Still the judge was unconvinced.  “If it’s murder, how do you account for the singed eyebrows?  How did the murderer get so near?”

“I answer as you did:  ‘Ask the woman.’  She knows.”

“Ah, yes, she knows,” reflected the commissary.  “And, gentlemen, all our talk brings us back to this, we must find that woman.”

At half past one Gibelin appeared to announce the arrest of Kittredge.  He had tried vainly to get from the American some clew to the owner of cloak and bag, but the young man had refused to speak and, with sullen indifference, had allowed himself to be locked up in the big room at the depot.

“I’ll see what I can squeeze out of him in the morning,” said Hauteville grimly.  There was no judge in the parquet who had his reputation for breaking down the resistance of obstinate prisoners.

“You’ve got your work cut out,” snapped the detective.  “He’s a stubborn devil.”

In the midst of these perplexities and technicalities a note was brought in for M. Pougeot.  The commissary glanced at it quickly and then, with a word of excuse, left the room, returning a few minutes later and whispering earnestly to M. Simon.

“You say he is here?” exclaimed the latter.  “I thought he was sailing for——­”

M. Pougeot bent closer and whispered again.

“Paul Coquenil!” exclaimed the chief.  “Why, certainly, ask him to come in.”

A moment later Coquenil entered and all rose with cordial greetings, that is, all except Gibelin, whose curt nod and suspicious glances showed that he found anything but satisfaction in the presence of this formidable rival.

“My dear Coquenil!” said Simon warmly.  “This is like the old days!  If you were only with us now what a nut there would be for you to crack!”

“So I hear,” smiled M. Paul, “and—­er—­the fact is, I have come to help you crack it.”  He spoke with that quiet but confident seriousness which always carried conviction, and M. Simon and the judge, feeling the man’s power, waited his further words with growing interest; but Gibelin blinked his small eyes and muttered under his breath:  “The cheek of the fellow!”

“As you know,” explained Coquenil briefly, “I resigned from the force two years ago.  I need not go into details; the point is, I now ask to be taken back.  That is why I am here.”

“But, my dear fellow,” replied the chief in frank astonishment, “I understood that you had received a magnificent offer with——­”

“Yes, yes, I have.”

“With a salary of a hundred thousand francs?”

“It’s true, but—­I have refused it.”

Simon and Hauteville looked at Coquenil incredulously.  How could a man refuse a salary of a hundred thousand francs?  The commissary watched his friend with admiration, Gibelin with envious hostility.

“May I ask why you have refused it?” asked the chief.