and found
Papa Tignol waiting for him, his face troubled even to the tip of his
luminous purple nose. In vain the old man tried to show interest in a
neighboring game of dominoes; the detective saw at a glance that his
faithful friend had heard the bad news and was mourning over it.

"Ah, M. Paul," cried Tignol. "This is a pretty thing they tell me. _Nom
d'un chien_, what a pack of fools they are!"

"Not so loud," cautioned Coquenil with a quiet smile. "It's all right, Papa
Tignol, it's all for the best."

"All for the best?" stared the other. "But if you're off the force?"

"Wait a little and you'll understand," said the detective in a low tone,
then as the tavern door opened: "Here is Pougeot! I telephoned him. Good
evening, Lucien," and he shook hands cordially with the commissary, whose
face wore a serious, inquiring look. "Will you have something, or shall we
move on?" and, under his breath, he added: "Say you don't want anything."

"I don't want anything," obeyed Pougeot with a puzzled glance.

"Then come, it's a quarter past ten," and tossing some money to the waiter,
Coquenil led the way out.

Drawn up in front of the tavern was a taxi-auto, the chauffeur bundled up
to the ears in bushy gray furs, despite the mild night. There was a
leather bag beside him.

"Is this your man?" asked Pougeot.

"Yes," said M. Paul, "get in. If you don't mind I'll lower this front
window so that we can feel the air." Then, when the commissary and Tignol
were seated, he gave directions to the driver. "We will drive through the
_bois_ and go out by the Porte Dauphine. Not too fast."

The man touched his cap respectfully, and a few moments later they were
running smoothly to the west, over the wooden pavement of the Rue de
Rivoli.

"Now we can talk," said Coquenil with an air of relief. "I suppose you both
know what has happened?"

The two men replied with sympathetic nods.

"I regard you, Lucien, as my best friend, and you, Papa Tignol, are the
only man on the force I believe I can absolutely trust."

Tignol bobbed his little bullet head back and forth, and pulled furiously
at his absurd black mustache. This, was the greatest compliment he had ever
received. The commissary laid an affectionate hand on Coquenil's arm. "You
know I'll stand by you absolutely, Paul; I'll do anything that is possible.
How do you feel about this thing yourself?"

"I felt badly at first," answered the other. "I was mortified and bitter.
Y