The two men eyed each other keenly.

“Coquenil,” said De Heidelmann-Bruck slowly, “I give you credit for unusual cleverness, but if you tell me you have any inkling what I am waiting for——­”

“It’s more than inkling,” answered the detective quietly, “I know that you are waiting for the girl.”

“The girl?” The other started.

“The girl Alice or—­Mary your stepdaughter.”

“God Almighty!” burst out the baron.  “What a guess!”

M. Paul shook his head.  “No, not a guess, a fair deduction.  My ring is gone.  It was on my hand before you gave me that chloroform.  You took it.  That means you needed it.  Why?  To get the girl!  You knew it would bring her, though how you knew it is more than I can understand.”

“Gibelin heard you speak of the ring to Pougeot that night in the automobile.”

“Ah!  And how did you know where the girl was?”

“Guessed it partly and—­had Pougeot followed.”

“And she’s coming here?”

The baron nodded.  “She ought to be here shortly.”  Then with a quick, cruel smile:  “I suppose you know why I want her?”

“I’m afraid I do,” said Coquenil.

“Suppose we come in here,” suggested the other.  “I’m tired holding this candle and you don’t care particularly about lying on that bag of shavings.”

With this he led the way through the arched passageway into another stone chamber very much like the first, only smaller, and lined in the same way with piled-up logs.  In the middle of the floor was a rough table spread with food, and two rough chairs.  On the table lay the diary.

“Sit down,” continued the baron.  “Later on you can eat, but first we’ll have a talk.  Coquenil, I’ve watched you for years, I know all about you, and—­I’ll say this, you’re the most interesting man I ever met.  You’ve given me trouble, but—­that’s all right, you played fair, and—­I like you, I like you.”

There was no doubt about the genuineness of this and M. Paul glanced wonderingly across the table.

“Thanks,” he said simply.

“It’s a pity you couldn’t see things my way.  I wanted to be your friend, I wanted to help you.  Just think how many times I’ve gone out of my way to give you chances, fine business chances.”

“I know.”

“And that night on the Champs Elysees!  Didn’t I warn you?  Didn’t I almost plead with you to drop this case?  And you wouldn’t listen?”

“That’s true.”

“Now see where you are!  See what you’ve forced me to do.  It’s a pity; it cuts me up, Coquenil.”  He spoke with real sadness.

“I understand,” answered M. Paul.  “I appreciate what you say.  There’s a bond between a good detective and——­”

“A great detective!” put in the baron admiringly, “the greatest detective Paris has known in fifty years or will know in fifty more.  Yes, yes, it’s a pity!”