Frenchman," put in Curtis quietly. "One of the few
words in the French language which no foreigner can ever pronounce is
that word 'Monsieur,' especially when it is followed by a 'de.' I
speak French well enough to realize my limitations."

"Now, Anatole, cough it up," said McCulloch jocularly. "You've no more
chance of winning through than a chunk of ice in hell's flames."

"Let me alone, I'm tired," said the other, relapsing into a stony
inattention which did not end even when Brodie brought the car to a
stand outside the police station-house in West 30th Street.

The advent of the roundsman with a prisoner and escort created some
commotion among his colleagues. The police captain was the same
official who had harbored suspicion against Curtis not so many hours
ago, and his opinion was not entirely changed, only modified.

He glanced darkly at Curtis and Devar, but was manifestly cheered by
sight of McCulloch with a chauffeur in custody.

"Hello!" he cried, "and where in Hades have _you_ been?"

"A long way from home, Mr. Evans," said the roundsman. "But it was
worth while. This is Anatole, whose other name is Labergerie, the man
wanted for the murder in 27th Street."

"The deuce it is! Where did you get him?"

"Away up beyond Yonkers."

"Hold on a minute."

He swung round quickly to a telephone, and called up Headquarters.

"Hello, there," he said, when an answer came. "Mr. Steingall or Mr.
Clancy in? Both? Well, put me through. . . . That you, Mr.
Steingall? I'm Evans, 23rd precinct. . . . Sergeant McCulloch has
just arrived with a prisoner, the chauffeur, Anatole; and Mr. Curtis is
here, too. . . . Anatole Labergerie is the full name."

Some conversation followed. The others could hear the peculiar rasping
sound of a voice otherwise undistinguishable, but it was evident that
the police captain was greatly puzzled. At last he beckoned to Curtis.

"You're wanted," he said laconically.

Curtis went to the instrument, and Steingall's rather amused tone was
soon explicable.

"There's a screw loose, somewhere," he said. "Anatole Labergerie is a
respectable garage-keeper. I know him well. Half an hour ago I called
him out of bed, chiefly on account of his front name, and he told me
that Mr. Hunter hired a car from him last evening, but never showed up
at the appointed place and time, and the chauffeur brought the car back
to the garage to wait further orders."

"I have no wish to trad