"I see, you're thinking out some plan," approved the other.
"Plan for what?"
"For putting this thousand-million-franc devil where he belongs," grinned the old man.
The detective eyed his friend keenly. "Papa Tignol, that's the prettiest compliment anyone ever paid me. In spite of all I have said you have confidence that I could do this man up—somehow, eh?"
"Sure!"
"I don't know, I don't know," reflected Coquenil, and a shadow of sadness fell over his pale, weary face. "Perhaps I could, but—I'm not going to try."
"You—you're not going to try?"
"No, I'm through, I wash my hands of the case. The Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck can sleep easily as far as I am concerned."
Tignol bounded to his feet and his little eyes flashed indignantly. "I don't believe it," he cried. "I won't have it. You can't tell me Paul Coquenil is afraid. Are you afraid?"
"I don't think so," smiled the other.