"You don't mean that you think the American may be guilty?" questioned the commissary.
"Never in the world!" grumbled Tignol.
"I don't say he is guilty," answered M. Paul, "but I am not so sure he is innocent. And, if there is doubt about that, then there is doubt whether this case is really a great one. I have assumed that Martinez was killed by an extraordinary criminal, for some extraordinary reason, but—I may have been mistaken."
"Of course," agreed Pougeot. "And if you were mistaken?"
"Then I've been wasting my time on a second-class investigation that a second-class man like Gibelin could have carried on as well as I; and losing the Rio Janeiro offer besides." He leaned forward suddenly toward the chauffeur. "See here, what are you trying to do?" As he spoke they barely escaped colliding with a cab coming down the Champs Elysées.
"It was his fault; one of his lanterns is out," declared the chauffeur, and, half turning, he exchanged curses with the departing jehu.
They had now reached Napoleon's arch, and, at greater speed, the automobile descended the Avenue de la Grande Armée.
"Are you thinking of accepting the Rio Janeiro offer?" asked the commissary presently.
"Very seriously; but I don't know whether it's still open. I thought perhaps you would go to the Brazilian Embassy and ask about it delicately. I don't like to go myself, after this affair. Do you mind?"
"No, I don't mind, of course I don't mind," answered, Pougeot, "but, my dear Paul, aren't you a little on your nerves to-night; oughtn't you to think the whole matter over before deciding?"