so near the raging fire, yet +safe from it, was never known exactly; nor how long they wandered +afterwards through a strange subterranean region of passages and cross +passages, that widened and narrowed, that ascended and descended, that were +sometimes smooth under foot, but oftener blocked with rough stones and +always black as night. The fairies must have been sorry at their plight, +for, indeed, it was a pitiable one; bruised, blistered, covered with grime +and with little else, they stumbled on aimlessly, cutting their bare feet, +falling often in sheer weakness, and lying for minutes where they fell +before they could summon strength to stumble on. Surely no more pathetic +pair 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 of +darkness and weakness and pain there presently came hope--flickering +torches in the distance, then faint voices and the presence of friends, +some workingmen, occupied with drainage repairs, who produced stimulants +and rough garments and showed them the way to the upper world, to the +blessed sunshine. + +Then it was a matter of temporary relief at the nearest pharmacy, of +waiting until Pougeot, summoned by telephone, could arrive with all haste +in an automobile. + +An hour later M. Paul and Alice were in clean, cool beds at a private +hospital near the commissary's house, with nurses and doctors bending over +them. And on a chair beside the girl, battered and blackened, sat +Esmeralda, while under the detective's pillow was the scorched but unharmed +diary of De Heidelmann-Bruck! + +"Both cases serious," was the head doctor's grave judgment. "The man is +frightfully burned. The girl's injuries are not so bad, but she is +suffering from shock. We'll know more in twenty-four hours." Then, turning +to Pougeot: "Oh, he insists on seeing you alone. Only a minute mind!" + +With a thrill of emotion the commissary entered the silent, darkened room +where his friend lay, swathed in bandages and supported on a water bed to +lessen 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 to +pull through--I've got to, but--if anything should go wrong, I want you to +have the main points. Come nearer." + +The commissary motioned to the nurse, who withdrew. Then he bent close to +the injured man and listened intently while Coquenil, speaking with an +effort 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 able +to 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. You +must--make sure of these--nurses." + +"Yes, Paul, I will." + +"And--watch the girl! Something has happened to--her mind. She's forgotten +or--_remembered!_ Get the best specialist in Paris and--get Duprat. Do +whatever 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 a +warning 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 out +of the room, turning at the door for an anxious glance toward the white +bed. + +This was the first of many visits to the hospital by the devoted commissary +and of many anxious hours at that distressed bedside. Before midnight +Coquenil was in raging delirium with a temperature of one hundred and five, +and the next morning, when Pougeot called, the doctor looked grave. They +were in for a siege of brain fever with erysipelas to be fought off, if +possible. + +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 the +fire, he rescued Alice, he played with the fairies, he went back after the +doll. Over and over again! + +And when the fever fell and his mind grew calm, there followed a period of +nervous exhaustion when his stomach refused to do its work, when his heart, +for nothing at all, would leap into fits of violent beating. Pougeot could +not even see him now, and the doctor would make no promise as to how soon +it 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 the +murder of Martinez and the evidence seemed overwhelmingly against him; in +fact, the general opinion was that the young American would be found +guilty. + +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 a +serious talk with the patient. A few days! Unfortunately, the trial began +to march along during these days--they dispose of murder cases +expeditiously in France--and, to make matters worse, Coquenil suffered a +relapse, 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 suddenly +developed his old keen interest in the case, and one morning insisted on +knowing how things were going and what the prospects were. In vain doctor +and nurse objected and reasoned; the patient only insisted the more +strongly, he wished to have a talk with M. Pougeot at once. And, as the +danger of opposing him was felt to be greater than that of yielding, it +resulted that M. Paul had his way, Pougeot came to his bedside and stayed +an hour--two hours, until the doctor absolutely ordered him away; but, +after luncheon, the detective took the bit in his teeth and told the doctor +plainly that, with or without permission, he was going to do his work. He +had learned things that he should have known long ago and there was not an +hour to lose. A man's life was at stake, and--his stomach, his nerves, his +heart, and his other organs might do what they pleased, he proposed to save +that life. + +Before this uncompromising attitude the doctor could only bow gracefully, +and when he was told by Pougeot (in strictest confidence) that this gaunt +and irascible patient, whom he had known as M. Martin, was none other than +the 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 and +floods of sunshine. Since early morning the streets about the Palais de +Justice had been, blocked with carriages and automobiles, and the courtyard +with clamorous crowds eager to witness the final scene in this celebrated +murder trial. The case would certainly go to the jury before night. The +last pleas would be made, the judge's grave words would be spoken, and +twelve solemn citizens would march out with the fate of this cheerful young +American in their hands. It was well worth seeing, and all Paris that could +get tickets, especially the American Colony, was there to see it. Pussy +Wilmott, in a most fetching gown, with her hair done ravishingly, sat near +the 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 the +end, and ready always with his good-natured smile. All the ladies liked +him. He had such nice teeth and such well-kept hands! A murderer with those +kind, jolly eyes? Never in the world! they vowed, and smiled and stared +their encouragement. + +A close observer would have noticed, however, that Lloyd's eyes were +anxious 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 had +she sent him no word? Was she ill? Had any harm befallen her? _Where was +Alice?_ + +So absorbed was Kittredge in these reflections that he scarcely heard the +thundering denunciations hurled at him by the public prosecutor in his +fierce and final demand that blood be the price of blood and that the +extreme penalty of the law be meted out to this young monster of wickedness +and dissimulation. + +Nor did Lloyd notice the stir when one of the court attendants made way +through the crush for a distinguished-looking man, evidently a person of +particular importance, who was given a chair on the platform occupied by +the three black-robed judges. + +"The Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck!" whispered eager tongues, and straightway +the awe-inspiring name was passed from mouth to mouth. The Baron de +Heidelmann-Bruck! He had dropped in in a dilettante spirit to hear the +spirited debate, and the judges were greatly honored. + +Alas for the baron! It was surely some sinister prompting that brought him +here to-day, so coldly complacent as he nodded to the presiding judge, so +quietly indifferent as he glanced at the prisoner through his single +eyeglass. The gods had given Coquenil a spectacular setting for his +triumph! + +And now, suddenly, the blow fell. As the prosecuting officer soared along +in his oratorial flight, a note was passed unobtrusively to the presiding +judge, a modest little note folded on itself without even an envelope to +hold it. For several minutes the note lay unnoticed; then the judge, with +careless eye, glanced over it; then he started, frowned, and his quick +rereading showed that a spark of something had flashed from that scrap of +paper. + +The presiding judge leaned quickly toward his associate on the right and +whispered earnestly, then toward his associate on the left, and, one after +another, the three magistrates studied this startling communication, +nodding learned heads and lowering judicial eyebrows. The public prosecutor +blazed through his peroration to an inattentive bench. + +No sooner had the speaker finished than the clerk of the court announced a +brief recess, during which the judges withdrew for deliberation and the +audience buzzed their wonder. During this interval the Baron de +Heidelmann-Bruck looked frankly bored. + +On the return of the three, an announcement was made by the presiding judge +that important new evidence in the case had been received, evidence of so +unusual a character that the judges had unanimously decided to interrupt +proceedings for a public hearing of the evidence in question. It was +further ordered that no one be allowed to leave the courtroom under any +circumstances. + +"Call the first witness!" ordered the judge, and amidst the excitement +caused by these ominous words a small door opened and a woman entered +leaning 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 in +incomprehensible singsong. + +The woman came forward to the witness stand and lifted her veil. As she did +so, three distinct things happened: the audience murmured its admiration at +a vision of strange beauty, Kittredge stared in a daze of joy, and De +Heidelmann-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! Alice +here 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 to +gain 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: "The +Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck." + +There was something in the girl's tone, in her manner, in the fearless +poise of her head, that sent a shiver of apprehension through the audience. +Every man and woman waited breathless for the next question. In their +absorbed interest in the girl they scarcely looked at the aristocratic +visitor. + +"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 answered +in 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 the +Charity 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 us +through which some people were climbing. My mother and I got to this window +and would have been able to escape through it, but the Baron de +Heidelmann-Bruck pushed us back and climbed through himself." + +"It's a lie!" cried the baron hoarsely, while a murmur of dismay arose from +the courtroom. + +"Silence!" warned the clerk. + +"And after that?" + +The girl shook her head and there came into her face a look of terrible +sadness. + +"I don't know what happened after that for a long time. I was very ill +and--for years I did not remember these things." + +"You mean that for years you did not remember what you have just +testified?" + +"Yes, that is what I mean." + +The room was so hushed in expectation that the tension was like physical +pain. + +"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, and +looked at De Heidelmann-Bruck. The baron's face was ghastly white, but by a +supreme 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--I +nearly lost my life there." + +The witness had reached the end of her strength; she was twisting and +untwisting her white fingers piteously, while the pupils of her eyes +widened and contracted in terror. She staggered as if she would faint or +fall, and the guard was starting toward her when, through the anguished +silence, a clear, confident voice rang out: + +"_Alice!_" + +It was the prisoner who had spoken, it was the lover who had come to the +rescue and whose loyal cry broke the spell of horror. Instantly the girl +turned to Lloyd with a look of infinite love and gratitude, and before the +outraged 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 you +nearly lost your life a second time in a fire." + +In a low voice, but steadily, Alice began her story. She spoke briefly of +her humble life with the Bonnetons, of her work at Notre-Dame, of the +occasional visits of her supposed cousin, the wood carver; then she came to +the recent tragic happenings, to her flight from Groener, to the kindness +of M. Pougeot, to the trick of the ring that lured her from the +commissary'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--to +perish. + +As she described their desperate struggle for life in that living furnace +and their final miraculous escape, the effect on the audience was +indescribable. Women screamed and fainted, men broke down and wept, even +the judges wiped pitying eyes as Alice told how Paul Coquenil built the +last barricade with fire roaring all about him, and then how he dashed +among leaping flames and, barehanded, all but naked, cleared a way to +safety. + +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 you +say?" + +"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, then +she turned formidably with the fires of slumbering vengeance burning in her +wonderful eyes--vengeance for her mother, for her lover, for her rescuer, +for herself--she turned slowly toward the cowering nobleman and said +distinctly: "I accuse the Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck." + +So monstrous, so unthinkable was the charge, that the audience sat stupidly +staring at the witness as if they doubted their own ears, and some +whispered that the thing had never happened, the girl was mad. + +Then all eyes turned to the accused. He struggled to speak but the words +choked in his throat. If ever a great man was guilty in appearance, the +Baron 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's +voice was heard summoning M. Pougeot. + +The commissary appeared forthwith and, with all the authority of his +office, testified in confirmation of Alice's story. There was no possible +doubt that the girl would have perished in the flames but for the heroism +of Paul Coquenil. + +Pougeot was followed by Dr. Duprat, who gave evidence as to the return of +Alice's memory. He regarded her case as one of the most remarkable +psychological phenomena that had come under his observation, and he +declared, as an expert, that the girl's statements were absolutely worthy +of belief. + +"Call the next witness," directed the judge, and the clerk of the court +sang out: + +"_Paul Coquenil!_" + +A murmur of sympathy and surprise ran through the room as the small door +opened, just under the painting of justice, and a gaunt, pallid figure +appeared, a tall man, wasted and weakened. He came forward leaning on a +cane and his right hand was bandaged. + +"I would like to add, your Honor," said Dr. Duprat, "that M. Coquenil has +risen from a sick bed to come here; in fact, he has come against medical +advice to testify in favor of this young prisoner." + +The audience was like a powder mine waiting for a spark. Only a word was +needed 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! Never +in modern times had a Paris courtroom witnessed a scene like that which +followed. Pussy Wilmott, who spent her life looking for new sensations, had +one now. And Kittredge manacled in the dock, yet wildly happy! And Alice +outside, almost fainting between hope and fear! And De Heidelmann-Bruck +with his brave eyeglass and groveling soul! They _all_ had new sensations! + +As Coquenil spoke, there went up a great cry from the audience, an +irresistible tribute to his splendid bravery. It was spontaneous, it was +hysterical, it was tremendous. Men and women sprang to their feet, shouting +and waving and weeping. The crowd, crushed in the corridor, caught the cry +and passed it along. + +"Coquenil! Coquenil!" + +The down in the courtyard it sounded, and out into the street, where a +group 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 moment +to these frantic people as the symbol of what they most admired in a +man--resourcefulness before danger and physical courage and the readiness +to die for a friend. For these three they seldom had a chance to shout and +weep, so they wept and shouted now! + +"Coquenil! Coquenil!" + +There had been bitter moments in the great detective's life, but this made +up for them; there had been proud, intoxicating moments, but this surpassed +them. Coquenil, too, had a new sensation! + +When at length the tumult was stilled and the panting, sobbing audience had +settled back in their seats, the presiding judge, lenient at heart to the +disorder, proceeded gravely with his examination. + +"Please state what you know about this case," he said, and again the +audience waited in deathlike stillness. + +"There is no need of many words," answered M. Paul; then pointing an +accusing arm at De Heidelmann-Bruck, "I know that this man shot Enrico +Martinez on the night of July 4th, at the Ansonia Hotel." + +The audience gave a long-troubled sigh, the nobleman sat rigid on his +chair, 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." He +drew 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 sprang +toward the rich man, but Papa Tignol was there before him. With a bound the +old fox had leaped forward from the audience and reached the accused in +time to seize and stay his hand. + +"Excuse me, your Honor," apologized the detective, "the man was going to +kill 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 women +shrieking. + +The judge turned gravely to De Heidelmann-Bruck. "I have a painful duty to +perform, sir. Take this man out--_under arrest_, and--clear the room." + +M. Paul sank weakly into a chair and watched idly while the attendants led +away the unresisting millionaire, watched keenly as the judge opened the +baron's diary and began to read. He noted the magistrate's start of +amazement, the eager turning of pages and the increasingly absorbed +attention. + +"Astounding! Incredible!" muttered the judge. "A great achievement! I +congratulate you, M. Coquenil. It's the most brilliant coup I have ever +known. 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 baron +wished a word with M. Paul. + +"By all means," consented the judge. + +Haltingly, on his cane, Coquenil made his way to an adjoining room where +De Heidelmann-Bruck was waiting under guard. + +As he glanced at the baron, M. Paul saw that once more the man had +demonstrated his extraordinary self-control, he was cold and composed as +usual. + +"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 you +were sorry when you left me in that hot cellar. Now you're in a fairly hot +place 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 toward +his coat pocket. + +With a quick gesture Coquenil stopped the movement. + +"_I don't like smoke_," he said with grim meaning. "If there is anything +you want to say, sir, you had better say it." + +"I have only this to say, Coquenil," proceeded the baron, absolutely +unruffled; "we had had our little fight and--I have lost. We both did our +best with the weapons we had for the ends we hoped to achieve. I stood for +wickedness, you stood for virtue, and virtue has triumphed; but, between +ourselves"--he smiled and shrugged his shoulders--"they're both only words +and--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 this +sort of thing is--found out. I am perfectly willing to pay it, not in the +least afraid to pay it, and, above all, not in the least sorry for +anything. I want you to remember that and repeat it. I have no patience +with cowardly canting talk about remorse. I have never for one moment +regretted anything I have done, and I regret nothing now. Nothing! I have +had five years of the best this world can give--power, fortune, social +position, pleasure, _everything_, and whatever I pay, I'm ahead of the +game, way ahead. If I had it all to do over again and knew that this would +be the end, _I would change nothing_." + +"Except that secret door under the stone shelf--you might change that," put +in 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 was +genuine when I said I liked you. I was ready to destroy you, but I liked +you. I like you now, Coquenil, and--this is perhaps our last talk, they +will take me off presently, and--you collect odd souvenirs--here is one--a +little good-by--from an adversary who was--game, anyway. You don't mind +accepting 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 handed +him, 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 from +prisoners and--thank you." + +He handed back the ring. + +The baron's face darkened; he made an angry gesture as if he would dash the +trinket 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, but +never unkind before. It's only a bauble, Coquenil, and----" + +De Heidelmann-Bruck stopped suddenly and M. Paul caught a savage gleam in +his eyes; then, swiftly, the baron put the ring to his mouth, and sucking +in 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 bandaged +hand, and the prisoner sank to the floor. + +"I--I won the last trick, anyhow," the baron whispered as M. Paul bent over +him. + +Coquenil picked up the ring that had fallen from a nerveless hand. He put +it 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 de +Heidelmann-Bruck, unafraid and unrepentant, had gone to his last long +sleep. His face was calm, and even in death his lips seemed set in a +mocking smile of triumph. + + * * * * * + +And so it all ended, as the baron remarked, with virtue rewarded and right +triumphant over wrong. Only the doctors agreed that many a day must pass +before Coquenil could get back to his work, if, indeed, he ever went back +to it. There were reasons, independent of M. Paul's health, that made this +doubtful, reasons connected with the happiness of the lovers, for, after +all, it was to Coquenil that they owed everything; Kittredge owed him his +liberty and established innocence, Alice (we should say Mary) owed him her +memory, her lover, and her fortune; for, as the sole surviving heir of her +mother, the whole vast inheritance came to her. And, when a sweet young +girl finds herself in such serious debt to a man and at the same time one +of the richest heiresses in the world, she naturally wishes to give some +substantial form to her gratitude, even to the extent of a few odd millions +from her limitless store. + +At any rate, Coquenil was henceforth far beyond any need of following his +profession; whatever use he might in the future make of his brilliant +talents would be for the sheer joy of conquest and strictly in the spirit +of art for its own sake. + +On the other hand, if at any time he wished to undertake a case, it was +certain that the city of Paris or the government of France would tender him +their commissions on a silver salver, for now, of course, his justification +was complete and, by special arrangement, he was given a sort of roving +commission from headquarters with indefinite leave of absence. Best of all, +he was made chevalier of the Legion of Honor "_for conspicuous public +service_." What a day it was, to be sure, when Madam Coquenil first caught +sight 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 their +mountain home. + +"You did your work, Paul, and I'm proud of you," the old lady said when she +heard the tragic tale, "but don't forget, my boy, it was the hand of God +that saved you." + +"Yes, mother," he said fondly, and added with a mischievous smile, "don't +forget that you had a little to do with it, too." + +As for the lovers, there is only this to be said: that they were +ridiculously, indescribably happy. The mystery of Alice's strange dreams +and clairvoyant glimpses (it should be Mary) was in great part accounted +for, so Dr. Duprat declared, by certain psychological abnormalities +connected with her loss of memory; these would quickly disappear, he +thought, with a little care and a certain electrical treatment that he +recommended. Lloyd was positive kisses would do the thing just as well; at +any 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 himself +to hustle for a poor candle seller to change her into a howling +millionaire. 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 he +threatened to begin the treatment forthwith. + +"You darling!" he cried. "My little Alice! Hanged if I can _ever_ call you +anything 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 and +pressing 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 her +soul, she whispered: "The nicest name in the world _for me_ is--_Mrs. Lloyd +Kittredge!_" + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Through the Wall, by Cleveland Moffett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THROUGH THE WALL *** + +***** This file should be named 11373.txt or 11373.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/3/7/11373/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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