ther drifted far away
in smoke-laden reverie.

What days these had been, to be sure! How tired he was! He hadn't noticed
it before, but now that everything was ready, now that he had finished his
preparations--yes, he was very tired.

Everything was ready! It was good to know that. He had forgotten nothing.
And, if all went well, he would soon be able to answer these questions that
were fretting him. Who was Groener? Why had he killed Martinez? How had he
profited by the death of this unfortunate billiard player? And why did he
hate Kittredge? Was it because the American loved Alice? And who was Alice,
this girl whose dreams and fears changed the lives of serious men? From
whichever side he studied the crime he always came back to her--Kittredge
loved her, Martinez knew her, he himself had started on the case on her
account. _Who was Alice?_

During these reflections Coquenil had been vaguely aware of gay sounds from
the neighboring woods, and now a sudden burst of laughter brought him back
to the consciousness of things about him.

"We're too serious, my boy," he said with an effort at lightness; "this is
a bit of an outing, and we must enjoy it. Come, we'll move on!"

With the dog at his heels M. Paul turned his steps toward a beautiful cool
glade, carpeted in gold and green as the sunbeams sprinkled down through
the trees upon the spreading moss. Here he came into plain view of a
company of ladies and gentlemen, who, having witnessed the review, had
chosen this delightful spot for luncheon. They were evidently rich and
fashionable people, for they had come as a coaching party on a very smart
break, with four beautiful horses, and some in a flashing red-and-black
automobile that was now drawn up beside the larger vehicle.

With an idle eye M. Paul observed the details of the luncheon, red-coated
servants emptying bounteous hampers and passing tempting food from group to
group, others opening bottles of champagne, with popping corks, and filling
bubbling glasses, while the men of the party passed back and forth from
break to automobile with jests and gay words, or strolled under the trees
enjoying post-prandial cigars.

Altogether it was a pleasing picture, and Coquenil's interest was
heightened when he overheard a passing couple say that these were the
guests of no less a person than the Duke of Montreuil, whose lavish
entertainments were the talk of Paris. There he was, on the break, this
favorite of fortune!