“Come, come,” interrupted the chief, “what are you driving at?”

“At this, I have the woman’s name and address.”

“Impossible!” they cried.

“I got them by my own efforts and I will give them up on my own terms.”  He spoke with a look of fearless purpose that M. Simon well remembered from the old days.

“A thousand devils!  How did you do it?” cried Simon.

“I watched the American in the cab as he leaned forward toward the lantern light and I saw exactly what he was doing.  He opened the lady’s bag and cut out a leather flap that had her name and address stamped on it.”

“No,” contradicted Gibelin, “there was no name in the bag.  I examined it myself.”

“The name was on the under side of the flap,” laughed the other, “in gilt letters.”

Gibelin’s heart sank.

“And you took this flap from the American?” asked M. Simon.

“No, no!  Any violence would have brought my colleague into the thing, for he was close behind, and I wanted this knowledge for myself.”

“What did you do?” pursued the chief.

“I let the young man cut the flap into small pieces and drop them one by one as we drove through dark little streets.  And I noted where he dropped the pieces.  Then I drove back and picked them up, that is, all but two.”

“Marvelous!” muttered Hauteville.

“I had a small searchlight lantern to help me.  That was one of the things I took from my desk,” he added to Pougeot.

“And these pieces of leather with the name and address, you have them?” continued the chief.

“I have them.”

“With you?”

“Yes.”

“May I see them?”

“Certainly.  If you will promise to respect them as my personal property?”

Simon hesitated.  “You mean—­” he frowned, and then impatiently:  “Oh, yes, I promise that.”

Coquenil drew an envelope from his breast pocket and from it he took a number of white-leather fragments.  And he showed the chief that most of these fragments were stamped in gold letters or parts of letters.

“I’m satisfied,” declared Simon after examining several of the fragments and returning them. “Bon Dieu!” he stormed at Gibelin.  “And you had that bag in your hands!”

Gibelin sat silent.  This was the wretchedest moment in his career.

“Well,” continued the chief, “we must have these pieces of leather.  What are your terms?”

“I told you,” said Coquenil, “I want to be put back on the force.  I want to handle this case.”

M. Simon thought a moment.  “That ought to be easily arranged.  I will see the prefet de police about it in the morning.”

But the other demurred.  “I ask you to see him to-night.  It’s ten minutes to his house in an automobile.  I’ll wait here.”

The chief smiled.  “You’re in a hurry, aren’t you?  Well, so are we.  Will you come with me, Hauteville?”