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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.
"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?"
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.
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?"
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.
"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."
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.
"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!" 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.
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.
"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.
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