“Nothing, just a thought I had,” he answered abstractedly.

“What a queer man you are!” she said with a little pout.  She was not accustomed to have men inattentive when she sat near them.

“There’s one thing that doesn’t seem very clever, though,” reflected the detective.  “Didn’t Martinez think your husband or Anita would see those holes in the wall?”

“No, because he had prepared for that.  There was a tall palm in Number Seven that stood just before the holes and screened them.”

Coquenil looked at her curiously.

“How do you know there was?”

“Martinez told me.  He had taken the precaution to look in there on Friday when he engaged Number Six.  He knew exactly where to bore the holes.”

“I see.  And he put them behind the curtain hangings so that your waiter wouldn’t see them?”

“That’s it.”

“And you held the curtain hangings back while he used the auger?”

“Yes.  You see he managed it very well.”

“Very well except for one thing,” mused Coquenil, “there wasn’t any palm in Number Six.”

“No?”

“No.”

“That’s strange!”

“Yes, it is strange,” and again she felt that he was following a separate train of thought.

“Did you look through the holes at all?” he asked.

“No, I hadn’t time.”

“Did Martinez look through the first hole after it was bored?”

“Yes, but he couldn’t see anything, as Number Seven was dark.”

“Then you have absolutely no idea who fired the shot?”

“Absolutely none.”

“Except you think it wasn’t your husband?”

“I know it wasn’t my husband.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I asked him.  Ah, you needn’t smile, I made him give me proof.”  When I got home that night I had a horrible feeling that Addison must have done it.  Who else could have done it, since he had engaged Number Seven?  So I waited until he came home.  It was after twelve.  I could hear him moving about in his room and I was afraid to speak to him, the thing seemed so awful; but, at last, I went in and asked him where he had been.  He began to lie in the usual way—­you know any man will if he’s in a hole like that—­but finally I couldn’t stand it any longer and I said:  ’Addison, for God’s sake, don’t lie to me.  I know something terrible has happened, and if I can, I want to help you.’

“I was as white as a sheet and he jumped up in a great fright.  ’What is it, Pussy?  What is it?’ he cried.  And then I told him a murder had been committed at the Ansonia in private room Number Seven.  I wish you could have seen his face.  He never said a word, he just stared at me.  ’Why don’t you speak?’ I begged.  ’Addison, it wasn’t you, tell me it wasn’t you.  Never mind this Anita woman, I’ll forgive that if you’ll only tell me where you’ve been to-night.’