True Crime & Murder Mysteries Collection. Moffett Cleveland

woman's name and address will render a real service?"

      "A service?" exclaimed Hauteville. "The whole case rests on this woman. Without her, nothing can be understood."

      "So it would be a good piece of work," continued Coquenil, "if a man had discovered this name and address in the last few hours with nothing but his wits to help him; in fact, with everything done to hinder him." He looked meaningly at Gibelin.

      "Come, come," interrupted the chief, "what are you driving at?"

      "At this, I have the woman's name and address."

      "Impossible!" they cried.

      "I got them by my own efforts and I will give them up on my own terms." He spoke with a look of fearless purpose that M. Simon well remembered from the old days.

      "A thousand devils! How did you do it?" cried Simon.

      "I watched the American in the cab as he leaned forward toward the lantern light and I saw exactly what he was doing. He opened the lady's bag and cut out a leather flap that had her name and address stamped on it."

      "No," contradicted Gibelin, "there was no name in the bag. I examined it myself."

      "The name was on the under side of the flap," laughed the other, "in gilt letters."

      Gibelin's heart sank.

      "And you took this flap from the American?" asked M. Simon.

      "No, no! Any violence would have brought my colleague into the thing, for he was close behind, and I wanted this knowledge for myself."

      "What did you do?" pursued the chief.

      "I let the young man cut the flap into small pieces and drop them one by one as we drove through dark little streets. And I noted where he dropped the pieces. Then I drove back and picked them up, that is, all but two."

      "Marvelous!" muttered Hauteville.

      "I had a small searchlight lantern to help me. That was one of the things I took from my desk," he added to Pougeot.

      "And these pieces of leather with the name and address, you have them?" continued the chief.

      "I have them."

      "With you?"

      "Yes."

      "May I see them?"

      "Certainly. If you will promise to respect them as my personal property?"

      Simon hesitated. "You mean—" he frowned, and then impatiently: "Oh, yes, I promise that."

      Coquenil drew an envelope from his breast pocket and from it he took a number of white-leather fragments. And he showed the chief that most of these fragments were stamped in gold letters or parts of letters.

      "I'm satisfied," declared Simon after examining several of the fragments and returning them. "Bon Dieu!" he stormed at Gibelin. "And you had that bag in your hands!"

      Gibelin sat silent. This was the wretchedest moment in his career.

      "Well," continued the chief, "we must have these pieces of leather. What are your terms?"

      "I told you," said Coquenil, "I want to be put back on the force. I want to handle this case."

      M. Simon thought a moment. "That ought to be easily arranged. I will see the préfet de police about it in the morning."

      But the other demurred. "I ask you to see him to-night. It's ten minutes to his house in an automobile. I'll wait here."

      The chief smiled. "You're in a hurry, aren't you? Well, so are we. Will you come with me, Hauteville?"

      "If you like."

      "And I'll go, if you don't mind," put in the commissary. "I may have some influence with the préfet."

      "He won't refuse me," declared Simon. "After all, I am responsible for the pursuit of criminals in this city, and if I tell him that I absolutely need Paul Coquenil back on the force, as I do, he will sign the commission at once. Come, gentlemen."

      A moment later the three had hurried off, leaving Coquenil and Gibelin together.

      "Have one?" said M. Paul, offering his cigarette case.

      "Thanks," snapped Gibelin with deliberate insolence, "I prefer my own."

      "There's no use being ugly about it," replied the other good-naturedly, as he lighted a cigarette. His companion did the same and the two smoked in silence, Gibelin gnawing savagely at his little red mustache.

      "See here," broke in the latter, "wouldn't you be ugly if somebody butted into a case that had been given to you?"

      "Why," smiled Coquenil, "if he thought he could handle it better than I could, I—I think I'd let him try."

      Then there was another silence, broken presently by Gibelin.

      "Do you imagine the préfet de police is going to stand being pulled out of bed at three in the morning just because Paul Coquenil wants something? Well, I guess not."

      "No? What do you think he'll do?" asked Coquenil.

      "Do? He'll tell those men they are three idiots, that's what he'll do. And you'll never get your appointment. Bet you five louis you don't."

      M. Paul shook his head. "I don't want your money."

      "Bon sang! You think the whole police department must bow down to you."

      "It's not a case of bowing down to me, it's a case of needing me."

      "Huh!" snorted the other. "I'm going to walk around." He rose and moved toward the door. Then he turned sharply: "Say, how much did you pay that driver?"

      "Ten louis. It was cheap enough. He might have lost his place."

      "You think it's a great joke on me because I paid you five francs? Don't forget that it was raining and dark and you had that rubber cape pulled up over half your face, so it wasn't such a wonderful disguise."

      "I didn't say it was."

      "Anyhow, I'll get square with you," retorted the other, exasperated by M. Paul's good nature. "The best men make mistakes and look out that you don't make one."

      "If I do, I'll call on you for help."

      "And if you do, I'll take jolly good care that you don't get it," snarled the other.

      "Nonsense!" laughed Coquenil. "You're a good soldier, Gibelin; you like to kick and growl, but you do your work. Tell you what I'll do as soon as I'm put in charge of this case. Want to know what I'll do?"

      "Well?"

      "I'll have to set you to work on it. Ha, ha! Upon my soul, I will."

      "You'd better look out," menaced the red-haired man with an ugly look, "or I'll do some work on this case you'll wish I hadn't done." With this he flung himself out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

      "What did he mean by that?" muttered M. Paul, and he sat silent, lost in thought, until the others returned. In a glance, he read the answer in their faces.

      "It's all right," said the chief.

      "Congratulations, old friend," beamed Pougeot, squeezing Coquenil's hand.

      "The préfet was extremely nice," added M. Hauteville; "he took our view at once."

      "Then my commission is signed?"

      "Precisely," answered the chief; "you are one of us again, and—I'm glad."

      "Thank you, both of you," said M. Paul with a quiver of emotion.

      "I give you full charge of this case," went on M. Simon, "and I will see that you have every possible assistance. I