CHAPTER XXVII

THE DIARY

Coquenil’s effort during the next month might be set forth in great detail.  It may also be told briefly, which is better, since the result rather than the means is of moment.

The detective began by admitting the practical worthlessness of the evidence in hand against this formidable adversary, and he abandoned, for the moment, his purpose of proving that De Heidelmann-Bruck had killed Martinez.  Under the circumstances there was no way of proving it, for how can the wheels of justice be made to turn against an individual who absolutely controls the manner of their turning, who is able to remove annoying magistrates with a snap of his fingers, and can use the full power of government, the whole authority of the Prime Minister of France and the Minister of Justice for his personal convenience and protection?

The case was so extraordinary and unprecedented that it could obviously be met only (if at all) by extraordinary and unprecedented measures.  Such measures Coquenil proceeded to conceive and carry out, realizing fully that, in so doing, he was taking his life in his hands.  His first intuition had come true, he was facing a great criminal and must either destroy or be destroyed; it was to be a ruthless fight to a finish between Paul Coquenil and the Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck.

And, true to his intuitions, as he had been from the start, M. Paul resolved to seek the special and deadly arm that he needed against this sinister enemy in the baron’s immediate entourage; in fact, in his own house and home.  That was the detective’s task, to be received, unsuspected, as an inmate of De Heidelmann-Bruck’s great establishment on the Rue de Varennes, the very center of the ancient nobility of Paris.

In this purpose he finally succeeded, after what wiles and pains need not be stated, being hired at moderate wages as a stable helper, with a small room over the carriage house, and miscellaneous duties that included much drudgery in cleaning the baron’s numerous automobiles.  It may truthfully be said that no more willing pair of arms ever rubbed and scrubbed their aristocratic brasses.

The next thing was to gain the confidence, then the complicity of one of the men servants in the hotel itself, so that he might be given access to the baron’s private apartments at the opportune moment.  In the horde of hirelings about a great man there is always one whose ear is open to temptation, and the baron’s household was no exception to this rule.  Coquenil (known now as Jacques and looking the stable man to perfection) found a dignified flunky in black side whiskers and white-silk stockings who was not above accepting some hundred-franc notes in return for sure information as to the master’s absences from home and for necessary assistance in the way of keys and other things.