r help.

"Lights!" said the doctor sharply and, as the lamps shone out, the prisoner
was seen limp and white, sprawling over a chair.

Duprat hurried to him and pressed an ear to his heart.

"He has fainted," said the doctor.

Coquenil looked half pityingly at his stricken adversary. "Down and out,"
he murmured.

Duprat, meantime, was working over the prisoner, rubbing his wrists,
loosening his shirt and collar.

"Ammonia--quick," he said to his assistant, and a moment later, with the
strong fumes at his nostrils, Groener stirred and opened his eyes weakly.

Just then a sound was heard in the distance as of a galloping horse. The
white-faced prisoner started and listened eagerly. Nearer and nearer came
the rapid hoof beats, echoing through the deserted streets. Now the horse
was crossing the little bridge near the hospital, now he was coming madly
down the Boulevard du Palais. Who was this rider dashing so furiously
through the peaceful night?

As they all turned wondering, the horse drew up suddenly before the palace
and a voice was heard in sharp command. Then the great iron gates swung
open and the horse stamped in.

Hauteville hurried to the open window and stood there listening. Just below
him in the courtyard he made out of the flashing helmet and imposing
uniform of a mounted _garde de Paris_. And he caught some quick words that
made him start.

"A messenger from the Prime Minister," muttered the judge, "on urgent
business _with me_."

Groener heard and, with a long sigh, sank back against the chair and closed
his eyes, but Coquenil noticed uneasily that just a flicker of the old
patronizing smile was playing about his pallid lips.

CHAPTER XXVI

COQUENIL'S MOTHER

In accordance with orders, Papa Tignol appeared at the Villa Montmorency
betimes the next morning. It was a perfect summer's day and the old man's
heart was light as he walked up the Avenue des Tilleuls, past vine-covered
walls and smiling gardens.

"Eh, eh!" he chuckled, "it's good to be alive on a day like this and to
know what _I_ know."

He was thinking, with a delicious thrill, of the rapid march of events in
the last twenty-four hours, of the keen pursuit, the tricks and disguises,
the anxiety and the capture and then of the great coup of the evening. _Bon
dieu_, what a day!

And now the chase was over! The murderer was tucked away safely in a cell
at the depot. Ouf, he had given them some bad moments, this wood carv