He spoke with an accent so sincere that I was almost convinced he meant every word of it; but Godfrey only smiled.

“It is a proverb,” he said, “that the French police are the best in the world.  You, no doubt, have a theory in regard to the death of these men?”

“I fear it is impossible, sir,” said M. Pigot, regretfully, “to answer that question at present, or to discuss this case with you.  I have my report first to make to the chief of your detective bureau.  To-morrow I shall be most happy to tell you all that I can.  But for to-night my lips are closed, sad as it makes me to seem discourteous.”

I could hear behind me the little indrawn breath of disappointment at the failure of the direct attack.  M. Pigot’s position was, of course, absolutely correct; but nevertheless Godfrey prepared to attack it on the flank.

“You are going ashore to-night?” he inquired.

“I was expecting a representative of your bureau to meet me here,” M. Pigot explained.  “I was hoping to return with him to the city.  I have no time to lose.  In addition, the more quickly we get to work, the more likely we shall be to succeed.  Ah! perhaps that is he,” he added, as a voice was heard inquiring loudly for Moosseer Piggott.

I recognised that voice, and so did Godfrey, and I saw the cloud of disappointment which fell upon his face.

An instant later, Grady, with Simmonds in his wake, elbowed his way through the group.

“Moosseer Piggott!” he cried, and enveloped the Frenchman’s slender hand in his great paw, and gave it a squeeze which was no doubt painful.

“Glad to see you, sir.  Welcome to our city, as we say over here in America.  I certainly hope you can speak English, for I don’t know a word of your lingo.  I’m Commissioner Grady, in charge of the detective bureau; and this is Simmonds, one of my men.”

M. Pigot’s perfect suavity was not even ruffled.

“I am most pleased to meet you, sir; and you Monsieur Simmon,” he said.  “Yes—­I speak English—­though, as you see, with some difficulty.”

“These reporters bothering your life out, I see,” and Grady glanced about the group, scowling as his eyes met Godfrey’s.  “Now you boys might as well fade away.  You won’t get anything out of either of us to-night—­eh, Moosseer Piggott?”

“I have but just told them that my first report must be made to you, sir,” assented Pigot.

“Then let’s go somewhere and have a drink,” suggested Grady.

“I was hoping,” said M. Pigot, gently, “that we might go ashore at once.  I have my papers ready for you....”

“All right,” agreed Grady.  “And after I’ve looked over your papers, I’ll show you Broadway, and I’ll bet you agree with me that it beats anything in gay Paree.  Our boat’s waiting, and we can start right away.  This your bag?  Yes?  Bring it along, Simmonds,” and Grady started for the stair.

But the attentive steward got ahead of Simmonds.