"That settles it," he murmured. "I never doubted you, but—my wife has an infernal tongue and——"
"She will never know anything about this," smiled the other, "and, if she should, give her one or two of these bank notes. It's wonderful how they change a woman's point of view. Besides, you can prepare her by talking about François's bad health."
"A good idea!" brightened Bonneton.
"Then it's understood. Tuesday, at six, your friend Matthieu will be here to replace François. Remember—Matthieu!"
"I'll remember."
The detective rose to go. "Good night—or, rather, good morning, for the day is shining through that rose window. Pretty, isn't it? Ouf, I wonder when I'll get the sleep I need!" He moved toward the door. "Oh, I forgot about the dog. Tignol will come for him Tuesday morning with a line from me. I shall want Cæsar in the afternoon, but I'll bring him back at six."
"All right," nodded the sacristan; "he'll be ready. Au revoir—until Tuesday."
M. Paul went through the side door and then through the high iron gateway before the archbishop's house. He glanced at his watch and it was after five. Across the square Papa Tignol was waiting.
"Things are marching along," smiled Coquenil some minutes later as they rolled along toward the Eastern railway station. "You know what you have to do. And I know what I have to do! Bon Dieu! what a life! You'd better have more money—here," and he handed the other some bank notes. "We meet Tuesday at noon near the Auteuil station beneath the first arch of the viaduct."
"Do you know what day Tuesday is?"