Then, briefly and impressively, Coquenil told of the extraordinary revelations that Alice had made, not only to him, but to the director of the Sante prison.

“Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!” muttered the old man.  “I think she’s possessed of the devil.”

“She’s possessed of dangerous knowledge, and I want to know where she got it.  I want to know all about this girl, who she is, where she came from, everything.  And that’s where you can help me.”

Bonneton shook his head.  “We know very little about her, and, the queer thing is, she seems to know very little about herself.”

“Perhaps she knows more than she wants to tell.”

“Perhaps, but—­I don’t think so.  I believe she is perfectly honest.  Anyhow, her cousin is a stupid fellow.  He comes on from Brussels every five or six months and spends two nights with us—­never more, never less.  He eats his meals, attends to his commissions for wood carving, takes Alice out once in the afternoon or evening, gives my wife the money for her board, and that’s all.  For five years it’s been the same—­you know as much about him in one visit as you would in a hundred.  There’s nothing much to know; he’s just a stupid wood carver.”

“You say he takes Alice out every time he comes?  Is she fond of him?”

“Why—­er—­yes, I think so, but he upsets her.  I’ve noticed she’s nervous just before his visits, and sort of sad after them.  My wife says the girl has her worst dreams then.”

Coquenil took out a box of cigarettes.  “You don’t mind if I smoke?” And, without waiting for permission, he lighted one of his Egyptians and inhaled long breaths of the fragrant smoke.  “Not a word, Bonneton!  I want to think.”  Then for full five minutes he sat silent.

“I have it!” he exclaimed presently.  “Tell me about this man Francois.”

“Francois?” answered the sacristan in surprise.  “Why, he helps me with the night work here.”

“Where does he live?”

“In a room near here.”

“Where does he eat?”

“He takes two meals with us.”

“Ah!  Do you think he would like to make a hundred francs by doing nothing?  Of course he would.  And you would like to make five hundred?”

“Five hundred francs?” exclaimed Bonneton, with a frightened look.

“Don’t be afraid,” laughed the other.  “I’m not planning to steal the treasure.  When do you expect this wood carver again?”

“It’s odd you should ask that, for my wife only told me this morning she’s had a letter from him.  We didn’t expect him for six weeks yet, but it seems he’ll be here next Wednesday.  Something must have happened.”

“Next Wednesday,” reflected Coquenil.  “He always comes when he says he will?”

“Always.  He’s as regular as clockwork.”

“And he spends two nights with you?”

“Yes.”

“That will be Wednesday night and Thursday night of next week?”