Through the Wall Part 44

"Take a good look at him now," said Coquenil to Tignol in a low tone. Then to the man: "There's a bad piece of ground in the yard; you'd better have this," and, without warning, he flashed his electric lantern full in the chauffeur's face.

"_Merci, m'sieur,_" said the latter stolidly after a slight start, and again he moved away, while Tignol clutched M. Paul's arm in excitement.

"You saw him?" whispered the detective.

"Did I see him!" exulted the other. "Oh, the cheek of that fellow!"

"You recognized him?"

"Did I? I'd know those little pig eyes anywhere. And that brush of a mustache! Only half of it was blacked."

"Good; that's all I want," and, stepping out of the auto, Coquenil changed quickly to the front seat. Then he drew the starting lever and the machine began to move.

"Halloa! What are you doing?" cried the chauffeur, running toward them.

"Going back to Paris!" laughed Coquenil. "Hope you find the walking good, Gibelin!"

"It's only fifteen miles," taunted Tignol.

"You loafer, you blackguard, you dirty dog!" yelled Gibelin, dancing in a rage.

"Try to be more original in your detective work," called M. Paul. "_Au revoir_."

They shot away rapidly, while the outraged and discomfited fat man stood in the middle of the road hurling after them torrents of blasphemous abuse that soon grew faint and died away.

"What in the world does this mean?" asked Pougeot in astonishment.

Coquenil slowed down the machine and turned. "I can't talk now; I've got to drive this thing. It's lucky I know how."

"But--just a moment. 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."

The run to Paris took nearly an hour, for they made a detour, and Coquenil drove cautiously; but they arrived safely, shortly after one, and left the automobile at the company's garage, with the explanation (readily accepted, since a police commissary gave it) that the man who belonged with the machine had met with an accident; indeed, this was true, for the genuine chauffeur had used Gibelin's bribe money in unwise libations and appeared the next morning with a battered head and a glib story that was never fully investigated.

"Now," said Coquenil, as they left the garage, "where can we go and be quiet? A cafe 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?"

"I should say I did," grumbled the old man, "I've something to tell you."

"Tell me later," cut in the detective. "We'll go there. We can have something to eat sent in and--" he smiled indulgently at Tignol--"and something to drink. Hey, _cocher!_" he called to a pa.s.sing cab, and a moment later the three men were rolling away to the Latin Quarter, with Coquenil's leather bag on the front seat.

"_Enfin!_" sighed Pougeot, when they were finally settled in Tignol's room, which they reached after infinite precautions, for M. Paul seemed to imagine that all Paris was in a conspiracy to follow them.

"I've been watched every minute since I started on this case," he said thoughtfully. "My house has been watched, my servant has been watched, my letters have been opened; there isn't one thing I've done that they don't know."

"They? Who?" asked the commissary.

"Ah, who?" repeated M. Paul. "If I only knew. You saw what they did with Gibelin to-night, set him after me when he is supposed to be handling this case. Fancy that! Who gave Gibelin his orders? Who had the authority?

That's what I want to know. Not the chief, I swear; the chief is straight in this thing. _It's some one above the chief_. Lucien, I told you this was a great case and--it is."

"Then you didn't mean what you were saying in the automobile about having doubts?"

"Not a word of it."

"That was all for Gibelin?"

"Exactly. There's a chance that he may believe it, or believe some of it.

He's such a conceited a.s.s that he may think I only discovered him just at the last."

"And you're _not_ thinking of going to Rio Janeiro?"

Coquenil shut his teeth hard, and there came into his eyes a look of indomitable purpose. "Not while the murderer of Martinez is walking about this town laughing at me. I expect to do some laughing myself before I get through with this case."

Both men stared at him. "But you are through."

"Am I? Ha! Through? I want to tell you, my friends, that I've barely begun."

"My dear Paul," reasoned the commissary, "what can you do off the force?

How can you hope to succeed single-handed, when it was hard to succeed with the whole prefecture to help you?"

Coquenil paused, and then said mysteriously: "That's the point, _did_ they help me? Or hinder me? One thing is certain: that if I work alone, I won't have to make daily reports for the guidance of some one higher up."

"You don't mean--" began the commissary with a startled look.

M. Paul nodded gravely. "I certainly do--there's no other way of explaining the facts. I was discharged for a trivial offense just as I had evidence that would prove this American innocent. They don't _want_ him proved innocent. And they are so afraid I will discover the truth that they let the whole investigation wait while Gibelin shadows me. Well, he's off my track now, and by to-morrow they can search Paris with a fine-tooth comb and they won't find a trace of Paul Coquenil."

"You're going away?"

"No. I'm going to--to disappear," smiled the detective. "I shall work in the dark, and, when the time comes, I'll _strike_ in the dark."

"You'll need money?"

Coquenil shook his head. "I have all the money I want, and know where to go for more. Besides, my old partner here is going to lay off for a few weeks and work with me. Eh, Papa Tignol?"

Tignol's eyes twinkled. "A few weeks or a few months is all the same to me.

I'll follow you to the devil, M. Paul."

"That's right, that's where we're going. And when I need you, Lucien, you'll hear from me. I wanted you to understand the situation. I may have to call on you suddenly; you may get some strange message by some queer messenger. Look at this ring. Will you know it? A brown stone marked with Greek characters. It's debased Greek. The stone was dug up near Smyrna, where it had lain for fourteen hundred years. It's a talisman. You'll listen to anyone who brings you this ring, old friend? Eh?"

Pougeot grasped M. Paul's hand and wrung it affectionately. "And honor his request to the half of my kingdom," he laughed, but his eyes were moist. He had a vivid impression that his friend was entering on a way of great and unknown peril.

"Well," said Coquenil cheerfully, "I guess that's all for to-night. There's a couple of hours' work still for Papa Tignol and me, but it's half past two, Lucien, and, unless you think of something----"

"No, except to wish you luck," replied the commissary, and he started to go.