Coquenil!_"

CHAPTER XX

THE MEMORY OF A DOG

"It's a composition of rubber," laughed Coquenil. "You slip it on over your
own tooth. See?" and he put back the yellow fang.

"Extraordinary!" muttered Tignol. "Even now I hardly know you."

"Then I ought to fool the wood carver."

"Fool him? You would fool your own mother. That reminds me--" He rose as
the train stopped.

"Yes, yes?" questioned M. Paul eagerly. "Tell me about my mother. Is she
well? Is she worried? Did you give her all my messages? Have you a letter
for me?"

Tignol smiled. "There's a devoted son! But the old lady wouldn't like you
with those teeth. Eh, eh! Shades of Vidocq, what a make-up! We'd better get
out! I'll tell you about my visit as we walk along."

"Where are you going?" asked the detective, as the old man led the way
toward the Rue La Fontaine.

"Going to get the dog," answered Tignol.

"No, no," objected M. Paul. "I wouldn't have Caesar see me like this. I
have a room on the Rue Poussin; I'll go back there first and take off some
of this."

"As you please," said Tignol, and he proceeded to give Coquenil the latest
news of his mother, all good news, and a long letter from the old lady,
full of love and wise counsels and prayers for her boy's safety.

"There's a woman for you!" murmured M. Paul, and the tenderness of his
voice contrasted oddly with the ugliness of his disguise.

"Suppose I get the dog while you are changing?" suggested Tignol. "You know
he's been clipped?"

"Poor Caesar! Yes, get him. My room is across the street. Walk back and
forth along here until I come down."

Half an hour later Coquenil reappeared almost his ordinary self, except
that he wore neither mustache nor eyeglasses, and, instead of his usual
neat dress he had put on the shabby black coat and the battered soft hat
that he had worn in leaving the Hotel des Etrangers.

"Ah, Caesar! Old fellow!" he cried fondly as the dog rushed to meet him
with barks of joy. "It's good to have a friend like that! Where is the man
who cares so much? Or the woman either--except one?"

"There's one woman who seems to care a lot about this dog," remarked
Tignol. "I mean the candle girl. Such a fuss as she made when I went to get
him!"

M. Paul listened in surprise. "What did she do?"

"Do? She cried and carried on in a great way. She said something was going
to happen to Caesar; she didn't want me to take him."

"Strange!" muttered the other.

"I told