Through the Wall Part 12

"Huh! What results?"

"Yes. What results?" echoed the judge.

"Let me ask first," replied Coquenil deliberately, "what you regard as the most important thing to be known in this case just now?"

"The name of the woman," answered Hauteville promptly.

"_Parbleu!_" agreed the commissary.

"Then the man who gives you this woman's name and address will render a real service?"

"A service?" exclaimed Hauteville. "The whole case rests on this woman.

Without her, nothing can be understood."

"So it would be a good piece of work," continued Coquenil, "if a man had discovered this name and address in the last few hours with nothing but his wits to help him; in fact, with everything done to hinder him." He looked meaningly at Gibelin.

"Come, come," interrupted the chief, "what are you driving at?"

"At this, _I have the woman's name and address_."

"Impossible!" they cried.

"I got them by my own efforts and I will give them up _on my own terms_."

He spoke with a look of fearless purpose that M. Simon well remembered from the old days.

"A thousand devils! How did you do it?" cried Simon.

"I watched the American in the cab as he leaned forward toward the lantern light and I saw exactly what he was doing. He opened the lady's bag and cut out a leather flap that had her name and address stamped on it."

"No," contradicted Gibelin, "there was _no_ name in the bag. I examined it myself."

"The name was on the _under side_ of the flap," laughed the other, "in gilt letters."

Gibelin's heart sank.

"And you took this flap from the American?" asked M. Simon.

"No, no! Any violence would have brought my colleague into the thing, for he was close behind, and I wanted this knowledge for myself."

"What did you do?" pursued the chief.

"I let the young man cut the flap into small pieces and drop them one by one as we drove through dark little streets. And I noted where he dropped the pieces. Then I drove back and picked them up, that is, all but two."

"Marvelous!" muttered Hauteville.

"I had a small searchlight lantern to help me. That was one of the things I took from my desk," he added to Pougeot.

"And these pieces of leather with the name and address, you have them?"

continued the chief.

"I have them."

"With you?"

"Yes."

"May I see them?"

"Certainly. If you will promise to respect them as my personal property?"

Simon hesitated. "You mean--" he frowned, and then impatiently: "Oh, yes, I promise that."

Coquenil drew an envelope from his breast pocket and from it he took a number of white-leather fragments. And he showed the chief that most of these fragments were stamped in gold letters or parts of letters.

"I'm satisfied," declared Simon after examining several of the fragments and returning them. "_Bon Dieu!_" he stormed at Gibelin. "And you had that bag in your hands!"

Gibelin sat silent. This was the wretchedest moment in his career.

"Well," continued the chief, "we _must_ have these pieces of leather. What are your terms?"

"I told you," said Coquenil, "I want to be put back on the force. I want to handle this case."

M. Simon thought a moment. "That ought to be easily arranged. I will see the _prefet de police_ about it in the morning."

But the other demurred. "I ask you to see him to-night. It's ten minutes to his house in an automobile. I'll wait here."

The chief smiled. "You're in a hurry, aren't you? Well, so are we. Will you come with me, Hauteville?"

"If you like."

"And I'll go, if you don't mind," put in the commissary. "I may have some influence with the _prefet_."

"He won't refuse me," declared Simon. "After all, I am responsible for the pursuit of criminals in this city, and if I tell him that I absolutely need Paul Coquenil back on the force, as I do, he will sign the commission at once. Come, gentlemen."

A moment later the three had hurried off, leaving Coquenil and Gibelin together.

"Have one?" said M. Paul, offering his cigarette case.

"Thanks," snapped Gibelin with deliberate insolence, "I prefer my own."

"There's no use being ugly about it," replied the other good-naturedly, as he lighted a cigarette. His companion did the same and the two smoked in silence, Gibelin gnawing savagely at his little red mustache.

"See here," broke in the latter, "wouldn't you be ugly if somebody b.u.t.ted into a case that had been given to you?"

"Why," smiled Coquenil, "if he thought he could handle it better than I could, I--I think I'd let him try."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'Have one?' said M. Paul, offering his cigarette case."]