“Why, she married an American who was—­the less we say about him the better.  The point is, Alice is half American, and ever since she has been old enough to take notice, she has been crazy about American men.”  He leaned closer and, lowering his voice, added:  “That’s why I had to send her to Paris five years ago.”

“You don’t say!”

“She was only thirteen then, but well developed and very pretty and—­M. 
Matthieu, she got gone on an American who was spending the winter in
Brussels, a married man.  I had to break it up somehow, so I sent her away. 
Yes, sir.”  He shook his head sorrowfully.

“And now it’s another American, a man in prison, charged with a horrible crime.  Think of that!  As soon as Mother Bonneton wrote me about it, I saw I’d have to take the girl away again.  I told her this morning she must pack up her things and go back to Brussels with me, and that made the trouble.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Matthieu with an understanding nod.  “Then she knew at luncheon that you would take her back to Brussels?”

“Of course she did.  You know how she acted; she had made up her mind she wouldn’t go.  Only she was tricky about it.  She knew I had my eye on her, so she got this priest to help her.”

Now the other stared in genuine astonishment.  “Why—­was the priest in it?”

“Was he in it?  Of course he was in it.  He was the whole thing.  This Father Anselm has been encouraging the girl for months, filling her up with nonsense about how it’s right for a young girl to choose her own husband.  Mother Bonneton told me.”

“You mean that Father Anselm helped her to run away?” gasped Matthieu.

“Of course he did.  You saw him come out of the confessional, didn’t you?”

“I was too far away to see his face,” replied the other, studying the wood carver closely.  “Did you see his face?”

“Certainly I did.  He passed within ten feet of me.  I saw his face distinctly.”

“Are you sure it was he?  I don’t doubt you, M. Groener, but I’m a sort of official here and this is a serious charge, so I ask if you are sure it was Father Anselm?”.

“I’m absolutely sure it was Father Anselm,” answered the wood carver positively.  He paused a moment while the detective wondered what was the meaning of this extraordinary statement.  Why was the man giving him these details about Alice, and how much of them was true?  Did Groener know he was talking to Paul Coquenil?  If so, he knew that Coquenil must know he was lying about Father Anselm.  Then why say such a thing?  What was his game?

[Illustration:  “‘You mean that Father Anselm helped her to run away?’ gasped Matthieu.”]

“Have another glass?” asked the wood carver.  “Or shall we go on?”

“Go on—­where?”

“Oh, of course, you don’t know my plan.  I will tell you.  You see, I must find Alice, I must try to save her from this folly, for her mother’s sake.  Well, I know how to find her.”