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"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."
"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."
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!
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 "
"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."
"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."
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.
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.
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.
"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.
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