cruel
smile: "I suppose you know _why_ I want her?"

"I'm afraid I do," said Coquenil.

"Suppose we come in here," suggested the other. "I'm tired holding this
candle and you don't care particularly about lying on that bag of
shavings."

With this he led the way through the arched passageway into another stone
chamber very much like the first, only smaller, and lined in the same way
with piled-up logs. In the middle of the floor was a rough table spread
with food, and two rough chairs. On the table lay the diary.

"Sit down," continued the baron. "Later on you can eat, but first we'll
have a talk. Coquenil, I've watched you for years, I know all about you,
and--I'll say this, you're the most interesting man I ever met. You've
given me trouble, but--that's all right, you played fair, and--I like you,
I like you."

There was no doubt about the genuineness of this and M. Paul glanced
wonderingly across the table.

"Thanks," he said simply.

"It's a pity you couldn't see things my way. I wanted to be your friend, I
wanted to help you. Just think how many times I've gone out of my way to
give you chances, fine business chances."

"I know."

"And that night on the Champs Elysees! Didn't I warn you? Didn't I almost
plead with you to drop this case? And you wouldn't listen?"

"That's true."

"Now see where you are! See what you've forced me to do. It's a pity; it
cuts me up, Coquenil." He spoke with real sadness.

"I understand," answered M. Paul. "I appreciate what you say. There's a
bond between a good detective and----"

"A _great_ detective!" put in the baron admiringly, "the greatest detective
Paris has known in fifty years or will know in fifty more. Yes, yes, it's a
pity!"

"I was saying," resumed the other, "that there is a bond between a
detective and a criminal--I suppose it gets stronger between a--a great
detective," he smiled, "and a great criminal."

De Heidelmann-Bruck looked pleased. "You regard _me_ as a great criminal?"

Coquenil nodded gravely. "I certainly do. The greatest since Ludovico
Schertzi--you know he had your identical little finger."

"Really!"

"Yes. And your absolute lack of feeling about crime. Never a tremor! Never
a qualm of remorse! Just cold intelligence!"

"Of course." The baron held his left hand close to the candle and looked at
it critically. "Strange about that little finger! And _pretty_ the way you
caught the clew of it on that photographer's neck. Poor little