"See here," he said abruptly, "what have you done with that auger?"
"Put it in the department of old iron," rasped the other. "We can't waste time on foolish clews."
Coquenil glared at him. "We can't, eh? I suppose you have decided that?"
"Precisely," retorted Gibelin, his red mustache bristling.
"And you've been giving orders to young Bobet?"
"Yes, sir."
"By what authority?"
"Go in there and you'll find out," sneered the fat man, jerking a derisive thumb toward Hauteville's door.
A moment later M. Paul entered the judge's private room, and the latter, rising from his desk, came forward with a look of genuine friendliness and concern.
"My dear Coquenil," exclaimed Hauteville, with cordial hand extended. "I'm glad to see you but—you must prepare for bad news."