The Greatest Works of Cleveland Moffett. Cleveland Moffett
let you have him, didn't I? That proves my trust; now I want yours. I can't explain my reasons; it isn't necessary, but I tell you that what I'm asking cannot do you the least harm, and may do me the greatest good. There, it's up to you."
M. Paul held out his hand frankly and the sacristan took it, with emotion.
"That settles it," he murmured. "I never doubted you, but—my wife has an infernal tongue and——"
"She will never know anything about this," smiled the other, "and, if she should, give her one or two of these bank notes. It's wonderful how they change a woman's point of view. Besides, you can prepare her by talking about François's bad health."
"A good idea!" brightened Bonneton.
"Then it's understood. Tuesday, at six, your friend Matthieu will be here to replace François. Remember—Matthieu!"
"I'll remember."
The detective rose to go. "Good night—or, rather, good morning, for the day is shining through that rose window. Pretty, isn't it? Ouf, I wonder when I'll get the sleep I need!" He moved toward the door. "Oh, I forgot about the dog. Tignol will come for him Tuesday morning with a line from me. I shall want Cæsar in the afternoon, but I'll bring him back at six."
"All right," nodded the sacristan; "he'll be ready. Au revoir—until Tuesday."
M. Paul went through the side door and then through the high iron gateway before the archbishop's house. He glanced at his watch and it was after five. Across the square Papa Tignol was waiting.
"Things are marching along," smiled Coquenil some minutes later as they rolled along toward the Eastern railway station. "You know what you have to do. And I know what I have to do! Bon Dieu! what a life! You'd better have more money—here," and he handed the other some bank notes. "We meet Tuesday at noon near the Auteuil station beneath the first arch of the viaduct."
"Do you know what day Tuesday is?"
M. Paul thought a moment. "The fourteenth of July! Our national holiday! And the crime was committed on the American Independence Day. Strange, isn't it?"
"There will be a great crowd about."
"There's safety in a crowd. Besides, I've got to suit my time to his."
"Then you really expect to see—him?" questioned the old man.
"Yes," nodded the other briefly. "Remember this, don't join me on Tuesday or speak to me or make any sign to me unless you are absolutely sure you have not been followed. If you are in any doubt, put your message under the dog's collar and let him find me. By the way, you'd better have Cæsar clipped. It's a pity, but—it's safer."
Now they were rattling up the Rue Lafayette in the full light of day.
"Ten minutes to six," remarked Tignol. "My train leaves at six forty."
"You'll have time to get breakfast. I'll leave you now. There's nothing more to say. You have my letter—for her. You'll explain that it isn't safe for me to write through the post office. And she mustn't try to write me. I'll come to her as soon as I can. You have the money for her; say I want her to buy a new dress, a nice one, and if there's anything else she wants, why, she must have it. Understand?"
Tignol nodded.
Then, dropping the cab window, M. Paul told the driver to stop, and they drew up before the terraced fountains of the Trinité church.
"Good-by and good luck," said Coquenil, clasping Tignol's hand, "and—don't let her worry."
The cab rolled on, and M. Paul, bag in hand, strode down a side street; but just at the corner he turned and looked after the hurrying vehicle, and his eyes were full of sadness and yearning.
Tuesday, the fourteenth of July! The great French holiday! All Paris in the streets, bands playing, soldiers marching, everybody happy or looking happy! And from early morning all trains, 'buses, cabs, automobiles, in short, all moving things in the gay city were rolling a jubilant multitude toward the Bois de Boulogne, where the President of the Republique was to review the troops before a million or so of his fellow-citizens. Coquenil had certainly chosen the busiest end of Paris for his meeting with Papa Tignol.
Their rendezvous was at noon, but two hours earlier Tignol took the train at the St. Lazare station. And with him came Cæsar, such a changed, unrecognizable Cæsar! Poor dog! His beautiful, glossy coat of brown and white had been clipped to ridiculous shortness, and he crouched at the old man's feet in evident humiliation.
"It was a shame, old fellow," said Tignol consolingly, "but we had to obey orders, eh? Never mind, it will grow out again."
Leaving the train at Auteuil, they walked down the Rue La Fontaine to a tavern near the Rue Mozart, where the old man left Cæsar in charge of the proprietor, a friend of his. It was now a quarter to eleven, and Tignol spent the next hour riding back and forth on the circular railway between Auteuil and various other stations; he did this because Coquenil had charged him to be sure he was not followed; he felt reasonably certain that he was not, but he wished to be absolutely certain.
So he rode back to the Avenue Henri Martin, where he crossed the platform and boarded a returning train for the Champs de Mars, telling the guard he had made a mistake. Two other passengers did the same, a young fellow and a man of about fifty, with a rough gray beard. Tignol did not see the young fellow again, but when he got off at the Champs de Mars, the gray-bearded man got off also and followed across the bridge to the opposite platform, where both took the train back to Auteuil.
This was suspicious, so at Auteuil Tignol left the station quickly, only to return a few minutes later and buy another ticket for the Avenue Henri Martin. There once more he crossed the platform and took a train for the Champs de Mars, and this time he congratulated himself that no one had followed him; but when he got off, as before, at the Champs de Mars and crossed the bridge, he saw the same gray-bearded man crossing behind him. There was no doubt of it, he was being shadowed.
And now Tignol waited until the train back to Auteuil was about starting, then he deliberately got into a compartment where the gray-bearded man was seated alone. And, taking out pencil and paper, he proceeded to write a note for Coquenil. Their meeting was now impossible, so he must fasten this explanation, along with his full report, under Cæsar's collar and let the dog be messenger, as had been arranged.
"I am sending this by Cæsar," he wrote, "because I am watched. The man following me is a bad-looking brute with dirty gray beard and no mustache. He has a nervous trick of half shutting his eyes and jerking up the corners of his mouth, which shows the worst set of ugly yellow teeth I ever saw. I'd like to have one of them for a curiosity."
"Would you?" said the man suddenly, as if answering a question.
Tignol stared at him.
"Excuse me," explained the other, "but I read handwriting upside down."
"Oh!"
"You say you would like one of my teeth?"
"Don't trouble," smiled Tignol.
"It's no trouble," declared the stranger. "On the contrary!" and seizing one of his yellow fangs between thumb and first finger he gave a quick wrench. "There!" he said with a hideous grin, and he handed Tignol the tooth.
They were just coming into the Auteuil station as this extraordinary maneuver was accomplished.
"I'll be damned!" exclaimed Tignol.
"Is it really as good as that?" asked the stranger, in a tone that made the old man jump.
Tignol leaned closer, and then in a burst of admiration he cried: "Nom de dieu! It's Coquenil!"
Chapter XX.
The Memory of a Dog