“That was Brazil?”

“I suppose so.  And there was a burning sun with a wicked face inside that kept looking down at me.  She says she often dreams of this wicked face, she sees it first in a distant star that comes nearer and nearer, until it gets to be large and red and angry.  As the face comes closer her fear grows, until she wakes with a start of terror; she says she would die of fright if the face ever reached her before she awoke.  That’s about all.”

For some moments the commissary did not speak.  “Did she try to interpret this dream?”

“No.”

“Why did she tell you about it?”

“She acted on a sudden impulse, so she says.  I’m inclined to believe her; but never mind that.  Pougeot,” he rose in agitation and stood leaning over his friend, “in that forest scene she brought up something that isn’t known, something I’ve never even told you, my best friend.”

“Tiens! What is that?”

“You think I resigned from the police force two years ago, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Everyone thinks so.  Well, it isn’t true.  I didn’t resign; I was discharged.”

M. Pougeot stared in bewilderment, as if words failed him, and finally he repeated weakly:  “Discharged!  Paul Coquenil discharged!”

[Illustration:  “‘I didn’t resign; I was discharged.’”]

“Yes, sir, discharged from the Paris detective force for refusing to arrest a murderer—­that’s how the accusation read.”

“But it wasn’t true?”

“Judge for yourself.  It was the case of a poacher who killed a guard.  I don’t suppose you remember it?”

M. Pougeot thought a moment—­he prided himself on remembering everything.  “Down near Saumur, wasn’t it?”

“Exactly.  And it was near Saumur I found him after searching all over France.  We were clean off the track, and I made up my mind the only way to get him was through his wife and child.  They lived in a little house in the woods not far from the place of the shooting.  I went there as a peddler in hard luck, and I played my part so well that the woman consented to take me in as a boarder.”

“Wonderful man!” exclaimed the commissary.

“For weeks it was a waiting game.  I would go away on a peddling tour and then come back as boarder.  Nothing developed, but I could not get rid of the feeling that my man was somewhere near in the woods.”

“One of your intuitions.  Well?”

“Well, at last the woman became convinced that they had nothing to fear from me, and she did things more openly.  One day I saw her put some food in a basket and give it to the little girl.  And the little girl went off with the basket into the forest.  Then I knew I was right, and the next day I followed the little girl, and, sure enough, she led me to a rough cave where her father was hiding.  I hung about there for an hour or two, and finally the man came out from the cave and I saw him talk to his wife and child near a bridge over a mountain torrent.”