“But not here,” protested Maynard sharply. “Tut! you don’t want a scandal.”
“It’s bound to come,” retorted Mitchell philosophically. “We can’t postpone making an arrest any longer over this Burnham business; why, the whole town is holding us up to ridicule.”
“Better be ridiculed for masterly inactivity than be excoriated for committing a blunder,” cautioned Maynard. “Let me talk to La Montagne first.”
“No, sir.”
“Well, wait and get him alone at his apartment.”
“I’ve been trying for twelve hours to reach him at his apartment,” replied Mitchell. “He is too elusive to let out of my sight. Coming up with me?” as Maynard lagged back. Before the latter could step forward, the door opening upon the alley swung in and René La Montagne appeared. He started past Maynard with but a courteous salute at sight of the latter’s uniform, but his voice halted him.
“Ah, mon ami, is your tableau over then?” he exclaimed. “I have tried many times to speak with you on the telephone, but alas, the Central would not listen to my directions.” He paused in his rapid French to glance upward at Mitchell, who loitered on the step above them, and addressed the detective in English. “Pardon, monsieur, will you permit that we pass?”
“In just a minute.” Mitchell looked significantly at Maynard. “Please explain to Captain La Montagne who I am,” he requested. His manner was not to be denied and Maynard accepted the situation.
“René,” he began, “this is Detective Mitchell of the Central Office. He is in charge of the investigation of the Burnham mystery.”
“The Burnham mystery?” The Frenchman wrinkled his forehead. “You refer to——”