Drawing up before the imposing entrance, they saw two policemen on guard at the doors, one of whom, recognizing the commissary, came forward quickly to the automobile with word that M. Gibelin and two other men from headquarters had already arrived and were proceeding with the investigation.

“Is Papa Tignol here?” asked Coquenil.

“Yes, sir,” replied the man, saluting respectfully.

“Before I go in, Lucien, you’d better speak to Gibelin,” whispered M. Paul.  “It’s a little delicate.  He’s a good detective, but he likes the old-school methods, and—­he and I never got on very well.  He has been sent to take charge of the case, so—­be tactful with him.”

“He can’t object,” answered Pougeot.  “After all, I’m the commissary of this quarter, and if I need your services——­”

“I know, but I’d sooner you spoke to him.”

“Good.  I’ll be back in a moment,” and pushing his way through the crowd of sensation seekers that blocked the sidewalk, he disappeared inside the building.

M. Pougeot’s moment was prolonged to five full minutes, and when he reappeared his face was black.

“Such stupidity!” he stormed.

“It’s what I expected,” answered Coquenil.

“Gibelin says you have no business here.  He’s an impudent devil!  ’Tell Beau Cocono,’ he sneered, ’to keep his hands off this case.  Orders from headquarters.’  I told him you had business here, business for me, and—­come on, I’ll show ’em.”

He took Coquenil by the arm, but the latter drew back.  “Not yet.  I have a better idea.  Go ahead with your report.  Never mind me.”

“But I want you on the case,” insisted the commissary.

“I’ll be on the case, all right.”

“I’ll telephone headquarters at once about this,” insisted Pougeot.  “When shall I see you again?”

Coquenil eyed his friend mysteriously.  “I think you’ll see me before the night is over.  Now get to work, and,” he smiled mockingly, “give M. Gibelin the assurance of my distinguished consideration.”

Pougeot nodded crustily and went back into the restaurant, while Coquenil, with perfect equanimity, paid the automobile man and dismissed him.

Meantime in the large dining rooms on the street floor everything was going on as usual, the orchestra was playing in its best manner and few of the brilliant company suspected that anything was wrong.  Those who started to go out were met by M. Gritz himself, and, with a brief hint of trouble upstairs, were assured that they would be allowed to leave shortly after some necessary formalities.  This delay most of them took good-naturedly and went back to their tables.

As M. Pougeot mounted to the first floor he was met at the head of the stairs by a little yellow-bearded man, with luminous dark eyes, who came toward him, hand extended.

“Ah, Dr. Joubert!” said the commissary.

The doctor nodded nervously.  “It’s a singular case,” he whispered, “a very singular case.”