Still the judge was unconvinced. "If it's murder, how do you account for the singed eyebrows? How did the murderer get so near?"
"I answer as you did: 'Ask the woman.' She knows."
"Ah, yes, she knows," reflected the commissary. "And, gentlemen, all our talk brings us back to this, we must find that woman."
At half past one Gibelin appeared to announce the arrest of Kittredge. He had tried vainly to get from the American some clew to the owner of cloak and bag, but the young man had refused to speak and, with sullen indifference, had allowed himself to be locked up in the big room at the depot.
"I'll see what I can squeeze out of him in the morning," said Hauteville grimly. There was no judge in the parquet who had his reputation for breaking down the resistance of obstinate prisoners.
"You've got your work cut out," snapped the detective. "He's a stubborn devil."
In the midst of these perplexities and technicalities a note was brought in for M. Pougeot. The commissary glanced at it quickly and then, with a word of excuse, left the room, returning a few minutes later and whispering earnestly to M. Simon.
"You say he is here?" exclaimed the latter. "I thought he was sailing for——"
M. Pougeot bent closer and whispered again.
"Paul Coquenil!" exclaimed the chief. "Why, certainly, ask him to come in."