As to the assassin's personal appearance, there was a startling difference of opinion between the hotel doorkeeper and the garçon, both of whom saw him and spoke to him. The one declared he had light hair and a beard, the other that he had dark hair and no beard; the one thought he was a Frenchman, the other was sure he was a foreigner. Evidently the man was disguised either coming or going, so this testimony was practically worthless.
Despite all this, Coquenil was pleased and confident as he rang the night bell at the archbishop's house beside the cathedral, for he had one precious clew, he had the indication of this extraordinarily long little finger, and he did not believe that in all France there were two men with hands like that. And he knew there was one such man, for Alice had seen him. Where had she seen him? She said she had often noticed his long little finger, so she must often have been close enough to him to observe such a small peculiarity. But Alice went about very little, she had few friends, and all of them must be known to the Bonnetons. It ought to be easy to get from the sacristan this information which the girl herself might withhold. Hence this nocturnal visit to Notre Dame—it was of the utmost importance that Coquenil have an immediate talk with Papa Bonneton.
And presently, after a sleepy salutation from the archbishop's servant, and a brief explanation, M. Paul was shown through a stone passageway that connects the church with the house, and on pushing open a wide door covered with red velvet, he found himself alone in Notre Dame, alone in utter darkness save for a point of red light on the shadowy altar before the Blessed Sacrament.
As he stood uncertain which way to turn, the detective heard a step and a low growl, and peering among the arches of the choir he saw a lantern advancing, then a figure holding the lantern, then another crouching figure moving before the lantern. Then he recognized Cæsar.
"Phee-et, phee-et!" he whistled softly, and with a start and a glad rush, the dog came bounding to his master, while the sacristan stared in alarm.
"Good old Cæsar! There, there!" murmured Coquenil, fondling the eager head. "It's all right, Bonneton," and coming forward, he held out his hand as the guardian lifted his lantern in suspicious scrutiny.
"M. Paul, upon my soul!" exclaimed the sacristan. "What are you doing here at this hour?"
"It's a little—er—personal matter," coughed Coquenil discreetly, "partly about Cæsar. Can we sit down somewhere?"
Still wondering, Bonneton led the way to a small room adjoining the treasure chamber, where a dim lamp was burning; here he and his associates got alternate snatches of sleep during the night.
"Hey, François!" He shook a sleeping figure on a cot bed, and the latter roused himself and sat up. "It's time to make the round."