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"I will tell you, then, that this is the pair you had on when you were arrested." "Then it's the pair I wore to the Ansonia." "You didn't change your boots after leaving the Ansonia?" "No." "Kittredge," said the judge severely, "the man who shot Martinez escaped by the alleyway and left his footprints on the soft earth. We have made plaster casts of them.
And then I told him a murder had been committed at the Ansonia in private room Number Seven. I wish you could have seen his face. He never said a word, he just stared at me. 'Why don't you speak? I begged. 'Addison, it wasn't you, tell me it wasn't you. Never mind this Anita woman, I'll forgive that if you'll only tell me where you've been to-night.
Coquenil hesitated a moment and then, with a flash of his tireless energy, he said: "If it's all the same to you, chief, I'll go on deck to-night now." Right across from the Ansonia on the Rue Marboeuf was a little wine shop that remained open all night for the accommodation of cab drivers and belated pedestrians and to this Coquenil and the commissary now withdrew.
The Italia sugar estate at Yaguate, near the Nizao River, the Ocoa estate and the Central Azuano, on the outskirts of Azua all belong to the Vicini heirs. At Azua there is another plantation, the Ansonia estate, which is the property of Americans. The plantations at Azua and Ocoa are watered by irrigation, those of Azua deriving their water from artesian wells.
The wall surrounding the Ansonia was of polished granite about six feet high, and between this wall and the hotel itself was a space of equal width planted with slim fir trees that stood out in decorative dignity against the gray stone. "This is what you call the alleyway?" questioned Coquenil. "Exactly."
Pickwick ever ate." "I must get Edwards to take me there," said Titania. "Edwards is our chauffeur. I've been to the Ansonia for tea, that's near there." "Better keep away," said Helen. "When Roger comes home from those places he smells so strong of onions it brings tears to my eyes."
"You used to back his game at the Olympia," continued Coquenil coolly. "What of it? I'm fond of billiards. Is that a crime?" "You left your cloak and a small leather bag in the vestiaire at the Ansonia," pursued M. Paul. "It isn't true!" "Your name was found stamped in gold letters under a leather flap in the bag." She shot a frightened glance at him and then faltered: "It it was?"
Then quickly he gave the word again and once more Caesar was away, darting back along the sidewalk toward the Champs Elysées, moving nearer and nearer to the houses and presently stopping at a gateway, against which he pressed and whined. It was a gateway in the wall surrounding the Ansonia Hotel.
"What do you think?" smiled the detective. Papa Tignol paused, and then, bobbing his head in comical seriousness: "I think, if I were this man, I'd sooner have the devil after me than Paul Coquenil." It was nearly four o'clock when Coquenil left the Ansonia and started up the Champs Elysées, breathing deep of the early morning air. The night was still dark, although day was breaking in the east.
"Please state what you know about this case," he said, and again the audience waited in deathlike stillness. "There is no need of many words," answered M. Paul; then pointing an accusing arm at De Heidelmann-Bruck, "I know that this man shot Enrico Martinez on the night of July 4th, at the Ansonia Hotel."
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