Through the Wall Part 47

"Where does he live?"

"In a room near here."

"Where does he eat?"

"He takes two meals with us."

"Ah! Do you think he would like to make a hundred francs by doing nothing?

Of course he would. And you would like to make five hundred?"

"Five hundred francs?" exclaimed Bonneton, with a frightened look.

"Don't be afraid," laughed the other. "I'm not planning to steal the treasure. When do you expect this wood carver again?"

"It's odd you should ask that, for my wife only told me this morning she's had a letter from him. We didn't expect him for six weeks yet, but it seems he'll be here next Wednesday. Something must have happened."

"Next Wednesday," reflected Coquenil. "He always comes when he says he will?"

"Always. He's as regular as clockwork."

"And he spends two nights with you?"

"Yes."

"That will be Wednesday night and Thursday night of next week?"

"Yes."

"Good! Now I'll show you how you're going to make this money. I want Francois to have a little vacation; he looks tired. I want him to go into the country on Tuesday and stay until Friday."

"And his work? Who will do his work?"

Coquenil smiled quietly and tapped his breast.

"You?"

"I will take Francois's place. I'll be the best a.s.sistant you ever had and I shall enjoy Mother Bonneton's cooking."

"You will take your meals with us?" cried the sacristan aghast. "But they all know you."

"None of them will know me; you won't know me yourself."

"Ah, I see," nodded the old man wisely. "You will have a disguise. But my wife has sharp eyes."

"If she knows me, or if the candle girl knows me, I'll give you a thousand francs instead of five hundred. Now, here is the money for Francois"--he handed the sacristan a hundred-franc note--"and here are five hundred francs for you. I shall come on Tuesday, ready for work. When do you want me?"

"At six o'clock," answered the sacristan doubtfully. "But what shall I say if anyone asks me about it?"

"Say Francois was sick, and you got your old friend Matthieu to replace him for a few days. I'm Matthieu!"

Papa Bonneton touched the five crisp bank notes caressingly; their clean blue and white attracted him irresistibly.

"You wouldn't get me into trouble, M. Paul?" he appealed weakly.

"Papa Bonneton," answered Coquenil earnestly, "have I ever shown you anything but friendship? When old Max died and you asked me to lend you Caesar I did it, didn't I? And you know what Caesar is to me. I _love_ that dog, if anything happened to him--well, I don't like to think of it, but I let you have him, didn't I? That proves my trust; now I want yours. I can't explain my reasons; it isn't necessary, but I tell you that what I'm asking cannot do you the least harm, and may do me the greatest good. There, it's up to you."

M. Paul held out his hand frankly and the sacristan took it, with emotion.

"That settles it," he murmured. "I never doubted you, but--my wife has an infernal tongue and----"

"She will never know anything about this," smiled the other, "and, if she should, give her one or two of these bank notes. It's wonderful how they change a woman's point of view. Besides, you can prepare her by talking about Francois's bad health."

"A good idea!" brightened Bonneton.

"Then it's understood. Tuesday, at six, your friend Matthieu will be here to replace Francois. Remember--Matthieu!"

"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."

"All right," nodded the sacristan; "he'll be ready. _Au revoir_--until Tuesday."

M. Paul went through the side door and then through the high iron gateway before the archbishop's house. He glanced at his watch and it was after five. Across the square Papa Tignol was waiting.

"Things are marching along," smiled Coquenil some minutes later as they rolled along toward the Eastern railway station. "You know what you have to do. And I know what I have to do! _Bon Dieu!_ what a life! You'd better have more money--here," and he handed the other some bank notes. "We meet Tuesday at noon near the Auteuil station beneath the first arch of the viaduct."

"Do you know what day Tuesday is?"

M. Paul thought a moment. "The fourteenth of July! Our national holiday!

And the crime was committed on the American Independence Day. Strange, isn't it?"

"There will be a great crowd about."

"There's safety in a crowd. Besides, I've got to suit my time to _his_."

"Then you really expect to see--_him?_" questioned the old man.

"Yes," nodded the other briefly. "Remember this, don't join me on Tuesday or speak to me or make any sign to me unless you are absolutely sure you have not been followed. If you are in any doubt, put your message under the dog's collar and let him find me. By the way, you'd better have Caesar clipped. It's a pity, but--it's safer."

Now they were rattling up the Rue Lafayette in the full light of day.

"Ten minutes to six," remarked Tignol. "My train leaves at six forty."

"You'll have time to get breakfast. I'll leave you now. There's nothing more to say. You have my letter--_for her_. You'll explain that it isn't safe for me to write through the post office. And she mustn't try to write me. I'll come to her as soon as I can. You have the money for her; say I want her to buy a new dress, a nice one, and if there's anything else she wants, why, she must have it. Understand?"

Tignol nodded.

Then, dropping the cab window, M. Paul told the driver to stop, and they drew up before the terraced fountains of the Trinite church.