Coquenil shut his teeth hard, and there came into his eyes a look of indomitable purpose. "Not while the murderer of Martinez is walking about this town laughing at me. I expect to do some laughing myself before I get through with this case."
Both men stared at him. "But you are through."
"Am I? Ha! Through? I want to tell you, my friends, that I've barely begun."
"My dear Paul," reasoned the commissary, "what can you do off the force? How can you hope to succeed single-handed, when it was hard to succeed with the whole prefecture to help you?"
Coquenil paused, and then said mysteriously: "That's the point, did they help me? Or hinder me? One thing is certain: that if I work alone, I won't have to make daily reports for the guidance of some one higher up."
"You don't mean—" began the commissary with a startled look.
M. Paul nodded gravely. "I certainly do—there's no other way of explaining the facts. I was discharged for a trivial offense just as I had evidence that would prove this American innocent. They don't want him proved innocent. And they are so afraid I will discover the truth that they let the whole investigation wait while Gibelin shadows me. Well, he's off my track now, and by to-morrow they can search Paris with a fine-tooth comb and they won't find a trace of Paul Coquenil."
"You're going away?"
"No. I'm going to—to disappear," smiled the detective. "I shall work in the dark, and, when the time comes, I'll strike in the dark."
"You'll need money?"