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"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'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.
"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.
"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.
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.
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!
"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."
"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.
"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.
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.
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