"We'll never get to the bottom of this case," he muttered, "until we know the truth about that girl. Papa Tignol, I want you to go right back to Notre-Dame and keep an eye on her. If she is afraid of something, there's something to be afraid of, for she knows. Don't talk to her; just hang about the church until I come. Remember, we spend the night there."
"Sapristi, a night in a church!"
"It won't hurt you for once," smiled M. Paul. "There's a bed to sleep on, and a lot to talk about. You know we begin the great campaign to-morrow."
Tignol rubbed his hands in satisfaction. "The sooner the better." Then yielding to his growing curiosity: "Have you found out much?"
Coquenil's eyes twinkled. "You're dying to know what I've been doing these last five days, eh?"
"Nothing of the sort," said the old man testily. "If you want to leave me in the dark, all right, only if I'm to help in the work——"
"Of course, of course," broke in the other good-naturedly. "I was going to tell you to-night, but Bonneton will be with us, so—come, we'll stroll through the bois as far as Passy, and I'll give you the main points. Then you can take a cab."
Papa Tignol was enormously pleased at this mark of confidence, but he merely gave one of his jerky little nods and walked along solemnly beside his brilliant associate. In his loyalty for M. Paul this tough old veteran would have allowed himself to be cut into small pieces, but he would have spluttered and grumbled throughout the operation.
"Let's see," began Coquenil, as they entered the beautiful park, "I have five days to account for. Well, I spent two days in Paris and three in Brussels."
"Where the wood carver lives?"