Through the Wall Part 55

"Why is it?" grumbled Tignol.

"Never mind why," answered the other brusquely, and he walked ahead, frowning, until they reached an imposing entrance with stately palms on the white stone floor and the glimpse of an imposing stairway.

"Of course, of course," muttered M. Paul. "To think that I had forgotten it! After all, one loses some of the old tricks in two years."

"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 _coupe_ 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.

Then to Tignol: "How about that telegram?"

The old man stroked his rough chin. "The clerk gave me a copy of it, all right, when I showed my papers. Here it is and--much good it will do us."

He handed M. Paul a telegraph blank on which was written:

DUBOIS, 20 Rue Chalgrin.

Special bivouac amateur bouillon danger must have Sahara easily Groener arms impossible.

FELIX.

"I see," nodded Coquenil; "it ought to be an easy cipher. We must look up Dubois," and he put the paper in his pocket. "Better go in now and locate this fellow. Look over the two courtyards, have a word with the doorkeepers, see if he really went into the hairdresser's; if not, find out where he did go. Tell our men at the other exits not to let a yellow dog slip past without sizing it up for Groener."

"I'll tell 'em," grinned the old man, and he slouched away.

For five minutes Coquenil waited at the Place de la Madeleine exit and it seemed a long time. Two ladies arrived in carriages and pa.s.sed inside quickly with exaggerated self-possession. A couple came down the stairs smiling and separated coldly at the door. Then a man came out alone, and the detective's eyes bored into him. It wasn't Groener.

Finally, Tignol returned and reported all well at the other exits; no one had gone out who could possibly be the wood carver. Groener had not been near the hairdresser; he had gone straight through into the second courtyard, and from there he had hurried up the main stairway.

"The one that leads to Madam Cecile's?" questioned M. Paul.

"Yes, but Cecile has only two floors. There are two more above hers."

"You think he went higher up?"

"I'm sure he did, for I spoke to Cecile herself. She wouldn't dare lie to me, and she says she has seen no such man as Groener."

"Then he's in one of the upper apartments now?"

"He must be."

Coquenil turned back and forth, snapping his fingers softly. "I'm nervous, Papa Tignol," he said; "I ought not to have let him go in here, I ought to have nailed him when I had him. He's too dangerous a man to take chances with and--_mille tonneres_, the roof!"

Tignol shook his head. "I don't think so. He might get through one scuttle, but he'd have a devil of a time getting in at another. He has no tools."

Coquenil looked at his watch. "He's been in there fifteen minutes. I'll give him five minutes more. If he isn't out then, we'll search the whole block from roof to cellar. Papa Tignol, it will break my heart if this fellow gets away."

He laid an anxious hand on his companion's arm and stood moodily silent, then suddenly his fingers closed with a grip that made the old man wince.

"Suffering G.o.ds!" muttered the detective, "he's coming!"

As he spoke the gla.s.s door at the foot of the stairs opened and a handsome couple advanced toward them, both dressed in the height of fas.h.i.+on, the woman young and graceful, the man a perfect type of the das.h.i.+ng _boulevardier_.

"No, no, you're crazy," whispered Tignol.

As the couple reached the sidewalk, Coquenil himself hesitated. In the better light he could see no resemblance between the wood carver and this gentleman with his smart clothes, his glossy silk hat, and his haughty eyegla.s.s. The wood carver's hair was yellowish brown, this man's was dark, tinged with gray; the wood carver wore a beard and mustache, this man was clean shaven--finally, the wood carver was shorter and heavier than this man.

While the detective wavered, the gentleman stepped forward courteously and opened the door of a waiting _coupe_. The lady caught up her silken skirts and was about to enter when Coquenil brushed against her, as if by accident, and her purse fell to the ground.

"Stupid brute!" exclaimed the gentleman angrily, as he bent over and reached for the purse with his gloved hand.

At the same moment Coquenil seized the extended wrist in such fierce and sudden attack that, before the man could think of resisting, he was held helpless with his left arm bent behind him in twisted torture.

"No nonsense, or you'll break your arm," he warned his captive as the latter made an ineffectual effort against him. "Call the others," he ordered, and Tignol blew a shrill summons. "Rip off this glove. I want to see his hand. Come, come, none of that. Open it up. No? I'll _make_ you open it. There, I thought so," as an excruciating wrench forced the stubborn fist to yield. "Now then, off with that glove! Ah!" he cried as the bare hand came to view. "I thought so. It's too bad you couldn't hide that long little finger! Tignol, quick with the handcuffs! There, I think we have you safely landed now, _M. Adolf Groener!_"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'No nonsense, or you'll break your arm.'"]

The prisoner had not spoken a word; now he flashed at Coquenil a look of withering contempt that the detective long remembered, and, leaning close, he whispered: "_You poor fool!_"

CHAPTER XXIII

GROENER AT BAY

Two hours later (it was nearly seven) Judge Hauteville sat in his office at the Palais de Justice, hurrying through a meal that had been brought in from a restaurant.

"There," he muttered, wiping his mouth, "that will keep me going for a few hours," and he touched the bell.

"Is M. Coquenil back yet?" he asked when the clerk appeared.

"Yes, sir," replied the latter, "he's waiting."

"Good! I'll see him."

The clerk withdrew and presently ushered in the detective.

"Sit down," motioned the judge. "Coquenil, I've done a hard day's work and I'm tired, but I'm going to examine this man of yours to-night."

"I'm glad of that," said M. Paul, "I think it's important."

"Important? Humph! The morning would do just as well--however, we'll let that go. Remember, you have no standing in this case. The work has been done by Tignol, the warrant was served by Tignol, and the witnesses have been summoned by Tignol. Is that understood?"

"Of course."

"That is my official att.i.tude," smiled Hauteville, unbending a little; "I needn't add that, between ourselves, I appreciate what you have done, and if this affair turns out as I hope it will, I shall do my best to have your services properly recognized."