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Updated: May 27, 2025
Oh, I've learned the lesson before, but this drives it home, that the most important knowledge a detective can have is the knowledge he gets inside himself!" Tignol had never seen M. Paul more deeply stirred. "Sacré matin!" he exclaimed. "Then you did find something?" "Ah, but I deserve no credit for it, I ought to have failed.
Tignol stared stupidly, scarcely taking in the words. "But but he's guilty." "I know." "You have all this evidence against him?" "Yes." "Then then how is he at liberty?" stammered the other. Coquenil reached for a match, struck it deliberately and lighted a cigarette. "By order of the Prime Minister," he said quietly, and blew out a long white fragrant cloud. "You mean without trial?"
Drawn up in front of the tavern was a taxi-auto, the chauffeur bundled up to the ears in bushy gray furs, despite the mild night. There was a leather bag beside him. "Is this your man?" asked Pougeot. "Yes," said M. Paul, "get in. If you don't mind I'll lower this front window so that we can feel the air." Then, when the commissary and Tignol were seated, he gave directions to the driver.
"All the same, it has a bearing on our investigations." "Diable!" M. Paul reached for his glasses, rubbed them deliberately and put them on. "Papa Tignol," he said seriously, "I have come to a conclusion about this crime, but I haven't verified it. I am now going to give myself an intellectual treat." "Wha-at?"
"Yes, here they are, nails and all," admitted Tignol admiringly. "I'm an old fool, but but " "Well?" "Tell me why Martinez did it." Coquenil's face darkened. "Ah, that's the question. We'll know that when we talk to the woman." The old man leaned forward eagerly: "Why do you think the woman helped him?"
"He fired at close range as Martinez looked into this room from the other side. Poor chap! That's how he was shot in the eye." And producing a magnifying glass, the detective made a long and careful examination of the holes while Papa Tignol watched him with unqualified disgust. "Asses! Idiots! That's what we are," muttered the old man.
"It's you, M. Paul, who have done good work this night," chuckled Tignol. "Eh! Eh! What a lesson for Gibelin!" "The brute!" muttered Pougeot. Then they turned to the commissary's report of his investigation, Coquenil listening with intense concentration, interrupting now and then with a question or to consult the rough plan drawn by Pougeot.
Careful, there," he said sharply, as their wheels swung dangerously near a stone shelter in the Place de la Concorde. Both Pougeot and Tignol noted with surprise the half-resigned, half-discouraged tone of the famous detective. "You don't mean that you think the American may be guilty?" questioned the commissary. "Never in the world!" grumbled Tignol.
He spoke so earnestly and straightforwardly that Coquenil began to think Groener had really been deceived by the Matthieu disguise. After all, why not? Tignol had been deceived by it. "How will you find her?" "I'll tell you as we drive along. We'll take a cab and you won't leave me, M. Matthieu?" he said anxiously. Coquenil tried to soften the grimness of his smile.
"His own confession, written by himself and Quick!" he cried, and sprang toward the rich man, but Papa Tignol was there before him. With a bound the old fox had leaped forward from the audience and reached the accused in time to seize and stay his hand. "Excuse me, your Honor," apologized the detective, "the man was going to kill himself." "It's false!" screamed the baron.
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