"It's natural for a criminal to wish that an effort against him should cease. Tell your friend or employer that I am only mildly interested in his wishes."
He spoke with deliberate hostility, but the dark-bearded man answered, quite unruffled: "Ah, I may be able to heighten your interest."
"Come, come, sir, my time is valuable."
The stranger drew from his coat pocket a large thick envelope fastened with an elastic band and handed it to the detective. "Whatever your time is worth," he said in a rasping voice, "I will pay for it. Please look at this."
Coquenil's curiosity was stirred. Here was no commonplace encounter, at least it was a departure from ordinary criminal methods. Who was this supercilious man? How dared he come on such an errand to him, Paul Coquenil? What desperate purpose lurked behind his self-confident mask? Could it be that he knew the assassin or—or was he the assassin?
Wondering thus, M. Paul opened the tendered envelope and saw that it contained a bundle of thousand-franc notes.
"There is a large sum here," he remarked.
"Fifty thousand francs. It's for you, and as much more will be handed you the day you sail for Brazil. Just a moment—let me finish. This sum is a bonus in addition to the salary already fixed. And, remember, you have a life position there with a brilliant chance of fame. That is what you care about, I take it—fame; it is for fame you want to follow up this crime."
Coquenil snapped his fingers. "I don't care that for fame. I'm going to work out this case for the sheer joy of doing it."
"You will never work out this case!" The man spoke so sternly and with such a menacing ring in his voice that M. Paul felt a chill of apprehension.