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Updated: May 10, 2025
Those who started to go out were met by M. Gritz himself, and, with a brief hint of trouble upstairs, were assured that they would be allowed to leave shortly after some necessary formalities. This delay most of them took good-naturedly and went back to their tables.
Once more the eager animal sprang forward, following slowly along the row of trees where the trail was confused, and then, at the corner, dashing ahead swiftly, only to stop again after a few yards and stand scratching uneasily at a closed door. "That settles it," said Coquenil. "He has brought us to the alleyway door. Am I right?" "Yes," nodded Gritz. "The door that leads to Number Seven?"
"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.
As Coquenil listened, his mouth drew into an ominous thin line and his deep eyes burned angrily. "M. Gritz," he said in a cold, cutting voice, "you are a man of intelligence, you must be. This crime was committed last night about nine o'clock; it's now half past three in the morning.
"You know I haven't been in there yet." He glanced toward the adjoining room of the tragedy, then, turning the key in Number Seven, he tried to open the door. "Hello! It's locked on the inside, too!" "Tiens! You're right," said Gritz, and he rumpled his scanty locks in perplexity. "Some one has been inside, some one may be inside now."
"We have to be discreet in these matters," reasoned the other. "We have many clients who do not give us their names, they have their own reasons for that; some of them are married, and, as a man of the world, I respect their reserve." M. Gritz prided himself on being a man of the world.
It may give us a line on this visitor to Number Seven." "I'll wait," said Gritz. "Come over here," continued the other. "I'll show you a pistol connected with this case. And I'll show it to the dog." "For the scent? You don't think a dog can follow the scent from a pistol, do you?" asked the proprietor incredulously. "I don't know. This dog has done wonderful things.
The policeman was still on guard before Number Six. "I shall want to go in there shortly," said the detective. The policeman saluted wearily. "Excuse me," ventured M. Gritz, "have you still much to do?" "Yes," said the other dryly. "It's nearly four and I suppose you are used to this sort of thing, but I'm knocked out, I I'd like to go to bed." "By all means, my dear sir.
When the doorkeeper comes back send him over to the hotel. I'll be there." "Right," nodded the old man. Then the detective said to Pougeot: "I must talk to Gritz. You know him, don't you?" The commissary glanced at his watch. "Yes, but do you realize it's after three o'clock?" "Never mind, I must see him. A lot depends on it. Get him out of bed for me, Lucien, and then you can go home."
"I believe you are the devil," she said, and the detective, recalling his talk with M. Gritz, muttered to himself: "The tall blonde! Of course!" And now Pussy, feeling that she could gain nothing against Coquenil by ruse or deceit, took refuge in simple truth and told quite charmingly how this whole tragic adventure had grown out of a foolish fit of jealousy.
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