“My dog, my dog!” he cried, and coming up to the stricken creature, he knelt beside him with ashen face.

One glance showed there was nothing to be done, the bullet had crashed into the broad breast in front of the left shoulder and—­it was all over with Caesar.

“My friend, my dear old friend!” murmured M. Paul in broken tones, and he took the poor head in his arms.  At the master’s voice Caesar opened his beautiful eyes weakly, in a last pitiful appeal, then the lids closed.

“You cowards!” flung out the heartsick man.  “You have killed my dog!”

“It was your own fault,” said one of the gentlemen coldly, “you had no business to leave a dangerous animal like that at liberty.”

[Illustration:  “‘My dog, my dog!’”]

M. Paul did not speak or move; he was thinking bitterly of Alice’s presentiment.

Then some one on the break said:  “We had better move along, hadn’t we, Raoul?”

“Yes,” agreed another.  “What a beastly bore!”

And a few moments later, with clanking harness and sounding horn, the gay party rolled away.

Coquenil sat silent by his dog.

CHAPTER XXI

THE WOOD CARVER

A detective, like an actor or a soldier, must go on fighting and playing his part, regardless of personal feelings.  Sorrow brings him no reprieve from duty, so the next morning after the last sad offices for poor Caesar, Coquenil faced the emergency before him with steady nerve and calm resolution.  There was an assassin to be brought to justice and the time for action had come.  This was, perhaps, the most momentous day of his whole career.

Up to the very hour of luncheon M. Paul doubted whether the wood carver would keep his appointment at the Bonnetons’.  Why should he take such a risk?  Why walk deliberately into a trap that he must suspect?  It was true, Coquenil remembered with chagrin, that this man, if he really was the man, had once before walked into a trap (there on the Champs Elysees) and had then walked calmly out again; but this time the detective promised himself things should happen differently.  His precautions were taken, and if Groener came within his clutches to-day, he would have a lively time getting out of them.  There was a score to be settled between them, a heavy score, and—­let the wood carver beware!

The wood carver kept his appointment.  More than that, he seemed in excellent spirits, and as he sat down to Mother Bonneton’s modest luncheon he nodded good-naturedly to Matthieu, the substitute watchman, whom the sacristan introduced, not too awkwardly, then he fell to eating with a hearty appetite and without any sign of embarrassment or suspicion.

“It’s a strong game he’s playing,” reflected the detective, “but he’s going to lose.”