“Ask him to come in,” said Hauteville, and a moment later Coquenil’s fat, red-haired rival entered with a smile that made his short mustache fairly bristle in triumph.

“Ah, you have news for us!” exclaimed the judge.

Gibelin beamed.  “I haven’t wasted my time,” he nodded.  Then, with a sarcastic glance at Coquenil:  “The old school has its good points, after all.”

“No doubt,” agreed Coquenil curtly.

“Although I am no longer in charge of this case,” rasped the fat man, “I suppose there is no objection to my rendering my distinguished associate,” he bowed mockingly to M. Paul, “such assistance as is in my power.”

“Of course not,” replied Hauteville.

“I happened to hear that this American has a room on the Rue Racine and I just looked in there.”

“Ah!” said the judge, and Coquenil rubbed his glasses nervously.  There is no detective big-souled enough not to tingle with resentment when he finds that a rival has scored a point.

“Our friend lives at the Hotel des Etrangers, near the corner of the Boulevard St. Michel,” went on Gibelin.  “I happened to be talking with the man who sent out the banquet invitations and he told me.  M. Kittredge has a little room with a brick floor up six flights.  And long!  And black!” He rubbed his knees ruefully.  “But it was worth the trouble.  Ah, yes!” His small eyes brightened.

“You examined his things?”

“Pour sur! I spent an hour there.  And talked the soul out of the chambermaid.  A good-looking wench!  And a sharp one!” he chuckled. “She knows the value of a ten-franc piece!”

“Well, well,” broke in M. Paul, “what did you discover?”

[Illustration:  “Gibelin beamed.  ’The old school has its good points, after all.’”]

Gibelin lifted his pudgy hands deprecatingly.  “For one thing I discovered a photograph of the woman who was in Number Six with Martinez.”

“The devil!” cried Coquenil.

“It is not of much importance, since already you have the woman’s name and address.”  He shot a keen glance at his rival.

M. Paul was silent.  What humiliation was this!  No doubt Gibelin had heard the truth and was gloating over it!

“How do you know it is the woman’s photograph?” questioned the judge.

“I’ll tell you,” replied Gibelin, delighted with his sensation.  “It’s quite a story.  I suppose you know that when this woman slipped out of the Ansonia, she drove directly to the house where we arrested the American.  You knew that?” He turned to Coquenil.

“No.”

“Well, I happened to speak to the concierge there and she remembers perfectly a lady in an evening gown with a rain coat over it like the one this woman escaped in.  This lady sent a note by the concierge up to the apartment of that she-dragon, the sacristan’s wife, where M. Kittredge was calling on Alice.”