erson_ you represent," interrupted Coquenil. "A criminal of this
type acts alone."

"As you like," answered the other carelessly. "Then the person I represent
_wishes you to withdraw from this case_."

The message was preposterous, the manner of its delivery fantastic, yet
there was something vaguely formidable in the stranger's tone, as if a
great person had spoken, one absolutely sure of himself and of his power to
command.

"Naturally," retorted Coquenil.

"Why do you say naturally?"

"It's natural for a criminal to wish that an effort against him should
cease. Tell your friend or employer that I am only mildly interested in his
wishes."

He spoke with deliberate hostility, but the dark-bearded man answered,
quite unruffled: "Ah, I may be able to heighten your interest."

"Come, come, sir, my time is valuable."

The stranger drew from his coat pocket a large thick envelope fastened
with an elastic band and handed it to the detective. "Whatever your time is
worth," he said in a rasping voice, "I will pay for it. Please look at
this."

Coquenil's curiosity was stirred. Here was no commonplace encounter, at
least it was a departure from ordinary criminal methods. Who was this
supercilious man? How dared he come on such an errand to him, Paul
Coquenil? What desperate purpose lurked behind his self-confident mask?
Could it be that he knew the assassin or--or _was he the assassin?_

Wondering thus, M. Paul opened the tendered envelope and saw that it
contained a bundle of thousand-franc notes.

"There is a large sum here," he remarked.

"Fifty thousand francs. It's for you, and as much more will be handed you
the day you sail for Brazil. Just a moment--let me finish. This sum is a
bonus in addition to the salary already fixed. And, remember, you have a
life position there with a brilliant chance of fame. That is what you care
about, I take it--fame; it is for fame you want to follow up this crime."

Coquenil snapped his fingers. "I don't care _that_ for fame. I'm going to
work out this case for the sheer joy of doing it."

"You will _never_ work out this case!" The man spoke so sternly and with
such a menacing ring in his voice that M. Paul felt a chill of
apprehension.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because you will not be allowed to; it's doubtful if you _could_ work it
out, but there's a chance that you could and we don't purpose to take that
chance. You're a free agent, you can persist in this course, but