-to-hand conflict was precisely what the stranger had sought and
planned for, because--_because_--In feverish haste Coquenil felt in his
breast pocket for the envelope with the precious leather fragments. It was
not there. Then quickly he searched his other pockets. It was not there.
_The envelope containing the woman's name and address was gone_.

CHAPTER X

GIBELIN SCORES A POINT

The next day all Paris buzzed and wondered about this Ansonia affair, as it
was called. The newspapers printed long accounts of it with elaborate
details, and various conjectures were made as to the disappearance of
Martinez's fair companion. More or less plausible theories were also put
forth touching the arrested American, prudently referred to as "Monsieur
K., a well-known New Yorker." It was furthermore dwelt upon as significant
that the famous detective, Paul Coquenil, had returned to his old place on
the force for the especial purpose of working on this case. And M. Coquenil
was reported to have already, by one of his brilliant strokes, secured a
clew that would lead shortly to important revelations. Alas, no one knew
under what distressing circumstances this precious clew had been lost!

Shortly before nine by the white clock over the columned entrance to the
Palais de Justice, M. Paul passed through the great iron and gilt barrier
that fronts the street and turning to the left, mounted the wide stone
stairway. He had had his snatch of sleep at the _haman_, his rubdown and
cold plunge, but not his intended bout with the wrestling professional. He
had had wrestling enough for one day, and now he had come to keep his
appointment with Judge Hauteville.

Two flights up the detective found himself in a spacious corridor off which
opened seven doors leading to the offices of seven judges. Seven! Strange
this resemblance to the fatal corridor at the Ansonia! And stranger still
that Judge Hauteville's office should be Number Six!

Coquenil moved on past palace guards in bright apparel, past sad-faced
witnesses and brisk lawyers of the court in black robes with amusing white
bibs at their throats. And presently he entered Judge Hauteville's private
room, where an amiable _greffier_ asked him to sit down until the judge
should arrive.

There was nothing in the plain and rather businesslike furnishings of this
room to suggest the somber and sordid scenes daily enacted here. On the
dull leather of a long table, covered with its usua