The judge nodded in acquiescence and directed the guard to take the prisoner into the outer office and have something to eat brought in for him.
"Well," he asked when they were alone, "what is it?"
Then, for several minutes Coquenil talked earnestly, convincingly, while the magistrate listened.
"It ought not to take more than an hour or so to get the things here," concluded the detective, "and if I read the signs right, it will just about finish him."
"Possibly, possibly," reflected the judge. "Anyhow it's worth trying," and he gave the necessary orders to his clerk. "Let Tignol go," he directed. "Tell him to wake the man up, if he's in bed, and not to mind what it costs. Tell him to take an auto. Hold on, I'll speak to him myself."
The clerk waited respectfully at the door as the judge hurried out, whereupon Coquenil, lighting a cigarette, moved to the open window and stood there for a long time blowing contemplative smoke rings into the quiet summer night.