thing was that M. Gibelin came forward immediately from the second cab
followed by Papa Tignol and a policeman. The shadowing detective was in a
vile humor which was not improved when he got the message left by the
flippant American.

"Time for a drink! Infernal impudence! We'll teach him manners at the
depot! This farce is over," he flung out. "See where he went, ask the
_concierge_," he said to Tignol. And to the policeman: "Watch the
courtyard. If he isn't down in ten minutes _we'll go up_."

Then, as his men obeyed, Gibelin turned to Kittredge's driver. "Here's your
fare. You can go. I'm from headquarters. I have a warrant for this man's
arrest." And he showed his credentials. "I'll take the things he has left."

"Don't I get a _pourboire?_" grumbled the driver.

"No, sir. You're lucky to get anything."

"Am I?" retorted the Jehu, gathering up his reins (and now came the
unexpected happening): "Well, I'll tell you one thing, my friend, _this is
the night they made a fool of M. Gibelin!_"

The detective started. "You know my name? What do you mean?"

The cab was already moving, but the driver turned on his seat and, waving
his hand in derision, he called back: "Ask Beau Cocono!" And then to his
horse: "_Hue, cocotte!_"

Meantime Kittredge had climbed the four flights of stairs leading to the
sacristan's modest apartment. And, in order to explain how he happened to