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Updated: May 8, 2025
He would never have allowed a murderer to get so close to him without a struggle. But there is not the slightest sign of a struggle, no disorder in the room, no disarrangement of the man's clothing. It's evidently suicide." "If it's suicide," objected Pougeot, "where is the weapon? The man died instantly, didn't he, doctor?" "Undoubtedly," agreed the doctor.
Before anything else the detective wished to get from M. Pougeot his impressions of the case. And he asked Papa Tignol to come with them for a fortifying glass. "By the way," said the commissary to Tignol when they were seated in the back room, "did you find out how that woman left the hotel without her wraps and without being seen?" The old man nodded.
A murder anywhere was bad enough, but a murder in the newest, the chic-est, and the costliest restaurant in Paris must cause more than a nine days' wonder. As M. Pougeot remarked, it was certainly bad for Gritz.
Coquenil paused, and then, leaning closer to his friend, he said with extraordinary earnestness: "Lucien, for over two years some one has been trying to get rid of me!" "The devil!" started Pougeot. "How long have you known this?" "Only to-day," frowned the detective. "I ought to have known it long ago." "Hm! Aren't you building a good deal on that dream?" "The dream?
"Before I go in, Lucien, you'd better speak to Gibelin," whispered M. Paul. "It's a little delicate. He's a good detective, but he likes the old-school methods, and he and I never got on very well. He has been sent to take charge of the case, so be tactful with him." "He can't object," answered Pougeot. "After all, I'm the commissary of this quarter, and if I need your services "
He knew me by reputation, and a note that I brought from Pougeot helped, and well, an hour later that photographer was ready to tell me the innermost secrets of his soul." "Eh, eh, eh!" laughed Tignol. "And what did he tell you?" "He told me he made this picture of Alice and the widow only six weeks ago." "Six weeks ago!" stared the other. "But the widow told you it was taken five years ago."
M. Pougeot aroused himself with an effort. "We're acting like children," he muttered. "It's nothing. I told them at the office to ring me up about nine." And he put the receiver to his ear.
"Yes, this is M. Pougeot.... What?... The Ansonia?... You say he's shot?... In a private dining room?... Dead?... Quel malheur!"... Then he gave quick orders: "Send Papa Tignol over with a doctor and three or four agents. Close the restaurant. Don't let anyone go in or out. Don't let anyone leave the banquet room. I'll be there in twenty minutes. Good-by."
"That's right," she said. "Ah, he didn't take me away!" reflected M. Paul. "That is something. Pougeot will scent danger and will move heaven and earth to save us. He will get Tignol and Tignol knows I was here. But can they find us? Can they find us? Tell me, did you come down many stairs?" "Yes," she said, "quite a long flight; but won't you please "
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."
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