"Then," cried Tignol excitedly, "then Groener is not a wood carver?"
"He may be a wood carver, but he's a great deal more, he—he—" Coquenil hesitated, and then, with eyes blazing and nostrils dilating, he burst out: "If I know anything about my business, he's the man who gave me that left-handed jolt under the heart, he's the man who choked your shrimp photographer, he's the man who killed Martinez!"
"Name of a green dog!" muttered Tignol. "Is that true, or—or do you only know it?"
"It's true because I know it," answered Coquenil. "See here, I'll bet you a good dinner against a box of those vile cigarettes you smoke that this man who calls himself Alice's cousin has the marks of my teeth on the calf of one of his legs—I forget which leg it is."
"Taken!" said Tignol, and then, with sudden gravity: "But if this is true, things are getting serious, eh?"
"They've been serious."
"I mean the chase is nearly over?"
M. Paul answered slowly, as if weighing his words: "This man is desperate and full of resources, I know that, but, with the precautions I have taken, I don't see how he can escape—if he goes to Bonneton's house to-morrow."
Tignol scratched his head in perplexity. "Why in thunder is he such a fool as to go there?"
"I've wondered about that myself," mused Coquenil "Perhaps he won't go, perhaps there is some extraordinary reason why he must go."