Through the Wall Part 46

So they moved cautiously down the Boulevard St. Michel, then over the bridge and along the river to Notre-Dame, whose ma.s.sive towers stood out in mysterious beauty against the faintly lighted eastern sky. Here the leader paused for his companion.

"There's nothing," he said, as the latter joined him.

"Nothing."

"Good! Take the bag and wait for me, but keep out of sight."

"_Entendu_."

Coquenil walked across the square to the cathedral, moving slowly, thinking over the events of the night. They had crossed the track of the a.s.sa.s.sin, that was sure, but they had discovered nothing that could help in his capture except the fact of the long little finger. The man had left absolutely nothing in his room at the hotel (this they verified with the help of false keys), and had never returned after the night of the crime, although he had taken the room for a month, and paid the rent in advance.

He had made two visits to this room, one at about three in the afternoon of the fatal day, when he spent an hour there, and entered Kittredge's room, no doubt, for the boots and the pistol; the other visit he made the same night when he tried to return the boots and was prevented from doing so.

How he must have cursed that little photographer!

As to the a.s.sa.s.sin's personal appearance, there was a startling difference of opinion between the hotel doorkeeper and the _garcon_, both of whom saw him and spoke to him. The one declared he had light hair and a beard, the other that he had dark hair and no beard; the one thought he was a Frenchman, the other was sure he was a foreigner. Evidently the man was disguised either coming or going, so this testimony was practically worthless.

Despite all this, Coquenil was pleased and confident as he rang the night bell at the archbishop's house beside the cathedral, for he had one precious clew, he had the indication of this extraordinarily long little finger, and he did not believe that in all France there were two men with hands like that. And he knew there was one such man, for Alice had seen him. Where had she seen him? She said she had often noticed his long little finger, so she must often have been close enough to him to observe such a small peculiarity. But Alice went about very little, she had few friends, and all of them must be known to the Bonnetons. It ought to be easy to get from the sacristan this information which the girl herself might withhold.

Hence this nocturnal visit to Notre Dame--it was of the utmost importance that Coquenil have an immediate talk with Papa Bonneton.

And presently, after a sleepy salutation from the archbishop's servant, and a brief explanation, M. Paul was shown through a stone pa.s.sageway that connects the church with the house, and on pus.h.i.+ng open a wide door covered with red velvet, he found himself alone in Notre Dame, alone in utter darkness save for a point of red light on the shadowy altar before the Blessed Sacrament.

As he stood uncertain which way to turn, the detective heard a step and a low growl, and peering among the arches of the choir he saw a lantern advancing, then a figure holding the lantern, then another crouching figure moving before the lantern. Then he recognized Caesar.

"Phee-et, phee-et!" he whistled softly, and with a start and a glad rush, the dog came bounding to his master, while the sacristan stared in alarm.

"Good old Caesar! There, there!" murmured Coquenil, fondling the eager head. "It's all right, Bonneton," and coming forward, he held out his hand as the guardian lifted his lantern in suspicious scrutiny.

"M. Paul, upon my soul!" exclaimed the sacristan. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

"It's a little--er--personal matter," coughed Coquenil discreetly, "partly about Caesar. Can we sit down somewhere?"

Still wondering, Bonneton led the way to a small room adjoining the treasure chamber, where a dim lamp was burning; here he and his a.s.sociates got alternate s.n.a.t.c.hes of sleep during the night.

"Hey, Francois!" He shook a sleeping figure on a cot bed, and the latter roused himself and sat up. "It's time to make the round."

Francois looked stupidly at Coquenil and then, with a yawn and a shrug of indifference, he called to the dog, while Caesar growled his reluctance.

"It's all right, old fellow," encouraged Coquenil, "I'll see you again,"

whereupon Caesar trotted away rea.s.sured.

"Take this chair," said the sacristan. "I'll sit on the bed. We don't have many visitors."

"Now, then," began M. Paul. "I'll come to the dog in a minute--don't worry.

I'm not going to take him away. But first I want to ask about that girl who sells candles. She boards with you, doesn't she?"

"Yes."

"You know she's in love with this American who's in prison?"

"I know."

"She came to see me the other day."

"She did?"

"Yes, and the result of her visit was--well, it has made a lot of trouble.

What I'm going to say is absolutely between ourselves--you mustn't tell a soul, least of all your wife."

"You can trust me, M. Paul," declared Papa Bonneton rubbing his hands in excitement.

"To begin with, who is the man with the long little finger that she told me about?" He put the questions carelessly, as if it were of no particular moment.

"Why, that's Groener," answered Bonneton simply.

"Groener? Oh, her cousin?"

"Yes."

"I'm interested," went on the detective with the same indifferent air, "because I have a collection of plaster hands at my house--I'll show it to you some day--and there's one with a long little finger that the candle girl noticed. Is her cousin's little finger really very long?"

"It's pretty long," said Bonneton. "I used to think it had been stretched in some machine. You know he's a wood carver."

"I know. Well, that's neither here nor there. The point is, this girl had a dream that--why, what's the matter?"

"Don't talk to me about her dreams!" exclaimed the sacristan. "She used to have us scared to death with 'em. My wife won't let her tell 'em any more, and it's a good thing she won't." For a mild man he spoke with surprising vehemence.

"Bonneton," continued the detective mysteriously, "I don't know whether it's from her dreams or in some other way, but that girl knows things that--that she has no business to know."

Then, briefly and impressively, Coquenil told of the extraordinary revelations that Alice had made, not only to him, but to the director of the Sante prison.

"_Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!_" muttered the old man. "I think she's possessed of the devil."

"She's possessed of dangerous knowledge, and I want to know where she got it. I want to know all about this girl, who she is, where she came from, everything. And that's where you can help me."

Bonneton shook his head. "We know very little about her, and, the queer thing is, she seems to know very little about herself."

"Perhaps she knows more than she wants to tell."

"Perhaps, but--I don't think so. I believe she is perfectly honest. Anyhow, her cousin is a stupid fellow. He comes on from Brussels every five or six months and spends two nights with us--never more, never less. He eats his meals, attends to his commissions for wood carving, takes Alice out once in the afternoon or evening, gives my wife the money for her board, and that's all. For five years it's been the same--you know as much about him in one visit as you would in a hundred. There's nothing much to know; he's just a stupid wood carver."

"You say he takes Alice out every time he comes? Is she fond of him?"

"Why--er--yes, I think so, but he upsets her. I've noticed she's nervous just before his visits, and sort of sad after them. My wife says the girl has her worst dreams then."

Coquenil took out a box of cigarettes. "You don't mind if I smoke?" And, without waiting for permission, he lighted one of his Egyptians and inhaled long breaths of the fragrant smoke. "Not a word, Bonneton! I want to think." Then for full five minutes he sat silent.

"I have it!" he exclaimed presently. "Tell me about this man Francois."

"Francois?" answered the sacristan in surprise. "Why, he helps me with the night work here."