M. Paul opened his eyes and said in a dull tone:  “Did you take the girl to Pougeot last night?”

“Yes, she’s all right.  The commissary says he will look after her as if she were his own daughter until he hears from you.”

“Good!  And—­you showed her the ring?”

The old man nodded.  “She understands, she will be careful, but—­there’s nothing for her to worry about now—­is there?”

Coquenil’s face darkened.  “You’d better let me have the ring before I forget it.”

“Thanks!” He slipped the old talisman on his finger, and then, after a troubled pause, he said:  “There is more for her to worry about than ever.”

“More?  You mean on account of Groener?”

“Yes.”

“But he’s caught, he’s in prison.”

The detective shook his head.  “He’s not in prison.”

“Not in prison?”

“He was set at liberty about—­about two o’clock this morning.”

Tignol stared stupidly, scarcely taking in the words.  “But—­but he’s guilty.”

“I know.”

“You have all this evidence against him?”

“Yes.”

“Then—­then how is he at liberty?” stammered the other.

Coquenil reached for a match, struck it deliberately and lighted a cigarette.

“By order of the Prime Minister,” he said quietly, and blew out a long white fragrant cloud.

“You mean—­without trial?”

“Yes—­without trial.  He’s a very important person, Papa Tignol.”

The old man scratched his head in perplexity.  “I didn’t know anybody was too important to be tried for murder.”

“He can’t be tried until he’s committed for trial by a judge.”

“Well?  And Hauteville?”

“Hauteville will never commit him.”

“Why not?”

“Because Hauteville has been removed from office.”

“Wha-at?”

“His commission was revoked this morning by order of the Minister of Justice.”

“Judge Hauteville—­discharged!” murmured Tignol, in bewilderment.

Coquenil nodded and then added sorrowfully:  “And you, too, my poor friend. Everyone who has had anything to do with this case, from the highest to the lowest, will suffer.  We all made a frightful mistake, they say, in daring to arrest and persecute this most distinguished and honorable citizen.  Ha, ha!” he concluded bitterly as he lighted another cigarette.

“C’est epatant!” exclaimed Tignol.  “He must be a rich devil!”

“He’s rich and—­much more.”

“Whe-ew!  He must be a senator or—­or something like that?”

“Much more,” said Coquenil grimly.

“More than a senator?  Then—­then a cabinet minister?  No, it isn’t possible?”

“He is more important than a cabinet minister, far more important.”

“Holy snakes!” gasped Tignol.  “I don’t see anything left except the Prime Minister himself.”