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We all made a frightful mistake, they say, in daring to arrest and persecute this most distinguished and honorable citizen. Ha, ha!" he concluded bitterly as he lighted another cigarette. "C'est épatant!" exclaimed Tignol. "He must be a rich devil!" "He's rich and much more." "Whe-ew! He must be a senator or or something like that?" "Much more," said Coquenil grimly. "More than a senator?
Tignol shrugged his shoulders. "They show as little scratches, but not enough for any funny business with a microscope." "Little scratches are all I want," said the other, snapping his fingers excitedly. "It's simply a question which side of his throat bears the thumb mark.
That note for M. Robert? There was no Robert?" "Of course not." "And and you knew it was Gibelin all the time?" "Yes. Be patient, Lucien, until we get back and I'll tell you everything." "Now," said Coquenil, as they left the garage, "where can we go and be quiet? A café is out of the question we mustn't be seen. Ah, that room you were to take," he turned to Tignol. "Did you get it?"
The detective eyed his friend keenly. "Papa Tignol, that's the prettiest compliment anyone ever paid me. In spite of all I have said you have confidence that I could do this man up somehow, eh?" "Sure!" "I don't know, I don't know," reflected Coquenil, and a shadow of sadness fell over his pale, weary face. "Perhaps I could, but I'm not going to try." "You you're not going to try?"
Half the charm of life is in suspense, Papa Tignol. However, you have a practical mind, so go ahead, lift it off." The old man did not wait for a second bidding, he stepped forward quickly and took down the picture. "Tonnere de Dieu!" he cried. "It's true! There are two holes."
And from early morning all trains, 'buses, cabs, automobiles, in short, all moving things in the gay city were rolling a jubilant multitude toward the Bois de Boulogne, where the President of the Republique was to review the troops before a million or so of his fellow-citizens. Coquenil had certainly chosen the busiest end of Paris for his meeting with Papa Tignol.
A couple came down the stairs smiling and separated coldly at the door. Then a man came out alone, and the detective's eyes bored into him. It wasn't Groener. Finally, Tignol returned and reported all well at the other exits; no one had gone out who could possibly be the wood carver.
Tignol scratched his head in perplexity. "Why in thunder is he such a fool as to go there?" "I've wondered about that myself," mused Coquenil "Perhaps he won't go, perhaps there is some extraordinary reason why he must go." "Some reason connected with the girl?" asked the other quickly. "Yes." "You say he calls himself Alice's cousin. Isn't he really her cousin?" Coquenil shook his head.
Coquenil had seen this picture in one of the boulevard theaters and, straightway, after the precious nine-second clew of the word test, he had sent Papa Tignol off for it posthaste, during the supper intermission. If the mere word "Charity Bazaar" had struck this man dumb with fear what would the thing itself do, the revolting, ghastly thing?
Tignol, half fascinated, stared at the same spot, and then, as a new idea took form in his brain, he blurted out: "You mean it went through the wall?" "Is there any other way?" The old man laid a perplexed forefinger along his illuminated nose. "But there is no hole through the wall," he muttered. "There is either a hole or a miracle.
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