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