"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 gods!" muttered the detective, "he's coming!"

As he spoke the glass door at the foot of the stairs opened and a handsome
couple advanced toward them, both dressed in the height of fashion, the
woman young and graceful, the man a perfect type of the dashing
_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
eyeglass. 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. C