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Updated: June 11, 2025
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.
"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.
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.
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.
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.
"Well, well," broke in M. Paul, "what did you discover?" 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 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.
"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!"
"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.
"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.
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