sary and Tignol
tried to stretch their fingers over the red marks that scarred his
countenance. And neither of them succeeded. They could cover all the marks
except that of the little finger, which was quite beyond their reach.

"He has a very long little finger," remarked the commissary, and, in an
instant, Coquenil remembered Alice's words that day as she looked at his
plaster casts.

A very long little finger! Here it was! One that must equal the length of
that famous seventeenth-century criminal's little finger in his collection.
But _this_ man was living! He had brought back Kittredge's boots! He was
left-handed! He had a very long little finger! _And Alice knew such a man!_

CHAPTER XIX

TOUCHING A YELLOW TOOTH

It was a quarter past four, and still night, when Coquenil left the Hotel
des Etrangers; he wore a soft black hat pulled down over his eyes, and a
shabby black coat turned up around his throat; and he carried the leather
bag taken from the automobile. The streets were silent and deserted, yet
the detective studied every doorway and corner with vigilant care, while a
hundred yards behind him, in exactly similar dress, came Papa Tignol,
peering into the shadows with sharpest watchfulness against human shadows
bent on harming M. Paul.

So they moved cautiously down the Boulevard St. Michel, then over the
bridge and along the river to Notre-Dame, whose massive towers stood out in
mysterious beauty against the faintly lighted eastern sky. Here the leader
paused for his companion.

"There's nothing," he said, as the latter joined him.

"Nothing."

"Good! Take the bag and wait for me, but keep out of sight."

"_Entendu_."

Coquenil walked across the square to the cathedral, moving slowly, thinking
over the events of the night. They had crossed the track of the assassin,
that was sure, but they had discovered nothing that could help in his
capture except the fact of the long little finger. The man had left
absolutely nothing in his room at the hotel (this they verified with the
help of false keys), and had never returned after the night of the crime,
although he had taken the room for a month, and paid the rent in advance.
He had made two visits to this room, one at about three in the afternoon of
the fatal day, when he spent an hour there, and entered Kittredge's room,
no doubt, for the boots and the pistol; the other visit he made the same
night when he tried to return the boots and was prev