Through the Wall | Page 2

one could see his eyes.
The detective walked on, busy with pleasant thoughts. This was the
hour of his triumph and justification, this made up for the cruel blow
that had fallen two years before and resulted, no one understood why,
in his leaving the Paris detective force at the very moment of his glory,
when the whole city was praising him for the St. Germain investigation.
_Beau Cocono!_ That was the name they had given him; he could hear
the night crowds shouting it in a silly couplet:
Il nous faut-o Beau Cocono-o!
And then what a change within a week! What bitterness and

humiliation! M. Paul Coquenil, after scores of brilliant successes, had
withdrawn from the police force for personal reasons, said the
newspapers. His health was affected, some declared; he had laid by a
tidy fortune and wished to enjoy it, thought others; but many shook
their heads mysteriously and whispered that there was something queer
in all this. Coquenil himself said nothing.
But now facts would speak for him more eloquently than any words;
now, within twenty-four hours, it would be announced that he had been
chosen, on the recommendation of the Paris police department, to
organize the detective service of a foreign capital, with a life position at
the head of this service and a much larger salary than he had ever
received, a larger salary, in fact, than Paris paid to its own chief of
police.
M. Coquenil had reached this point in his musings when he caught
sight of a red-faced man, with a large purplish nose and a suspiciously
black mustache (for his hair was gray), coming forward from the
prefecture to meet him.
"Ah, Papa Tignol!" he said briskly. "How goes it?"
The old man saluted deferentially, and then, half shutting his small gray
eyes, replied with an ominous chuckle, as one who enjoys bad news:
"Eh, well enough, M. Paul; but I don't like that." And, lifting an
unshaven chin, he pointed over his shoulder with a long, grimy thumb
to the western sky.
"Always croaking!" laughed the other. "Why, it's a fine sunset, man!"
Tignol answered slowly, with objecting nod: "It's too red. And it's
barred with purple!"
"Like your nose. Ha, ha!" And Coquenil's face lighted gaily. "Forgive
me, Papa Tignol."
"Have your joke, if you will, but," he turned with sudden directness,
"don't you remember when we had a blood-red sky like that? Ah, you

don't laugh now!"
It was true, Coquenil's look had deepened into one of somber
reminiscence.
"You mean the murders in the Rue Montaigne?"
"Pre-cisely."
"Pooh! A foolish fancy! How many red sunsets have there been since
we found those two poor women stretched out in their white-and-gold
_salon_? Well, I must get on. Come to-night at nine. There will be
news for you."
"News for me," echoed the old man. "Au revoir, M. Paul," and he
watched the slender, well-knit figure as the detective moved across the
Place Notre-Dame, snapping his fingers playfully at the splendid
animal that bounded beside him and speaking to the dog in confidential
friendliness.
"We'll show 'em, eh, Caesar?" And the dog answered with eager
barking and quick-wagging tail.
[Illustration: "'We'll show 'em, eh, Caesar?'"]
So these two companions advanced toward the great cathedral,
directing their steps to the left-hand portal under the Northern tower.
Here they paused before statues of various saints and angels that
overhang the blackened doorway while Coquenil said something to a
professional beggar, who straightway disappeared inside the church.
Caesar, meantime, with panting tongue, was eying the decapitated St.
Denis, asking himself, one would say, how even a saint could carry his
head in his hands.
And presently there appeared a white-bearded sacristan in a
three-cornered hat of blue and gold and a gold-embroidered coat. For
all his brave apparel he was a small, mild-mannered person, with
kindly brown eyes and a way of smiling sadly as if he had forgotten

how to laugh.
"Ah, Bonneton, my friend!" said Coquenil, and then, with a quizzical
glance: "My decorative friend!"
"Good evening, M. Paul," answered the other, while he patted the dog
affectionately. "Shall I take Caesar?"
"One moment; I have news for you." Then, while the other listened
anxiously, he told of his brilliant appointment in Rio Janeiro and of his
imminent departure. He was sailing for Brazil in three days.
"_Mon Dieu!_" murmured Bonneton in dismay. "Sailing for Brazil! So
our friends leave us. Of course I'm glad for you; it's a great chance,
but--will you take Caesar?"
"I couldn't leave my dog, could I?" smiled Coquenil.
"Of course not! Of course not! And such a dog! You've been kind to let
him guard the church since old Max died. Come, Caesar! Just a
moment, M. Paul." And with real emotion the sacristan led