"You left your cloak and a small leather bag in the vestiaire at the Ansonia," pursued M. Paul.
"It isn't true!"
"Your name was found stamped in gold letters under a leather flap in the bag."
She shot a frightened glance at him and then faltered: "It—it was?"
Coquenil nodded. "Your friend, M. Kittredge, tore the flap out of the bag and then cut it into small pieces and scattered the pieces from his cab through dark streets, but I picked up the pieces."
"You—you did?" she stammered.
"Yes. Now what were you doing with Martinez in that room?"
For some moments she did not answer but studied him with frightened, puzzled eyes. Then suddenly her whole manner changed.
"Excuse me," she smiled, "I didn't get your name?"
"M. Coquenil," he said.