So familiar a figure was Martinez that there was no difficulty in finding witnesses in the restaurant able to identify him positively as the dead man.  Several had seen him within a few days at the Olympia billiard academy, where he had been practicing for a much-advertised match with an American rival.  All agreed that Martinez was quite the last man in Paris to take his own life, for the simple reason that he enjoyed it altogether too much.  He was scarcely thirty and in excellent health, he made plenty of money, he was fond of pleasure, and particularly fond of the ladies and had no reason to complain of bad treatment at their hands; in fact, if the truth must be told, he was ridiculously vain of his conquests among the fair sex, and was always saying to whoever would listen:  “Ah, mon cher, I have met a woman!  But such a woman!” Then his dark eyes would glow and he would snap his thumb nail under an upper tooth, with an expression of ravishing joy that only a Castilian billiard player could assume.  And, of course, it was always a different woman!

“Aha!” muttered the commissary.  “There may be a husband mixed up in this.  Call that waiter again, and—­er—­we will continue the examination outside.”

With this they removed to the adjoining private room, Number Five, leaving a policeman at the door of Number Six until proper disposal of the body should be made.

In the further questioning of Joseph the commissary brought out several important facts.  The waiter testified that, after serving the soup to Martinez and the lady, he had not left the corridor outside the door of Number Six until the moment when he entered the room and discovered the crime.  During this interval of perhaps a quarter of an hour he had moved down the corridor a short distance, but not farther than the door of Number Four.  He was sure of this because one of the doors to the banquet room was just opposite the door of Number Four, and he had stood there listening to a Fourth-of-July speaker who was discussing the relations between France and America.  Joseph, being something of a politician, was greatly interested in this.

“Then this banquet-room door was open?” questioned Pougeot.

“Yes, sir, it was open about a foot—­some of the guests wanted air.”

“How did you stand as you listened to the speaker?  Show me.”  M. Pougeot led Joseph to the banquet-room door.

“Like this,” answered the waiter, and he placed himself so that his back was turned to Number Six.

“So you would not have seen anyone who might have come out of Number Six at that time or gone into Number Six?”

“I suppose not.”

“And if the door of Number Six had opened while your back was turned, would you have heard it?”

Joseph shook his head.  “No, sir; there was a lot of applauding—­like that,” he paused as a roar of laughter came from across the hall.

The commissary turned quickly to one of his men.  “See that they make less noise.  And be careful no one leaves the banquet room on any excuse.  I’ll be there presently.”  Then to the waiter:  “Did you hear any sound from Number Six?  Anything like a shot?”