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Updated: May 27, 2025
Coquenil frowned and twisted his seal ring, then he changed it deliberately from the left hand to the right, as if with some intention. "We'll never get to the bottom of this case," he muttered, "until we know the truth about that girl. Papa Tignol, I want you to go right back to Notre-Dame and keep an eye on her. If she is afraid of something, there's something to be afraid of, for she knows.
"You see, it's all there," said M. Paul. "His name is Raoul and his wife's name was Margaret. She died in the Charity Bazaar fire, and his stepdaughter Mary is put down as having died there, too. We know where she is." "The devil! The devil! The devil!" muttered Tignol, his nut-cracker face screwed up in comical perplexity. "This will rip things wide, wide open." The detective shook his head.
"Yes, but if I aimed with my left eye I'd have to fire with my left hand and I couldn't hit a cow that way." Coquenil looked at Tignol steadily. "You could if you were a left-handed man." "You mean to say " The other stared.
Then then a cabinet minister? No, it isn't possible?" "He is more important than a cabinet minister, far more important." "Holy snakes!" gasped Tignol. "I don't see anything left except the Prime Minister himself." "This man is so highly placed," declared Coquenil gravely, "he is so powerful that " "Stop!" interrupted the other. "I know.
"It was a shame, old fellow," said Tignol consolingly, "but we had to obey orders, eh? Never mind, it will grow out again." Leaving the train at Auteuil, they walked down the Rue La Fontaine to a tavern near the Rue Mozart, where the old man left Caesar in charge of the proprietor, a friend of his.
And now Tignol waited until the train back to Auteuil was about starting, then he deliberately got into a compartment where the gray-bearded man was seated alone. And, taking out pencil and paper, he proceeded to write a note for Coquenil.
"Remember that blackmail case," whispered Tignol, "when we sneaked the countess out by the Rue de l'Arcade? Eh, eh, eh, what a close shave!" Coquenil nodded. "Here's one of the same kind." He glanced at a sober coupé from which a lady, thickly veiled, was descending, and he followed her with a shrug as she entered the house. "To think that some of the smartest women in Paris come here!" he mused.
"There's a woman for you!" murmured M. Paul, and the tenderness of his voice contrasted oddly with the ugliness of his disguise. "Suppose I get the dog while you are changing?" suggested Tignol. "You know he's been clipped?" "Poor Caesar! Yes, get him. My room is across the street. Walk back and forth along here until I come down."
I have a room on the Rue Poussin; I'll go back there first and take off some of this." "As you please," said Tignol, and he proceeded to give Coquenil the latest news of his mother, all good news, and a long letter from the old lady, full of love and wise counsels and prayers for her boy's safety.
"I'll remember." The detective rose to go. "Good night or, rather, good morning, for the day is shining through that rose window. Pretty, isn't it? Ouf, I wonder when I'll get the sleep I need!" He moved toward the door. "Oh, I forgot about the dog. Tignol will come for him Tuesday morning with a line from me. I shall want Caesar in the afternoon, but I'll bring him back at six."
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