“Don’t I get a pourboire?” grumbled the driver.

“No, sir.  You’re lucky to get anything.”

“Am I?” retorted the Jehu, gathering up his reins (and now came the unexpected happening):  “Well, I’ll tell you one thing, my friend, this is the night they made a fool of M. Gibelin!”

The detective started.  “You know my name?  What do you mean?”

The cab was already moving, but the driver turned on his seat and, waving his hand in derision, he called back:  “Ask Beau Cocono!” And then to his horse:  “Hue, cocotte!”

Meantime Kittredge had climbed the four flights of stairs leading to the sacristan’s modest apartment.  And, in order to explain how he happened to be making so untimely a visit it is necessary to go back several hours to a previous visit here that the young American had already made on this momentous evening.

After leaving the Ansonia banquet at about nine o’clock in the singular manner noted by the big doorkeeper, Kittredge, in accordance with his promise to Alice, had driven directly to the Rue du Cloitre Notre-Dame, and at twenty minutes past nine by the clock in the Tavern of the Three Wise Men he had drawn up at the house where the Bonnetons lived.  Five minutes later the young man was seated in the sacristan’s little salon assuring Alice that he didn’t mind the rain, that the banquet was a bore, anyhow, and that he hoped she was now going to prove herself a sensible and reasonable little girl.

[Illustration:  “‘Ask Beau Cocono,’ he called back.”]

Alice welcomed her lover eagerly.  She had been anxious about him, she did not know why, and when the storm came she had been more anxious.  But now she was reassured and—­and happy.  Her mantling color, her heaving bosom, and the fond, wistful lights in her dark eyes told how very happy she was.  And how proud!  After all he trusted her, it must be so! he had left his friends, left this fine banquet and, in spite of the pain she had given him, in spite of the bad night, he had come to her here in her humble home.

And it would have straightway been the love scene all over again, for Alice had never seemed so adorable, but for the sudden and ominous entrance of Mother Bonneton.  She eyed the visitor with frank unfriendliness and, without mincing her words, proceeded to tell him certain things, notably that his attentions to Alice must cease and that his visits here would henceforth be unwelcome.

In vain the poor girl protested against this breach of hospitality.  Mother Bonneton held her ground grimly, declaring that she had a duty to perform and would perform it.

“What duty?” asked the American.

“A duty to M. Groener.”

At this name Alice started apprehensively.  Kittredge knew that she had a cousin named Groener, a wood carver who lived in Belgium, and who came to Paris occasionally to see her and to get orders for his work.  On one occasion he had met this cousin and had judged him a well-meaning but rather stupid fellow who need not be seriously considered in his efforts to win Alice.