Again silence. Ben Chacherre stared at Fell, with amazement and admiration in his gaze. "When the master lies, he lies magnificently!" he murmured in French.
"Well," and the chief gestured despairingly, "I guess that lets out the real Masquer, eh?"
"Exactly," assented Fell. "No use dragging his name into it. I'll keep at work on this, chief, and if anything turns up to clear young Maillard, I'll be very glad."
"All right," grunted the chief, and rose. "I'll be on my way."
He departed. Neither Fell nor Chacherre moved or spoke for a space. When at length the clang of the elevator door resounded through the deserted corridors Ben Chacherre slipped from his chair and went to the outer door. He glanced out into the hall, closed the door, and with a nod returned to his chair.
"Well?" Jachin Fell regarded him with intent, searching eyes. "Have you any light to throw on the occasion?"
Chacherre's usual air of cool impudence was never in evidence when he talked with Mr. Fell.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Hammond worked on the car until about nine o'clock, then beat it to bed, I guess. I quit the job at ten, and his light had been out some time. Well, master, this is a queer affair! There's no doubt that Gramont pulled it, eh?"
"You think so?" asked Fell.
Chacherre made a gesture of assent. "Quand bois tombé, cabri monté—when the tree falls, the kid can climb it! Any fool can see that Gramont was the man. Don't you think so yourself, master?"