commissary, and he hurried down to
see the things for himself.

The cloak was of yellow silk, embroidered in white, a costly garment from a
fashionable maker; but there was nothing to indicate the wearer. The bag
was a luxurious trifle in Brazilian lizard skin, with solid-gold mountings;
but again there was no clew to the owner, no name, no cards, only some
samples of dress goods, a little money, and an unmarked handkerchief.

"Don't move these things," directed M. Pougeot. "It's possible some one
will call for them, and if anyone _should_ call, why--that's Gibelin's
affair. Now we'll see these Americans."

It was a quarter past ten, and the hilarity of proceedings at the
Fourth-of-July banquet (no ladies present) had reached its height. A very
French-looking student from Bridgeport, Connecticut, had just started an
uproarious rendering of "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean," with Latin-Quarter
variations, when there came a sudden hush and a turning of heads toward the
half-open door, through which a voice was heard in peremptory command.
Something had happened, something serious, if one could judge by the face
of Francois, the head waiter, who stood at the corridor entrance.

"Not so fast," he insisted, holding the young men back, and a moment later
there entered a florid-faced man with authoritative mien, closely followed
by two policemen.

"Horns of a purple cow!" muttered the Bridgeport art student, who loved
eccentric oaths. "The house is pulled!"

"Gentlemen," began M. Pougeot, while the company listened in startled
silence, "I am sorry to interrupt this pleasant gathering, especially as I
understand that you are celebrating your national holiday; unfortunately, I
have a duty to perform that admits of no delay. While you have been
feasting and singing, as becomes your age and the occasion, an act of
violence has taken place within the sound of your voices--I may say under
cover of your voices."

He paused and swept his eyes in keen scrutiny over the faces before him, as
if trying to read in one or the other of them the answer to some question
not yet asked.

"My friends," he continued, and now his look became almost menacing, "I am
here as an officer of the law because I have reason to believe that a guest
at this banquet is connected with a crime committed in this restaurant
within the last hour or two."

So extraordinary was this accusation and so utterly unexpected that for
some moments no one spoke. The