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authornfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>2025-03-03 15:41:13 -0800
committernfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>2025-03-03 15:41:13 -0800
commit315787364bd44edaac5c07e2ce297b30d885f8d2 (patch)
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parent882aef84d1a946cd1f73523de4899b6a449839bc (diff)
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-<title>THE SPLENDID OUTCAST</title>
-<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" />
-<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" />
-<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" />
-<meta name="MARCREL.ill" content="George Gibbs" />
-<meta name="PG.Id" content="47900" />
-<meta name="DC.Title" content="The Splendid Outcast" />
-<meta name="PG.Released" content="2015-01-06" />
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-<meta name="DC.Created" content="1920" />
-<meta name="PG.Title" content="The Splendid Outcast" />
-<meta name="DC.Creator" content="George Gibbs" />
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-<meta name="DCTERMS.title" content="The Splendid Outcast" />
-<meta name="DCTERMS.source" content="/home/ajhaines/outcast/outcast.rst" />
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-<meta name="DCTERMS.modified" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2015-01-06T22:59:49.117934+00:00" />
-<meta name="DCTERMS.publisher" content="Project Gutenberg" />
-<meta name="DCTERMS.rights" content="Public Domain in the USA." />
-<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47900" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" />
-<meta name="DCTERMS.creator" content="George Gibbs" />
-<meta name="MARCREL.ill" content="George Gibbs" />
-<meta name="DCTERMS.created" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2015-01-06" />
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-<meta name="generator" content="Ebookmaker 0.4.0a5 by Marcello Perathoner &lt;webmaster@gutenberg.org&gt;" />
-</head>
-<body>
-<div class="document" id="the-splendid-outcast">
-<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">THE SPLENDID OUTCAST</span></h1>
-
-<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet -->
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-</div>
-<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- -->
-<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
-and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
-restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
-under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> included with
-this ebook or online at </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>. If you
-are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws
-of the country where you are located before using this ebook.</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header">
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: The Splendid Outcast
-<br />
-<br />Author: George Gibbs
-<br />
-<br />Release Date: January 06, 2015 [EBook #47900]
-<br />
-<br />Language: English
-<br />
-<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p>
-</div>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE SPLENDID OUTCAST</span><span> ***</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p>
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container frontispiece">
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 61%" id="figure-41">
-<span id="she-crouched-watching-breathless-and-uncertain"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="SHE CROUCHED, WATCHING, BREATHLESS AND UNCERTAIN. (PAGE 109)" src="images/img-front.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">SHE CROUCHED, WATCHING, BREATHLESS AND UNCERTAIN. (PAGE </span><a class="italics reference internal" href="#id1">109</a><span class="italics">)</span></div>
-</div>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container titlepage">
-<p class="center pfirst"><em class="bold italics xx-large">The</em><span class="bold xx-large">
-<br />SPLENDID OUTCAST</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">GEORGE GIBBS</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">AUTHOR OF "THE SECRET WITNESS," "THE GOLDEN BOUGH,"
-<br />"THE YELLOW DOVE," ETC.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">ILLUSTRATED BY
-<br />GEORGE GIBBS</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
-<br />NEW YORK LONDON
-<br />1920</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="align-None container verso">
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY
-<br />D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">Copyright, 1919, by
-<br />THE RED BOOK CORPORATION</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CONTENTS</span></p>
-<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></p>
-<ol class="upperroman simple">
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-convalescent">The Convalescent</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-mystery-deepens">The Mystery Deepens</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-goose">The Goose</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#outcast">Outcast</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#piquette">Piquette</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#youth-triumphant">Youth Triumphant</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#awakening">Awakening</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#threats">Threats</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#piquette-takes-a-hand">Piquette Takes a Hand</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-samaritan">The Samaritan</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#confessions">Confessions</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#quinlevin-speaks">Quinlevin Speaks</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#beginning-a-journey">Beginning a Journey</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-night-attack">A Night Attack</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#green-eyes">Green Eyes</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#nora-speaks">Nora Speaks</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#jim-makes-a-guess">Jim Makes a Guess</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#at-bay">At Bay</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#in-the-dark">In the Dark</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#freedom">Freedom</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-petit-bleu">The Petit Bleu</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#mystery">Mystery</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#escape">Escape</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-clue">The Clue</a></p>
-</li>
-<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-conclusion">The Conclusion</a></p>
-</li>
-</ol>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">ILLUSTRATIONS</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#she-crouched-watching-breathless-and-uncertain">She crouched, watching, breathless and uncertain</a><span> . . . </span><em class="italics">Frontispiece</em></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#moira-talked-gayly">Moira talked gayly</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#through-moira-s-clear-intelligence-the-epic-filtered">Through Moira's clear intelligence the epic filtered</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-mirror-sent-her-back-a-haggard-reflection-pale-and-somber">The mirror sent her back a haggard reflection, pale
-and somber</a></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="the-convalescent"><span class="bold x-large">THE SPLENDID OUTCAST</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER I</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE CONVALESCENT</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton awoke in high fever and great pain
-but the operation upon his skull had been successful
-and it was believed that he would recover. Something
-as to the facts of the exploit of the wounded man
-had come to the hospital and he was an object of especial
-solicitude by both surgeons and nurses. They had worked
-hard to save him that he might be alive for the decoration
-that was sure to come and the night had brought a
-distinct improvement in his condition. The nurse still
-watched his breathing eagerly and wrote down the new
-and favorable record upon the chart by his bedside. Miss
-Newberry was not in the least sentimental and the war
-had blunted her sensibilities, but there was no denying the
-fact that when the dressing was removed from his head
-the patient was extremely good to look at. He rewarded
-her on the morrow with a smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How long have I been here?" he murmured hazily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Six days," she replied; "but you mustn't talk."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Six—? Wounded——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh—. In the head, shoulder and leg, but you're
-doing nicely."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you tell me——?" he began.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But she soothed him gently. "Not now—later
-perhaps. You must sleep again. Drink this—please."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton obeyed, for he found himself too weak to oppose
-her. It was very restful here; he wriggled his toes
-luxuriously against the soft sheets for a moment. If things
-would only stop whirling around.... And the pain
-... but that seemed to cease again and he slept.
-Indeed his awakening was only to half-consciousness. Other
-days and nights followed when he lay in a sort of doze,
-aware of much suffering and a great confusion of thought.
-But slowly, as he grew stronger, the facts of his present
-position emerged from the dimness and with them a mild
-curiosity, scarcely lucid as yet, as to how he had gotten
-there. At last there came a morning when the fog upon
-his memory seemed to roll aside and he began to recall
-one by one the incidents that had preceded his
-unconsciousness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There had been a fight. Some fight that was. Huns
-all over the place—in a ring around the rocks, up in the
-branches of the trees—everywhere. But he had held on
-until the Boches had started to run when the American
-line advanced. He remembered that the Engineers could
-do other things besides build saps and bridges. Good old
-Engineers! Something was wrong—somewhere.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Out of his clouded brain, slowly, the facts came to
-him—things that had happened before the fight—just
-before. Harry—his twin brother Harry, lying in the ditch
-just behind Jim's squad of Engineers, a coward, in a
-blue funk—afraid to carry out his Major's orders to go
-forward and investigate. A coward, of course! Harry
-would be. He had always been a coward.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton sighed, his mind, ambling weakly into
-vacancy, suddenly arrested by a query.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">What else?</em><span>—What else had happened? Something to
-do with the remarkable likeness between himself and
-Harry? The likeness,—so strong that only their own
-mother had been able to tell them apart.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Memory came to him with a rush. He remembered now
-what had happened in the darkness, what he had done.
-Taken Harry's lieutenant's uniform, giving the coward
-his own corporal's outfit. Then he, Jim Horton, had
-gone on and carried out the Major's orders, leaving the
-coward writhing in the ditch.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>By George!——the fight—he, Jim Horton, had won
-the victory at Boissière Wood for the —th Infantry—</span><em class="italics">for
-Harry!—as Harry</em><span>!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps, he was really Harry and not Jim Horton at
-all? He glanced around him curiously, as though
-somewhat amused at the metempyschosis. And then
-thoughtfully shook his head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>No. He was Jim Horton, all right—Jim Horton.
-There was no mistake about that.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Harry! Imagine meeting Harry in a situation like
-that after all these years! A coward! Not that that was
-a very surprising thing. Harry had always been a quitter.
-There was nothing that Harry could do or be that wasn't
-utterly despicable in the eyes of his brother Jim, and
-after having spent the best part of five years trying to
-live the memory of Harry down——</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The nurse appeared silently and looked into Jim
-Horton's eyes. He closed them a moment and then smiled
-at her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you feel?" she asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Better—lots better," he answered; "you see, I can
-really think——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I wouldn't try to do that—not yet."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm all right." And the nurse was ready for the
-first time to believe that her patient was to remain this
-side of the border line of the dim realm into which she
-had seen so many go, for his eyes were clear and he spoke
-with definite assurance. But the question that he asked
-made her dubious again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I say, nurse, would you mind telling me what my
-name is?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She gazed at him a moment as though a little disappointed
-and then replied quietly: "Lieutenant Henry G. Horton,
-of the —th Infantry."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said the patient, "I see."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you'd better sleep a while, then I want the
-Major to see you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, don't bother; I'm coming through all right, now.
-I'm sure of it. But I want to tell you——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The nurse silenced him gently, then felt his pulse and
-after another glance at him moved to the next bed. It
-had been a wonderful operation, but then they couldn't
-expect the impossible.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton closed his eyes, but he didn't sleep. With
-the shadow of death still hovering over him, he was trying
-to think charitably of Harry, of the man who had worked
-such havoc in the lives of those nearest him. The five
-years that had passed since the death of their mother—poor,
-tired soul who until the end believed the whole thing
-a mistake—could not have been fruitful in anything but
-evil in the life of the reprobate twin-brother who had
-robbed the family of what had been left of the estate and
-then fled away from the small town where they lived to
-the gay lights of New York. And now here he was—an
-officer of the United States Army where commissions do
-not come without merit. What did it mean? Harry was
-always clever enough, too clever by half. Had he quit
-drinking? Was he living straight? There seemed but
-one answer to these questions, or he could not have held
-his job in the army. His job! His commission wouldn't
-last long if his commanding officer knew what Jim
-Horton did.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They all thought that the patient in the hospital bed
-was Harry Horton, a Lieutenant of the —th Infantry,
-The corporal had won the lieutenant some glory, it
-seemed, instead of the ruin that awaited the discovery
-of the cowardice and disobedience of orders. But the
-substitution would be discovered unless Jim Horton could
-find his brother Harry. And how was he going to manage
-that from his hospital bed?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A gentle perspiration exuded from Jim Horton's pores.
-Being surrounded by Boches in the wood was distinctly
-less hazardous than this. And so when the nurse
-returned with the Major, he did his best to straighten out
-the tangle. The Major was much pleased at the patient's
-progress, made a suggestion or two about a change in
-the treatment and was on the point of turning away when
-Horton spoke.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you mind, sir—just a word?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course. Something bothering you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You see——" the patient hesitated again, his lip
-twisting, "this whole thing is a mistake."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor eyed the sick man narrowly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A mistake?" And then kindly, "I don't understand."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton frowned at the bed-rail. "You see, sir, I'm
-not Henry G. Horton. I—I'm somebody else."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He saw the nurse and the doctor exchange glances,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, well," said the medical man with a smile, "I
-wouldn't bother about it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But I </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> bother about it, sir. I've got to tell you.
-I'm another man. I changed uniforms with—with
-another fellow in the dark," he finished uneasily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The same look passed between nurse and surgeon and
-then he saw Miss Newberry's head move slightly from
-left to right. The doctor rose.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, very well. Don't let it bother you, my man.
-We'll get you all untangled presently. Just try not to
-think; you're doing nicely."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And the Major moved slowly down the ward.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton frowned at the medical officer's broad back.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thinks I'm nutty," he muttered to himself, and then
-grinned. The story </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> a little wild.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When the Major had left the ward, the nurse came
-back and smoothed Horton's pillow. "You're to be very
-quiet," she said gently, "and sleep all you can."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But, nurse," he protested, "I don't want to sleep any
-more. I told him the truth. I've taken another man's
-place."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You did it very well, from all accounts," she said with
-a smile; "and you'll take another man's before long, they
-say."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Promotion," she laughed; "but you won't get it if
-you have a relapse."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not going to have a relapse. I'm all right. Better
-every day, and I'd like you to understand that I know
-exactly what I'm saying. I took another man's job. He
-was—was sick and I took his place. I'm not Lieutenant
-Horton, nurse."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You may be whatever you please, if you'll only go to
-sleep."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Bless your heart! That isn't going to change my
-identity."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His positiveness rather startled her and made her pause
-and stare at him soberly. But in a moment her lips curved
-into a smile, rather tender and sympathetic. It wouldn't
-do to let this illusion grow, so gently she said: "Your
-authenticity is well vouched for. The report of your
-company Captain—the Sergeant-Major of your battalion.
-You see, you've become rather a famous person in
-the —th. I've seen some of your papers, they're all
-quite regular. Even your identification disk. It's here
-in the drawer with some other things that were in your
-pockets, so please relax and sleep again, won't you? I
-mustn't talk to you. It's contrary to orders."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But nurse——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She patted him gently on the arm, put a warning finger
-to her lips, and silently stole away. His gaze
-followed her the length of the room until she disappeared
-through the door when he sank back on his pillows with
-a groan.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nutty!" he muttered to himself; "wonder if I am." He
-touched the bandage and realized that his head was
-beginning to throb again. "No, I'm Jim Horton all
-right, there's no doubt about that, but how I'm going
-to make these seraphic idiots believe it is more than I can
-see. That Sergeant! And the men.... By George!
-And the Sergeant-Major. Probably looked me over at
-the dressing station. Oh, Lord, what a mess!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Things began whirling around and Jim Horton closed
-his eyes; he wasn't quite as strong as he thought he was,
-and after a while he slept again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Downstairs in the Major's office two surgeons and the
-nurse in charge were discussing the case.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Queer obsession that. Thinks he's another man. There
-may be some pressure there yet. It ought to have cleared
-up by this."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's shock, sir, I think. He'll come out of it. He's
-coming on, Miss Newberry?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Splendidly. That's what I can't understand. He
-</span><em class="italics">looks</em><span> as though he knew what he was saying."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Any chance of there being a mistake?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"None at all, sir. Doctor Rawson came down with
-him in the ambulance, his own company captain was there
-when the patient was given first aid. He would have
-known his own lieutenant, sir. There can't be any
-mistake, but he has scarcely any fever——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind, keep an extra eye on him. The wound is
-healing nicely. He'll come through all right."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So Nurse Newberry returned to the ward, somewhat
-gratified to find her charge again peacefully asleep.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The next day the patient did not revert to his obsession,
-but lay very quiet looking out of the window. His
-failure to reveal his secret left him moody and thoughtful.
-But his temperature was normal and he was without pain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You say there were some things in the pockets of—of
-my blouse," he asked of the nurse.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, would you like to have them?" The patient
-nodded and she gave them to him, the identification disk,
-a wrist watch, some money, a note-book and some papers.
-He looked them over in an abstracted way, sinking back
-on his pillow at last, holding the letters in his hand. Then
-at last as though coming to a difficult decision, he took
-one of the letters out of its envelope and began reading.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was in a feminine hand and added more heavily to
-the burden of his responsibilities.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"Dear Harry" (it ran):</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm just back to my room, a wife of three hours with a
-honeymoon in a railway station! It all seems such a
-mistake—without even an old shoe to bless myself with. If
-I've helped you I'm glad of it. But I'm not going to lie just
-to square us two with the Almighty for the mockery I've
-been through. I don't love you, Harry, and you know that.
-I did what Dad asked me to do and I'd do it again if he
-asked me.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He seems restless to-night, and talks about going back
-to Paris. I suppose I could do something over there for I've
-lost all impulse for my work. Perhaps we'll come and then
-you could run up and see us. I'll try to be nice to you, Harry,
-I will really. You know there's always been something lacking
-in me. I seem to have given everything to my painting,
-so there's very little left for you, which is the Irish in me
-saying I'm a heartless hussy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Soon I'll be sending you the pair of gray socks which I
-knitted with my own hands. They're bunchy in spots and
-there's a knot or two here and there, but I hope you can wear
-them—for the Deil's own time I had making them. Good-night.
-I suppose that I should be feeling proud at my sacrifice;
-I don't, somehow, but I'll be feeling glad if you have
-another bar to your shoulder. That might make me proud,
-knowing that I'd helped.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>MOIRA."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"P. S. Don't be getting killed or anything; I never wanted
-to marry anybody but I don't want you done away with.
-Besides, I've a horror of crêpe.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>M."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton read the letter through furtively with a
-growing sense of intrusion. It was like listening at a
-confessional or peering through a keyhole. And somehow its
-ingenuous frankness aroused his interest. Harry had
-been married to this girl who didn't love him and she
-had consented because her father had wanted her to. He
-felt unaccountably indignant on her account against
-Harry and the father. Pretty name—Moira! Like
-something out of a book. She seemed to breathe both
-youth and hope tinged horribly with regret. He liked
-her handwriting which had dashed into her thoughts
-impulsively, and he also liked the slight scent of sachet
-which still clung to the paper. He liked the girl better,
-pitied her the more, because her instinct had been so
-unerring. If she had thrown herself away she had done
-it with her eyes wide open. A girl who could make such
-a sacrifice from lofty motives, would hardly condone the
-thing that Harry had been guilty of. A coward....</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was another letter, of a much later date, in a
-masculine hand. Jim Horton hesitated for a moment!
-and then took it out of its envelope.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"Harry boy," he read, "so far as I can see at this writing
-the whole thing has gone to the demnition bow-wows.
-Suddenly, without a by-your-leave, the money stopped coming.
-I wrote de V. and cabled, but the devil of a reply did he give.
-So I'm coming to Paris with Moira at once and it looks as
-though we'd have to put the screws on. But I'd be feeling
-better if the papers were all ship-shape and Bristol fashion.
-You'll have to help. Maybe the uniform will turn the odd
-trick. If it don't we'll find some way.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel guilty as Hell about Moira. If you ever make her
-unhappy I'll have the blood of your heart. But I'm hoping
-that the love will come if you play the game straight with her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Meanwhile we'll feather the nest if we can. He's got to
-'come across.' There's some agency working against us—and
-I've got to be on the scene to ferret—</span><em class="italics">instanter</em><span>. Moira
-got some portraits to do or we wouldn't have had the wherewithal
-for the passage. As it is, I'll be having to make the
-move with considerable skill, leaving some obligations behind.
-But it can't be helped, and Moira won't know. The world is
-but a poor place for the man who doesn't make it give him
-a living. Mine has been wretched enough, God knows, and
-the whisky one buys over the bar in New York is an insult
-to an Irishman's intelligence, to say nothing of being a plague
-upon his vitals.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough of this. Come to the Rue de Tavennes, No. 7,
-in your next furlough, and we'll make a move. By that time
-I'll have a plan. Moira sends her love.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<dl class="docutils">
-<dt class="noindent"><span>"Yours very faithfully,</span></dt>
-<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>"BARRY QUINLEVIN.</span></p>
-</dd>
-</dl>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>P. S. There was a pretty squall brewing over the Stamford
-affair, but I reefed sail and weathered it. So you can
-sleep in peace.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>B. Q."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton lay for a while thinking and then read the
-two letters again. The masculine correspondent was the
-girl's father. Barry Quinlevin, it seemed, was a
-scoundrel of sorts—and the girl adored him. Many of the
-passages in the letter were mystifying. Who was de
-V——? And what was Harry's connection with this
-affair? It was none of Jim Horton's business, but in spite
-of himself he began feeling an intense sympathy for the
-girl Moira, who was wrapped in the coils of what seemed
-on its face to be an ugly intrigue, if it wasn't something
-worse.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Strange name, Quinlevin. It was Moira's name too,
-Irish. The phrase about having Harry's heart's blood
-showed that Barry Quinlevin wasn't beyond compunctions
-about the girl. But why had he connived at this loveless
-marriage? There must have been a reason for that.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Morton put the letters in the drawer and gave the
-problem up. It wasn't his business whom Harry had
-married or why. The main thing was to get well and out of
-the hospital so that he could find his brother and set the
-tangle straight.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He couldn't imagine just how the substitution was to
-be accomplished, but if Harry had played the game there
-was a chance that it might yet be done. He didn't want
-Harry's job. And he silently cursed himself for the
-unfortunate impetuous moment that had brought about all
-the trouble. But how had he known that he was going
-to be hit? If he had only succeeded in getting back to
-the spot where Harry was waiting for him, no one would
-ever have been the wiser. No one knew now, but of course
-the masquerade couldn't last forever. The situation was
-impossible.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile what was Harry doing? Had he succeeded
-in playing out the game during Jim Horton's sickness,
-or had he found himself in a tight place and quit? It
-would have been easy enough. Horton shivered slightly.
-Desertion, flight, ignominy, disgrace. And it wasn't
-Harry Horton's good name that would be in question,
-but his own, that of Jim Horton, Corporal of Engineers.
-As a name, it didn't stand for much yet, even out in
-Kansas City, but he had never done anything to dishonor
-it and he didn't want the few friends he had to think of
-him as a quitter. Nobody had ever accused him of being
-that. What a fool he had been to take such a chance
-for a man like Harry!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the midst of these troublesome meditations, he was
-aware of Nurse Newberry approaching from the end of
-the ward. Following her were two people who stopped
-at his bed, a man and a girl. The man was strong, with
-grizzled hair, a bobbed Imperial and a waxed mustache.
-The girl had black hair and slate-blue eyes. And even
-as Jim Horton stared at them, he was aware of the man
-confidently approaching and taking his hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Harry, don't you know me?" a voice said.
-"Rather hazy, eh? I don't wonder...."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Who the devil were these people? There must be a
-mistake. Jim Horton mumbled something. The visitor's
-eyes were very dark brown shot with tiny streaks of
-yellow and he looked like an amiable satyr.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've brought Moira—thought ye'd like to see her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The patient started—then recovered himself. He had
-forgotten the lapse of time since the letters had been
-written.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira," he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The girl advanced slowly as the man made place. Her
-expression had been serious, but as she came forward she
-smiled softly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry," she was whispering, as he stared at her
-loveliness, "don't you know me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira!" he muttered weakly. "I'm not——" But his
-hands made no movement toward her and a warm flush
-spread over the part of his face that was visible.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You've been very sick, Harry. But we came as soon
-as they'd let us. And you're going to get well, thank the
-Holy Virgin, and then——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not——" the words stuck in Jim Horton's throat.
-And he couldn't utter them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You're not what?" she questioned anxiously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Another pause of uncertainty.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I'm not—very strong yet," he muttered weakly,
-turning his head to one side.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And as he said it, he knew that in sheer weakness of
-fiber, spiritual as well as physical, he had made a decision.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Satyr behind her laughed softly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Naturally," he said, "but ye're going to be well very
-soon."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They were both looking at him and something seemed
-to be required of him. So with an effort,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How long—how long have you been in France?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Only three weeks," said Quinlevin, "watching the
-bulletins daily for news of you. I found out a week ago, but
-they wouldn't let us in until to-day. And we can stay only
-five minutes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then Moira spoke again, with a different note in her voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you glad that I came?" she asked. "It was the
-least I could do."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Glad!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The word seemed sufficient. Jim Horton seemed glad
-to utter it. If she would only recognize the imposture and
-relieve him of the terrible moment of confession. But she
-didn't. She had accepted him as Quinlevin, as all the
-others had done, for his face value, without a sign of
-doubt.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And Barry Quinlevin stood beaming upon them both,
-his bright eyes snapping benevolence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If ye get the V.C., Harry boy, she'll sure be
-worshiping ye."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton's gaze, fixed as though fascinated upon
-the quiet slate-blue eyes, saw them close for a moment in
-trouble, while a quick little frown puckered the white
-forehead. And when she spoke again, her voice uttered
-the truth that was in her heart.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"One cannot deny valor," she said coolly. "It is the
-greatest thing in the world."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She wanted no misunderstandings. She only wanted
-Harry Horton to know that love was not for her or for
-him. The fakir under the bed clothes understood. She
-preferred to speak of valor. Valor! If she only knew!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton gathered courage. If he wasn't to tell
-the truth he would have to play his part.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Everybody is brave—out there," he said, with a gesture.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But not brave enough for mention," said Quinlevin
-genially. "It won't do, Harry boy. A hero ye were and
-a hero ye'll remain."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton felt the girl's calm gaze upon his face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm so glad you've made good, Harry. I am. And
-I want you to believe it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks," he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Why did she gaze at him so steadily? It almost seemed
-as though she had read his secret. He hoped that she
-had. It would have simplified things enormously. But
-she turned away with a smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You're to come to us, of course, as soon as they let
-you out," she said quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, rather," laughed Quinlevin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The nurse had approached and the girl Moira had
-moved to the foot of the bed. Barry Quinlevin paused a
-moment, putting a slip of paper in Horton's hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, </span><em class="italics">au revoir</em><span>, old lad. In a few days again——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The wounded man's gaze followed the girl. She smiled
-back once at him and then followed the nurse down the
-ward. Jim Horton sank back into his pillows with a gasp.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—now you've done it. Now you </span><em class="italics">have</em><span> gone and
-done it," he muttered.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="the-mystery-deepens"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER II</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE MYSTERY DEEPENS</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>In a courageous moment, a day or so later, the
-patient requested Nurse Newberry to try to get what
-information she could as to the whereabouts of his
-cousin, Corporal James Horton, B Company, —th
-Engineers, and waited with some impatience and anxiety the
-result of her inquiries. She discovered that Corporal
-James Horton had been last seen in the fight for
-Boissière Wood, but was now reported as missing.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Missing!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The blank expression on the face of her patient was
-rather pitiful.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It probably means that he's a prisoner. He may be
-all right. H.Q. is pretty cold-blooded with its
-information."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the patient knew that Corporal Horton wasn't a
-prisoner. If he was missing, it was because he had gone
-to the rear—nothing less than a deserter. Nevertheless
-the information, even indefinite as it was, brought him
-comfort. He clung rather greedily to its very indefiniteness.
-In the eyes of the army or of the world "missing"
-meant "dead" or "prisoner," and until Harry revealed
-himself, the good name of the corporal of Engineers was
-safe. That was something.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And the information brought the wounded man
-abruptly to the point of realizing that he was now
-definitely committed to play the role he had unwittingly
-chosen. He had done his best to explain, but they hadn't
-listened to him. And when confronted with the only
-witnesses whose opinions seemed to matter (always excepting
-Harry himself), he had miserably failed in carrying
-out his first intentions. He tried to think of the whole
-thing as a joke, but he found himself confronted with
-possibilities which were far from amusing.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The slate-blue Irish eyes of Harry's war-bride haunted
-him. They were eyes meant to be tender and yet were
-not. Her fine lips were meant for the full throated laughter
-of happiness, and yet had only wreathed in faint
-uncertain smiles.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Barry Quinlevin was a less agreeable figure to
-contemplate. If Jim Horton hadn't read his letter to Harry
-he would have found it easier to be beguiled by the man's
-genial air of good fellowship and sympathy, but he
-couldn't forget the incautious phrases of that
-communication, and having first formed an unfavorable
-impression, found no desire to correct it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To his surprise it was Moira who came the following
-week to the hospital at Neuilly on visitors' day. Jim
-Horton had decided on a course of action, but when she
-approached his bed, all redolent with the joy of out of
-doors, he quite forgot what he meant to say to her. In
-Moira, too, he seemed to feel an effort to do her duty to
-him with a good grace, which almost if not quite effaced
-the impression of her earlier visit. She took his thin
-hand in her own for a moment while she examined him
-with a kindly interest, which he repaid with a fraternal
-smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Father sent me in his place," she said. "I've put
-him to bed with a cold."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm so glad——" said Horton, and then stopped with
-a short laugh. "I mean—I'm glad you're here. I'm sorry
-he's ill. Nothing serious?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no. He's a bit run down, that's all. And
-you—you're feeling better?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He liked the soft way she slithered over the last syllable.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes—of course."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>All the while he felt her level gaze upon him, cool and
-intensely serious.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are out of danger entirely, they tell me. I see
-they've taken the bandage off."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yesterday," he said. "I'm coming along very fast."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They promise before long that I can get out into
-the air in a wheel-chair."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That will do you all the good in the world."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In spite of himself, he knew that his eyes were regarding
-her too intently, noting the well modeled nose, the
-short upper lip, firm red mouth and resolute chin, all
-tempered with the softness of youth and exquisite
-femininity. He saw her chin lowered slightly as her gaze
-dropped and turned aside while the slightest possible
-compression of her lips indicated a thought in which he could
-have no share.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have brought you some roses," she said quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They are very beautiful. They will remind me of you
-until you come again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The sudden raising of her eyes as she looked at him over
-the blossoms was something of a revelation, for they
-smiled at him with splendid directness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> improving," she laughed, "or you've a
-Blarney Stone under the pillow. I can't remember when
-you've said anything so nice as that at all."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was thoughtful for a moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps I have a new vision," he said at last. "The
-bullet in my head may have helped. It has probably
-affected my optic nerve."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled with him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You really do seem different, somehow," she broke in.
-"I can't exactly explain it. Perhaps it's the pallor that
-makes the eyes look dark and your voice—it's
-softer—entirely."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Really——!" he muttered, uncomfortably, his gaze
-on the gray blanket. "Well, you see, I suppose it's what
-I've been through. My eyes </span><em class="italics">would</em><span> seem darker, wouldn't
-they, against white, and then my voice—er—it isn't
-very strong yet."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, that's it," she replied.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes daunted him from his purpose a little, and he
-knew that he would have to use extreme caution, but he
-had resolved whatever came to see the game through.
-After all, if she discovered his secret, it was only what he
-had tried in vain to tell her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure of it," he went on. "When a fellow comes
-as near death as I've been, it makes him different. I seem
-to think in a new way about a lot of things—you, for
-instance."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Me——?" He fancied that there was a hard note
-in her voice, a little toss, scarcely perceptible, of the
-rounded chin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You see, you oughtn't ever to have married me.
-You're too good for me. I'm just a plain rotter and
-you—oh, what's the use?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He paused, hoping that she would speak. She did,
-after a silence and a shrug.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Father wanted it. It was one way of paying what he
-owed you. I don't know how much that was, but I'm
-still thinking I went pretty cheap." She halted abruptly
-and then went on coolly, "I didn't come here to be thinking
-unpleasant thoughts—or to be uttering them. So long
-as we understand each other——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We do," he put in eagerly, almost appealingly. "I
-want you to believe that I have no claim upon you—that
-my—my relations with Barry Quinlevin will have nothing
-to do with you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I fell in love with another man— That never
-seems to have occurred to either of you——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed her soberness aside. "As far as I'm concerned,
-divorce or suicide. I'll leave the choice to you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He gained his purpose, which was to bring the smile
-to her lips again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your wounds have inoculated you with a sense of humor,
-at any rate," she said, fingering the roses. "You've
-always been lacking in that, you know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel that I can laugh at them now. But it might
-have been better for you if I hadn't come out of the
-ether."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I don't like your saying that. I haven't the
-slightest intention of falling in love with any man at all.
-I shan't be wanting to marry—really marry——" she
-added, coloring a little. "I've begun my work. It needed
-Paris again. And I'm going to succeed. You'll see."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't a doubt of it. You were made for success—and
-for happiness."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure and I think that I was—now that you mention
-it," she put in quaintly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't bother you. You can be certain of that," he
-finished positively. And then cautiously, "Things have
-not gone well—financially, I mean?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. And of course father's worried about it. Our
-income from Ireland has stopped coming—something
-about repairs, he says. But then, I suppose we will get
-it again some day. Dad never did tell me anything, you
-know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton thought for a moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He doesn't want to worry you, of course. And you
-oughtn't to be worried. Things will come out all right."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I intend that they shall. Father always gave me the
-best when he had it. I'll see that he doesn't suffer now."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But that's my job, Moira. We'll get some money
-together—some way—when I get out."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks. But I'm hoping to do a lot of painting.
-I've got one portrait to begin on—and it doesn't cost
-much in the Quartier."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton sat up in bed and looked out of the window.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll get money," he said. "Don't you worry."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He saw her eyes studying him quietly and he sank
-back at once in bed out of the glare of the sunlight. He
-wondered if he had gone too far. But he had found out
-one of the things that he had wanted to know. She knew
-nothing of what Barry Quinlevin was doing.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her next remark was disquieting.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's very strange, the way I'm thinking about you.
-You've grown different in the army—or is it the sickness?
-There's a sweeter look to your mouth, and a firmer
-turn to your jaw. Your gaze is wider and your heart
-has grown soft, with the suffering. It's like another
-man, I'm seeing somehow, Harry, and I'm glad."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Suffering—yes, perhaps," he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She leaned forward impulsively and put her hand over
-his, smiling brightly at him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll be good friends now, alanah. I'm sure of it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You like me a little better——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure and I wouldn't be sitting here holding hands if
-I didn't," she laughed. Then with a quick glance at her
-wrist watch she rose. "And now I must be going back
-to father. Here is the nurse. Time is up."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will come soon again?" he asked slowly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—with better news, I hope. </span><em class="italics">Au revoir, mon brave</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And she was gone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The visit gave him more food for thought. But he
-hadn't learned much. What he did know now was that
-the girl Moira trusted Barry Quinlevin implicitly and
-that he had managed to keep her in ignorance as to the
-real sources of his livelihood. The Irish rents had failed
-to reach them! Were there any Irish rents? And if so,
-what had "de V" to do with them? He took
-Quinlevin's letter from under the pillow and re-read it
-carefully. Nothing about Irish rents there. Perhaps other
-letters had followed, that Harry had destroyed. In
-any case he would have to play the game carefully with
-the girl's father or Quinlevin would find him out before
-Horton discovered what he wanted to know. The quiet
-eyes of the girl Moira disturbed him. Her eyes, her
-intuitions, were shrewd, yet he had succeeded so far. If he
-could pass muster with the daughter, why shouldn't he
-succeed with the father? The weakness, the failing
-memory of a sick man, could be trusted to bridge
-difficulties. If there had only been a few more letters he
-would have been better equipped for the interview with
-Barry Quinlevin, which must soon follow. He inquired of
-Miss Newberry, but she had given him everything that had
-been found in his uniform. He scrutinized the notebook
-carefully, which contained only an expense account, some
-addresses in Paris, and a few military notes, and so he
-discarded it. It seemed that until Quinlevin came to the
-hospital "de V" must remain one of the unsolved
-mysteries of his versatile brother.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Moira's innocence, while it failed to enlighten him
-as to the mystery, made him more certain that her
-loveless marriage with Harry had something to do with the
-suspected intrigue. Did Harry love the girl? It seemed
-scarcely possible that any man who was half a man could
-be much with her without loving her. It wasn't like
-Harry to marry any girl unless he had something to
-gain by it. The conversation he had just had with Moira
-showed exactly the relationship between them, if he had
-needed any further evidence than her letter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As to his own personal relations with Moira, he found
-it necessary to fortify himself against a more than
-strictly fraternal interest in her personality. She was
-extremely agreeable to look at and he had to admit that
-her very presence had cheered up his particular part of
-the hospital ward amazingly. Her quaintness, her quiet
-directness and her modest demeanor, were inherent
-characteristics, but they could not disguise the overflowing
-vitality and humor that struggled against the limitations
-she had imposed. Her roses, which Nurse Newberry had
-arranged in a bowl by the bedside, were unnecessary
-reminders of the giver. Like them, she was fragrant,
-pristine and beautiful—altogether a much-to-be-desired
-sister-in-law.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The visit of Barry Quinlevin was not long delayed and
-Jim Horton received him in his wheel chair by an open
-window in the convalescent ward. He came in with a
-white silk handkerchief tied about his neck, but barring
-a husky voice showed no ill effects of his indisposition.
-He was an amiable looking rogue, and if the shade of
-Whistler will forgive me, resembled much that illustrious
-person in all the physical graces. It would be quite easy
-to imagine that Barry Quinlevin could be quite as
-dangerous an enemy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Harry boy, here I am," he announced, throwing
-open his coat with something of an air, and loosening
-his scarf. "No worse than the devil made me. And ye're
-well again, they tell me, or so near it that ye're no longer
-interesting."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Stronger every day," replied Horton cautiously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then we can have a talk, maybe, without danger of
-it breaking the spring in yer belfry?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes,—but I'm a bit hazy at times," added Horton.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, when the fog comes down, say the word and I'll
-be going."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't worry. I want to hear the news."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin frowned at his walking stick. "It's little
-enough, God knows." Then glanced toward the invalid
-at the next window and lowered his voice a trifle.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The spalpeen says not a word—or he's afflicted with
-pen-paralysis, for I've written him three times—twice
-since I reached Paris, giving him the address. So we'll
-have to make a move."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What will you do?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go to see him—or you can. At first, ye see, I thought
-maybe he'd gone away or died or something. But I
-watched the Hôtel de Vautrin in the Rue de Bac until I
-saw him with my own eyes. That's how I took this
-bronchitis—in the night air with devil a drink within a mile
-of me. I saw him, I tell you, as hale and hearty as
-ye please, and debonair like a new laid egg, with me,
-Barry Quinlevin, in the rain, not four paces from the
-carriage way."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The visitor paused as though for a comment, and
-Horton offered it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He didn't see you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Devil a one of me. For the moment I thought of
-bracing him then and there. But I didn't—though I was
-reduced to a small matter of a hundred francs or so."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Things are as bad as that——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin shrugged. "I bettered myself a bit the next
-night and I'll find a way——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He broke off with a shrug.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But I'm not going to be wasting my talents on the
-little officer-boys in Guillaume's. Besides, 'twould be
-most unpatriotic. I'm out for bigger game, me son, that
-spells itself in seven figures. Nothing less than a </span><em class="italics">coup
-d'état</em><span> will satisfy the ambitions of Barry Quinlevin!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" asked Horton shrewdly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For the present ye're to stay where ye are, till yer
-head is as tight as a drum, giving me the benefit of yer
-sage advice. We'll worry along. The rent of the
-apartment and studio is a meager two hundred francs and the
-food—well, we will eat enough. And Moira has some
-work to do. But we can't be letting the Duc forget I've
-ever existed. A man with a reputation in jeopardy and
-twenty millions of francs, you'll admit, is not to be found
-growing on every mulberry bush."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton nodded. It </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> blackmail then. The Duc de
-Vautrin——</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You wrote that you had a plan," he said. "What is it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Barry Quinlevin waved a careless hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fair means, as one gentleman uses to another, if he
-explains his negligence and remits the small balance due.
-Otherwise, we'll have to squeeze him. A letter from a
-good lawyer—if it wasn't for the testimony of Nora
-Burke!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was silent in a moment of puzzled retrospection and
-his glittering generalities only piqued Jim Horton's
-curiosity, so that his eagerness led him into an error that
-nearly undid him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nora Burke——" he put in slowly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I wrote ye what happened——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I couldn't have received the letter——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped abruptly, for Quinlevin was staring at
-him in astonishment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then how the devil could ye have answered it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton covered the awkward moment by closing his
-eyes and passing his fingers across his brow.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Answered it! Funny I don't remember."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Irishman regarded him a moment soberly, and then
-smiled in deprecation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course—ye've slipped a cog——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then suddenly he clapped a hand on Horton's knee.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, man alive,—Nora Burke—the Irish nurse who
-provides the necessary testimony—Moira's nurse, d'ye
-mind, when she was a baby, who saw the Duc's child
-die—now do ye remember——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton ran his fingers over his hair thoughtfully and
-bent his head again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nora Burke—Moira's nurse—who saw the Duc's
-child die," he repeated parrot-like, "and the Duc—de
-Vautrin——" he muttered and paused.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thinks his child by this early marriage is still
-alive——" said Quinlevin, regarding him dubiously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," said Horton eagerly. "It's coming back
-to me now. And de Vautrin's money——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll pay through the nose to keep the thing
-quiet—unless——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Barry Quinlevin paused.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Unless—what?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a moment of silence in which the visitor
-frowned out of the window.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't like the look of things, I tell ye, Harry.
-Ye're in no fit shape to help 'til the fog clears up, but
-I've a mind that somebody's slipped a finger into the pie.
-Nora Burke wants more money—five hundred pounds to
-tell a straight story and where I'm going to get it—the
-devil himself only knows."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nora Burke—five hundred pounds!" muttered Horton
-vaguely, for he was thinking deeply, "that's a lot of
-money."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye're right—when ye haven't got it. And de
-Vautrin's shutting down at the same time. It looks
-suspicious, I tell ye."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He broke off and fixed his iridescent gaze on Horton.
-"Ye're sure ye said nothing to any one in Paris before
-ye went to the front?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Of this at least Jim Horton was sure.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing," he replied.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to Piquette Morin?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Here was dangerous ground again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing," he repeated slowly, "nothing."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And ye wouldn't be remembering it if ye had," said
-Quinlevin peevishly as he rose. "Oh, well—I'll have to
-raise this money some way or go to Galway to put the
-gag on Nora Burke until we play the trick——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I'm sorry I can't help——" said Horton, "but you
-see—I'm not——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, I see," said Quinlevin more affably. "I
-shouldn't be bothering ye so soon, but may the devil
-take me if I know which way to turn."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you see de Vautrin?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps. But I may go to Ireland first. I've got to
-do some thinking—alone. Good bye. Ye're not up to
-the mark. Be careful when Moira comes, or ye may let
-the cat out of the bag. D'ye hear?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't worry—I won't," said Horton soberly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He watched the tall figure of Quinlevin until it
-disappeared into the outer hall and then turned a frowning
-gaze out of the window.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="the-goose"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER III</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE GOOSE</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton had had a narrow escape from discovery.
-But in spite of his precarious position and
-the pitfalls that seemed to lay to right and left,
-he had become, if anything, more determined than ever to
-follow the fate to which he had committed himself. There
-now seemed no doubt that Moira was in all innocence
-involved in some way in the blackmailing scheme which had
-been the main source of livelihood for the Quinlevin family
-for many years. And Moira did not know, for the Duc de
-Vautrin, of course, was the source of the Irish rents to
-which she had alluded. And now he was refusing to pay.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was clear that something unpleasant hung in the
-air, an ill wind for the Duc de Vautrin and for the
-plotters, Moira's father and Jim Horton's precious brother.
-And it seemed quite necessary in the interests of honesty
-that he, Jim Horton, should remain for the present in
-the game and divert if possible the currents of evil which
-encompassed his interesting sister-in-law.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One thing he had learned—that by taking refuge
-behind the barriers of his failing memory, it might be
-possible to keep up the deception, at least until he was out
-of the hospital and a crisis of some sort came to relieve
-him of his responsibility. Indeed there was something
-most agreeable in the friendly regard of his brother's
-loveless wife, and under other circumstances, the calls of
-this charming person would have been the source of
-unalloyed delight. For as the days passed, more and more
-she threw off the restraint of her earlier visits and they
-had now reached a relationship of understanding and
-good-fellowship, most delightful and unusual in its
-informality.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton was progressing rapidly and except for
-occasional lapses of memory, easily explained and
-perfectly understood by his visitors, gained health and
-strength until it was no longer a question of weeks but
-of days when he should be able to leave the hospital and
-accept the invitation of his newly discovered relatives
-to visit the studio apartment. He had made further
-efforts through the hospital authorities to find some trace
-of the missing man but without success, and in default
-of any definite plan of action chose to follow the line of
-least resistance until something should happen. Barry
-Quinlevin visited him twice, but spoke little of the affair
-of the Duc de Vautrin which it seemed was being held
-in abeyance for the moment, preferring to wait until the
-brain and body of the injured man could help him to
-plan and to execute. And Jim Horton, finding that
-safety lay in silence or fatigue, did little further to
-encourage his confidences.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus it was that after several weeks he impatiently
-awaited Moira outside the hospital. It was a gorgeous
-afternoon of blue and gold with the haze of Indian
-Summer hanging lazily over the peaceful autumn landscape.
-An aromatic odor of burning leaves was in the air and
-about him aged men and women worked in road and
-garden as though the alarms of war had never come to
-their ears. The signing of the armistice, which had taken
-place while Horton was still in his bed, had been the cause
-of much quiet joy throughout the hospital. But with
-the return of health, Jim Horton had begun wondering
-what effect the peace was to have upon his strange
-fortunes—and upon Harry's. He knew that for the present
-he had been granted a furlough which he was to spend
-with the Quinlevins in Paris, but after that, what was to
-happen? He was a little dubious too about his relations
-with Moira.... But when he saw her coming down the
-path to the open air pavilion with Nurse Newberry, all
-flushed with the prospect of carrying him off in triumph
-in the ancient fiacre from which she had descended, he
-could not deny a thrill of pleasure that was not all
-fraternal.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Behold, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>," she cried in greeting, "I've come
-to take you prisoner."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed gayly as he took her hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And there's a goose in the pantry, bought at a
-fabulous price, just waiting for the pan——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Be sure you don't kill your prisoner with kindness,"
-put in Nurse Newberry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll take that risk," said Horton genially.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure and he must," put in Moira. "It isn't every day
-one brings a conquering hero home."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Especially when he's your husband," said the artless
-Miss Newberry wistfully.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton had a glimpse of the color that ran like
-a flame up Moira's throat to her brow but he glanced
-quickly away and busied himself with a buckle at his belt.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to thank you, Miss Newberry," he said soberly,
-"for all that you've done for me. I'll never forget."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor I, Lieutenant Horton. But you're in better hands
-than mine now. A week or so and you'll be as strong as
-ever."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've never felt better in my life," he replied.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They moved toward the conveyance, shook hands with
-the nurse, and with Harry's baggage (which had just been
-sent down from regimental headquarters) upon the box
-beside the rubicund and rotund cocher, they drove out
-of the gates and toward the long finger of the Eiffel Tower
-which seemed to be beckoning to them across the blue
-haze above the roof tops.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Neither of them spoke for a moment. In the ward, in
-the convalescent rooms or even in the grounds of the
-hospital, Moira had been a visitor with a mission of
-charity and cheer. Here in the </span><em class="italics">fiacre</em><span> the basis of their
-relationship seemed suddenly and quite mysteriously to
-change. Whether Moira felt it or not he did not know,
-for she looked out of her window at the passing scene
-and her partly averted profile revealed nothing of her
-thoughts. But the fact that they were for the first time
-really alone and driving to Moira's Paris apartment gave
-him a qualm of guilt on account of the impossible
-situation that he had created. He had, he thought, shown
-her deep gratitude and respect—and had succeeded in
-winning the friendship that Harry had perhaps taken
-too much for granted. It had given Jim Horton pleasure
-to think that Moira now really liked him for himself
-alone, and the whole-heartedness of her good fellowship
-had given him every token of her spirit of conciliation.
-She had had her moods of reserve before, like the one of
-her present silence, but the abundance of her vitality and
-sense of humor had responded unconsciously to his own
-and they had drawn closer with the artless grace of two
-children thrown upon their own resources. And now, here
-in the ramshackle vehicle, for the first time alone, Jim
-Horton would have very much liked to take her by the
-hand (which lay most temptingly upon the seat beside
-him) and tell her the truth. But that meant Harry's
-disgrace—the anguish of her discovering that such a
-friendship as this with her own husband could never be;
-for in her eyes Jim Horton had seen her own courage
-and a contempt for all things that Harry was or could
-ever hope to be. And so, with an effort he folded his
-arms resolutely and stared out of his window.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was then that her voice recalled him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't you smell that goose, Harry dear?" she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He flashed a quick smile at her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Just can't I!" he laughed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you're to help me cook it—and vegetables and
-coffee. You know"—she finished, "nothing ever tastes
-quite so good as when you cook it yourself."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you do all the cooking——?" he asked thoughtfully.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes—but more often we go to a café. Sometimes
-Madame Toupin helps, the </span><em class="italics">concierge</em><span>—but father
-thinks my cooking is the best."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't doubt it. I shall, too." And then, "where is
-your father to-day?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him, eyes wide as though suddenly reminded.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I forgot," she gasped. "He asked me to tell you
-that he was obliged to be leaving for Ireland—about the
-Irish rents. Isn't it tiresome?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Horton quietly. "I see."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He turned his thoughtful gaze out of the carriage
-window into the Avenue de Neuilly. The situation had its
-charm, but he had counted on the presence of Barry
-Quinlevin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How long will he be gone?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," she replied, "a week or more perhaps.
-But I'll try to make you comfortable. I've wanted
-so to have everything nice."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her warmth. "You forget that—that I've
-learned to be a soldier, Moira. A blanket on the floor of
-the studio and I'll be as happy as a king——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. You shall have the best that there is—the very
-best—</span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't propose to let you work for me, Moira. I
-can get some money. I can find a </span><em class="italics">pension</em><span> somewhere near
-and——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She turned toward him suddenly, her eyes very close
-to tears. "Do you wish to make me unhappy—when I've
-tried so hard to—to——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira!" He caught her hand to his lips and kissed
-it gently, "I didn't mean——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've wanted so for you to forget how unkind I had
-been to you—to make this seem like a real homecoming
-after all you've been through. And now to hear you
-talking of going to a </span><em class="italics">pension</em><span>——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira—I thought it might be inconvenient—that it
-might be more pleasant for you——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He broke down miserably. She released her fingers
-gently and turned away. "Sure Alanah, and I think
-that I should be the judge of that," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll say no more about it," he muttered. "But
-I—I'm very grateful."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira's lips wreathed into an adorable smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been thinking the war has done something to you,
-Harry. And now I'm sure of it. You've been learning to
-think of somebody beside yourself."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd be pretty rotten if I hadn't learned to do some
-thinking about </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>," he said, as he looked into her eyes
-with more hardihood than wisdom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She met his gaze for the fraction of a minute and then
-raised her chin and laughed merrily up at the broad
-back of the cocher.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you've changed, Harry dear. God knows how
-or why—but you've changed. You'll be paying me some
-compliments upon my pulchritude and heavenly virtues
-by and by."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why shouldn't I?" he insisted soberly when her
-laughter subsided. "Your loveliness is only the outward
-and visible sign of the inward and spiritual grace. I'm
-so sure of it that I don't care whether you laugh or not."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I lovely? You think so? Well—it's nice to hear
-even if it only makes conversation. Also that my nose is
-not so bad, even if it does turn piously to Heaven—but
-there's a deep dent in my chin which means that I've got
-a bit of the devil in me—bad cess to him—so that you'd
-better do just what I want you to—or we'll have a falling
-out. And that would be a pity—because of the goose."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed as gayly as she had done.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've a notion, Moira," he said, "that it's my goose
-you're going to cook."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And I've a notion," she said poising a slim gloved
-finger for a second upon his knee, "I've a notion that
-we're both going to cook him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It seemed too much like a prophecy to be quite to his
-liking. Her moods were Protean and her rapid transitions
-bewildered. And yet, under them all, he realized
-how sane she was, how honest with him and with herself
-and how free from any guile. She trusted him entirely
-as one good friend would trust another and the thought
-of any evil coming to her through his strange venture into
-Harry's shoes made him most unhappy. But her pretty
-dream of a husband with whom she could at least be on
-terms of friendship must some day come to an end
-... And yet ... suppose the report that Harry was missing
-meant that he was dead. A bit of shrapnel—a bullet—he
-didn't wish it—but that chance was within the range
-of the possible.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They had passed down the avenue of the Grande Armée,
-into the place de l'Étoile, and were now in the magnificent
-reaches of the Champs Élysées. Jim Horton had only
-been in Paris for five hours between trains, little more
-than long enough to open an account at a bank, but
-Moira chattered on gayly with the point of view of an
-</span><em class="italics">intime</em><span>, showing him the places which they must visit
-together, throwing in a word of history here, an incident or
-adventure there, giving the places they passed, the
-personality of her point of view, highly tinged with the
-artist's idealism. From her talk he gathered that she
-had lived much in Paris during all her student days
-and except for the little corner in Ireland where she had
-been born and which she had visited from time to time,
-loved it better than any place in the world.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And I shall teach you to speak French, Harry—the
-real </span><em class="italics">argot</em><span> of the </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span>—and you shall love it as I
-do——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do speak it a little already," he ventured.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Really! And who was your instructress?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The dropping intonation was sudden and very direct.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton looked out of the window. He was sure
-that Harry wouldn't have been able to meet her gaze.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No one," he muttered, "at least no girl. That's the
-truth. We had books and things."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," she finished dryly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her attitude in this matter was a revelation. The
-incident seemed to clarify their relations and in a new
-way, for in a moment she was conversing again in a
-manner most unconcerned. Friendly she might be with Harry
-for the sake of the things that he had accomplished,
-companionable and kind for the sake of the things he had
-suffered, but as for any deeper feeling—-that was another
-matter. Moira was no fool.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But at least she trusted him now. She dared to trust
-him. Otherwise, why did she conduct him with such an
-air of unconcern to the apartment in the Rue de
-Tavennes? But he couldn't be unaware of the alertness
-in her unconcern, an occasional quick and furtive side
-glance which showed that, however friendly, she was still
-on her guard. Perhaps she wanted to study this
-newly-discovered Harry at closer range. But why had she
-chosen the venture? He had given her her chance. Why
-had she refused to take it?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The answers to these questions were still puzzling him
-when they drove up the hill by the Boulevard St. Michel—</span><em class="italics">Boul'
-Miché</em><span> she called it—reached the Luxembourg Gardens
-and then turning into a smaller street were presently
-deposited at their </span><em class="italics">porte cochère</em><span>. Her air of gayety was
-infectious and she presented him to the good Madame
-Toupin, who came out to meet them with the air of one
-greeting an ambassador.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Welcome, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Lieutenant</em><span>. Madame Horton
-has promised us this visit since a long time."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Merci, Madame.</em><span>"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Enter, Monsieur—this house is honored. Thank the
-</span><em class="italics">bon Dieu</em><span> for the Americans."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton bowed and followed Moira into the small
-court and up the stairway, experiencing a new sense of
-guilt at having his name coupled so familiarly with
-Moira's. Harry's name too—. And yet the circumstances
-of the marriage were so strange, the facts as to her actual
-relations with her husband so patent, that he found
-himself resenting Moira's placid acceptance of the appellation.
-There was something back of it all that he did not
-know.... But Moira gave him no time to think of
-the matter, conducting him into the large studio and
-showing him through the bedroom and kitchen, where she
-proudly exhibited her goose (and Jim Horton's) that she
-was to cook. And after he had deposited his luggage in
-a room nearby which he was to occupy, she removed her
-gloves in a business-like manner, took off her hat and
-coat, and invited him into the kitchen.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>, Monsieur," she said gayly in French, as she
-rolled up her sleeves.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall now cook a goose, in this modern apparatus
-so kindly furnished by the </span><em class="italics">Compagnie de Gaz</em><span>. There's a
-large knife in the drawer. You will now help me to cut
-up the potatoes—Julienne,—and the carrots which we
-shall stew. Then some lettuce and a beautiful dessert
-from the </span><em class="italics">pâtisserie</em><span>—and a </span><em class="italics">demi-tasse</em><span>. What more can
-the soul of man desire?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Rien</em><span>," he replied with a triumphant grin of
-understanding from behind the dish pan. "</span><em class="italics">Absolument rien</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you do understand," she cried in English. "Was
-she a </span><em class="italics">blonde—cendrée</em><span>? Or dark with sloe-eyes? Or
-red-haired? If she was red-haired, Harry, I'll be
-scratching her eyes out. No?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head and laughed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She was black and white and her name was Ollendorff."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll still persist in that deception?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You're almost too proficient."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You had better not try me too far."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled brightly at him over the fowl which she was
-getting ready for the pan, stuffing it with a dressing
-already prepared.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder how far I might be trying you, Harry dear,"
-she said mischievously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," he said quietly "but I think I've learned
-something of the meaning of patience in the army."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then God be praised!" she ejaculated with air of
-piety, putting the fowl into the pan.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Here. Cut. Slice to your heart's content, thin—like
-jack-straws. But spare your fingers."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She sat him in a chair and saw him begin while she
-prepared the salad.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Patience is by way of being a virtue," she resumed
-quizzically, her pink fingers weaving among the lettuce-leaves.
-And then, "so they taught you that in the Army?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They did."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And did you never get tired of being patient, Harry
-dear?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He met the issue squarely. "You may try me as far as
-you like, Moira," he said quietly, "I owe you that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She hadn't bargained for such a counter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," she muttered, and diligently examined a doubtful
-lettuce leaf by the fading light of the small window, while
-Horton sliced scrupulously at his potato. And when the
-goose was safely over the flame she quickly disappeared
-into the studio.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He couldn't make her out. It seemed that a devil was
-in her, a mischievous, beautiful, tantalizing, little Irish
-she-devil, bent on psychological investigation. Also he
-had never before seen her with her hat off and he
-discovered that he liked her hair. It had bluish tints that
-precisely matched her eyes. He finished his last potato
-with meticulous diligence and then quickly rose and
-followed her into the studio where a transformation had
-already taken place. A table over which a white cloth
-had been thrown, had been drawn out near the big easel
-and upon it were plates, glasses, knives and forks and
-candles with rose-colored shades, and there was even a
-bowl of flowers. In the hearth fagots were crackling
-and warmed the cool shadows from the big north light,
-already violet with the falling dusk.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Voilà</em><span>, Monsieur—we are now </span><em class="italics">chez nous</em><span>. Is it not
-pleasant?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was, and he said so.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You like my studio?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's great. And the portrait—may I see?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No—it doesn't go—</span><em class="italics">on sent le souffle</em><span>—a French
-dowager who braved the Fokkers when all her family
-were </span><em class="italics">froussards</em><span>—fled in terror. She deserves
-immortality."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you—were you not afraid of the bombardments?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hardly—not after all the trouble we had getting
-here—Horrors!" she broke off suddenly and catching him
-by the hand dashed for the kitchen whence came an
-appetizing odor—"The goose! we've forgotten the goose,"
-she cried, and proceeded to baste it skillfully. She
-commended his potatoes and bade him stir them in the pan
-while she made the salad dressing—much oil, a little
-vinegar, paprika, salt in a bowl with a piece of ice at the
-end of a fork.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He watched her curiously with the eyes of inexperience
-as she brought all the various operations neatly to
-a focus.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>! It is done," she said finally—in French. "Go
-thou and sit at the table and I will serve."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But he wouldn't do that and helped her to dish the
-dinner, bringing it in and placing it on the table.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And at last they were seated </span><em class="italics">vis-à-vis</em><span>, Horton with his
-back to the fire, the glow of which played a pretty game
-of hide and seek with the shadows of her face. He let her
-carve the goose, and she did it skillfully, while he served
-the vegetables. They ate and drank to each other in
-</span><em class="italics">vin ordinaire</em><span> which was all that Moira could afford—after
-the prodigal expenditure for the </span><em class="italics">pièce de résistance</em><span>.
-Moira, her face a little flushed, talked gayly, while the
-spurious husband opposite sat watching her and grinning
-comfortably. He couldn't remember when he had been
-quite so happy in his life, or quite so conscience-stricken.
-And so he fell silent after a while, every impulse urging
-confession and yet not daring it.</span></p>
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 61%" id="figure-42">
-<span id="moira-talked-gayly"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="MOIRA TALKED GAYLY" src="images/img-038.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">MOIRA TALKED GAYLY</span></div>
-</div>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They took their coffee by the embers of the fire. The
-light from the great north window had long since expired
-and the mellow glow of the candles flickered softly on
-polished surfaces.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly Moira stopped talking and realized that as
-she did so silence had fallen. Her companion had sunk
-deep into his chair, his gaze on the gallery above, a frown
-tangling his forehead. She glanced at him quickly and
-then looked away. Something was required of him and so,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why have you done all this for me?" he asked gently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled and their glances met.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because—because——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you thought it a duty?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No——," easily, "it wasn't really that. Duty is such
-a tiresome word. To do one's duty is to do something
-one does not want to do. Don't I seem to be having a
-good time?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope you are. I'm not likely to forget your
-charity—your——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Charity! I don't like that word."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> charity, Moira. I don't deserve it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The words were casual but they seemed to illumine the
-path ahead, for she broke out impetuously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't think you did—I pitied you—over there—for
-what you had been and almost if not quite loathed you,
-for the hold you seemed to have on father. I don't know
-what the secret was, or how much he owed you, but I
-know that he was miserable. I think I must have been
-hating you a great deal, Harry dear—and yet I married
-you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you?" he muttered. "I had no right to
-ask—even a war marriage."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God knows," she said with a quick gasp as she bowed
-her head, "you had made good at the Camp. I think
-it was the regimental band at Yaphank that brought me
-around. And then you seemed so pathetic and wishful,
-I got to thinking you might be killed. Father wanted it.
-And so——" she paused and sighed deeply. "Well—I
-did it.... It was the most that I could give—for
-Liberty...."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She raised her head proudly, and stared into the
-glowing embers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For Liberty—you gave your own freedom——" he
-murmured.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was mad—Quixotic——" she broke in again, "a
-horrible sacrilege. I did not love, could not honor, had
-no intention of obeying you...." She stopped suddenly,
-and hid her face in her hands. He thought that
-she was in tears but he did not dare to touch her, though
-he leaned toward her, his fingers groping. Presently she
-took her hands down and threw them out in a wild
-gesture. "It is merciless—what I am saying to you—but
-you let loose the floodgates and I had to speak."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned closer and laid his fingers over hers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was a mistake——" he said. "I would do anything
-to repair it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He meant what he said and the deep tones of his voice
-vibrated close to her ear. She did not turn to look at
-him and kept her gaze on the fire, but she breathed
-uneasily and then closed her eyes a moment as though in
-deep thought.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you believe me, Moira?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced at him and then leaned forward,
-away—toward the fire.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe that I do," she replied slowly. "I don't
-know why it is that I should be thinking so differently
-about you, but I do. You see, if I hadn't trusted you
-we'd never have been sitting here this night."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I gave you your chance to be alone——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You did that. But I couldn't let you be going
-to a </span><em class="italics">pension</em><span>, Harry. I think it was the pity for your
-pale face against the pillows."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing else?" he asked quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His hand had taken the fingers on the chair arm and
-she did not withdraw them at once.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure and maybe it was the blarney."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've meant what I've said," he whispered in spite of
-himself, "you're the loveliest girl in all the world."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a moment of silence in which her hand
-fluttered uneasily in his, while a gentle color came into her
-face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then abruptly she withdrew her fingers and sprang
-up, her face aflame.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go along with you! You'll be making love to me next."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He sank back into his chair, silent, perturbed, as he
-realized that this was just what was in his heart.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," she laughed, "we've got all the dishes to wash.
-And then you're to be getting to bed, or your head will
-be aching in the morning. </span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She brought him to himself with the clear, cool note
-of </span><em class="italics">camaraderie</em><span>, and with a short laugh and a shrug which
-hid a complexity of feeling, he followed her into the
-kitchen with the dishes. But a restraint had fallen between
-them. Moira worked with a business-like air, rather
-overdoing it. And Jim Horton, sure that he was a
-blackguard of sorts, wiped the dishes she handed to him and
-then obediently followed her to the room off the hall
-where his baggage had been carried.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She put the candle on the table and gave him her
-frankest smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sleep sound, my dear. For to-morrow I'll be showing
-you the sights."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-night, Moira," he said gently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Dormez bien</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And she was gone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He stood staring at the closed door, aware of the
-sharp click of the latch and the faint firm tap of her
-high heels diminishing along the hall—then the closing
-of the studio door. For a long while he stood there, not
-moving, and then mechanically took out a cigarette,
-tapping it against the back of his hand. Only the urge of
-a light for his cigarette from the candle at last made
-him turn away. Then he sank upon the edge of the bed
-and smoked for awhile, his brows furrowed in thought.
-Nothing that Harry had ever done seemed more despicable
-than the part that he had chosen to play. He was
-winning her friendship, her esteem, something even finer
-than these, perhaps—for Harry—</span><em class="italics">as</em><span> Harry, borrowing
-from their tragic marriage the right to this strange
-intimacy. If her dislike of him had only continued, if she
-had tolerated him, even, or if she had been other than
-she was, his path would have been smoother. But she was
-making it very difficult for him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He paced the floor again for awhile, until his cigarette
-burnt his fingers, then he walked to the window, opened
-it and looked out. It was early yet—only eleven o'clock.
-The thought of sleep annoyed him. So he took up his
-cap, blew out the candle and went quietly out into the hall
-and down the stairs.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He wanted to be alone with his thoughts away from
-the associations of the studio, to assume his true guise
-as an alien and an enemy to this girl who had learned to
-trust him. The cool air of the court-yard seemed to
-clear his thoughts. In all honor—in all decency, he must
-discover some way of finding his brother Harry, expose
-the ugly intrigue and then take Harry's place and go out
-into the darkness of ignominy and disgrace. That would
-require some courage, he could see, more than it had
-taken to go out against the Boche machine gunners in the
-darkness of Boissière Wood, but there didn't seem to be
-anything else to do, if he wanted to preserve his own
-self-respect....</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But of what value was self-respect to a man publicly
-disgraced? And unless he could devise some miracle that
-would enable him to come back from the dead, a miracle
-that would stand the test of a rigid army investigation,
-the penalty of his action was death—or at the least a
-long term of imprisonment in a Federal prison, from
-which he would emerge a broken and ruined man of middle
-age. This alternative was not cheering and yet he faced
-it bravely. He would have to find Harry.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>*      *      *      *      *</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The feat was not difficult, for as he emerged from the
-gate of the </span><em class="italics">porte cochère</em><span> of the </span><em class="italics">concierge</em><span> and turned
-thoughtfully down the darkened street outside, a man in
-a battered slouch hat and civilian clothes approached
-from the angle of a wall and faced him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What the H—— are you doing at No. 7 Rue de
-Tavennes?" said a voice gruffly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton started back at the sound, now aware that
-Fortune had presented him with his alternative. For
-the man in the slouch hat was his brother, Harry!</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="outcast"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IV</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">OUTCAST</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>When Jim Horton, Corporal of Engineers, took
-his twin brother's uniform and moved off into
-the darkness toward the German lines, Harry
-Horton remained as his brother had left him, bewildered,
-angry, and still very much afraid. The idea of
-taking Jim Horton's place with his squad nearby did not
-appeal to him. The danger of discovery was too
-obvious—and soon perhaps the squad would have to
-advance into the dreadful curtain of black that would
-spout fire and death. He was fed up with it. The
-baptism of fire in the afternoon had shaken him when they
-lay in the field. It was the grinning head of Levinski
-of the fourth squad that had done the business. He had
-found it staring at him in the wheat as the platoon crawled
-forward. It wasn't so much that it was an isolated head,
-as that it was the isolated head of Levinski, for he hadn't
-liked Levinski and he knew that the man had hated him.
-And now Levinski had had his revenge. Harry had been
-deathly ill at the stomach, and had not gone forward
-with the platoon. He had seen the whites of the eyes of
-his men as they had glanced aside at him—and spat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Why the H—— he had ever gone into the thing
-... And now ... suppose Jim didn't come back! What
-should he do? Why had the Major picked him out for
-this duty! His thoughts wandered wildly from one
-fancied injury to another. And Jim—it was like him
-to turn up and plunge into this wild venture that would
-probably bring them both to court-martial. And if Jim
-was shot, what the devil was he to do? Go on through the
-service as Jim Horton, Corporal of Engineers? He
-cursed silently while he groveled in the gully waiting for
-the shots that were to decide his fate.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment he gathered nerve enough to pick up
-Jim's rifle and accoutrement with the intention of joining
-the squad of engineers. But just at that moment there
-were sounds of shots within the wood, followed by others
-closer at hand, and then bullets ripped viciously through
-the foliage just above him. By a movement just ahead of
-him he knew that the line was advancing. He couldn't
-... his knees refused him ... so he crawled into
-the thicket along the gully and lay upon the ground
-among the fallen leaves. More shots. Cries all about
-him. A grunt of pain after a shrapnel burst nearby
-... the rush of feet as the second wave filtered through
-... then the rapid crackle of the engagement in the
-wood. Jim was there—in </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> uniform. He'd be taking
-long chances too. He had always been a fool....</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>From his cover he marked the dawn while the fighting
-raged—then sunrise. The fire seemed to slacken and then
-move farther away. The line was still advancing and only
-the wounded were coming in—some of them walking cases,
-with bandaged heads and arms. He eyed them through
-the bushes furtively—vengefully. Why couldn't he have
-gotten a wound like that—in the afternoon in the wheat
-field—instead of finding the head of Levinski and the
-terror that it had brought? Other wounded were coming
-on stretchers now. The gully near him made an easy
-path to the plain below and many of them passed near
-him ... but he lay very still beneath the leaves. What
-if Jim came back on a stretcher...! What should
-he do?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then suddenly as though in answer to his question two
-men emerged from the hollow above and approached,
-carrying something between them. There was a man of
-Harry's own platoon and a sergeant of the company.
-He heard their voices and at the sound of them he cowered
-lower.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Some say he showed yellow yesterday in the wheat
-field," said the private.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yellow! They'd better not let </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> hear 'em sayin' it——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They were talking about </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>—Harry Horton. And
-the figure, lying awkwardly, a shapeless mass——?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At the risk of discovery, the coward straightened and
-peered down into the white face ... Jim!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry Horton didn't remember anything very distinctly
-for a while after that, for his thoughts were much
-confused. But out of the chaos emerged the persistent
-instinct of self preservation. There was no use trying
-to find Jim's squad now. He wouldn't know them if he
-saw them. And how could he explain his absence with no
-wound to show? For a moment the desperate expedient
-occurred to him of thrusting himself through the leg
-with the bayonet. He even took Jim's weapon out of its
-scabbard. But the blue steel gave him a touch of the
-nausea that had come over him in the wheat field....
-That wouldn't do. And what was the use? They had
-Harry Horton lying near death on the stretcher. What
-mattered what happened to the brother? There was no
-chance now to exchange identities. Perhaps there was
-never to be a chance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He sank down again into the thicket, pulling the leaves
-about him. He would find a way. It could be managed.
-"Missing"—that was the safest way out.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That night, limping slightly, he emerged and made his
-way to the rear. It was ridiculously easy. Of the men
-he met he asked the way to the billets of the —th
-Regiment. But he didn't go where they told him. He followed
-their instructions until out of sight of them, and then went
-in the opposite direction.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He managed at last to get some food at a small farm
-house and under the pretext of having been sent to borrow
-peasant clothing for the Intelligence department, managed
-to get a pair of trousers, shirt, coat and hat. He had
-buried his rifle the night before and now when the
-opportunity came he dropped the bundle of Jim Horton's
-corporal's uniform, weighted by a stone, into deep water
-from a bridge over a river. With the splash Corporal
-James Horton of the Engineers had ceased to exist.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At the end of two weeks, thanks to some money that
-he had found in Jim's uniform—and a great deal of good
-luck—he was safe in a quiet pastoral country far from the
-battle line. Here he saw no uniforms—only old men and
-women in blouses and sabots, occupying themselves with
-the harvest, aware only that the Boches were in retreat
-and that their own fields were forever safe from invasion.
-He represented himself as an American art student of
-Paris, driven by poverty from the city, and offered to
-work for board and lodging. They took him, and there
-he stayed for awhile. There was a girl in the family.
-It was very pleasant. The nearest town was St. Florentin,
-and Paris was a hundred miles away. But after a few
-weeks he wearied of it, and of the girl, and having twenty
-francs left in his pockets stole away in the middle of the
-night.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Paris was the place for him. There identities were not
-questioned. He knew something of Paris. Piquette Morin!
-He could get her help without telling any unnecessary
-facts. As to Barry Quinlevin and Moira—that was
-different. It wouldn't be pleasant to fall completely in the
-power of a man like Barry Quinlevin—even if he was now
-his father-in-law. And Moira ... No. Moira mustn't
-ever know if he could prevent it. And yet if Jim Horton
-in Harry's uniform had been killed Harry would be
-officially dead. He was already dead, to Moira, if Jim
-Horton had revived enough to tell the truth. It wasn't
-a pretty story to be spread around. But if Jim were
-alive ... what then?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There were ways of getting along in Paris. He would
-find a way even if ... Moira! He would have liked
-to be able to go to Moira. She was the one creature in
-the world whose opinion seemed to matter now. She would
-have been his on the next furlough. He knew women. If
-you couldn't get them one way you could another. Already
-her letters had been gentler—more conciliatory. His
-wife—the wife of an outcast! God! Why had he ever
-gone into the service? How had he known back there
-that he wouldn't have been able to stand up under
-fire—that he would have found the grinning head of the hated
-Levinski in the wheat field? Waves of goose flesh went
-over him and left him cold and weak.... A sullen
-mood followed, dull, embittered, and vengeful, against all
-the world, with only one hope.... If Jim were
-alive—and silent!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That opened possibilities—to substitute with his
-brother and come back to his own—with all the honors of
-the fool performance! It was </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> name, </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> job that Jim
-had taken, and his brother couldn't keep him out of them.
-He could make Jim give them up—he'd </span><em class="italics">make</em><span> him. If he
-couldn't come back himself, he would drag Jim down with
-him—they would be outcast together. In the dark that
-night he would have managed in some way to carry out
-the Major's orders if Jim hadn't found him just at the
-worst moment. What right had Jim to go butting in and
-making a fool of them both! D—n him!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He found his way into Paris at the end of a dreary
-day of tramping. He had a few francs left but he was
-tired and very hungry. With a lie framed he went
-straight to the apartment of Piquette Morin. She had
-gone out of town for a few days.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That failure baffled him. He had a deposit in a bank,
-but he dared not draw it out. So he trudged the weary
-way up to Montmartre, saving his sous, and hired a bed
-into which he dropped more dead than alive.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus it was that two nights later, unable yet to bring
-himself to the point of begging from passersby, with scant
-hope indeed of success, his weary feet brought him at last
-to the Rue de Tavennes. Hiding his face under the
-shadow of his hat he inquired of the </span><em class="italics">concierge</em><span> and found
-that the apartment of Madame Horton was </span><em class="italics">au troisième</em><span>.
-He strolled past the </span><em class="italics">porte cochère</em><span> and walked on, looking
-hungrily up at the lighted windows of the studio. Moira
-was there—his wife, Barry Quinlevin perhaps. Who else?
-He heard sounds of laughter from somewhere upstairs.
-Laughter! The bitterness of it! But it didn't sound
-like Moira's voice. He walked to and fro watching the
-lighted windows and the entrance of the </span><em class="italics">concierge</em><span>, trying
-to keep up the circulation of his blood, for the night was
-chill and his clothing thin. He had no plan—but he was
-very hungry and his resolution to remain unknown was
-weakening. A man couldn't let himself slowly starve, and
-yet to seek out any one he knew meant discovery and the
-horrible publicity that must follow. The lights of the
-</span><em class="italics">troisième étage</em><span> held a fascination for him, like that of a
-flame for a moth. He saw a figure come to a window and
-throw open the sash. He stared, unable to believe his
-eyes. It was a man in the uniform of an officer of the
-United States Army—his own uniform and the man who
-wore it was his brother Jim! Alive—well, covered with
-honors perhaps—here—in Moira's apartment? What
-had happened to bring his brother here? And Moira ...</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His head whirled with weakness and he stood for a
-moment leaning against the wall, but his strength came
-back to him in a moment, and he peered up at the window
-again. The light had gone out. Jim masquerading in
-his shoes—with Moira—as her husband—alone, perhaps,
-in the apartment! And Moira? The words of conciliation
-in her last letters which had seemed to promise so
-much for the future, had a different significance here.
-Fury shook him like a leaf, the fury of desperation, that
-for the moment drove from his craven heart all fear of
-an encounter with his brother.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a sound of a door shutting and in a moment
-he saw the man in uniform emerge by the gate of the
-</span><em class="italics">concierge</em><span>. He walked toward the outcast, his head bent
-in deep meditation. There was no doubt about its being
-Jim. With clenched fists Harry barred his way, the
-thought that was uppermost in his mind finding utterance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton stopped, stepped back a pace and then
-peered at the man in civilian clothing from beneath his
-broad army hat-brim.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry!" he muttered, almost inaudibly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you doing here—in this house?" raged
-Harry in a voice thick with passion. And then, as no
-reply came, "Answer me! Answer me!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One of Harry's fists threatened but his brother caught
-him by the wrist and with ridiculous ease twisted his
-arm aside. He was surprised as Harry sank back weakly
-against the wall with a snarl of pain. "D—n you," he
-groaned.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This wouldn't do. Any commotion would surely arouse
-the curiosity of Madame Toupin, the </span><em class="italics">concierge</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep a civil tongue in your head, Harry," he muttered,
-"and I'll talk to you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He caught him firmly by the arm, but Harry still leaned
-against the wall, muttering vaguely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A civil tongue—</span><em class="italics">me</em><span>? You—you dare ask me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Jim gently, "I've been trying to find you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where?" leered Harry, "in my wife's studio?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton turned suddenly furious, but shocked into
-silence and inertia by the terrible significance of the
-suspicion. But he pulled himself together with an effort.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," he said quietly. "Let's get away from here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He felt Harry yield to the pressure of his fingers and
-slowly they moved into the shadows down the street away
-from the gas lamps. A moment later Harry was twitching
-at his arm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"G-get me something to cat. I—I'm hungry," he gasped.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hungry! How long——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Since yesterday morning—a crust of bread——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And Jim had been eating goose——! The new sense
-of his own guilt appalled him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Since yesterday——!" he muttered in a quick gush of
-compassion. "We'll find something—a </span><em class="italics">café</em><span>——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a place in the Rue Berthe—Javet's," he said
-weakly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton caught his brother under an elbow and
-helped him down the street, aware for the first time of the
-cause of his weakness. He marked, too, the haggard
-lines in Harry's face, and the two weeks' growth of beard
-that effectually concealed all evidence of respectability.
-There seemed little danger of any one's discovering the
-likeness between the neatly garbed lieutenant and the
-civilian who accompanied him. But it was well to be
-careful. They passed a brilliantly lighted restaurant, but
-in a nearby street after awhile they came to a small
-</span><em class="italics">café</em><span>, not too brightly lighted, and they entered. There
-was a polished zinc bar which ran the length of a room
-with low, smoke-stained ceilings. At the bar were two
-cochers, in shirt sleeves, their yellow-glazed hats on the
-backs of their heads, sipping grenadine. There was a
-winding stair which led to the living quarters above, but
-through a doorway beside it, there was a glimpse of an
-inner room with tables unoccupied. They entered and
-Jim Horton ordered a substantial meal which was
-presently set before the hungry man. The coffee revived him
-and he ate greedily in moody silence while Jim Horton
-sat, frowning at the opposite wall. For the present each
-was deeply engrossed—Jim in the definite problem that
-had suddenly presented itself, and the possible courses of
-action open to do what was to be required of him; Harry
-in his food, beyond which life at present held no other
-interest. But after a while, which seemed interminable to
-Jim, his brother gave a gasp of satisfaction, and pushed
-back his dishes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me a cigarette," he demanded with something of
-an air.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim obeyed and even furnished a light, not missing the
-evidences of Dutch courage Harry had acquired from
-the stimulation of food and coffee.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was curious what little difference the amenities
-seemed to matter. They were purely mechanical—nor
-would it matter what Harry was to say to him. The main
-thing was to try to think clearly, obliterating his own
-animus against his brother and the contempt in which he
-held him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry sank back into his chair for a moment, inhaling
-luxuriously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he said at last, "maybe you've got a word to
-say about how the devil you got here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Jim quickly. "It's very simple. I was hit.
-I took your identity in the hospital. There wasn't
-anything else to do."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry glowered at the ash of his cigarette and then
-shrugged heavily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I see. They think you're me. That was nice of you,
-Jim," he sneered, "very decent indeed, very kind and
-brotherly——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd better 'can' the irony," Jim broke in briefly.
-"They'd have found us out—both of us. And I reckon
-you know what that would have meant."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"H—m. Maybe I do, maybe I don't," he said shrewdly.
-"It was you who found me—er—sick. Nobody else did."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We needn't speak of that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We might as well. I'd have come around all right,
-if you hadn't butted in."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, would you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Harry sullenly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton carefully lighted a cigarette from the butt
-of the other, and then said coolly:</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We're not getting anywhere, Harry."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I think we are. I'm trying to show you that you're
-in wrong on this thing from start to finish. And it looks
-as though you might get just what was coming to you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Meaning what?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That you'll take my place again. This——!" exhibiting
-with a grin his worn garments. "You took mine without
-a by-your-leave. Now you'll give it back to me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>An ugly look came into Jim Horton's jaw.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not so sure about that," he said in a tone
-dangerously quiet.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What! You mean that——" The bluster trailed off
-into silence at the warning fire in his brother's eyes. But
-he raised his head in a moment, laughing disagreeably.
-"I see. The promotion has got into your head. Some
-promotion—Lieutenant right off the reel—from Corporal,
-too. Living soft in the hospital and now——" He paused
-and swallowed uneasily. "How did you get to the Rue
-de Tavennes?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They came to the hospital—Mr. Quinlevin and—and
-your wife. I—I fooled them. They don't suspect."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How—how did you know Moira was my wife?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Some letters. I read them."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I see. You read them," he frowned and then,
-"Barry Quinlevin's too?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—his too. I had to have facts. I got
-them—some I wasn't looking for——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"About——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"About the Duc de Vautrin," Jim broke in dryly.
-"That's one of the reasons why I'm still Harry Horton
-and why I'm going to stay Harry Horton—for the
-present."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>If Jim had needed any assurance as to his brother's
-share in this intrigue he had it now. For Harry went
-red and then pale, refusing to meet his gaze.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," he muttered, "Quinlevin's been talking."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Jim craftily, "he has. It's a pretty plan,
-but it won't come off. You always were a rotter, Harry.
-But you're not going to hurt Moira, if I can prevent."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was a half-random shot but it hit the mark.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira," muttered Harry somberly. "I see. You
-haven't been wasting any time."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not wasting time when I can keep her—or even
-you—from getting mixed up in dirty blackmail. That's
-my answer. And that's why I'm not going to quit until
-I'm ready."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry Horton frowned at the soiled table cover, his
-fingers twitching at his fork, and then reached for the
-coffee pot and quickly poured himself another cup.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Clever, Jim," he said with a cynical laugh. "I take
-off my hat to you. I never would have thought you had
-it in you. But you'll admit that living in my wife's
-apartment and impersonating her husband is going a
-bit too far."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The laughter didn't serve to conceal either his fear
-or his fury. But it stopped short as Jim's fingers
-suddenly closed over his wrist and held it in a grip of iron.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't bring </span><em class="italics">her</em><span> into this," he whispered tensely. "Do
-you hear?" And after a moment of struggle with himself
-as he withdrew his hand, "You dared to think yourself
-worthy of her. </span><em class="italics">You</em><span>!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Be careful what you say to me," said Harry, trying
-bravado. "She's my wife."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She won't be your wife long, when I tell her what I
-know about you," finished Jim angrily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He saw Harry's face go pale again as he tried to meet
-his gaze, saw the fire flicker out of him, as he groped
-pitiably for Jim's hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim! You—you wouldn't do that?" he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim released his hand, shrugged and leaned back in his
-chair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not if you play straight with me—and with her. You
-want me to pay the penalty of what I did for you—to
-go out into the world—an outcast in your place.
-Perhaps I owe it to you. I don't know. But you owe me
-something too—promotion—the </span><em class="italics">Croix de Guerre</em><span>——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The </span><em class="italics">Croix de Guerre</em><span>! Me——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Lieutenant Harry G. Horton to be gazetted
-captain—me!" put in Jim, with some pride. "Not you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A brief silence in which Harry rubbed his scrawny
-beard with his long fingers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That might be difficult to prove to my Company
-captain," he said at last.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget my wounds," laughed Jim. "Oh, they're
-</span><em class="italics">my</em><span> wounds all right." And then, with a shrug, "You
-see, Harry, it won't work. You're helpless. If I chose
-to keep on the job, you'd be left out in the cold."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't dare——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know what I'd dare. It depends on you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" broke in Harry with some spirit.
-"I couldn't be any worse off than I am now, even if I told
-the truth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim laughed. "</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> tried to tell in the hospital and they
-thought I was bug-house. Try it if you like."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry frowned and reached for another cigarette.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And then after awhile, "Well—what do you want me to do?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His brother examined him steadily for a moment, and
-then went on.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know whether you've learned anything in the
-army or not. But it ought to have taught you that
-you've got to live straight with your buddy or you can't
-get on."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Straight!" sneered Harry, "like </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>. You call this
-straight—what you're doing?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," Jim admitted. "It's not straight. It's crooked
-as hell, but if it wasn't, you'd have been drummed out
-of the Service by now. I don't want you to think I care
-about </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>. I didn't—out there. It was only the honor of
-the service I was thinking about. I'd do it again if I had
-to. But I do care about this girl you've bamboozled into
-marrying you—you and Quinlevin. And whatever the
-dirty arrangement between you that made it possible, I
-want to make it clear to you here and now that she isn't
-going to be mixed up in any of your rotten deals. She
-isn't your sort and you couldn't drag her down to your
-level if you tried. I'll know more when Quinlevin gets back
-and then——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton paused as he realized that he had said
-too much, for he saw his brother start and then stare
-at him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Barry Quinlevin—is away!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim nodded. "Yes," he said, "in Ireland."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry had risen, glowering.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you think I'm going to slink off to-night to my
-kennel and let you go back to the studio. You in my
-uniform—as </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>—to Moira."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton thought deeply for a moment and then rose
-and coolly straightened his military blouse.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," he said, "we'll go back to her together."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He took out some money and carelessly walked toward
-the bar in the front room. But Harry followed quickly
-and caught him by the arm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim," he muttered, "you won't do that!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll tell her the truth—I guess you're right. She
-ought to know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait a minute——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His hand was trembling on the officer's sleeve and the
-dark beard seemed to make the face look ghastly under
-its tan.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet, Jim. Not to-night. We—we'll have to let
-things be for awhile. Just sit down again for a minute.
-We've got to find a way to straighten this thing out—to
-get you back into your old job——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How?" dryly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I don't know just now, but we can work it somehow——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's too late——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You could have been captured by the Boches. We
-can find a way, when you let me have my uniform."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton grinned unsympathetically.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There are two wounds in that too, Harry," he said.
-"Where are yours?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And he moved toward the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen, Jim. We'll let things be as they are for the
-present. Barry Quinlevin mustn't know—you've got to
-play the part. I see. Come and sit down a minute."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His brother obeyed mechanically.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll do what you say—until—until we can think of
-something." He tried a smile and failed. "I know it's a
-good deal to ask you—to take my place—to go out into
-the world and be what I am, but you won't have to do it.
-You won't have to. We'll manage something—some way.
-You go back to the studio——" he paused uncertainly,
-"You're not——?" he paused.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton read his meaning.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Making love to your wife? And if I was, it would
-only be what you deserve. She doesn't love you any too
-much, as it is."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry frowned at the floor, and was silent, but his
-brother's answer satisfied him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All right. You go back—but I've got to get some
-money. I can't starve."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want you to," Jim fumbled in his pockets and
-brought out some bills. "Here—take these. They're
-yours anyway. We'll arrange for more later. I've an
-account at a bank here——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And so have I—but I don't dare——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very good. What's your bank?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Hartjes &amp; Cie.</em><span>"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All right. I'll get some checks to-morrow and you
-can make one payable to yourself. I'll cash it and give
-you the money. And I'll make one out at my bank for
-the same amount, dated back into October, before the
-Boissière fight, payable to bearer. You can get it cashed?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A woman I know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim shrugged. "All right. But be careful. I'll meet
-you here to-morrow night. And don't shave."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry nodded and put the bills into his pocket while
-Jim rose again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You play the game straight with me," he said, "and
-I'll put this thing right, even if——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He paused suddenly in the doorway, his sentence
-unfinished, for just in front of him stood a very
-handsome girl, who had abandoned her companion and stood,
-both hands outstretched, in greeting.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"'Arry 'Orton," she was saying joyously in broken
-English. "You don seem to know me. It is I—Piquette."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The name Quinlevin had spoke in the hospital!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim glanced over his shoulder into the shadow where
-Harry had been, but his brother had disappeared.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="piquette"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER V</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">PIQUETTE</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>She wore a black velvet toque which bore upon its
-front two large crimson wings, poised for flight, and
-they seemed to typify the girl herself—alert, on
-tip-toe, a bird of passage. She had a nose very slightly
-</span><em class="italics">retroussé</em><span>, black eyes, rather small but expressive, with
-brows and lids skillfully tinted; her figure was graceful,
-</span><em class="italics">svelte</em><span>, and extraordinarily well groomed, from her white
-gloves to the tips of her slender shiny boots, and seemed
-out of place in the shadows of these murky surroundings.
-For the rest, she was mischievous, tingling with vitality
-and joyous at this unexpected meeting.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton glanced past her and saw a figure in a slouch
-hat go out of the door, then from the darkness turn and
-beckon. But Jim Horton was given no opportunity to
-escape and Harry's warning gesture, if anything, served
-to increase his curiosity as to this lovely apparition.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Valcourt—Monsieur 'Orton," she said,
-indicating her companion with a wave of the hand. And then,
-as he shook hands with her companion, a handsome man
-with a well-trimmed grayish mustache, "Monsieur
-Valcourt is one day de greatest sculptor in de
-world—Monsieur 'Orton is de 'ero of Boissière wood."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You know of the fight in Boissière——?" put in Jim.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And who does not? It is all in </span><em class="italics">le Matin</em><span> to-day—an'
-'ere I find you trying to 'ide yourself in the obscure </span><em class="italics">café</em><span>
-of Monsieur Javet."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped suddenly and before he realized what she
-was about had thrown her arms over his shoulders and
-kissed him squarely upon the lips. He felt a good deal of
-a fool with Monsieur Valcourt and the villainous-looking
-Javet grinning at them, but the experience was not
-unpleasant and he returned her greeting whole heartedly,
-wondering what was to come next.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And when laughing gayly she released him, he turned
-toward Monsieur Valcourt, who was regarding her with
-a dubious smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For all her prosperity, Monsieur 'Orton," Valcourt
-was saying, in French, "she is still a </span><em class="italics">gamine</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And who would wonder, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>! To live expensively
-is very comfortable, but even comfort is tedious.
-Does not one wish to laugh with a full throat, to kick
-one's toes or to put one's heels upon a table? </span><em class="italics">La la</em><span>! I
-do not intend to grow too respectable, I assure you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton laughed. She had spoken partly in
-English, partly in French, translating for both, and then,
-"Let me assure you, Madame," said Valcourt with a
-stately bow, "that you are not in the slightest danger of
-that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But she was already turning to Horton again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A 'ero. The world is full of 'eros to-day, but not
-one like my 'Arry 'Orton. </span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>! I mus' 'ave a talk
-with you alone. Lucien," she said sharply, turning to
-Valcourt, "I will come to de studio to-morrow. Monsieur
-le Duc t'inks I am gone away, but now I would be a poor
-creature not to give my brave soldier a welcome."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If Monsieur will excuse me——" said Valcourt,
-offering his hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton took it, wondering where the adventure
-was to lead. She was a very remarkable person and her
-</span><em class="italics">élan</em><span> had already carried him off his feet. Taking his hand
-in hers, with a charming simplicity, she led him into the
-room at the rear, now occupied by a number of persons of
-both sexes, and bade Monsieur Javet himself serve them.
-And when they were seated at a table, her hand still in
-his, she examined him with a new interest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is indeed you," she said gayly, "and yet you seem
-different—more calm, more silent. What is it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've had two months in the hospital."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you're quite strong again?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh yes. And you have been well—Piquette?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—but </span><em class="italics">so</em><span> ennuyée. It is why I come back here to
-de </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span> to get a breath of fresh air. I've been posing
-for Monsieur Valcourt—</span><em class="italics">La Liberté</em><span>. He says my figure
-is better than ever. And Valcourt knows."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure you are very lovely."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">La, la, mon vieux</em><span>, but you are the </span><em class="italics">grand serieux</em><span>. Of
-course I am lovely. It is my business. But you do not
-</span><em class="italics">show</em><span> me 'ow lovely I am, for you are so quiet—so cool——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton laughed and caught her fingers to his lips.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are—Piquette. That is enough."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">C'est mieux</em><span>. But you are change'. One does not look
-deat' in de eyes wit'out feeling its col' touch. Oh, but I
-am glad that you are come back to me. You s'all be
-'ere long?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know—when I shall get my orders."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But until then—t'ings s'all be as dey were wit' us
-two, eh, my little one? An' I s'all 'elp you now in de
-great affair? But Monsieur de Vautrin becomes more
-onpleasant. He is a very tiresome ol' man...."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton started unconsciously. Then remembered
-that it was in connection with de Vautrin that Quinlevin
-had mentioned this very girl Piquette. He understood
-better now the reason for Harry's gesture from the outer
-darkness. The meeting had been a stroke of Fate.
-Perhaps she held the key to the riddle.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tiresome, yes," he said slowly, "all old men are tiresome——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And </span><em class="italics">difficile</em><span>," she mused, sipping at her glass. "While
-I am pretty he likes to have me nearby. But I know. He
-cares not'ing. He will leave me not'ing. I am not
-content. So I say I want to help in de great affair. You
-have planned somet'ing in the hospital—you and
-Monsieur Quinlevin?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Er—nothing definite."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur le Duc still pays?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton meditated for a moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said, "he has stopped paying."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette Morin leaned further over the table, frowning.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! Since when?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For—er—three months or more."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you t'ink he suspects somet'ing?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know. It looks so, doesn't it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, perhaps." She paused a moment and then, "I
-make him talk about de past, as you ask' me to. I am
-no saint and de </span><em class="italics">bon Dieu</em><span> has taught me to look out for
-myself. I shall continue. If he tries to get rid of me de
-way he did wit' his wife, he will find me troublesome."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton laughed. "I don't doubt it." And then, carefully,
-"You heard how he got rid of her?" he questioned.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was 'er riches, of course. 'E spent 'er '</span><em class="italics">dot</em><span>' in a
-few month gambling at Monte Carlo, and den when 'e
-came to 'er for more 'e abuse and beat 'er." She paused
-and her dark eyes snapped viciously. "'E would not have
-beaten me," she finished.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And then?" he asked, wondering whither the conversation
-was leading.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And den, as you know, she ran away to Ireland——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To Ireland——" he muttered eagerly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," she said with a glance at him. "And when
-'e got enough money 'e sail 'round de worl' enjoying
-himself. Even now sometimes 'e is a beast. It is den I come
-back to de </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span> where I am born and bred—to be
-merry again." She sighed and then laughed gayly. "But
-to-night we mus' not talk of dis tiresome matter. It
-is your night, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>, and we s'all make it 'appy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He kissed the rosy palm she thrust to his lips, with
-difficulty concealing his curiosity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But the child of Monsieur the Duc——" he urged
-after the moment of </span><em class="italics">badinage</em><span>. "He said nothing——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He paused as though in doubt.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She shrugged carelessly and lighted a cigarette.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur is cautious. 'E spoke not'ing of de child,
-except to say dat it died wit' de mother. De money came
-to 'im. Dat was all 'e cared about, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> 'Arry."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To Jim Horton no light seemed to dawn. And how to
-question without arousing the girl's suspicions was more
-that he could plan. But he remembered Quinlevin's
-uncertainty in the hospital—his thought that Harry
-might have talked to this girl. So he took a chance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You asked the Duc no questions that might have
-aroused his suspicions?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I t'ink not. And yet I remember once 'e ask'
-me if I know Monsieur Quinlevin."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did you reply?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, dat I never heard of 'im."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He frowned at the cigarette in his fingers as Harry
-would have frowned and imitated as nearly as possible the
-sullen mood of his brother.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The money has stopped coming to Quinlevin. We've
-got to do something."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parfaitement</em><span>," said Piquette carelessly. "De time
-'as come to produce de girl Moira and de papers."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her glance was not upon his face or she would have
-seen the look of bewilderment and surprise suddenly
-distend his eyes. But she heard him gasp and turned again
-toward him. But by this time the missing pieces of the
-puzzle were at his fingers' ends and he gathered them
-quickly. It was Moira who all these years had
-unconsciously impersonated the dead child who would have
-inherited. And Quinlevin had bled the Duc for years with
-promises of silence. Harry had connived at the plot and
-now the coup they planned meant a sum of not less than
-"seven figures." And Piquette knew all. Blackmail it
-was—of the blackest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment he did not dare to speak for fear of
-betraying himself. And then only assented safely to her
-suggestion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; it is the only thing to be done."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It mus' be manage' carefully. You are sure de papers
-are all correct?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is as to that Monsieur Quinlevin has gone to Ireland."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I see—we mus' wait until 'e comes back. But I
-s'all 'elp you, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>. You will rely upon me, </span><em class="italics">n'est ce
-pas</em><span>?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I will."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His mind was so full of this astonishing revelation that
-he sat silent and motionless while she changed the subject
-and chattered on. The charm of the chance encounter
-was gone. </span><em class="italics">Gamine</em><span> she might be, and irresponsible like
-others of her kind in Paris or elsewhere, but she was not
-for him. He had a standard to measure her by.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are so </span><em class="italics">triste</em><span>, 'Arry," she broke in suddenly. "I
-do not t'ink I like you so </span><em class="italics">triste</em><span>. What s'all we care, you
-and I, for Monsieur le Duc an' 'is money? To be young
-an' in love——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She caught both of his hands across the table and held
-them. "You are not yet well, 'Arry. I can see. It is
-dat for so long you do not know comfort an' 'appiness.
-</span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>! I s'all make you laugh again, until de </span><em class="italics">triste</em><span> look
-come no more into your eyes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was about to give some token of his appreciation
-that would satisfy her when he saw her glance past his
-shoulder toward the door which led into the bar.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your frien' who was wit' you—'e 'as come back again,"
-she whispered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah——" he turned and saw Harry peering through
-the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"'E wants you to come? </span><em class="italics">C'est embêtant</em><span>! Sen' 'im away."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid I——" He rose uncertainly and turned.
-"Wait," he said, "I'll see." And then walked out into
-the bar where Harry obstinately awaited him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've had enough of this," growled his brother. "You
-come out of here with me or I'll——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be a fool. You could see that I couldn't help it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You can help it now——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All right. We'll have this thing out, you and
-I—to-night. You meet me at the corner toward the Boulevard
-in twenty minutes. I'll get rid of her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And without waiting for a reply he returned to
-Piquette, his mind made up.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry," he said to her, "but I've some urgent business
-with this man. It can't be put off. But I must see
-you soon——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She pouted and rose.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't explain—not now. You won't be cross——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not—anodder woman——?" she asked shrewdly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Another——? How can you ask? No. There are
-no other women in Paris, Piquette."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are cruel," she muttered in a low tone, her dark
-eyes flashing.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. It is a matter of importance. Will you let me
-have your address——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No 82 Boulevard Clichy—de same place."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good. To-morrow I will write you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Without a word she gathered up her cloak and led the
-way out, looking about curiously for her enemy of the
-evening. But Harry had disappeared. She said nothing
-and they went out into the street where Jim Horton found
-a cab and put her into it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Méchant!" she whispered softly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not my fault, Piquette. Soon——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He gave the address to the </span><em class="italics">cocher</em><span> and she was gone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton stood for a moment listening to the sounds
-of the retreating </span><em class="italics">fiacre</em><span> as it rattled away over the
-cobblestones and then turned slowly back, his anger at his
-discoveries, long repressed by the necessities of his
-masquerade, suddenly bursting the barriers of his self-control.
-Moira—innocent—the catspaw, the stool-pigeon for these
-two rascals! How much did she know? How could
-Quinlevin have carried the deception out all these years
-without de Vautrin suspecting something? And if, as
-it seemed, he was suspicious of them now, who had told?
-His own duty seemed very clear. Every impulse of
-honor and decency urged that he find this Duc de Vautrin
-and tell the whole truth. But there was Moira ... his
-first duty was to her. But telling her meant revealing
-the secret of Harry's disgrace and his own part in it.
-That would be a difficult thing to do, but he would have
-to do it. He would tell her to-morrow.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As for Harry—he would make short work of </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>. He
-went with long determined strides to the appointed spot
-and Harry met him with a threatening air.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What the Hell has she been saying?" he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton was angry, but he kept himself well in
-hand, aware of his own physical superiority to this
-blustering shell of intrigue, deceit and cowardice, built in his
-own image. If earlier in the evening he had had his
-moments of pity for his brother's misfortunes, if he had
-planned to make restitution for the imprudence that had
-resulted in their undoing, he had no such gentle feeling
-or purpose now.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As he didn't reply, his brother continued angrily.
-"You've gone about your limit, I tell you. What did
-she tell you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Everything. I've got the whole story. And I'd like
-to tell you before we go any further that you're just
-about the crookedest——" He broke off with a shrug.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the use? The worst thing I could say would
-be a compliment. But you've come to the end of your
-tether. I don't know why I hoped there might be a chance
-of getting you to go straight—for her—but I did. The
-interesting revelations of this charming lady have
-removed the impression. The money you took from the
-estate, your questionable deals in America, your habits,
-put you outside the pale of decency, but the blackmail of
-the Duc with your own wife as stool-pigeon——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry in a sudden blind fury that took no thought
-of consequences struck viciously, but Jim, who had been
-watching for the blow, warded it, tripped his brother
-neatly and sent him spinning against the wall where he
-fell and lay motionless. But he was unhurt—only
-bewildered by the result of his own incapacity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Get up!" Jim ordered. "Somebody will be coming
-along in a moment and we'll both be going with the
-police."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry saw reason in that and slowly got to his feet,
-pale, still trembling with rage, rubbing his hip joint, but
-subdued. The place they had chosen was in the shadow
-and the hour was late, and no one was about, but Jim
-Horton took a glance up and down the deserted street
-before he resumed his interrupted remarks.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want any man's uniform when it's been defiled.
-You ought to have known that. I'm going to take
-it off and give it back to you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He saw the eager surprised look that came into Harry's
-face and raised his hand in warning—"But not yet. First
-I'm going to tell your wife the truth and then I'm going
-to warn the Duc de Vautrin."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry started back as though to dodge another blow,
-the reaction of his venture setting in with the terror of
-this information.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim!" he whispered, clutching at his arm. "You
-wouldn't do that, Jim. My God! It's ruin to me—and
-you too."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm prepared for that——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't, for God's sake don't! Wait. I've met you
-half way, haven't I? I'll do anything you say. I'll steer
-Quinlevin off and drop the thing. It was his idea—not
-mine. And he wouldn't have thought of it if the old man
-hadn't shut off the allowance——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me the truth," Jim broke in sternly. "How much
-money did Quinlevin owe you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Twenty thousand dollars——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And that was Moira's price——" contemptuously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I wanted her. I loved her. I swear to God I did. I
-love her now. I'd give anything to be able to go to her
-to-night——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You——! You forget what I know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the truth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How much were you to get of this money of the Duc's?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry halted, mumbling, "That wasn't settled."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it's settled now," said Jim, with an air of
-finality, turning aside.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you going to do?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell her—in the morning."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't, Jim. Why, she'd go right to Quinlevin."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I expect her to—and the Duke."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry leaned back against the wall, his fingers
-working at his trouser legs, but he was speechless.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's about all, I think," said Jim dryly. "Good-bye."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you won't listen—not if I promise——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything. Why, you've got me, Jim. I can't do a
-thing with you ready to tell Moira—even if I wanted to.
-What's the use? It only means ruin for you. Wait a
-few days and we'll have another talk; just wait until
-to-morrow night. Give me a chance to think. I'll even—I'll
-even get out of France and go out West somewhere and
-make a fresh start. I will. I mean it. I did you a dirty
-trick once, but I'll try to square myself. Give me a
-chance. Think it over. Meet me to-morrow. I'm all in
-to-night. Promise you won't speak."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Jim, after a moment of deliberation. "I'll
-promise nothing, but I'll meet you to-morrow night at
-Javet's—at twelve—with the money."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry gasped a sigh of relief and straightened,
-offering his hand. "Thanks, Jim. To-morrow. And you
-won't tell her, I know. You couldn't. It would be too
-cruel. She'll suffer—my God! You know her. Can't you
-see how she'd suffer?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I didn't start this thing——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But you'll finish it, Jim. She believes in </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>, even if
-she doesn't believe in me. It will kill her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He saw that he had made an impression on his brother.
-Jim stood silent, his head bowed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't tell her to-morrow, Jim," Harry pleaded. "Promise."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim shrugged and turned.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," he said at last. "I'll sleep on it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He turned away and walked slowly out into the dim
-light of the street, moving toward the Rue de Tavennes.
-He did not even turn his head to see what became of his
-brother. Already he had forgotten him. The heat of his
-passion had suffered a strange reaction. To resolve to
-tell Moira the truth, even to threaten to tell her was one
-thing, but to tell was another. And curiously enough
-Harry's picture of the consequences, drawn even in the
-stress of fear, was true enough—Jim knew it—was true.
-He knew her pride, her spirit. The revelation would kill
-them—and destroy her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was so dependent on him. She didn't know how
-greatly. And he had been until the present moment so
-dependent upon her. He realized what her visits had
-meant to him, how deep had been the joy of their evening
-alone in the studio. He did not dare to think of her now
-as he had been thinking of her then—for during the
-weeks of his convalescence and the culmination of their
-friendship to-night Harry had seemed far off, vague and
-impalpable. But their meeting had changed all this and
-he was thankful that he had had enough manhood to keep
-his wits when he had been alone with her. Moira—the
-pity of it—had given him signs (that he might read and
-run) that the mockery of the marriage was a mockery no
-longer. And it was her very confession of indifference
-and pity for Harry as she had known him, that seemed
-to give Jim the right to care for and protect her. He
-</span><em class="italics">did</em><span> care for her, he was now willing to confess in a way
-far from fraternal. He had always been too busy to
-think about women, but Moira had crept into his life
-when he was ill and unnerved, needing the touch of a
-friendly hand, and their peculiar relationship had given
-him no chance of escape—nor her. She had captured
-his imagination and he had succeeded where Harry had
-not in winning her affection.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was a dangerous situation and yet it fascinated him.
-The knowledge that he must cause her suffering had
-weakened his resolve for a moment, but as he walked into the
-Rue de Tavennes he saw it for the fool's paradise that
-it was. He would spend to-morrow with her—just
-to-morrow—that could do no harm and then—she should
-know everything.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He found his way into the court and up the stairs.
-The studio door was closed, implacable as the destiny
-that barred him from her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He went into his room, closed the door and slowly
-undressed. Then lay on the bed, staring for a long while
-at the reflection of the street-lamp upon the ceiling:
-Moira ... happiness ... reputation—and dishonor.
-Or ... outcast ... but honorable.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="youth-triumphant"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VI</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">YOUTH TRIUMPHANT</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>But weariness and anxiety had to pay tribute at
-last and he slept. It was broad daylight when he
-awoke to the sound of a loud hammering upon the
-door and a high, clear, humorous voice calling his name.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Lazy bones! Get up! Will you be lying abed all day?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A—all right——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He opened his eyes with an effort and glanced at his
-wrist watch—— Eight o'clock.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Coffee in the studio, Harry dear, in ten minutes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! All right——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The hammering stopped, foot-steps retreated and Jim
-Horton tumbled out, rubbing his eyes and gazing at the
-golden lozenges of light upon the wall. It was a most
-inspiriting </span><em class="italics">reveille</em><span>, arresting as the shrill clarion of camp
-on a frosty morning; but sweeter far, joyous with
-promise of the new day. It was only during the progress of
-his hasty toilet that the douche of cold water over his
-head and face recalled to him with unpleasant suddenness
-and distinctness the events of the night before, and he
-emerged from vigorous rubbing exhilarated but sober.
-There was a lot of thinking to be done and a difficult
-resolution to make, and with Moira at his elbow it wasn't
-going to be easy. But by the time he knocked at the
-door of the studio, the pleasure of the immediate prospect
-made ready his good cheer for the morning greeting. He
-heard her voice calling and entered. A new fire blazed
-on the hearth, and an odor of coffee filled the air. She
-emerged from the door of the small kitchen, a coffee-pot
-and a heaping plateful of </span><em class="italics">brioches</em><span> in her hands.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning! I've been waiting for you an hour
-or more. You've been developing amazing bad habits in
-the hospital."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why didn't you call me before?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure and I believed you might be thinking I was
-anxious to see you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And aren't you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And do you think I'd be telling—even if I was?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You might."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And I won't. Will you have your coffee with cream
-and sugar?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you please."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was real cream and real sugar—some magic of
-Madame Toupin's, she explained, and the </span><em class="italics">brioches</em><span> were
-unsurpassed. And so they sat and ate, Moira chattering
-gayly of plans for the day, while the ancient dowager
-upon the easel who had braved the Fokkers and the
-long-range cannon looked down upon them benignly and with
-a little touch of pity, too, as though she knew how much
-of their courage was to be required of them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton ate silently, putting in a word here and there,
-content to listen to her plans, to watch the deft motions
-of her fingers and the changing expressions upon her face.
-Once or twice he caught her looking at him with a puzzled
-line at her brows, but he let his glance pass and spoke of
-casual things, the location of the bank where he must get
-his money, the excellence of the coffee, the kindness of
-Nurse Newberry, aware that these topics were not the
-ones uppermost in his mind, or in hers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a bit subdued this morning, Harry dear," she
-said at last, whimsically. "Maybe that goose was too
-much for you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Subdued!" he laughed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have all the air of a man with something on his
-conscience. You used to wear that look in America, and
-I let you be. But somehow things seemed different with
-us two. Would you be willing to tell me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There isn't a thing—except—except your kindness.
-I don't deserve that, you know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him seriously and then broke into laughter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Would it make you feel more comfortable if I laid
-you over the shoulders with a mahl stick?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I think it would," he grinned.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure and that is one of the few pleasant prerogatives
-of matrimony—in Ireland."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And elsewhere——" added Horton.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But I do want to know if anything's troubling you.
-Are you still worried——" she took a </span><em class="italics">brioche</em><span> and smiled
-at it amiably, "because we're not appropriately chaperoned?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No—not so much. I see you're quite able to look out
-for yourself."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you derive some comfort from the fact?" she asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her, their eyes met and they both burst
-into laughter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira—you witch! But you'd better not tempt me too far."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure and I'm not afraid of you, alanah," she said,
-sedate again and very cool, "or of any man," and then,
-mischievously, "But your doubts needn't have kept you
-from kissing me a good morning."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not too late now," said Horton, abruptly rising
-and spilling his coffee. He passed the small table toward
-her but she held him off with a hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. The essence is gone. You'll please pick up
-your coffee-cup and pass the butter. Thanks. It's very
-nice butter, isn't it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Excellent," he said gloomily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And now you're vexed. Is there no pleasing a man?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you'd only stop pleasing—you'd make it easier for
-me to see a way——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was all attention at once, listening. But he paused
-and set his coffee-cup down with an air of finality.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop pleasing! Sure and you must not ask the
-impossible," she said, her mouth full.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But he wouldn't smile and only glowered into the fire.
-"I want you to let me try to pay you what I owe
-you—to earn your respect and affection——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'm letting you," she smiled over her coffee-cup.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I've gotten you under false pretenses—under the
-spell of a—a temporary emotion—a sense of duty," he
-rambled, saying partly what Harry might say and partly
-what was in his own heart. "I want to win the right to
-you, to show you that—that I'm not as rotten as you
-used to think me——" He didn't know how far the
-thought was leading and in fear of it, rose and walked
-away, suddenly silent.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he heard her saying, "I don't think you are."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Was she laughing at him? He turned toward her again
-but the back of her dark head was very demure. He
-approached quite close, near enough to touch her, but she
-held the coffee-cup to her lips, and then when she had
-drunk, sprang up and away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the use of thinking about the past or the
-future, alanah, when we have the present—with a
-gorgeous morning and happy Paris just at our elbows.
-</span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>! You shall wash the coffee-cups and the pot while
-I put on my hat, for there's nothing like sticking
-something into a man's hands to keep them out of mischief.
-And then we'll be wandering forth, you and I, into the
-realms of delight."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was glad at the thought of going out into the air,
-away from the studio, for here within four walls she was
-too close to him, their seclusion too intimate. If he only
-were Harry! He would have taken her tantalizing moods
-as a husband might and conquered her by strength and
-tenderness. But as it was, all he could feel beside
-tenderness was pity for her innocence and helplessness, and
-contempt and not a little pity for himself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the air of out-of-doors was to restore him to
-sanity. It was one of those late November days of sunshine,
-warm and hazy, when outer wraps are superfluous, and
-arm in arm, like two good comrades, and as the custom
-was in the </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span>, they sauntered forth, in the direction
-she indicated. There were to be no vehicles for them,
-she insisted, for </span><em class="italics">fiacres</em><span> cost much and money was scarce.
-Life seemed to be coursing very strongly through her
-veins, and the more he felt the contagion of her youth
-and joy, the more trying became the task he had set
-himself. But sober though he was, within, he could not resist
-the spell of her enthusiasms and he put the evil hour from
-him. This day at least should be hers as nearly as he
-could make it, without a flaw. They turned down the
-Boul' Miche' and into the Boulevard St. Germain, past the
-Beaux Arts which she wished to show him, then over the
-Pont des Arts to the Right Bank. They stopped on the
-quai for a moment to gaze down toward the towers of
-Notre Dame, while Moira painted for him the glories that
-were France. He had lived a busy life and had had little
-time for the romances of great nations, but he
-remembered what he had read and, through Moira's clear
-intelligence, the epic filtered, tinctured with its color and
-idealism.</span></p>
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 59%" id="figure-43">
-<span id="through-moira-s-clear-intelligence-the-epic-filtered"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="THROUGH MOIRA'S CLEAR INTELLIGENCE THE EPIC FILTERED" src="images/img-078.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">THROUGH MOIRA'S CLEAR INTELLIGENCE THE EPIC FILTERED</span></div>
-</div>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then under the arches of the Louvre to the Avenue de
-l'Opera, and toward the banking district. All Paris
-smiled. The blue and brown mingled fraternally and the
-streets were crowded. Except for the uniforms, which
-were seen everywhere, it was difficult to believe that hardly
-a month ago the most terrible war in history had been
-fought, almost at the city's gates.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When he reached his bank, which was in the
-Boulevard des Italiens, near the </span><em class="italics">Opera</em><span>, Jim Horton had to
-move with caution. But Moira fortunately had some
-shopping to do and in her absence he contrived to get
-some checks, and going into the Grand Hotel drew a
-check signed with his own name, and payable to Henry
-G. Horton, and this he presented for payment. There
-was some delay and a few questions, for the amount was
-large—three thousand francs—but he showed the letters
-from Moira and Quinlevin. It was with a sigh of relief
-that he went out and met Moira near the </span><em class="italics">Opera</em><span>. With
-a grin he caught her by the arm, exhibiting a large packet
-of bank-notes, and led the way down the avenue by which
-they had come.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And where now, Harry dear?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm hungry. To the most expensive restaurant in
-Paris for </span><em class="italics">déjeuner</em><span>. If I'm not mistaken we passed it just
-here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must not—I won't permit——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He only grinned and led her inside.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For to-day at least, Moira, we shall live."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But to see Paris, </span><em class="italics">en Anglais</em><span>, that is not to live——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall see."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The tempting meal that he ordered with her assistance,
-did much to mollify her prudence and frugality and they
-breakfasted in state on the best that the market provided.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Afternoon found them back in the Boulevard St. Germain
-again, after an eventful interim which Jim Horton
-had filled, above her protests, in a drive through the </span><em class="italics">Bois</em><span>
-and a visit, much less expensive, to a </span><em class="italics">cinema</em><span> show,
-during which she held his hand. And now a little weary of
-all the world, but happy in each other, they drifted like
-the flotsam of all lovers of the </span><em class="italics">Rive Gauche</em><span> toward the
-Gardens of the Luxembourg. They sat side by side on
-the balustrade overlooking the esplanade and lawn in
-front of the Palace, watching the passers-by, always
-paired, </span><em class="italics">piou-piou</em><span> and milliner, workman and </span><em class="italics">bonne</em><span>,
-</span><em class="italics">flaneur</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">grisette</em><span>, for the warm weather had brought
-them out. There was no military band playing, but they
-needed no music in their hearts, which were already
-beating in time to the most exquisite of interludes. Twilight
-was falling, the Paris dusk, full of mystery and elusive
-charm; lights beyond the trees flickered into being, and
-the roar of the city beyond their breathing-spot
-diminished into a low murmur. For a while their conversation
-had relapsed into short sentences and monosyllables,
-as though the gayety of their talk was no longer sufficient
-to conceal their thoughts, which, throwing off subterfuge,
-spoke in the silences. At last Moira shivered slightly and
-rose.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," she said gently, "we must be going," and led
-the way toward the exit from the Gardens on the Boulevard
-St. Michel. Horton followed silently—heavily, for
-the end of his perfect day was drawing near and with
-it the duty which was to bring disillusionment and distress
-to Moira and ostracism and hell to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But when they reached the studio Moira set with
-alacrity at putting things to rights and preparing the
-evening meal.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall be having cold goose and a bit of salad, you
-extravagant person," she said. "I feel as though I had no
-right to be eating again for a week."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so they dined upon the remains of their feast, but
-warmed by the cheerful blaze, both conscious of the
-imminent hour of seclusion and affinity. Moira had little
-to say and in the silences Jim caught her gaze upon him
-once or twice as though in inquiry or incomprehension,
-and wondered whether in their long day together, he had
-said or done anything which might have led her to
-suspect the truth. But he had been cautious, following her
-leads in conversation, and playing his discreditable role
-with rather creditable skill. The end was near. He
-would see Harry to-night at Javet's and to-morrow he
-would tell her, but it was like the thought of death to
-him—after to-day—and he failed to hide from her the
-traces of his misery.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish that you would tell me what worries you," she
-said gently, after a long silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He started forward in his chair by the fire. "Er—nothing,"
-he stammered, "there's nothing."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, there is," she said, evenly. "I know. I've felt
-it all day—even when you seemed most happy." And
-then quickly, "Is it me that you're worrying about?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"About you?" he asked to gain time, and then,
-grasping at the straw she threw him,
-"about—you—yes—Moira," he said quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was the first definite return to the topic of the
-morning, which they had both banished as though by an
-understanding. But Moira was persistent.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" she asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because—because I don't deserve—all this—from you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled softly from her chair nearby.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you think I'm the best judge of that?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said miserably. "No."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't deny a woman the faith of her intuitions."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I proved your intuitions false——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure and I'd never speak to you again," she put in
-quaintly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It might be better if you didn't," he muttered, half
-aloud.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She heard him, or seemed to, for she turned quickly and
-laid her hand over his.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be spoiling our day, dear," she said earnestly.
-"God has been good in bringing you back to me.
-Whatever happens I won't be regretting it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His fingers caught and pressed hers and then quickly
-relinquished them as he rose, struggling for his
-composure.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> regret it," he said fiercely. "I tell you you
-can't thank God for me, because I'm not what you want
-to think me. I'm what the Harry you knew in America
-was, only worse—a liar, a cheat——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He paused as she rose, saving himself the revelation on
-the tip of his tongue by the sight of her face in the
-firelight as she turned. It was transfigured by her new faith
-in him, and in her joy in the possession. She came to
-him quickly, and put her soft fingers over his lips, while
-the other arm went around his shoulders.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, alanah," she said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No—you mustn't, Moira," he muttered, taking her
-hands down and clasping them both in his. "You
-mustn't." And then, at the look of disappointment that
-came into her eyes, caught both her hands to his lips
-and covered them with kisses. Against the sweet allure
-of her he struggled, sure that never mortal man had
-been so tried before, but surer still that the love he bore
-for her was greater than all temptation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him, flushed at the warmth of this
-formal caress, which left no doubt of him, but marveling at
-his renunciation of her lips, which had been so near.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't be listening when you call yourself such names."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't understand—and I can't tell you—anything
-more just now. I haven't—the will."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He noted the look of alarm which was a token of the
-suffering he must cause her and he led her to his chair
-and made her sit.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't make you unhappy—not to-night. I—I'm
-sorry you read my thoughts. I shouldn't have let you see."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He had turned to the fire and leaned against the
-chimney piece. And after a moment, clear and very
-tender, he heard her voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You must tell me everything, alanah. I've got the
-right to it now."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head in silent misery.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I can't."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You see, things are different with us two.
-You've made me know to-day how different. Last night
-I called to your mind the mockery we'd been through,
-calling it marriage. But it </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> a marriage, and the dear
-God has willed that my heart should beat for you as
-gently as that of any mother for its babe. It softened
-in the hospital, dear, when I saw you lying there so pale
-and weak against the pillows, and I knew that if God
-spared you for me I would make amends——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You</em><span>—make amends——" he gasped.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By giving you all that I had of faith, hope and
-charity. Whatever you were, whatever you are, dear, you're
-mine, for better or for worse, and I believe in you. And
-your troubles, whatever they are—I'll take my half of
-them."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't——" he groaned.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not if they concern me," she continued simply, "for
-they're mine already."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He took a pace or two away from her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You mustn't speak to me like this."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And why not? You're mine to speak to as I please.
-Is it that you don't love me enough, alanah?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He knew that she wouldn't have asked that question, if
-she hadn't already seen the answer in his eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Love you——?" he began, his eyes shining like stars.
-And then suddenly, as though their very glow had burned
-them out, they turned away, dull and lusterless. She
-watched him anxiously for a moment and then rose and
-faced him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well——" she said softly, "I'm waiting for your answer."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I can't give you an answer," he said in a colorless
-voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I'll be giving the answer for you, my dear, for
-I'm not without eyes in my head. I know you love me
-and I've been knowing it for many days. And it's the kind
-of love that a woman wants, the love that gives and asks
-nothing." She paused, breathing with difficulty, the
-warm color rising to her temples, and then went on
-gently, proudly, as though in joy of her confession.
-"And I—it is the same with me. I've tried to make you
-understand.... It is not for you to give only...." She
-halted in her speech a moment and then came close
-to him, her clear gaze seeking his. "I love you, not for
-what you have suffered, dear——" she whispered, "but
-for what you are to me—not because you are my husband,
-but because you are </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>—the only one in all the world for me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira," he whispered, tensely, as his arms went about
-her. "God forgive me—I worship you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God will forgive you that, alanah," he heard her say
-happily, "since I do."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He touched his lips to her brow tenderly ... then
-her lips.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You love me," he muttered. "</span><em class="italics">Me</em><span>? You're sure that
-it's </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> that you love?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes opened, startled at his tone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If it isn't you that I love, then I'm sure that I can't
-be loving any one at all."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you'll believe in me—whatever happens?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will——" she repeated proudly. "Whatever
-happens—since </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> has happened to us both."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Some day—you'll know," he muttered painfully, "that
-I—I'm not what I seem to be. And then I want you to
-remember this hour, this moment, Moira, as it is to me....
-I want you to remember how you came into my arms
-when I hadn't the strength to repel you, remember the
-touch of my lips in tenderness—and in reverence—Moira
-... that love was too strong for me ... for it has
-made me false to myself ... false to you...."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She drew away from him a little, deeply perturbed.
-"You frighten me, alanah."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I don't want to. To-morrow——" he paused,
-searching for strength to speak. But it did not come.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow. What do you mean?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The repetition of the word seemed like a confirmation
-of his resolution and shocked him into action. Quietly
-he took her hands down from his shoulders, kissed them
-in farewell, and turned away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" she repeated.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That—that to-morrow—you shall judge me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The tense expression of her anxiety relaxed and she
-smiled.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You needn't fear what that will be."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He did not reply but stood staring fixedly into the
-fire. She came around to him and laid her fingers over
-his. "Why should we bother about to-morrow, dear?
-To-day was yesterday's to-morrow and see what's
-happened to us."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But it shouldn't have happened," he groaned, "it
-shouldn't have happened."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why should I thank God for it——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Everything will be right. A woman knows of
-these things."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her tenderly, but he didn't attempt to
-take her in his arms.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," she said, "let us sit down by the fire near the
-blaze, and we will not speak of to-morrow—just of to-day
-and yesterday and the day before, when you and I were
-learning this wonderful thing."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But he did not dare.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira, I—I've got to go out for awhile—a matter
-of duty——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now?" she faltered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I must. An engagement. I'm in honor bound——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Now really alarmed, she caught him by the elbows and
-looked into his eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"An engagement—to-night! And to-morrow——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His meaning seemed to come to her with a rush.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry——! This engagement to-night has something
-to do with us—with me. To-morrow——! What is it,
-Harry? Speak!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't. I've promised."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't let you go, Harry. It is something that has
-come between us——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It has always been—between us——" he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She clung to him and held him as he moved toward the
-door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing—nothing shall come between us. Nothing
-can. I don't care what it is. 'Until death us do
-part'—Don't you understand what that means, Harry?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The repetition of his brother's name, the phrase from
-the marriage service, gave him resolution to avert his
-face from the piteous pleading in her eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is because I understand what it means that I
-have—the courage to go—now—before you despise me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have said that nothing makes any difference. I
-swear it. I love you, dear. There's some mistake. You'll
-never be different in my eyes, whatever happens—whatever
-has happened."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye, Moira," he whispered, his hands clasping
-her arms.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no. Not now—not to-night. I knew that to-day
-was too beautiful to last. You—you've frightened me.
-Don't go—</span><em class="italics">please</em><span> don't go."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said firmly. "I must."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But she was strong, and greater than her strength was
-her tenderness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Look me in the eyes, dear, while I'm pleading with
-you. If your love were as great a thing as mine——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To look in her eyes, he knew, was fatal. One brief
-struggle and then he caught her in his arms and held
-her close for a long moment, while he whispered in broken
-sentences.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My love! ... if you hadn't said that! You've </span><em class="italics">got</em><span>
-to know what my love means ... sacrifice.... This
-moment ... is mine.... Remember it, dear—as it is
-... its terrible sweetness—its sanctity—remember that,
-too ... because that's the essence of it ... sanctity.
-God bless you, Moira—whatever happens——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Whatever happens?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As in a daze he straightened and looked around. Then
-almost roughly broke away from her and rushed to the
-door, taking up his cap and overcoat on the way.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry——!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye," he called hoarsely as he opened the door
-and went out.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She rushed after him but he was already running
-furiously down the stairs into the dark.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry," she called, "Harry—come back!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the name of his brother made him rush on the
-more blindly, the echoes following him down into the
-court and past the open gate of Madame Toupin. He
-hadn't any definite idea of what he was going to do. The
-only thing that he was sure of was that he must get
-away—anywhere—away from Moira ... from the
-reproach of her innocent eyes, of her confessions, of her
-tributes of submission and surrender. On he plunged
-blindly down the street toward the Luxembourg Gardens,
-into the outer darkness where he must lose himself away
-from her—to-night, to-morrow,—for all time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He had failed. He had trusted himself too far—trusted
-her too far. Fool that he was not to have seen
-that love, begun by trivial happenings, had been
-gathering strength and momentum and like an avalanche had
-swept down and engulfed them both. In a moment of
-reaction, of guilty triumph, he rejoiced, defiant of the
-conscience that drove him forth, that it was him that
-she loved—not Harry; his lips that had taken tribute—his
-ears that had received her confessions, meant for them
-alone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But reason returned after awhile ... and with it the
-sense of his dishonor. The thing was over, definitely.
-There would be scorn enough in her eyes for him to-morrow,
-when he told her all the truth. He comforted himself
-with that thought and yet it brought him a pang
-too, for he knew that it was Moira who was to suffer
-most.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He seemed to be the only person in the gardens, for
-the night was chill and a thin mist of rain was falling.
-From time to time there were footsteps here and there,
-and the murmur of voices, and through the turmoil of
-his thoughts he was conscious of them vaguely. But they
-meant nothing to him. He went on into the darkness, his
-head bowed, in the conflict of his happiness and his
-remorse, reaching a dimly lighted spot near the Rue d'Assas,
-when he heard quick footsteps behind him. He turned
-just in time to dodge the blow of a stick aimed at his
-head, which fell heavily on his shoulder. He struck out
-but another man caught him around the waist, bearing
-him to the ground. He struggled to one knee, striking
-viciously, but they were too many for him. He got a
-glimpse of an automatic pistol which flashed before his
-eyes and then something heavy struck him on the head.
-The last thing he noted before losing consciousness was
-the pale face of the man with the automatic. It was his
-brother—Harry.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="awakening"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VII</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AWAKENING</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Moira moved about in a daze, attempting in the
-commonplaces of the daily routine to forget the
-thought of the revelation which she knew could
-not be long delayed. She had lain all night on the divan
-in the studio, listening and waiting for the return of the
-soldier, and at last, toward daylight, from sheer
-exhaustion of mind and body, had fallen asleep. When
-she awoke, her first impulse was to go to the room in
-the hallway and knock. She opened the door. The bed
-had not been occupied.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Slowly, thoughtfully, she went back to the studio and
-the business of preparing the coffee—for herself—and
-for Harry—when he should arrive. Her mind was filled
-with strange doubts,—not of him, because she had learned
-to have a complete, a perfect faith in this soldier that
-she had married, who had left New York under a cloud
-of uncertainties and suspicions and had come back to
-her spiritually reborn. The doubts in her mind were
-those that he had purposely created in it, and fragments
-of phrases that he had uttered in their moments of
-tenderness came back to alarm and disturb her, because if
-he hadn't thought it necessary to alarm and disturb her,
-he would have remained silent and permitted himself to
-enjoy with her the hours that had been theirs together.
-Yes ... there was something that had come to thrust
-itself between them—some impediment to their union. She
-smiled softly at the memory of the restraint in his
-caresses, the purity of his smile and the gentleness of his
-abnegation.... He had underestimated the quality of her
-new faith in him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Was this shadow out of the past? Perhaps. But it
-wouldn't matter. Together they would exorcise it. Only
-the future mattered now—their future together.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped for a moment in her work of putting the
-studio to rights and listened. She thought that she heard
-a step upon the stair. She waited a while and then went
-to the door and peered out. No one. It </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> a little
-cruel that he had not sent her a message—a note, a
-</span><em class="italics">petit bleu</em><span> even, telling when she must expect him,
-whatever his appearance might bring. For this, she realized,
-was the "to-morrow" of which he had spoken yesterday
-... the day of revelations....</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She tried to sing at her work but the effort was a
-failure. A morbid fear of the thing that was to happen, if
-it hadn't already happened, obsessed and held her.
-Nine—ten o'clock—eleven.... With a courage born of
-desperation she went into her room and put on her hat. It
-was insupportable, the suspense. There were some things
-to buy. She must order them. And leaving word with
-Madame Toupin that she would return within the hour,
-she walked briskly forth, breasting the keen air and
-trying to smile. But even her walk was a failure, and in a
-short while she was back, eagerly questioning Madame
-Toupin. No, Monsieur le Lieutenant had not arrived.
-No doubt he was busy about the ceremony of the
-presentation of the medals. Moira inquired and Madame
-Toupin showed her an article in the paper about the
-honors to be given both French and American officers next
-week in the Place de la Concord. There was his name,
-"Henry G. Horton—Croix de Guerre." Madame Toupin
-let her have the paper and she ran up to the studio, where
-she read it eagerly, thrilling with pride.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Of course he had his reasons for not coming to her
-and telling her everything. She must be patient—her
-faith in him unwavering. He would come to her to-night
-again—and whatever he told her was to make no difference
-in her love and faith in him—whatever he told
-her—she swore it.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>*      *      *      *      *</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Late that night he came. She had built a fire of fagots
-against the chill of the night and was sitting in the big
-armchair by the hearth when she heard a knock at the
-studio door. With a cry of welcome she rose and rushed
-to greet him, throwing herself impulsively into his arms.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry," she gasped happily, "at last!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She couldn't help noting the slight movement of recoil
-before her tenderness. Then, bending his head,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Moira," he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She helped him off with his overcoat and led him over
-to the fire, making him sit in the big arm-chair. He
-obeyed awkwardly, as one in a daze, his brows frowning.
-The light was uncertain, but what she saw alarmed her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry! What has happened to you?" she cried,
-catching him by the hands and holding them. "You're
-ill—your fingers are cold—you look as though—— What
-has happened?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing," he murmured with an attempt at a smile.
-"Nothing at all." But even the smile was different, as
-though the muscles acted in obedience to an effort.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She had struck a match to make a light.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What—what are you doing?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going to see what's the matter with you. You
-look sick. You need medicine."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he protested. "I'm just tired. A drink of
-whisky if you've got one——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She went into Barry Quinlevin's room and brought
-forth a bottle, a glass and a pitcher of water. With a hand
-that trembled a little, he poured himself a drink and took
-it at a draught, and then gave a gasp of relief. She
-had sat down near him and was regarding him with an
-expression of intentness and eagerness, though the pucker
-at her brows indicated a doubt and a fear. The gas light
-was at his back and she could not clearly see his face, but
-there was something strange about him that she had
-missed at his first entrance, a brooding sullenness,
-remote, self-centered, that even the smile could not temper
-with sweetness. And even while she watched he poured
-out another glass of whisky.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, Harry?" she asked. "Tell me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's nothing," he said. "I'm all in, I've had some
-worries. I'll be all right.'</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you had something to eat?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I'm not hungry."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His voice too ... thin, weary, somber.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Now greatly alarmed, she caught his hand in both of hers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You must tell me everything, Harry. I don't care
-what it is—I—I've got to know. You told me that you'd
-tell me to-day—to-night, and now you must keep your
-promise. I've tried so hard not to worry and—and when
-you didn't come back to me last night, I—I was really
-frightened——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Were you?" he said, with a frown. "I was all right."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad. But it was cruel of you not to send me
-a message."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I couldn't. But I'm here now, Moira. So there's no
-need worrying any more."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He put his hand over hers and leaned toward her. His
-words, which last night would have given her happiness,
-seemed somehow to mean nothing to her to-night. For
-his very presence in this condition was a threat against
-her peace of mind. And his fingers might have been wax
-for all that their touch meant to her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You—you're trying to make things seem better than
-they are," she said steadily, wondering at her own words.
-"I—I'm not easily deceived. Last night I knew that
-something had come between us. I know now that it's
-still between us, Harry, whatever you say."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He turned away toward the glass at his elbow,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he murmured, "that difficulty—has been removed."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He couldn't repress the smile of triumph as he took his
-drink, and she saw it. It wasn't a pleasant smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," he went on more easily, "aren't you glad to
-see me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—God knows whether I am or not. Something has
-happened to you—to me.... You've been through something
-terrible—since yesterday—something that has burnt
-the soul of you. What is it? What is it? The touch of
-your fingers—your voice, they come from a distance-like,
-with nothing of you in them. Am I ill that I should be
-thinking of you so? Take me in your arms, Harry, and
-shield me from this terror that you're not yourself, but
-some one else."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He obeyed, putting his arms around her and holding
-her close to him. But at the touch of his lips to hers,
-she struggled free and faced him by the hearth, pale as
-death. The look of bewilderment at her brows had
-intensified into a steady gaze, almost of terror at the
-thought that had suddenly mastered her. And yet she
-did not dare give utterance to it. It was so outlandish,
-so mad and incomprehensible.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She saw the frown of anger, quickly masked in a smile
-of patience as she broke away from him, and that
-confirmed her in her madness. She was reading him keenly
-now from top to toe, missing nothing. And the thought
-that dominated her was that the man with whom she
-had mated during the past weeks, the man who had passed
-through the shadow of death, reborn in body and spirit,
-the Harry that she had recently learned to love—was
-dead; and that this man who had come to take his
-place—this man—was what he might have been if God's grace
-had not fallen on him. Madness? Perhaps. And yet
-how otherwise would the touch of his lips, which last
-night she had sought in tenderness, have been so repellent
-to her? Harry—her husband—unregenerate—the same
-Harry that....</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She kept her gaze fixed upon him and she saw his look
-flicker and fade.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>If this reality was Harry, her husband, then were all
-the weeks that had passed since she found him in the
-hospital merely a dream, was yesterday a dream—last night?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I don't know—what is the matter," she said at
-last, passing a hand across her brows. "I—I am not well,
-perhaps. But you—you're not the—not the same. I
-know it. The thoughts that I have of you frighten me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He forced a laugh and sank into his chair again,
-lighting a cigarette with an assumption of ease.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry," he said quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She only stood staring at him, her deep blue eyes never
-wavering from his face, which was still averted from the
-light. He met that gaze once—a second time, and then
-looked away, but still they stared at him, wide like a
-child's, but full of a dawning wisdom.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You—you are Harry Horton—my—my husband?"
-she whispered in a kind of daze.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, rather."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She paused another long moment as though on the
-verge of a difficult decision and then spoke searchingly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you are Harry—my husband—then who—</span><em class="italics">who is
-the other</em><span>?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry Horton started. "The other——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The other—who was here with me yesterday, who was
-ill in the hospital at Neuilly, wounded—the hero of
-Boissière wood?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira," he said, rising, "this is serious. There has
-been no other here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she repeated doggedly, "the other has been
-here—your twin——" The word seemed born of her
-necessity. "Your twin," she repeated.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He winced at the word and she saw the change in his
-expression.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me the truth of this thing," she went on quickly,
-"</span><em class="italics">he</em><span> said yesterday that something was to come between
-us. It was </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>." And then, as he made no reply, "For
-God's sake, speak——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He turned away from the light.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm your husband," he muttered hoarsely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Show me your wounds," she gasped suddenly, reasoning
-with singular directness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her once, then bent forward. There upon
-the left side of his head in a shaved spot was a cross of
-adhesive tape. She touched it aimlessly with her fingers
-and then suddenly, before he could rise, with a quick deft
-movement tore it away from his skull. And quickly as
-he straightened she had seen enough.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was no wound.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What's this deviltry?" he muttered, his face an angry red.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the look that he met in her eyes pierced all subterfuge.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have not been wounded," she gasped.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned forward in his fury as though to strike
-her, but she stood up to him resolutely until the color
-faded from his face and he straightened slowly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he muttered with a shrug, "I haven't." And
-then, folding his arms he found her gaze. "What of it?"
-he asked shortly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced down at the slips of adhesive tape and then
-let them fall through her fingers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad," she said coolly, "that you've decided not
-to carry on the lie——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed again. "Well, it looks as though it were
-hardly worth while."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Already all her thoughts were beyond him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who—who is the other?" she asked at last, with a
-cold precision that might have come from a disembodied
-spirit.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He waited a moment before replying and then his tone
-matched her own.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can hardly wonder at your interest after the warmth
-of your greeting when I came in."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The shot told and she colored painfully.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who—who is he?" she repeated with an effort.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled. "There's no harm in your knowing, since
-you've guessed the rest. He's my twin brother, Jim
-Horton."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim," she gasped below her breath.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We met in the confusion on the battlefield," he went
-on. "I had been shell-shocked and he put on my uniform
-to lead my men——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Shell—shock——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. He took my uniform. It was a fool proceeding.
-When I came to, everything was in confusion. He
-would have been courtmartialed and shot if I had turned
-up, so I went back to the lines and came to Paris——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"While he won you the Croix de Guerre. And you're
-going to step into his shoes——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They're </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> shoes. It's not my fault——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And he—what's to become of him?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's his lookout. He merely disappears from the
-scene."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She leaned heavily against the mantel shelf, breathing
-fast. But she had no reply, and so he went on unpleasantly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, perhaps you would like to explain."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have nothing to explain."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not the joy in your eyes when I came in? The kisses
-you gave me that you thought were for him?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask no forgiveness," she said in a hollow tone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course you thought he was your husband. And
-he let you think so."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. He let me think so," she repeated, parrot-like.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And all the while her horror of her situation increased—her
-anger at "the other" who had dared to place her
-in this false position.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She saw her husband's bony fingers clasp the chair arm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You were easily deceived," he went on. "It's hardly
-flattering to me. I would like to know——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped suddenly, his question in abeyance before
-the challenge in her eyes, aroused by the tone of his voice.
-She read his thought and answered him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He came here from the hospital night before last. He
-wanted to go to a </span><em class="italics">pension</em><span> but I would not permit it——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That was kind of you. But I'm not blind. And your
-kisses for him were warm on your lips when you greeted me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She paled and drooped in her shame.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you to say about that?" he went on
-tensely. "Do you think that I'm the kind to stand by idly
-and see a man take my wife's kisses?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. You're not," she answered slowly. "You've
-already answered me." And then, with a painful effort,
-"What have you done with him?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He sank into the armchair with a laugh. "With </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>?
-Nothing. He has gone. That's all."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's your privilege. He has gone. He thought he
-had gone about far enough. And I'm almost ready to
-believe that you agree with him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she stammered, pleading against her own will,
-against her outraged pride. "There was a reason for
-what he did—an honorable reason. There must have
-been."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The marks of it are not very clear to me. If you
-can see anything honorable in trying to steal the love
-of one's brother's wife——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He paused, for he saw the danger signals flying in her
-eyes, and tried to shrug his anger off. "What's the use?
-I'm no fool. Whether he tried to win you or not, it's
-clear that neither of you was over-scrupulous about me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She didn't reply at once and when she did speak her
-words came slowly and with dignity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know why it is that he should have kept silent
-about you. He has done me a hurt—irreparable. When
-I visited him in the hospital, it was </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> that I visited,
-</span><em class="italics">you</em><span> that I went to cheer, to take my place by your side.
-I thanked God when I saw you that you had grown to
-be—what you were, what I had wanted you to be. And I
-loved you for what you had suffered."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He started up from his chair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait a moment," she insisted, still struggling to give
-her thoughts expression. "I want you to understand. I
-thought that it was you who had come back to me—as
-I wished you to come back—in honor and pride of your
-service of your country. And instead of you I
-find—another—with your wounds, your honors—if it was your
-brother—in spite of the false position he's placed me
-in—I honor him for those wounds as I would have honored
-you—and I honor him still more—because he has thought
-enough of his honor and of mine—to give up everything
-that he has won and gone out into the darkness—alone."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At this, Harry Horton's fury relaxed in a laugh. He
-poured himself out another drink.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You can spare him these new honors."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced at him keenly but he was too angry to
-notice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He went—away—because he had to," he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What I say. It was getting too hot for him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The meaning under his words came to her slowly. She
-watched him for a moment curiously, leaning toward him,
-studying the ugly lines at lip and brow that he no longer
-took pains to conceal. And then she guessed at the truth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you done with him?" she whispered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"N—nothing."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You lie." She knew no fear of him now, and leaned
-forward, clutching at his shoulder. "You've dealt
-unfairly with him—you've——" She halted in terror of
-her thoughts.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He got what he deserved," he muttered sullenly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you done?" she repeated.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Put him where he won't mess in </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> affairs again. See
-here, Moira," he caught her wrists and held her, "I'm
-just about fed up with this. I've been patient about long
-enough. You're my wife. And I'm going to keep you.
-Do you think after all I've suffered I'm going to stand
-for this kind of treatment now?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let go my wrists—you're hurting me——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No——" Instead, he drew her closer to him. "I
-don't care about this foolishness with Jim. I think you
-can see that you've made a fool of yourself and of me.
-But I'm willing to forget it, if you'll do the square thing.
-I'm back here and I'm back to stay—and I'm going to
-make you love me whether you want to or not."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me go, Harry."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Kiss me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No." She struggled in his arms, but he only held her
-the more closely. "Moira. I want you. You're mine.
-You belong to me by every law——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But he mastered her, pressing her throat back and
-kissing her upon the lips. She lay quiet in his arms, weak
-from the struggle. He took her immobility for acquiescence
-and caught her more tightly in his arms.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me go," she gasped. "Do you hear?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A saner man would have caught the warning note. But
-Harry Horton was beyond warnings. She fought with
-renewed strength and then, all else failing, struck him
-full in the face with her clenched fist.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His arms relaxed in astonishment and she sprang away,
-putting a small table between them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Breathing rapidly, she saw him put his fingers to his
-cheek and then look at them in a bewildered way.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," she heard him muttering to himself, "so that's
-the way of it——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The blow brought him to his senses, and he stared at
-her for a moment as though at a person he had never
-seen before. Her eyes burned like a blue flame in the
-pallor of her face and the hand that clutched the table
-trembled violently. And yet it was not the fear of him
-that made her tremble, but the fear of herself and of
-the sudden dreadful awakening at the edge of the chasm
-that yawned between them.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="threats"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VIII</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THREATS</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The silence seemed endless and yet she dared not
-trust herself to speak. Her throat closed and it
-seemed that the blood from her heart was drowning
-her. And yet she watched him tensely, aware of the
-crisis, aware too of the revelations that seemed to have
-laid her heart bare to all the world.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her husband reached the large table and poured out
-what remained of the whisky. Then she heard his laugh
-again, and saw him leering at her over his glass.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Lucky dog, I am. Pretty little devil to come home to.
-Love tap!" He shrugged and raised his glass. "To our
-better acquaintance!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She made no sound, but while her eyes watched, her
-mind was working rapidly. His air was braggart, but
-she could see that he wasn't any too sure of himself. He
-had thought to come here and by the ruse of the adhesive
-plaster merge his identity into that of his brother Jim.
-The lapse of time since she had seen him and the illness
-had deceived her in the hospital. And so he had figured on
-the remarkable resemblance to his brother to help him
-carry off this situation with a careless hand. But he
-hadn't reckoned with the alertness of her woman's
-intuitions, or—God help her—the tenderness of yesterday,
-which held the image of the brother so close to her heart.
-Something of what was passing in her mind seemed to
-come to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So you've fallen in love with my pretty brother?" he
-muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Complaisant husband—</span><em class="italics">mari complaisant</em><span>. You wanted
-Jim to take you in his arms—and you only had </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>. You
-don't care for my kisses. Why not? We're just alike—as
-like as two peas in a pod. What's the difference?
-Come now. Tell me. I'll be a good sport."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We—we've got to come to an understanding——" she
-gasped at last desperately.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly—an understanding. That's what I'm getting
-at——" he laughed and sank into a chair by the lay
-figure. "Oh, don't be disturbed. I'm not going to try
-to kiss you again. It's too dangerous."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She watched him intently while he took out a package
-of cigarettes and lighted one. And then, with a wave
-of the hand, "An understanding—by all means. Fire
-away."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't necessary to go into the past, except to say
-what you know already—that our marriage was a
-horrible mistake. But we did have an understanding
-then—that you were to wait—that you were to—to make
-good—and that I was to try to—to care for you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite so. And we've both failed?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks. We—we have both failed," she repeated.
-"I can't say I ever really believed we should succeed
-until——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Until you went to the hospital."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She bent her head. "The main thing is," she went on
-more evenly as she gathered courage, "that whatever my
-hopes were for you, now at least you've forfeited all claim
-to consideration."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why? Because I take a fancy to my own uniform—my
-own personality?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you——" she paused to catch her breath,
-"because you've stooped to something—something
-unworthy—something vile and terrible, perhaps—God
-knows, to get rid of a man—your own brother,—who did
-you a service; and because you'll dare to receive honors
-that don't belong to you." And then, as he started up,
-"One moment. I don't know what happened on the
-battlefield. If you were injured, it was a glorious—foolish
-thing Jim Horton did for you. But whatever he did and
-whatever his motive, it deserves something of you—something
-different from what you've confessed. Tell me what
-you have done with him and I'll try to believe you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He's quit, I told you," he protested. "There wasn't
-anything else for him——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is he?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What does it matter? He's out of your life—out of mine."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No—not out of your life——" she paused.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Merely that the truth of this thing must be told."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible. It would ruin us both."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a little gasp of relief.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me where he is."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He's safe——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She deliberated a moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You've got to prove it to me. He said he was coming
-back to the studio to-day. Instead, you came—in the
-uniform he wore. He didn't give it to you willingly——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he lied sullenly. "He gave it to me. There
-wasn't anything else to do when I turned up. He realized
-he couldn't stay here—with you." And then, "Oh, he
-was square enough about it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a long pause. He didn't ring true. She had
-almost forgotten, as he had, what he had said in the fury
-of his jealousy. She was aware that he had risen
-unsteadily from his chair and was approaching her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So here, Moira," he said in an ingratiating tone. "I'm
-not a bad sort—really I'm not. I—I was out of my
-head awhile ago—the way you came up to me, thinking
-I was him. I guess I wanted to hurt you—the way you
-had hurt me. I'm sorry. I won't touch your fingers even,
-if you don't want me to. I was a rotter to try to kiss
-you. I ought to have known you didn't want me to—when
-I—I had had one or two too many. I've been
-worried too—devilish worried about the whole thing. Let's
-forget it and talk the thing over sensibly. There may be
-a way out. I don't want any honors that don't belong
-to me, but I don't want to be dismissed from the service,
-either, or shot—on Jim's account. But we've got to keep
-this thing quiet."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She understood his drift. The facts in her possession
-made her dangerous.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It can't be kept quiet, so long as Jim Horton is in
-danger."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who said he was in danger? I said he'd quit——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But you lied. He hasn't quit. He isn't the quitting
-kind. He was to have come to me to-day, and told me the
-truth—I didn't know what it all meant then. But I do
-now. He has got to have his chance."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She saw him glare at her somberly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you want me to do?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Take me to him—to-night."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's impossible. I couldn't find him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You can find him. Or he would have found me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He smeared out the ash of his cigarette in a receiver
-and rose, his face livid.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem very sure of him—and of yourself. And
-if I don't find him for you, what are you going to do?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall tell what I know to the proper authorities."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He stood for a moment balked and then before she knew
-what he was about he stumbled to the studio door and
-turning the key in the lock put it in his pocket. She was
-frightened by the significance of the action, and ran
-quickly toward the door of her own room. He turned and
-moved to intercept her but awkwardly and she slammed
-the door in his face, catching the bolt on the inside.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was frightened now, desperately frightened, but
-resolved to escape and tell what she knew. The
-brother—Jim—was in danger—a prisoner somewhere—otherwise
-he would have come to her. Much as his silence had
-injured her, deeply as her pride was hurt at the position
-in which he had placed her, she knew now that he had
-intended to tell the truth from his own lips and warn her
-of Harry's return before he left her and went away alone.
-He loved her.... It was his love that had sought to
-spare her the humiliation of this very knowledge that had
-come to her. Shell-shock! There was another reason for
-the substitution. What? But whatever it was, there
-seemed little difficulty in choosing between them. The
-other—Jim—the man she loved ... she acknowledged
-it in every impulse ... would have come to her. She
-had to find him. Just what she meant to do she didn't
-know, except to get away from Harry. He was
-hammering on the door now—pleading with her. But she
-didn't answer. Catching up her hat and a heavy coat,
-she went quietly to her own door into the hall, and, while
-he still hammered and pleaded, fled quickly down the
-stairs and into the lodge of the </span><em class="italics">concierge</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Madame Toupin, aroused suddenly from her doze,
-started up in amazement.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame Horton, what is it?" she asked in French.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a game we play, Madame Toupin. You shall
-hide me in your closet. And when Monsieur le Lieutenant
-comes you shall say that I have run out into the
-street. You understand?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parfaitement, Madame. Ah, les jeux d'amour.
-Entrez vite</em><span>." And she opened the door of the closet which
-Moira entered quickly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then Madame Toupin with a smile of wisdom
-composed herself to read her paper. And in a moment a
-clatter of boots upon the stairway and the sound of
-footsteps upon the paving of the courtyard announced the
-approach of the officer. Through a crack in the door
-Moira listened to the conversation which Madame
-conducted with her amiable smile, and presently Harry
-Horton withdrew frowning and went out hurriedly into the
-Rue de Tavennes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But while she stood upright in the closet listening,
-Moira had formulated a plan. It was clear from the
-tone of Harry's voice and his haste to go that her
-escape had frightened him. For his judgment was not
-amiss when he decided that Moira was fully capable of
-carrying out her threat to tell the whole story to the
-military authorities. But instead of clinging to her
-original intention, a new idea had come to her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>If she followed him, she could perhaps get a clue to
-the mystery of Jim Horton's disappearance. She
-couldn't understand yet—couldn't make herself believe
-that this man that she had married could be capable of
-a thing so vile. But the evidence—his own words
-stammered in his fury, were damning. The familiar formulas
-seemed to have no bearing now. The war had made men
-demi-gods or devils and Harry.... It did not seem very
-difficult to decide to-night what Harry was.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She slipped on her heavy coat and the hat she had
-brought and with a word of explanation and caution to
-Madame Toupin, she went out into the street. Far down
-upon the opposite sidewalk she saw a tall figure striding
-away into the darkness. She followed, keeping at a
-distance, her coat collar turned up and her broad-brimmed
-hat pushed well down over her eyes. She hurried along,
-keeping in the shadow of the opposite side of the street,
-trembling with the excitement of her venture and
-wondering what was to be its outcome, but sure from his gait
-that the situation she had created had developed in Harry
-Horton's hazy brain some definite plan of action. She
-noticed too that he no longer swayed or stumbled and
-that he glanced furtively to left and right at the street
-corners, peering back toward her from time to time. But
-she matched her wits to his, crouching into corners as he
-turned and then running forward breathlessly in the dark
-places, keeping him in sight. He turned into the narrow
-reaches of the </span><em class="italics">Rue de Monsieur le Prince</em><span>, past the </span><em class="italics">Lycée</em><span>
-and the </span><em class="italics">École de Médicine</em><span>, and crossed the Boulevard
-St. Germain into the network of small streets in the
-direction of the river, twisting and turning in a way which
-confirmed her belief in the dishonesty of his purposes. It
-was now long after midnight, and the streets into which
-they moved were quiet and almost deserted. From the
-direction of the </span><em class="italics">Boule' Miche'</em><span> came a rumble of vehicles, the
-glare of lights, the distant grunt of an automobile-horn,
-the clatter of a cab horse down an echoing street. The
-neighborhood was unfamiliar to her, a part of old Paris
-near the </span><em class="italics">Isle de la Cité</em><span>, where the houses, relics of
-antiquity, were huddled into ghostly groups, clinging to one
-another, illumined fitfully by murky bracket-lamps which
-only served to make their grim façades more somber and
-fantastic. Dark shapes emerged from darker shadows
-and leered at her—evil figures, bent and bedraggled, or
-painted and bedizened, the foul night-creatures of the
-city, the scavengers, the female birds of prey, the
-nighthawks, the lepers. Twice she was accosted, once by a
-vile hag that clutched at her arm with skinny talons,
-and again by a man who tried to bar her way, but with
-a strength born of her desperation she thrust him aside
-and ran on, her gaze seeking the tall figure that she
-followed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>More than once she lost sight of him as he plunged
-deeper and deeper into the maze and she paused trembling
-in the shadows, not knowing which way to turn, but
-gathering courage again hurried on to catch the glint of a
-street light on his brown overcoat in the distance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Above the roofs, almost hanging over her, she caught
-a glimpse of the grim towers of Notre Dame, the sentinels
-of a thousand years of time, and the sight of them gave
-her courage in this region of despair. With an effort
-she threw off her terror of the evil that seemed to hang in
-every shadow, trying to remember that this was Paris,
-her Paris, with familiar places close at hand; and that
-this man whom she followed was no creature of the middle
-ages, but Harry, her husband; that this was the
-Twentieth Century, and that here was the very heart of the
-civilization of the world. But the facts that had come to
-her were amazing, and Harry's confessions damnable. It
-was clear that his position was desperate and his intentions
-none less so. Here somewhere, hidden, she believed,
-Jim Horton lay, helpless and injured, if not by his
-brother's hand by that of some one in his employ. It was
-the only answer to the riddle of his failure to come back
-to her. She must find him—before they took him
-away—before they ... Her thoughts terrified her again. Harry
-wouldn't dare. He was a coward at heart. She knew it
-now. Besides, there must be some spark of decency and
-manhood left to restrain him from so desperate, so
-terrible an expedient to save himself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She crept cautiously to the corner of a small street
-into which Harry Horton had turned. It was scarcely
-more than an alley-way—a vestige of the old city, hedged
-in by squat stone houses with peaked roofs, deserted it
-seemed and unoccupied. Beyond she could see the </span><em class="italics">Quai</em><span>,
-the loom of the Hôtel Dieu and Notre Dame. The house
-at which he had stopped was but a few yards from the
-river front. She stole into the blackness of an angle of
-wall and watched. He was knocking upon the door—three
-quick taps followed by two slower ones. For awhile
-he waited impatiently and then, as no one answered the
-summons, he tried the window and then started up a small
-passage at the side not twenty feet from where she
-crouched.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext" id="id1"><span>Her pulses were throbbing violently, but the terror of
-her surroundings had passed. And she tried to convince
-herself that she did not fear Harry.... And yet she
-hesitated to confront him, fascinated by her discovery....
-The brother—Jim—was here—she was as sure of
-it as though she had seen him. She knew that she must
-intercede in some way, but she was very helpless. How
-many were there in this house? And if she revealed
-herself, would not the warning give them time to carry out
-whatever plan they had in mind? And so she crouched
-watching, breathless and uncertain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She saw him go back to the door and repeat the knock
-more loudly, cursing under his breath and, calling a name
-at the key-hole.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tricot!" he called. "Tricot! Tricot!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And in a moment she heard a sound at the door, which
-was opened a few inches.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">C'est moi, Tricot</em><span>," she heard Harry say, and then the
-door was opened wide, giving her a glimpse of a short
-man with tousled hair and a diabolic face, holding a
-lantern.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oh, Monsieur</em><span>——" growled the man with the lantern,
-stepping aside as Harry Horton entered. And just as
-Moira sprang up, her husband's name on her lips, the
-door was closed and bolted. She ran to it and then paused
-in uncertainty, trying to plan what it was best to do.
-She felt very small, very helpless, for the sight of the
-villainous looking man with the lantern frightened her
-terribly. He seemed to typify all the evil in all the
-world—to explain in a glimpse all that was sinister and
-terrifying in the disappearance of Jim Horton. An ugly
-creature of the world of underground, an </span><em class="italics">apache</em><span>! There
-were others like him here. And Harry....</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was no time to be lost. Her thoughts seemed to
-clear, her courage to return as she cautiously returned
-by the way that she had come—out into the wider street,
-up which she hurried, turning in the direction of the
-</span><em class="italics">Boule' Miche'</em><span>. Her one idea now was to find a policeman,—any
-one with a vestige of authority. Men she met but
-she shrank away from them as she saw what they were and
-what they thought she was. Ten—fifteen minutes of
-rapid searching without result and she turned toward
-the Quai and, failing there, over the </span><em class="italics">Petit Pont</em><span> to the
-Island and the Prefecture de Police. It was curious that
-she had not thought of it before. The buildings were
-dark but she found at last a man in uniform to whom
-excitedly she told her story. He listened with maddening
-politeness and at last took her to an office where
-several other men in uniform were sitting around a stove.
-More alarmed than ever at the passage of time, she told
-her story again. Here she seemed to make some impression
-at last, for an older man, who sat at a desk, finally
-aroused himself and gave some orders. And in a few
-moments with two of the policemen she was leading the
-way back to the </span><em class="italics">Quai St. Michel</em><span>. She was almost
-running now in her eagerness so that the men had to take
-their longest strides to keep up with her, but more than
-ten minutes had already passed, it seemed an eternity to
-Moira, and there was still some distance to go.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What was the name this man spoke at the door?"
-asked one of the policemen.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She told him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Tricot! </span><em class="italics">Parbleu</em><span>! I think perhaps, Mademoiselle,
-that there may be some reason in your anxiety."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You know——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"An </span><em class="italics">apache</em><span> of the old régime, Mademoiselle. We would
-do well to find him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so, explaining her fears, but not yet revealing all
-the reasons for them, she led the way down the streets by
-which she had come and to the house which Harry Horton
-had entered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The older man knocked loudly upon the door. There
-was no response. Again. Silence. The other man went
-up the alley way on the side and called to them. There
-was a shutter and a window open. Without hesitation,
-he drew a weapon and crawled over the sill, the other
-man following, leaving Moira alone. She listened, as they
-moved about inside, saw the glint of an electric torch
-and then heard the bolts of the door shot back and the
-police officer calling to her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Enter, Mademoiselle," he said, when she had come
-around. "You are sure that this is the house?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no one here. The house is deserted. It is a
-street of deserted houses."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That is impossible——" she stammered. "With my
-own eyes, less than an hour ago, this Tricot met the other
-at the door."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>! We will search a little further, then."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She followed them up the rickety stairway and then
-they found evidences of recent occupation—two pallets
-of straw—some food—a bottle containing absinthe.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle, you are right. This bottle is not yet
-empty. There's something suspicious here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And now moving with more rapidity they explored the
-house thoroughly, descending at last into the cellar,
-with, weapons drawn, Moira, half-hoping, half-fearing,
-following just behind them, her gaze searching the
-shadows. The place smelled of the earth and the walls were
-damp to the touch, but a quick examination with the torch
-showed the marks of many foot-prints in the earthen
-floor. The astonishing feature of the cellar was its size,
-for it seemed to extend under two houses, and its vaulted
-ceiling of rough stone of great antiquity was upheld by
-huge piers, that might at one time have supported the
-walls of a great edifice. At first they could make out
-nothing but a litter of papers, bottles and packing cases,
-but as the torch of the police officer searched the shadows
-in a distant corner, they heard his exclamation of
-astonishment. There was another pallet of straw here
-covered with rags and quite distinctly there came to their
-nostrils the odor of chloroform. Moira peering over the
-shoulders of the man with the light saw him bend over
-and pick up a rag and examine it carefully. There were
-dark stains upon it. And then with another exclamation
-he picked up some pieces of rope.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Some one lay here but a short while ago," he muttered
-positively, "tied hand and foot. The bed is still warm."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They can't have gone far then——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But the door was bolted on the inside——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The window——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There would hardly have been time, is it not so,
-Mademoiselle?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," whispered Moira in dismay. "Is there
-no outlet to this place? There must be. The light,
-Monsieur—yonder, in the corners beyond the
-stone-work——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man with the torch, his professional instincts now
-thoroughly alive, obeyed. They sounded the walls, first
-one side and then on the other, coming at last, in the
-further corner, toward the river, upon a stone arch over
-some steps leading into a dark opening. The man who
-held the light suddenly extinguished it and a warning
-sound came from his lips.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen," he whispered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Scarcely able to breathe, Moira obeyed. From the
-passage-way at a distance, there came the sounds of
-voices.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, follow me, Dupuy! Mademoiselle had better remain."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And with that, turning his light into the dark hole, he
-descended, the other following. But the thought of
-remaining alone in this terrible house frightened her and she
-clutched at the hand of the second policeman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I dare not stay here, Monsieur. I must go with you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Bien</em><span>. But I warn you it may be dangerous."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And yet what could be more dangerous than remaining
-in the cellar of the </span><em class="italics">apache</em><span>, Tricot? With shaking limbs
-she followed down the passage, stumbling and clinging to
-the shoulder of the gallant policeman. The man who led
-them disappeared beyond a turn in the passage, but they
-reached it and as they turned the corner felt the chill of
-the night air beating in their faces. And in a moment
-they came out on the shore of the river near a boat
-landing.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Tonnerre de Dieu!</em><span>" shouted the man with the light,
-and started running toward the steps that led to the Quai
-above. The other had reached the boat landing and stared
-for a moment down into the dark mists above the river.
-Then he ran up the steps after his companion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Frightened and mystified, Moira followed up the steps
-where after a moment the two men joined her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We have missed them. We were too late——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But the captive—the prisoner," pleaded Moira, in an
-agony of apprehension.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the point—the prisoner," said the younger
-man. "Wait a moment, Mademoiselle."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And he ran down the steps to the boat landing again,
-peering eagerly down the stream. Already far away,
-merely a blotch in the shadows beyond the Pont Neuf,
-there was a boat at the Quai du Louvre.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Vite</em><span>, Dupuy. There may be yet time."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And the two of them started running toward the distant
-bridge, leaving Moira to follow as fast as she could.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When Moira reached them on the opposite side of the
-river, breathless and almost dead of apprehension, they
-were questioning a man on the Quai du Louvre. He
-reported that a man had attempted suicide by drowning
-and that a woman had saved him just as he was about to
-leap into the water. She herself had asked his assistance
-and together they had hailed a passing </span><em class="italics">fiacre</em><span> in which
-the woman had driven away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you notice anything extraordinary about the
-rescued man?" questioned Dupuy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, except that he was very pale. Also that
-there was an odor of chloroform on his clothing."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Chloroform! Are you sure?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man shrugged. "You may smell for yourself."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And he extended a hand and arm upon which the odor
-was unmistakable.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She heard the officer take the address of the witness
-and then turn to her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle is no doubt weary. There is nothing
-more that can be done to-night. If you will permit me to
-conduct you home."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A woman? Who?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira nodded in a bewildered way.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A </span><em class="italics">fiacre</em><span>, Monsieur, if you please," she stammered.
-"I—I am very tired."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="piquette-takes-a-hand"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IX</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">PIQUETTE TAKES A HAND</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>As Monsieur Valcourt, the sculptor, had said,
-Piquette Morin was a </span><em class="italics">gamine</em><span>. She liked the warm
-nest in the Boulevard Clichy, with which the Duc
-de Vautrin had provided her, because it satisfied a
-craving for the creature comforts which she had been so long
-denied, and because it filled the hearts of other young
-women of her acquaintance with envy. But she was not
-happy. After all was she not young and had she not her
-life to live?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was enough indeed to have grown in a few short
-years from a seller of flowers and a model for the figure
-into a lady of fashion, but her heart was still in the
-</span><em class="italics">Rive Gauche</em><span> and there she went when she pleased,
-searching out her old haunts, and the companions of her days
-of want, with whom she could throw off the restraint of
-her gilded cage and laugh with an open throat at the
-ancient jests and dance her way again into happiness.
-Life she loved, all shades of it, from the somber in which
-she had been born to the brilliant artificial high lights
-of café and restaurant. All sorts of people she knew—cochers,
-bandits, dancers, poet-singers, satirists, artists,
-journalists, and she rejoiced in them for what they taught
-her of the </span><em class="italics">grande vie</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quite unhampered by morals of any sort, trusting
-entirely to her impulses, which were often good, the
-creature of her birth and surroundings, she was a pupil in
-the school of the world, speaking, after a fashion, three
-languages. She discovered that she had a brain, and
-the war had made her think. Without the help of the
-Americans, France must fall, and so when they came she
-rejoiced in their splendid soldierly appearance and the
-promise they gave of rescue and help for France. She
-met Harry Horton in the Taverne du Pantheon. He was
-quite drunk and didn't seem to have any Hôtel, so she
-took him to the Boulevard Clichy in a </span><em class="italics">fiacre</em><span> and put him
-to bed. According to her own lights, it was the only
-natural, the only decent thing for her to do.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus it happened that Harry Horton found himself, to
-his surprise, on excellent terms with a friend of the Duc
-de Vautrin, about whom Barry Quinlevin had been writing
-him, the source of the Irishman's income. In a reckless
-moment he confided to Piquette Barry Quinlevin's secret.
-And as the Duc de Vautrin had provoked her that
-afternoon by refusing her the money for a hat that she
-particularly admired, she turned against her patron, entering
-with interest into a plan which eventually seemed to
-promise much. That she repented of her disloyalty the
-next day when Monsieur de Vautrin relented was a
-disappointment to Harry Horton, who saw a way in which
-she could be useful to him. Also, Harry Horton was sure
-that he had talked too much, for it was hardly safe to
-make a confidante of a weathervane.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When Harry Horton left Paris to join his regiment,
-Piquette shrugged her pretty shoulders and in a few days
-he was only a memory. He had been her </span><em class="italics">bel ami</em><span>, but
-... </span><em class="italics">enfin</em><span>, even in the </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span>, one got drunk like
-a gentleman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The meeting in the restaurant of Leon Javet came
-at an opportune moment. The Duc had again developed
-a habit of meticulous inquiry; also, for reasons of his own,
-had reduced her allowance. The familiar figure in brown
-was pleasing after the day of labor in the studio of
-Monsieur Valcourt. He represented a part of life that
-she could not taste—and this very morning she had read
-of him in the bulletins as the hero of Boissière wood. And
-so she had welcomed him in her joyous way, sure, in spite
-of his deficiencies, that their friendship had been no
-mistake. A hero. </span><em class="italics">Saperlotte</em><span>! Of course she was glad
-to see him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the reserve in his manner had mystified her. He
-was like another man. He was quieter, finer, gentler and
-yet very brave and strong. A little </span><em class="italics">triste</em><span>, perhaps, but
-more deep, more interesting, and touched with the dignity
-of one who faces death for a noble purpose. But Piquette
-had not lived in the streets of Paris all these years for
-nothing. A few months of warfare would not change
-a man's soul. What was this strangeness? What had
-come over him? He had packed her home in a </span><em class="italics">fiacre</em><span>, just
-when she was becoming most interested in this extraordinary
-transformation. She had never before suffered
-from pique, and it annoyed her that he shouldn't have
-been more eager to resume their ancient fellowship. Who
-was this unshaven fellow with the slouch hat and worn
-clothing who had so great a claim upon his attention?
-His figure too had a familiar look. His manner had been
-urgent—threatening even, and Harry had obeyed the
-summons, banishing her, Piquette, to the outer darkness
-of the Boulevard Clichy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And he had not written her or telephoned. All day she
-waited in, expecting to hear from him, and expectation
-increased her interest and her disappointment. Also,
-meditation gave her a perspective. They were curious,
-these second thoughts, deepening the impression of a
-striking difference between this Harry Horton and the one
-who had gotten drunk in the Taverne du Pantheon.
-Idiosyncrasies that had escaped her during the few
-moments they had been together at Javet's, came to her
-now with startling clearness, the slow direct gaze, the
-deliberate motions of the hands, their touch on
-hers—and </span><em class="italics">parbleu</em><span>!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She started upright as a thought came to her like
-a </span><em class="italics">coup de foudre</em><span>. The twisted little finger he had broken
-that night at the Pantheon. It had bothered him only
-a few days and it had never been set. She remembered
-now the fingers of the right hand of the visitor on his
-wine glass at Javet's, remarking how strong they were.
-</span><em class="italics">The little finger was straight</em><span>!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was curious that such a trifle should come to her
-with such significance. It was also curious that she hadn't
-noticed it at the time. Could she be mistaken? When
-night came and she had not heard from Harry she went
-out and made her way across the river, leaving word
-where she was to be found if the visitor called, and went
-straight to the café of Gabriel Pochard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She and Gabriel were friends of long standing. Many
-years ago, when she was but a child-model for Fabien,
-Gabriel Pochard had posed around the studios with long
-hair, for prophets and saints. But he had married some
-money and opened the </span><em class="italics">café</em><span> which bore his name.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was not a beautiful place, and as she knew was
-frequented by persons not of the </span><em class="italics">vrai type</em><span>, the gamblers,
-the sharpers, the wealthy outcasts of all kinds, who knew
-a good omelette when they tasted one and relished a
-particular kind of seclusion. For here no questions were
-asked. It was at Gabriel Pochard's that Harry Horton
-spent much time, for he had come with a letter to Gabriel
-from Monsieur Quinlevin, who had known Pochard since
-the days of posing for the great Monsieur Gerôme. It
-was here that she would find Harry Horton or news of
-him, and information which would perhaps answer
-the strange sequence of questions that had come rising
-to her mind. She had the French passion for the
-mysterious, the unexplainable, and with her own pride as the
-stake, she meant to leave no stone unturned which would
-help her to a solution of the problem.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She found Gabriel, wearing a sober air, busy with his
-bottles and the café was blue with tobacco smoke.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>," she said in the argot. "You wear a
-worried look. Has Leon Javet been stealing away your
-customers?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, </span><em class="italics">c'est toi, petite</em><span>! What brings you here alone?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Ma foi</em><span>, my legs, if you would know the truth—and a
-woman's curiosity."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Tiens</em><span>! That is nothing new. How can I help you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you tell me what you know of 'Arry 'Orton."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Gabriel frowned and glanced about him cautiously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh——," he said warningly. And then, in a whisper,
-"Who told you that Monsieur 'Orton was here?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed. "Did I not see him myself with my own
-eyes last night?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"At Javet's." And then, in a meaning tone, as she
-looked him in the eyes, "Him—or another."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her, his face, which still showed traces
-of great beauty, twisted unpleasantly, and then beckoned
-her to follow him through a door nearby into his office.
-And when they were seated, "What did you mean,
-Piquette?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What I said," put in Piquette, lighting a cigarette.
-"Him—or another." And then, as Gabriel's frown
-deepened, she shot straight at her mark. "There are two
-'Arry 'Ortons, Gabriel Pochard," she said coolly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The effect of her words on Gabriel was not lost on her.
-He looked around him furtively and caught her by the
-wrist.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who told you this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's true, then?" asked Piquette.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who told you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My own eyes. The visitor at Javet's had no twisted
-little finger."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And no one else has noticed?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so far as I am aware."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Gabriel Pochard gave a great gasp of relief.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Ma foi</em><span>, child, but you have sharp eyes!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If they weren't sharp, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>, I would still be
-selling flowers outside the Café Soufflet. Tell me the
-truth of this thing, Gabriel," she said, settling herself in
-her chair with the air of one who has come to stay, "it
-is what I came here to find out."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her, then frowned at the floor and shook
-his head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>, you will tell me that it is none of
-my business," she said firmly. "</span><em class="italics">Eh, bien</em><span>, it is my
-business—my right to know." And then, as he remained silent,
-"You are aware that I am not one to be refused."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Gabriel rose from the chair at the desk and paced up
-and down the narrow apartment, but still he did not speak.
-And then at last, "What devil put it into your head to
-come here inquiring of this matter?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The devil himself—I——," she said with a gesture.
-And then, with a little shrug and a sober mien, "You
-may trust me, Gabriel."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped and sat in his chair again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Eh, bien</em><span>! As you have said. It is your right. But
-it is no matter to be breathed outside this room."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It will not be the first time I have kept your secrets."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I should not tell you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Gabriel Pochard shrugged. "Last night, late, a man
-came in here to see me, a man wearing old clothing and a
-three weeks' growth of beard. It was Monsieur 'Orton.
-He was very much excited and told me a remarkable story
-that rivals the tales of Monsieur Hugo."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I understand. Go on."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He said he was wounded upon the battlefield at night,
-when out of the darkness appeared just beside him the
-very image of himself. It was his twin brother, whom he
-had not seen for five years, a brother with whom he did
-not speak."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah—it was what I thought——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The brother took from Monsieur 'Orton his uniform
-and went on, leading his men to victory. It was the fight
-of Boissière Wood. You have heard?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette nodded.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This interloper took Monsieur 'Orton's uniform, his
-rank and identity, and now comes back to Paris—to
-Monsieur 'Orton's own apartment, and Monsieur 'Orton's
-wife——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette had started to her feet, her fingers grasping
-the shoulder of Gabriel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"His </span><em class="italics">wife</em><span>!" she broke in.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parfaitement</em><span>, his wife," repeated Pochard. "You did
-not know?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He never told me," she stammered. "Who——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The daughter of my ancient friend, Monsieur Barry
-Quinlevin," said Pochard with a shrug.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You're sure?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As certain as I sit here, </span><em class="italics">ma petite</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette sank into her chair, frowning deeply.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on," she muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They had met last night on the street in the dark.
-Monsieur 'Orton demanded of his brother to relinquish his
-identity. He refused. Monsieur 'Orton came to me. It
-was an act of injustice. Monsieur 'Orton was outcast.
-Something had to be done. I helped him. </span><em class="italics">Voilà tout</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette had been listening intently, thinking deeply the
-while. As Pochard finished, she searched his face
-keenly—her frown deepening.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There's something at the back of this, Pochard. Tell
-me the rest."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Pochard hesitated, scratched his head and shrugged a.
-shoulder. "I do not like it, you understand. It has
-worried me all day—an American—a soldier. One cannot
-tell what would happen if the police——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette understood at once. Her fingers closed again
-over the arm of Pochard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you done with him?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Pochard bent forward, whispering. "He lies in the
-house in the Rue Charron by the river. A knock on the
-head—</span><em class="italics">c'est tout</em><span>—and chloroform."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette was silent, staring at the wall. Then she fixed
-her wide gaze on the conspirator.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Bah! You are a fool, Pochard!" she shot at him.
-"They will catch you sure. How much?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Two thousand francs."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you get half," contemptuously. "Who did it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tricot and </span><em class="italics">Le Singe Anglais</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tricot!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette got up and paced the length of the room,
-turning quickly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are an idiot, Pochard," she stormed at him
-furiously. "An American! Don't you know what you have
-done? It is the hero of Boissière Wood that you have
-struck down. An American—who has risked his life for
-you and me——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But Monsieur 'Orton——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He has lied to you. I do not believe——" She broke
-off, caught Pochard by the arm again and shook him.
-"When did this happen?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"L-late last right——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And 'Arry 'Orton?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Was here—this afternoon——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Drunk——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Pochard shrugged. "No—not bad. He was in uniform."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is he now?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I think he has gone to find his wife."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"His wife!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette sank into her chair, took out a cigarette and
-smoked rapidly for a moment. And then,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What were you going to do with this—this twin
-brother?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I?" Pochard gave a gesture of abnegation. "Nothing.
-I am through. That is the affair of Monsieur 'Orton."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>, but you can't wriggle out so easily.
-You've received money—blood money——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Pochard put his hands deep in his pockets and extended
-his long legs, frowning at the floor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sorry now. It is a bad business——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The man is safe?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So far, yes——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But Tricot?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He waits for orders."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette ground her cigarette under her heel and rose
-abruptly with an air of decision.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This American must be liberated at once!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Pochard rose and faced her. "It's too late," he growled,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. It's not too late. I know the sort that Tricot
-is—with the river just there—at his elbow."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can do nothing. That's what worries me. Tricot
-and </span><em class="italics">Le Singe</em><span> will look after their own skins now."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean," she paused significantly. "The Seine——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded somberly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the solution of many problems."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She caught him by the shoulders and shook him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But not of </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> problem. You understand. It will
-not do. I will not have it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You," he laughed. "What can you do?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You shall go with me now—and liberate him——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He took her hands from his arms roughly and turned
-away. "No," he growled, "not I. Have I not told you
-that I am through?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You will be through, when the police come to
-find out what you know about the matter."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They will not find out."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be too sure. 'Arry 'Orton is a fool when he
-drinks. He will betray you——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Pochard scowled. "And betray himself——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't be too sure."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't. But I must trust to luck."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette stamped her foot.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've no patience with you." And then, "You will not
-liberate him?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I refuse to have anything more to do with the
-matter."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will regret it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps. That will be my own lookout."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She stared at him in a moment of indecision, and then
-with a shrug, turned toward the door into the café.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are an idiot, Gabriel."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Pochard grunted as he followed her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will say nothing?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Naturellement</em><span>," scornfully. "I am not an informer.
-But I should like to knock you on the head too."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She put her hand on the knob of the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are you going?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To the Rue Charron."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He caught her hand away from the knob and held her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You——! Why should you intrude in this affair?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It amuses me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I warn you that you will run into danger."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They will not harm me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You must not go."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I shall save you from the results of your
-cupidity—since you will not save yourself."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will not permit it——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have nothing to say in the matter—since you've
-washed your hands of it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She threw his hand off and opened the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette!" he called, but she went rapidly into the
-other room before he could intercept her, ran quickly out
-into the street and disappeared in the darkness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was throbbing now, deep with purpose. It was
-only in moments like these that life ran swiftly in her
-veins. The excitement of the venture was like a tonic,
-and she went on rapidly toward the </span><em class="italics">Boule' Miche'</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As she walked she went over in detail the conversation
-she had had last night in the Café Javet. It was not
-surprising that she had not guessed the truth last night,
-for the new Harry Horton's information as to his
-brother's affairs had blinded her to the physical
-differences such as there were, between them. Perhaps it was
-the glamor that his heroism had thrown about him,
-perhaps it was his gravity, or perhaps the depth of his voice
-or the penetrating quality of his steady gaze, but she had
-not been able to deny all day a new and extraordinary
-appreciation of the newcomer, whose virtues, half guessed
-at, seemed to bring Harry Horton's deficiencies into higher
-relief. And the mystery of his sudden appearance and
-the strange tale of Gabriel Pochard provided the added
-touches to stimulate her interest in him. As she had told
-Gabriel, there was something back of this mystery of
-dual identity, and she meant to discover the truth. As to
-one thing she was resolved, the beautiful young soldier
-of the Café Javet should not die, if there was anything
-that she could do to prevent it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Tricot was a bad one. So was </span><em class="italics">Le Singe Anglais</em><span>. Either
-of them was capable of anything. She was acquainted
-with them both, but she did not fear them, for she knew
-the freemasonry of their evil calling and had even been
-in the little room of Gabriel Pochard when they had
-discussed their business affairs. But this matter
-concerned a human being in whom she was interested. No
-harm should come to him. It could not be. She wanted
-him for herself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so at last, having decided that she must move
-with caution and leave the rest to chance and opportunity,
-she went toward the house in the Rue Charron. She
-had been there before some years ago with Gabriel
-Pochard, when the boat-load of champagne from up the
-river had been smuggled in. Thus it was that she knew
-the secret of the old passage to the river bank, hidden
-from the opposite shore by a barricade of old timber. So
-instead of approaching the house by way of the Rue
-Charron she went down toward the river and turned in to
-the Quai des Augustins. There were a few people about
-but she watched her opportunity and when she reached
-the steps descended to the boat landing, where she found
-herself alone and unobserved, hidden from the lights above
-by the shadow of the retaining wall. Here she paused a
-moment to think and plan. According to all the rules of
-the underworld the prisoner would be in the cellar of the
-house in the Rue Charron. But if Tricot or </span><em class="italics">Le Singe</em><span> were
-taking turns guarding him there, her problem would be
-difficult. Because it meant a scene in which her
-persuasions and promises of immunity might fail, and Tricot
-could be ugly. Money? Yes, perhaps, if everything else
-failed. But she had a sense of pride in the belief that with
-luck favoring her she could accomplish this rescue alone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At any rate she meant to make the attempt—and so,
-she found the end of the tunnel and with some difficulty
-and damage to her gloves and clothing, wrenched at the
-boarding. The timbers were old and rotten, as she knew,
-and it was not difficult to make a passage. It was so
-easy in fact that she began to believe that Tricot had
-more wisely kept his prisoner upstairs, but as she moved
-forward cautiously, one hand steadying her progress over
-the rough masonry, she caught the first dull glimmer of
-yellow light. As she came to a turn in the passage she
-paused a moment and then stole forward quietly, to the
-foot of the steps, peering up into the cellar.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At first she could see nothing but a litter of boxes,
-bottles and waste paper, and then coming up one step at
-a time, she searched the recesses of the cavern one by one.
-A smoke-stained lantern burned dimly near the foot of the
-flight of steps, leading to the floor above, but there was
-no sign of any one watching. And so she emerged
-cautiously from the dark hole and stood up. In a moment
-she found what she was looking for. Huddled in the
-corner to her right, she made out the contours of a human
-figure. With another quick glance toward the steps and
-a moment to listen for any sound above, she approached
-noiselessly. He was trussed with a rope from head to
-foot, his hands tied behind him. But he was the man
-she sought. She bent over him, noticing his heavy
-breathing and the odor of the drug. At the touch of her hand
-he stirred slightly and she saw the blood upon his face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur!" she whispered quickly, "it is I—Piquette—and
-I have come to help you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He stirred again and tried to move, but the drug was
-heavy in his blood. So she shook him furiously, trying to
-arouse him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Piquette," she whispered again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His lips moved and his eyelids fluttered open. "Piquette——!"
-he muttered, and then breathed stertorously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This was encouraging. She shook him again and again,
-fighting the lethargy. He moved and groaned. It seemed
-almost certain that his guardians must hear him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh——," she whispered, "Silence!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile she was struggling with the knots of the
-cord that bound his wrists. At last she managed to get
-his arms free and moved them backward and forward with
-all her strength, trying to restore his circulation. Then
-she unfastened the cords at his feet and pulled his knees
-up, thumping him from time to time and whispering at
-his ear.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Wake up, Monsieur! You mus' get out of dis wit' me——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His lips moved again. "Who——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's Piquette, Monsieur," she repeated, prodding at
-him and shaking his shoulders.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>This time his eyelids opened wider, and he looked at
-her vaguely. But his lips muttered her name.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You mus' rouse yourself—you mus'! We are going
-out of here—at once."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With an effort he struggled up to a sitting posture
-while she supported him, pinching his shoulders and arms.
-Then she saw for the first time an earthen pitcher on a
-stool nearby. There was still some water in it, and she
-threw it in his face. He sputtered and choked, but she
-silenced him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Quiet—for your life! Dey're upstairs, aren't dey?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—upstairs. I—I'm weak as a cat."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Naturally, but you've got to 'elp yourself. I can't
-carry you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Carry me—no——" He toppled sideways and would
-have fallen, but she caught him and held him, shaking
-and pinching him again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. You've </span><em class="italics">got</em><span> to wake up. Do you hear?" she
-whispered desperately. "They may come down 'ere at
-any moment."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A dim notion of what she was talking about seemed to
-come to him, for with an effort he threw off the heaviness
-that was coming over him again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You—Piquette—How did you——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By an old passage from dis cellar to de river. You
-mus' go out dat way. Do you on'erstand me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded feebly. "River——" he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was another struggle against the drug and
-another, but at last she got him to understand. He was
-very weak, but managed to support himself with an
-effort, sitting upright, while Piquette ran over toward
-the foot of the steps and listened intently, for if Tricot
-and the Englishman were listening, they must surely have
-heard something of the commotion she had made. But
-there was no sound.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She went back to the injured man. Would he be able
-to walk? She shook him again and pointed to the way
-by which she had come.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is dere—in de corner—the way of escape. You
-mus' make de effort."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She helped him struggle to his knees, one of his arms
-around her shoulders, but when she attempted to get him
-to his feet, his knees gave out and he fell, dragging her
-down with him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was at this moment of failure, that a sudden clamor
-of knocking at the street door upstairs came, with terrifying
-clearness, to her ears. And the sound of a masculine
-voice calling the name of Tricot. There was no time to
-be lost, yet what was she to do? She was strong, but
-she could not lift the American bodily and he had collapsed
-again upon the floor. For an agonized moment she listened.
-A long silence and then the knocking was renewed,
-followed by the sound of another voice upstairs and the
-tread of heavy feet going toward the door. Desperate
-now, and aware that only the American's own efforts could
-save him, she lifted him again by sheer strength to his
-knees.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dey'll be down 'ere in a moment," she stammered in
-his ear. "You've got to help yourself. You've got to.
-Crawl—on your knees—toward de corner beyond de
-pillar. I will 'elp you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He seemed to understand and struggled a few feet,
-paused in weakness, then struggled on again. And all the
-while Piquette was listening to the sounds upstairs, the
-voices which now seemed to be near the head of the
-stairway, coming to her ears distinctly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We've got to get him away from here—out into the
-country somewhere—and lose him." Harry Horton's
-voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" growled a voice in English.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira Quinlevin knows the truth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>An oath from Tricot as the other translated.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who told her?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No one. She guessed it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Parbleu! We shall take no chances then."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You must take him away—a cab—out into the
-country," said Harry's voice again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And leave him to recover and set the police on us?
-Not much. He'll have to go the long road."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My God! No. Not that!" cried Harry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The river!" growled Tricot.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And then the other voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You started this thing. And it's got to be finished.
-Did you bring the money?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow. But—I can't——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was the beginning of a violent discussion in which
-Tricot's advice seemed to prevail. Harry's opinions
-wouldn't matter much to these precious villains.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Piquette had heard enough. It seemed that they
-were about to descend the stairs to the prisoner, and
-glancing backward she labored with the injured man until
-they reached the shadows of the pillar into which she
-pushed and dragged him until they were both hidden from
-the light of the lantern. But the steps into the passage
-were still ten feet away. Already there were footsteps on
-the stair, where one of the men stood, still arguing with
-Harry Horton. With a final effort, she urged the drugged
-man toward the opening and then tumbled him down into
-the darkness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She heard the steps coming down the stairs, heard them
-pause and a voice again raised in argument. But she
-listened no more. The situation was desperate, for in a
-few seconds at the least, the escape of the prisoner would
-be discovered, so forgetting caution, she pinched and
-shook him, by main strength of her strong young arms,
-urging him forward. Something of the imminence of his
-danger seemed to come to him, for he crawled to the corner
-and then stumbled in some fashion to his feet, clinging to
-her. The air beyond the turn in the passage seemed to
-revive him and in a moment, swaying and struggling
-against his weakness, he stood outside the opening upon
-the river-bank, leaning against the wall, while Piquette
-thrust the boards across the opening.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She heard a cry now from beyond the passage and
-with the injured man's arm around her shoulders, led the
-way down the bank to the landing. He caught her
-intention. There was a boat there and she got him into it
-and pushed off from the shore into the stream. She was
-almost exhausted by this time, but managed to get out
-the oars and make some progress down the river before
-the timbers fell from before the opening in the wall and
-three men appeared—Tricot, Harry and the Englishman.
-She saw their shapes dimly in the shadow of the wall.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But a strange thing happened then. For the three
-figures went flying up the steps to the Quai and then ran
-as though for their lives in the direction of the Pont
-St. Michel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But she managed at last to reach the Quai du Louvre,
-where with the help of a belated passer-by, she managed to
-get the man she had rescued into a </span><em class="italics">fiacre</em><span> and so to the
-Boulevard Clichy.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="the-samaritan"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER X</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE SAMARITAN</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>When Jim Horton came to his senses after his
-rescue, he found himself in a small room overlooking
-a pleasant façade of gray stone, tinted softly
-by the pale morning sunlight. It was some moments before
-he managed to gather his scattered wits together and out
-of the haze and darkness in which he had been groping
-for two nights and a day, recall the incidents of his
-escape. Piquette! He remembered.... But what was
-this room? There had been a cab-drive late in the
-night—he had been carried up a flight of stairs ... As he
-turned in the bed he was aware of a figure which rose
-from the corner of the room and approached him. It was
-an oldish woman in the neat uniform of a maid.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled. "Monsieur is awake?" And then, moving
-toward the door, "Madame shall come at once."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>But when Piquette entered the small room, attired in a
-gorgeous pink lounging robe of silk and lace and wearing
-a boudoir-cap embroidered with silken flowers and golden
-thread, she dazzled him for a moment with her splendor,
-and he did not recognize her. She came forward to him
-quickly and laid her cool hand on his brow.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, </span><em class="italics">mon petit, c'est mieux</em><span>." And then, in English,
-"'Ow do you feel?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Better. But everything doesn't seem—very clear to
-me yet."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Naturellement</em><span>. You mus' 'ave some food and de
-doctor will be 'ere soon."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton glanced about the small room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you mind telling me where I am?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dis room is in de hallway adjoining my apartment——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You brought me here——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Las' night," she said, with a smile, "an' a beautiful
-time we had getting you up de stair——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I remember—a man with a lantern—and then a
-struggle—with you helping—through a passage—to the
-river—a boat——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A </span><em class="italics">voiture</em><span> an' den—here," she added as he paused.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He put out his hand and fingered the lace of her sleeve.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why—why did you do this for me, Piquette?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She caught his hand, pressed it in hers, and then rose
-abruptly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What does it matter? You s'all talk no more until
-after de doctor 'as seen you. Sh——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Later in the day after Jim Horton had slept again,
-Piquette visited him, dressed for the street. In a few
-words she told him how she had guessed at the double
-identity—then confirmed it, and then how she had
-discovered the means Harry Horton had employed to get
-his brother out of the way. She dwelt lightly on his rescue
-from the house in the Rue Charron and explained quite
-frankly her own relations with the criminals.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">C'est la grande vie, Monsieur l'Americain</em><span>," she said
-with an expressive gesture. "You remember perhaps what
-Monsieur Valcourt 'as said. I am still de </span><em class="italics">vrai gamine</em><span>.
-I know dat </span><em class="italics">vilain</em><span> Pochard since I am so high."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But why have you done this for me, Piquette? When
-you found out that I was not my brother——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, la, la! Who can tell? Perhaps I like' you a
-little de night in Javet's. De thought of de adventure—perhaps,
-but more dat Tricot and </span><em class="italics">Le Singe Anglais</em><span>—dey
-would 'ave t'rown you in de river, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You saved my life——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You see, Monsieur—Monsieur," she paused in
-search of a name.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My name is Jim Horton."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeem! </span><em class="italics">C'est bon ça</em><span>. Jeem 'Orton, dere wasn'
-anyt'ing else for me to do. You were a good Americain—who
-'ad fought at La Boissière for France and for me.
-An' </span><em class="italics">he</em><span> had not. It could not be dat you should die. But
-dere are many t'ings I do not yet on'erstand. If you
-would tell me——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton was silent a moment, thinking deeply.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You were a friend of my brother's."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He put it more in the form of a statement than a
-question.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Jeem 'Orton," she said, "before 'e went to de
-front. Dat does not matter now, I can assure you. What
-'appen' at Boissière Wood, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>? Pochard tol' me
-what 'Arry 'Orton said——" And she related it as
-nearly as possible in Pochard's own words.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton listened, smiling slightly, until she had
-finished. And then,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I had intended to keep silent about this thing, Piquette.
-But I'm not going to keep silent now. I'm going to tell
-the truth, whatever happens to Harry or to me. He
-would have killed me——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she broke in. "I t'ink 'Arry was frighten' at what
-he 'ad done——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He wasn't too frightened to get those chaps to knock
-me in the head," he put in dryly, then broke off with a
-sudden sense of the situation. "I hope, Madame, that
-you do not care for him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She had been watching him intently and now put her
-hand over his.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no, Jeem 'Orton," she said carelessly. "But tell
-me de truth——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her for a long moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No one has a better right to know it than you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And then, without ornamentation, he related the facts
-from the unfortunate moment that night when he had put
-on Harry's uniform and gone into the fight until he had
-met his brother in the Rue de Tavennes. She heard him
-through to the end.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You 'ave not told me everyt'ing, Jeem 'Orton," And
-then, significantly, "About Madame—Madame 'Orton?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He frowned and then went on with an assumption of
-carelessness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The situation was impossible, as you will see. I
-would have gone away——" he shrugged, "if Harry
-hadn't saved me the need of it. But now——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He paused and clenched a fist. "He has much to
-answer to me for."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent for a while, watching him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A coward! I might 'ave known," she murmured after
-a moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the conversation that followed many things were
-revealed to Jim Horton, many things to Piquette. He
-learned from her own lips every detail of the story of
-Quinlevin's plot against the Duc and what was to be
-Moira's share in it, and he listened in anger and
-amazement. As to her relations with de Vautrin, she spoke
-with the utmost frankness. He was not a pleasant person,
-and to her mind, for all his money and position, possessed
-fewer virtues even than the outrageous Pochard and his
-crew, who at least were good-natured villains and made
-no pretenses. The Duc was stingy—cruel, self-obsessed
-and degenerate. </span><em class="italics">Que ça m'embête ça</em><span>! Why she had not
-cut loose from him and gone back to live in the </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span>
-she did not know, except that it was comfortable in the
-Boulevard Clichy and she was tired of working hard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He found himself regarding Piquette with interest.
-The type was new to him, but he liked her immensely.
-She might betray her Duc, but in her own mind she
-would have perfectly adequate reasons for doing so.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As to Moira, little enough was said. If she suspected
-anything of his tenderness in that quarter she gave not
-a sign of it. But he could see that the facts as to his
-brother's marriage had come as a surprise to her.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"An' now, Jeem 'Orton," said Piquette the next morning,
-when he had strength enough to sit in a chair by the
-window, "what are you going to do about it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He thought for a moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have given me my life. I should dislike to do
-anything that would give you unhappiness."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As to that, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>," she said carelessly, "you s'all
-do what you t'ink bes'. You know perhaps dat to-morrow
-in de Place de la Concorde, your brother 'Arry is to
-receive de Croix de Guerre?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He had forgotten, but the announcement had no effect
-upon him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It does not matter," he muttered. What he had been
-thinking in his moments of wakefulness was of Harry
-going to the studio in the Rue de Tavennes. Moira was
-his wife. Would she, like Piquette, learn at once of the
-deception? Or would she accept him...?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not care for de honors you have won?" asked
-Piquette, breaking on his thought.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They weren't my honors——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But you bear de wounds——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and they're proofs my brother will find it hard
-to answer. But tell me, Piquette, what you have heard.
-Do they suspect you of having carried me off?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette laughed. "No. I saw Émile Pochard las'
-night. 'E does not dare speak. Tricot, 'Arry,
-</span><em class="italics">Le Singe</em><span>—I saw dem at Pochard's.
-Dey t'ink you are a devil. It
-is de police worries dem mos'."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The police?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Some one followed 'Arry 'Orton to de house in de Rue
-Charron and tol' de police. Dey came jus' as we escape'.
-Your brother was lucky to get away."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who could this have been?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don' know. But what does it matter since you are
-safe?" And then, after a long pause, "No harm 'as been
-done except to your poor head. We mus' let de matter
-drop, Jeem 'Orton. It is better so."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If that is your wish, Piquette——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. It will be safer for us both, for you because you
-mus' keep in hiding—for me—because I 'ave a reputation
-at stake."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His eager look inquired her meaning.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Émile Pochard would never trus' me again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed. "And you value the friendship of
-Monsieur Tricot?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. But I know de law of de </span><em class="italics">apache</em><span>. It would not
-be pleasant to 'ave one's t'roat cut an' be t'rown in de
-Seine."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The true meaning of the danger that she had run for
-him gave Jim Horton a new and lively sense of his obligations
-and responsibilities to this strange creature. He
-caught her hand to his lips and kissed it warmly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How can I ever repay you?" he blurted out.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her face flushed gently and she regarded him with eyes
-almost maternal.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What a boy you are!" she laughed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But a stranger to you. To have run such risks—to
-have made such a struggle just because you knew I was
-helpless."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It amuse' me, Jeem 'Orton. Sometimes I t'ink it is
-fear dat is de </span><em class="italics">grande passion</em><span>—when one has tasted
-everyt'ing else in life. Fear. To succeed in an adventure like
-this—</span><em class="italics">Et nous voilà</em><span>! Quite safe and comfortable—an'
-each of us 'as made a friend. Is not dees wort' all de
-trouble?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette!" he said, "you're a wonder! I'll never
-forget——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes, you will, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>," she broke in with a
-shrug, "you are different from 'Arry. You are always
-</span><em class="italics">le grand serieux</em><span>. It was what I noticed at Javet's. You
-will love much, but you will never lie jus' to make a woman
-'appy. And me—you will forget, Jeem 'Orton."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Never," he said stoutly, "never, Piquette. You're the
-bravest, squarest woman in the world."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed again. "</span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>! For dat—I shall kees
-you, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And she did, with a friendly frankness, upon the mouth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was a very pleasant sanctuary, this, into which
-fortune had thrown him, but deep in his heart Jim Horton
-knew that Piquette had read him truly. He was no
-panderer to women's caprices, and he could not forget the
-tragedy of the woman he loved, which might almost be
-laid at his door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not mind my keesing you, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>?" she asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I like it," said Horton with a laugh.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Piquette knew. Life in the streets of Paris had
-given her a sense of the fourth dimension. And curiously
-enough her prescience only quieted her, made her a little
-graver, matching her mind—her mood to his. He provided
-a new sensation, this outcast hero who owed her his life
-and yet was to pay her only in gratitude.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>*      *      *      *      *</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton was penniless, for with an irony not lost
-on him, the money he had gotten from the bank had gone
-to pay Tricot and </span><em class="italics">Le Singe</em><span> their price for his knock on
-the head. The clothing he found himself in had been
-none too good when Harry had worn it, and the incarceration
-in the filthy cellar had done nothing to improve it.
-Outcast he might be, but he meant while he had money in
-bank at least to look presentable. So Piquette got him
-a blank check from the bank which he made out and
-Piquette cashed, and the next day when he was able to
-go out, he bought himself a suit. He came back in the
-afternoon and with much pride exhibited his purchase.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She gave the clothing her approval and then shrugged.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"An' now, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem, you will be going away, </span><em class="italics">n'est ce pas</em><span>?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it not better, Piquette? I have not the honor of
-Monsieur de Vautrin's acquaintance."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, </span><em class="italics">ça</em><span>!" she said with a quick gesture. "</span><em class="italics">Il est bête</em><span>.
-He would never know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton put his hands on her shoulders and made
-her look in his eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's not the way, Piquette. You are too fine not to
-see. I can't be an object of your charity any longer—because
-it's </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> charity. I owe you my life. I want to
-pay—but not like this. I want you to see my gratitude in
-my eyes, the depth of my friendship, I want you to know
-that what you've done for me has given a new meaning to
-courage and unselfishness."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She turned her head away as he paused, and then gently
-took his hands from her shoulders.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can pay, Piquette," he insisted quietly. "You do
-not love the Duc de Vautrin. Come away from here with
-me. I have a little money. I can get more from America.
-We will find you a place in the </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span> where you will
-be happy until you have the home you deserve——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you——," she faltered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What I do doesn't matter. An outcast——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She started.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will leave Paris?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She released her fingers quickly and went to the window,
-looking over the rooftops in a long significant moment of
-silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And de oder woman——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She spoke the words distinctly, and yet he thought he
-must have misunderstood.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette, I——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What 'appens between you an' your brother's wife?"
-she asked quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He had no reply and while he hesitated she turned
-slowly and faced him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I know, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>," she said with a smile. "I 'ave
-known it from de firs'. You love 'er. </span><em class="italics">C'est dommage</em><span>.
-It is a pity. She is ver' beautiful, dey say."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am a fool, Piquette."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are not de firs' in de worl'——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He sank on the edge of the bed, wondering at his own
-confession.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I was sorry for her—for her innocence, married to a
-man like that. She was kind to me. I played the part
-and kept silence. They were going to use her—palm her
-off as de Vautrin's child——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He paused and looked up at Piquette, aware that the
-topic that he had not dared to broach now suddenly
-loomed between them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette faced him gravely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>," she said, and the rising inflection
-was very gentle.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know what you wish to do, Piquette, and
-it is not for me to say. But before I was hurt, I had
-planned to find out all the facts of this conspiracy and
-tell both Harry's wife and the Duc de Vautrin. You
-have given me the facts. Do you want me to use them?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette was silent a moment, regarding him with a
-smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>, 'as anyt'ing 'appen' to make you
-change your mind?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He looked up at her in wonder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette, I thought——" he began. But she broke
-in lightly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You s'all do what you wish, but it is a difficult game
-you play an' </span><em class="italics">dangereux</em><span>. You do not know Monsieur
-Quinlevin. If Tricot is de wolf an' Émile Pochard de
-fox, it is Barry Quinlevin who is de tiger. 'Arry 'Orton
-knows. 'E is afraid—what you call—eat out of his 'and."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to beat him, Piquette."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, bien! But remember, 'e is not a man to be easily
-vanquished. 'E is ver' quiet, ver' cool, </span><em class="italics">le vrai gentilhomme</em><span>,
-but 'e 'as sharp claws, Jeem 'Orton."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A thief——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And de Vautrin?" she broke in. "Monsieur le Duc is
-no better dan he. He did not care 'ow 'e got de money."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton paced the room slowly, in deep abstraction,
-but in a moment stopped before her and caught her hands
-in his.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette," he said gravely, "you were in this thing—I
-don't know why or how, because a woman with a soul as
-big as yours oughtn't to be stooping to this kind of
-rottenness."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For a long while she made no reply, but she turned her
-head away and looked out of the window.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't change de way I was born, Jeem 'Orton," she
-said quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was silent, aware of the false situation, and thinking
-deeply.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to tell her the truth, Piquette," he said at last.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Another moment of silence and then Piquette turned
-toward him, both arms outstretched.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are right, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span> Jeem. You s'all go to 'er and
-tell 'er——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette——!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Je ne me fiche pas</em><span>. Go. It's nothing to me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton had risen and put his arms around her,
-turning her face up to his and kissing her gently. She
-made no resistance, but she did not return his caress.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are too good for him, Piquette."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She stirred uneasily in his arms and then released
-herself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, Jeem——", she said. "Go."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you meet me to-night at Javet's?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. </span><em class="italics">Au revoir, mon brave</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She watched him go down the stair and then turned in
-at the door of her own apartment.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>*      *      *      *      *</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton was no squire of dames, but he couldn't
-be unaware of the attractions of this lovely pagan. Like
-her he was an outcast and their ways perhaps lay along
-the same paths to oblivion, but before he started down
-that road he had a duty still to perform, a wrong to set
-right, and he meant to do it without delay. If Harry
-had succeeded in ingratiating himself with Moira he knew
-that she must despise him for his betrayal of her credulity.
-But he meant to seek her out just the same and tell her
-the truth about Barry Quinlevin as he knew it. He
-wanted to see her again—just this once, in order to try
-and justify himself in her eyes for his imposture, and
-then he would go—he didn't much care where.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But he realized as he crossed the river that it was not
-going to be an easy matter to reach her unobserved. He
-knew that Harry must be passing some uneasy moments
-and it was better that Harry didn't see him just yet.
-But there was the watchful Madame Toupin to pass and
-it was still half an hour until dusk when he hoped to slip
-through the gate and up the stairs. Meanwhile he found
-himself a lodging in an obscure street and then with his
-hat-brim pulled down walked into the Rue de Tavennes
-and boldly approached the familiar gate.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame Horton?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oui, Monsieur</em><span>. She is in. Do you know the way?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nothing could have been more simple. Madame Toupin
-had pulled the latch without even looking up at him.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="confessions"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XI</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">CONFESSIONS</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>It all seemed like a horrible dream to Moira—the
-revelation of Harry's vileness—the prison by the
-river, the police, the escape of Jim Horton with the
-unknown woman, the homeward ride with the police officer,
-and the night in the studio-apartment with locked doors,
-waiting—listening for Harry's return, until at last
-through sheer exhaustion of mind and body she had fallen
-asleep. And then, the visit the next day of the police
-officer, the questions that she had to answer. But he got
-nothing from her beyond the mere skeleton of the tale
-which she had given the night before. She wouldn't tell
-how she got to the Rue Charron, some instinct still sealing
-her lips as to her husband's share in the adventure, and
-inventing a tale that seemed to satisfy the requirements of
-the interview. No crime had been actually committed
-though all the circumstances were suspicious. The officer
-told her that a search would be made for the man named
-Tricot and that Madame Horton should hold herself in
-readiness to appear against him, if necessary, at some
-future time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The return of Harry Horton, her husband, the next
-afternoon, contrite and humility itself, was unpleasant,
-but they reached an understanding, pending the return of
-Barry Quinlevin from Ireland. She kept the secret of her
-visit to the house in the Rue Charron and her knowledge
-of the escape of the prisoner. She saw that her husband
-was worried and furtive and she had no difficulty in
-exacting from him a promise not to molest her. In return she
-promised silence, and he departed with every protestation
-of friendship and good will, somewhat reassured as to her
-intentions.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As to Jim Horton, the twin brother who had worked
-such havoc in her life, Moira was very much troubled and
-disturbed. The hurt to her pride was grievous but the joy
-she had in the very thought of him seemed to assuage all
-wounds. She knew now that if he had died in the house in
-the Rue Charron that night she would have worshiped
-him all her life as a martyr to their unfortunate affection.
-And the memories of Jim Horton's tenderness on the day
-of their parting, the gentleness of his abnegation, his
-struggle against the temptation of her nearness—all these
-thoughts of him obliterating the horrors that had
-followed, returned and engulfed her with pity. Their love
-had seemed so perfect a thing! But now—a mockery!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She felt very friendless in the big studio, very much
-alone. And yet—could she confess to her father her love
-for this brother who had come in and taken Harry's place?
-The hurt to her pride burned again angrily. Her father,
-like herself, had been deceived by the brother at the
-hospital and what sympathy could she expect from him? He
-would be furious at the deception that had been practiced
-upon them both, and would perhaps take Harry's part
-against her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira clenched her hands and stared long into the
-gray cinders of the fireplace. If it was to be war, she
-would fight. She had married Harry in a moment of pity
-because her father had wished it, but the understanding
-had been definite. And now she would rather run away—even
-from her father—than to fulfill the terrible vows she
-had taken. Jim Horton—she wanted to hear his side of
-the story. Reviving faith in him made her sure that if
-he were alive he would come to her and tell her everything....</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A cautious step on the stair outside—a knock. She
-went over quickly, turned the key in the lock, opened the
-door, then stood staring, unable to speak.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's I, Moira," said Jim Horton gently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You—," she faltered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I said that I would come back, but I—I was detained,"
-he said coolly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>If he had expected her to be surprised at his appearance
-out of uniform she gave no sign of it. She opened wide
-the door and stood aside.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I know," she murmured.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't stay long, but there were some things I wanted
-you to know—some facts in extenuation of my conduct,
-that may make you think less bitterly of me——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You look ill," she said, staring at him. "It is all too
-horrible to think about——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Horrible, if you like," he said slowly, misinterpreting
-her meaning, "but done in a weak moment with a good
-motive——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, not that. I mean, what they did to you—the
-danger you passed through——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You know of that?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I followed Harry, and got the police——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was you? Good God!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was the least that I could do—after I found
-out—from him—what had happened."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He stared at her in incomprehension.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean that he confessed to you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded and then laughed nervously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know why I should be keeping you standing on
-the door-sill—like a model. If you've much to say you'd
-better say it sitting, Jim Horton."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He started and stared at her, but she had closed the
-door behind him and led the way with an assumption of
-carelessness to the chairs by the dead fire, as though aware
-of its symbolism.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You know—the truth?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She shrugged. "What Harry—what my husband—has
-told me, no more—no less."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He marveled at her ease, at the cruelty of her chosen
-phrases. And yet he could not cavil at them. It was
-clear that she meant that there were to be no further
-misunderstandings, that she was shifting the burden to his
-shoulders where it belonged. The sense of his culpability
-weighed upon him and he did not look at her, and so he
-missed the quick, anxious sensitive glances that searched
-his face for the truth in his heart. But he bent his head
-forward and stared into the ashes that had glowed so
-warmly a few nights ago.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have come to speak the truth," he began, his voice
-deep, resonant and trembling with his emotion. "A visit
-of confession and renunciation——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's rather late, isn't it?" she said in a hard little
-voice that he scarcely recognized as her own. He knew
-that he deserved this of her and more, but it cut him
-none the less.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will tell you the truth," he went on firmly. "And
-then you shall judge for yourself. I owe it to you to tell
-the facts, but I owe it to myself, too."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded and sat. And so, quietly, neglecting no
-detail, he told her of Harry, from the moment of their
-meeting on the battlefield until they had met outside in the
-Rue de Tavennes. He heard Moira gasp at the mention of
-Harry's cowardice, but he went on to the end, without
-pause.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Something of what followed, you know," he went on
-quietly. "I tried to tell them the truth in the hospital.
-I said I wasn't Harry Horton. They didn't believe me.
-They thought I was still out of my head. And so I lay
-there for a while, silent. I think I must have been pretty
-weak."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He paused a moment to gather his thoughts.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There were some letters to Harry. I had no right to
-read them. But I did. A letter from you to him—about
-your marriage—showing what a farce it was. A letter
-from Barry Quinlevin——" He paused and frowned.
-"It was an invasion of your privacy—and his—but
-you were nothing to me—then. I was sure that I
-would never meet you. I thought that I would wait a
-few days before I tried to tell the officers of the hospital
-who I was. It was a hard thing to do—because it meant
-that I would have to pay the penalty of a military crime."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But sure, after what you'd done," Moira's voice broke
-in clearly, "they couldn't be punishing you——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Disgraceful imprisonment—and for Harry—the
-penalty of desertion in the face of the enemy. You see
-there were two of us to consider."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I understand."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you came—suddenly—without warning." His
-voice sank to a deep murmur and he bent his head. "It
-was a moment for a decision. I hadn't it. I was weak. I
-let you believe that I was your husband. It—it seemed
-the easiest way just then. God knows I meant you no
-harm. And God knows I've suffered for it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He rose and leaned upon the mantel, his face turned
-away from her, summoning courage for the harder thing
-that he still had to say. "And there's something else,
-that made me do what I did——" he began.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Something more?" he heard her question. "What do
-you mean?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He paused a moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's hard to tell you—but I must." And then, "Have
-you ever heard of the Duc de Vautrin?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she uttered in bewildered tone, "the name is
-familiar to me. But what——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Quinlevin—has mentioned him?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I think so. A man he met many years ago in
-Ireland. But why do you ask?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because his life and yours are bound up in each
-other——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mine?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He paused painfully.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira, perhaps I'm breaking all the ties in your life
-that you had thought most sacred, but I've got to tell you
-what I know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't understand—you frighten me——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God knows I've given you pain enough already. I'm
-a bird of ill-omen. But I'm going to go on, if you'll let me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She sat motionless, her strained white hands gripping
-the chair arm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Under the cover of the dressing table, in the room
-there, where I slept, are the two letters that I read in
-my bed in the hospital—the one from you—the one from
-Barry Quinlevin. I left them there when I went away.
-Unless some one has removed them, they should be there
-now——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In obedience to the suggestion, she rose and went quickly
-out into the hall and into the deserted room. Harry had
-not entered it nor had she even told him of the valises
-containing his impedimenta that had been sent down from
-headquarters. The letters were there. Trembling with
-uncertainty she found them and glanced at the familiar
-handwriting, her own and her father's, and then came
-back to the door of the studio. There she stood a
-moment, weighing the letters in her hands. Jim Horton
-stood as she had left him, leaning upon the mantel-shelf,
-his gaze upon the extinguished fire. It seemed that lost
-in his own gloomy reverie he had already forgotten her.
-Never in all the weeks that she had known him, not even
-when he had lain in his hospital bed—had he seemed a
-more pitiful figure than now—needing her as she—God
-help her—needed him. What did it matter what this
-letter contained? In her heart she knew that the only thing
-that mattered to her was the love that this man bore her.
-She had recognized it in the deep tones of his voice, which
-had thrilled her again, and in the attitude of submission
-which had anticipated the change in her sentiments.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was a moment for decisions, like his moment in the
-hospital. She had only to tell him to go and she knew
-that he would have obeyed her. But like Jim Horton,
-she no longer had the strength. Some instinct told her
-that here in this outcast soldier—this splendid
-outcast—was a rock that she could cling to....</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced over the stair and then entering the studio
-quietly, slowly approached him, letters in hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You wish me to read——?" she asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, please, Moira."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced at him and then sank into the armchair and
-opened Barry Quinlevin's letter. For a long while there
-was no sound but the rustle of the paper in her fingers.
-At last he heard her stir slightly and glanced up at her.
-Her face was deathly pale.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My father—de V—'The money has stopped coming'—What
-does it all mean?" she asked. "And what are those
-papers? What is the agency working against him? And
-what does he mean by putting the screws on?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It means that Barry Quinlevin is—is blackmailing the
-Duc de Vautrin—has been doing so for years," he said in
-a suppressed tone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She rose and faced him, her breast heaving.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Blackmail! My father——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He bowed his head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Unfortunately it's the truth. He spoke to me of it
-in the hospital—thinking I was Harry——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She raised the letter again and read.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't believe—I can't——," but her words trailed off
-into silence as she read again the damning phrases.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His heart was full of tenderness and pity for her and
-he caught her by the hand. "Moira, dear," he murmured,
-"I wouldn't have spoken of this—but </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> are involved—I
-couldn't understand for a long while. They're using
-you as a cat's-paw—a snare—a stool-pigeon. Perhaps
-you don't even know the meaning of the words—it's too
-hideous!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Using </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>?" She seemed unaware of her fingers still in
-his. "How can they use </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>? I know nothing whatever
-of this affair."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He led her to her chair again and made her sit.
-"Listen," he said gently, "and I will tell you all that
-I've found out about it——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't believe—Who has told you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette Morin——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette—?" Her brows drew together——</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A friend of—of your husband's," he said. "It was
-she who first discovered our dual identity in the Café
-Javet—a friend of Harry's—who took pity on me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The woman—who—who—helped you to escape?"
-she gasped, awakening.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. She shared the secrets of this intrigue. And
-when they knocked me out, she guessed the truth, found
-out where they had put me and went in through the
-passage from the river. It was she who took me back to her
-apartment and nursed me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," she faltered. "I—I see. But what reason have
-you to believe that she speaks the truth?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He had taken his place by the mantel again. "Unfortunately—I
-had already proved it by the mouth of Harry
-himself." He broke off and met her piteous eyes squarely.
-"Oh, I wouldn't have cared what they did, if they—if you
-hadn't been a part of the plan. I would have told you
-who I was the other night and gone—away.... But it
-was too cruel. Barry Quinlevin is a strange man. He
-loves you—perhaps. He wants to see you rich—happy—but
-he became desperate when the source of his income was
-cut off——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The Irish rents——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There were no Irish rents, Moira. The source of his
-income, all these years—and yours—has been—the Duc
-de Vautrin—hush money paid to keep a secret——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Virgin—! Then I——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She paused, bewildered by the very terror of her
-thoughts.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen, Moira. You must know it all. As nearly as I
-can get it, the story is this. Twenty-five years ago the
-Duc de Vautrin married an Irish heiress from Athlone in
-Galway named Mary Callonby, receiving with her her
-immense </span><em class="italics">dot</em><span>, with the provision from her father's will that
-if any child was born, the fortune should go to that child
-in the event of the mother's death."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Callonby!" whispered Moira half to herself. "Athlone!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The Duc de Vautrin was a beast and mistreated his
-wife, so that she ran away from him into Ireland, where
-a daughter was born to her—Mary Callonby dying in
-childbirth." And then softly, "Do you follow me, Moira?
-It's very important."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm trying—to follow you," she murmured painfully.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"When Mary Callonby left the Duc, de Vautrin went
-upon a voyage around the world, enjoying himself with
-her money for two years, and unaware of the death of his
-wife or of the birth of his little daughter, who was cared
-for and nursed by a woman named Nora Burke——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nora Burke!" Moira had started up suddenly in her
-chair, her eyes wide with sudden comprehension.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You remember her——" he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My old nurse——!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. It's here that the story involves your fortunes
-and—and Barry Quinlevin's. The infant daughter of the
-Duc de Vautrin died at the end of a few months, without
-his being aware of it—without his even being aware that
-a daughter had been born. The death of this child was
-kept a secret——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But why? Why?" pleaded Moira, a glimmering of
-the intrigue coming to her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton turned away again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because it was necessary that the Duc de Vautrin
-should remain in ignorance of it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Virgin! You mean that Nora——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nora Burke and Barry Quinlevin. You were of the
-same age as the child of the Duc de Vautrin. There were
-few neighbors. Your mother had also died in childbirth.
-Nora Burke came into Barry Quinlevin's house as nurse."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it is impossible!" gasped Moira. "I can't—I
-can't believe it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is what I'm to help you to prove."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But there must be papers—birth certificates—witnesses——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps. I don't know, Moira. All of these things
-seem uncertain. The idea is that Barry Quinlevin, taking
-pity on the fatherless child of the Duc, and mourning his
-own child that had died, had brought the little girl into his
-own house to keep her until the Duc's return——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! It is infamous!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That was the way Nora Burke came into the house of
-Barry Quinlevin, and that was the way you became the
-daughter and heiress of Mary Callonby."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—her heiress?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know all the facts, but it seems that when the
-Duc de Vautrin returned to Paris, he was met by Barry
-Quinlevin with proofs of his daughter's existence. It was
-to the Duc's interest to keep the matter secret, since the
-income from the Callonby fortune which he enjoyed would
-of course go to the child. And from that day to this the
-matter has been kept a secret and Barry Quinlevin has
-been paid for keeping it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira had risen and was pacing up and down the length
-of the studio.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is too horrible—it bewilders me. Who told you all
-this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette Morin—Harry told her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And—and Harry—?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"His interests and yours were the same."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She buried her face in her hands for a moment. "Wait,"
-she gasped. "I must think—think."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So Jim Horton was silent, watching her anguish with
-pity and anxiety. But at last she grew calmer and sank
-into the chair, reading Barry Quinlevin's letter to Harry
-again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet this might refer to something—something
-else—" she pleaded, catching at any straw that would save
-her from this disgrace.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I could reassure you—but I can't. The facts
-are too clear."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent a moment, breathing hard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was terrible for </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> to have to tell me this."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—but you understand that I had to, don't you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She bowed her head and he went on.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And now I only want you to tell me how I can help
-you—how I can make things easier——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What shall I do? What can I——" She halted again,
-intimidated at the thought of her father. And then—</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If I were only sure.... Of course the Duc de
-Vautrin must be told at once."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no hurry. You must think it over. Verify
-my statements, when you can——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes. I must—or refute them. I see that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to help you. I'll do anything——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I know—" she paused again. "Whom can I
-trust now?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He caught her fingers and pressed them softly to his lips.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a terrible situation for you—but you can't go
-on as a partner in this intrigue——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, of course—I must be finding out—speaking
-to—to him—to my father—" and then, turning to him,
-"Whom can I trust—unless it's you!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He relinquished her fingers and turned away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I deceived you, Moira—cheated you——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That doesn't matter now—nothing matters——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean—that you will forgive me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned forward toward her, searching her face eagerly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—yes," she whispered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"God help me! I've the need of you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He fell to his knees beside the chair and took her in his
-arms. Her trouble was so great—the crisis in her life so
-tragic!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've tried to make myself believe I didn't care—," she
-went on, whispering, "that everything should be as it was
-before you came. I tried——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You poor child——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But in spite of myself—in spite of everything—my
-faith in you is just the same."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God for that. We must find a way out——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But she shook her head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. There's no way out—I'm sure of that—for
-me—and you. It's wrong—all wrong——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But she did not refuse him her lips now and he held
-her close in his arms.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira," he whispered. "It was meant to be."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's wrong—all wrong," she repeated. And then with
-a sigh, "Its very sweetness—is—terrible——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He touched her brow tenderly with his lips and then
-gently released her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you want me to go?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But her fingers still held him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no—not yet—not just yet, Jim. This is our
-moment—yours and mine. And I've been wanting you
-so——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You knew that I'd come back to you, didn't you, dear?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been praying that you would—you won't be
-going, Jim—away—as you said you would?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, dear—not—not if you need me—not if you want
-me. But I'm a nondescript now—a deserter—an outcast."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The cruelty of it! You!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I got what I deserved," he said with a smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And Harry? I can't be staying here if he's going
-to be here, Jim. The very touch of his fingers ... the
-sight of him, knowing what I do——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He won't dare—I would have him broken——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And give yourself up to the Military Police. No.
-You can't be thinking of that. I'm not afraid of
-him—nor of my father. But—they can't be disgracing you.
-You must keep in hiding. I see it all now. But you won't
-be going away, Jim. Promise me that you won't go away."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you'll let me see you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> see you. I can't let you go—not yet, Jim.
-I know it's wrong. I don't care about the wrong to
-Harry, but I </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> think of the wrong I do myself and you.
-My love for you has been so clean—so beautiful, Jim.
-it can't be anything else—for either of us."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I love you, Moira dear. I needn't tell you how——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you suppose that I know already, Jim? But it's
-so hopeless——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your marriage—a joke! It means nothing——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A hideous joke—but a marriage just the same!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't be tied to this man always——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> tied to him. Oh, Jim—!" she broke off in her
-despair. "Don't be making it more difficult—don't be
-pleading with me for that—it's impossible. I'd like to
-be going with you—away—somewhere just you and I—but
-I can't——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll have patience. Some day——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, dear. That's the worst of it. It can't be, ever.
-I have sworn——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped and they both listened, Moira started—frightened.
-From somewhere down the stairway outside
-came the sounds of a laugh and of voices in conversation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry!" she gasped. And with quick presence of
-mind ran to the door, turned the key in the lock and then
-listened. "My father, too—. They mustn't find you
-here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Jim coolly. "I think we'd better have this
-thing out—here and now."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no," she whispered tensely. "It would be the end
-of all things. Not yet. I must have time to think——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Already there was a knock upon the door. Moira had
-caught Jim by the arm and was hurrying him toward a
-closet in the corner of the room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"In here, quickly," she whispered. "You must. My
-father will go in the other rooms."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Moira——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As you love me—please—," she pleaded, pushing him
-in, shutting the door. Then breathless, she turned and
-faced the door into the hallway.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="quinlevin-speaks"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XII</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">QUINLEVIN SPEAKS</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>A moment longer she waited, summoning calm and
-resolution, when the knocking on the door began
-again and her name was called.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Coming," she replied, looking around the studio
-keenly. And then catching sight of Jim Horton's hat,
-whisked it under the couch and then opened the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Barry Quinlevin came in, Harry carrying his bag.
-With a gay laugh he caught Moira into his arms.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well,—it's joyful I am to be back, dusty and
-unwashed, but none the less glad to be here. How are ye,
-child? By the amount of time ye took opening the door,
-I thought ye might be dead——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm very tired—," she murmured, "I've not been up
-to the mark——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He held her off and looked at her in the dim light from
-the gas jet.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A little peaky—eh—too much moping in the dark.
-Let's have some lights—and a drink of the Irish. 'Twill
-do none of us harm."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He moved into the studio and Harry Horton set the
-bag down.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you have a successful trip?" asked Moira, putting
-more color into her voice than she felt.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So, so," said Quinlevin. "A bottle, Moira—and some
-glasses and water," and when she had obeyed, "There—the
-very sight of it's already making a new man of me.
-Harry, boy—yer health."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira sat and listened while he described the incidents
-of his trip. Harry could not meet her look, but she saw
-that he drank sparingly. As for her father, she watched
-him in silence, aware of his flamboyant grace and charm,
-again incredulous as to the things she knew of him. But
-his letter to Harry in her shirtwaist seemed to be burning
-the fair skin of her breast to remind her of his venality.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On his way to the bottle he pinched her pale cheeks
-between his long fingers. "Where's yer spirit, girl? Ye
-look as though ye'd been hearing a banshee. A fine
-husband ye've got, and all, to be putting lilies in yer cheeks
-instead of roses!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She stays in the studio too much," put in Harry, uneasily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A good jumper and a few stone walls of County
-Galway would set ye right in a jiffy. We'll be taking ye
-there, one day soon, I'm thinking, if ye don't come to life.
-What is it, child?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—nothing—I'm just tired."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He took his glass and held it to the light with a critical
-air.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Maybe it's better if ye go to bed then. I'll just clean
-up a bit and then come back and have a talk with you,
-Harry boy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And finishing his glass, he took up his bag and went
-into his room to cleanse himself, leaving Moira alone with
-Harry. She was very uncomfortable, and sat wondering
-what ruse she could find to get rid of them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry fumbled at his glass nervously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You're going to tell him?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She shrugged. "Of course," she said coolly, "the farce
-has gone on long enough."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he muttered. "Perhaps you're right. I'll tell
-him—myself—to-night."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks," she said quietly, "it would be better."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They seemed to have very little to say. She saw Harry
-furtively looking at her, but she was oblivious of him, for
-her thoughts were beyond him, over his head, in the paint
-closet where Jim Horton sat uncomfortably, awaiting the
-moment of release But how could she effect it now?
-It seemed almost enough of luck to have hidden Jim
-Horton's hat before they had entered. She knew that his
-predicament was hardly to his liking and in spite of her
-entreaties, feared that any moment he might be opening
-the door and facing the situation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And when Barry Quinlevin returned to the room in a
-moment, his face shining with his vigorous ablutions, any
-immediate hopes she may have had of Jim's release were
-dashed to the ground.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye'd better be going to yer room, child, and get yer
-beauty sleep," he said. "I want to talk to Harry."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>That he wanted to be alone with her husband was
-evident, and the request was something in the nature of a
-command. Still wondering what she had better do, she
-got up and moved slowly toward the door into the kitchen.
-They would talk—she would watch at the door and listen.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," she said languidly, "perhaps I'll feel better
-if I lie down for awhile—" and went out of the room,
-closing the door behind her. But she did not go into her
-room. All alive with uncertainty and apprehension, she
-crouched by the door, listening intently. The keyhole was
-large. Through it she could see the closet upon the
-opposite side of the studio where Jim was concealed, and what
-they said she could hear distinctly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Harry boy," said Quinlevin, "here we are again,
-and with Nora close at hand, ready for the 'coup.' There
-can't be any haggling or boggling now. A clean million
-we'll get from it, or my name's not B.Q."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you have any trouble getting Nora to come?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A little—but five thousand pounds settles her business.
-Nora was always a bit of rogue, but she couldn't deny
-real genius. And then, a bit of blarney——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But the birth certificate——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Here—," producing his pocket case, "a little mildewed
-and rumpled from hiding in the mattresses, and the like,
-but still quite legible. See, Patrice—a little hard to read,
-ye see. Patricia it is. Patricia Madeleine Aulnay de
-Vautrin. Female, me boy. Born August 7th, in the year of
-Our Lord, 1897—signed by the Doctor—Dominick Finucane—and
-attested by the Parish priest—a little illegible
-in certain notable places, but all quite straight and
-proper. He can't go back of that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the other servant—who knew—?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dead as a herring—a fortnight ago—ye'll admit most
-fortuitously—for I can't keep the whole of County
-Galway under my hat."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry Horton frowned.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. And you can't keep Moira there either."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What d'ye mean?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Merely that she'll put a spoke in your wheel if you're
-not careful."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin laughed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't worry about that bridge until I come to it.
-She won't object to taking her place in the world as the
-Duchesse de Vautrin——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He broke off abruptly. "What's that? Did Moira call?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't hear anything."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got the fidgets, then. I'd be having to give her
-up if Monsieur the Duc should take a fancy to her—but
-ye needn't fear. He won't. He's too self-centered, and
-well out of it at a million francs. Ah, he'll wriggle and
-squirm a bit, on the hook, but he'll pay in the end—or we'll
-gaff him for the whole estate." He stopped and carefully
-cut the end from a cigar. "D'ye think, by any chance,
-that Piquette Morin could have done any talking?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you ask?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because four months ago Monsieur the Duc was in
-Ireland asking questions."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who told you this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nora Burke. He got nothing from her. She knew
-which side her bread was buttered on. But that's what
-made her squeamish when my allowance stopped coming to
-her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I see. And you've paid her something?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. And the devil's own time I had getting it
-together. I'm thinking I've squared accounts with you
-already in all this business."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Harry Horton had gotten up and poured himself
-out a stiff drink of the whisky, which he drained
-hurriedly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't like it," he muttered uneasily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This de Vautrin business."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin calmly stared at him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yer feet aren't getting cold now?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry took a pace or two, trying to find his words.
-And then,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Things haven't been going right, here—since—er—since
-you left."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," said Quinlevin with a shrug. "You and Moira
-haven't been hitting it off——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. And it's worse than that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Barry Quinlevin leaned forward, his shaggy brows
-thatched unpleasantly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What the devil are ye talking about?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I've got to tell you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye'd be obliging me if ye would."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry met the sharp look of the older man and then
-his gaze flickered and fell as he sank into his chair again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You—you've heard me speak of my twin brother,
-Jim?" he asked after a moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The railroad man ye quarreled with over the trifling
-matter of an estate. Well, what of him?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He's turned up—here—in—Paris."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you got to do with him?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"More than you think. I've got to tell you what has
-happened—and it's plenty. It's been H—— and
-repeat. D—— him!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"At least," laughed the Irishman, "he seems to have
-gained no new place in yer affection."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No—nor will he in yours when you have the facts."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on. I'm listening."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And slowly, halting here and there for a word or a
-phrase that would put a better construction on his own
-share in the affair, he told Quinlevin of the substitution of
-Jim Horton for himself and of the events that had
-followed, including his return to Paris and the desperate
-means he had taken to regain his own identity. Of
-Moira he spoke nothing, but as the situation was revealed
-with all its hazards to the success of their intrigue, from
-an attitude of polite attention with which he had listened
-at first, Quinlevin became eagerly and anxiously absorbed,
-interjecting question after question, while his iridescent
-eyes glowed under his frowning brows and his long, bony
-fingers clutched his chair arm. By degrees, the full
-meaning of the revelation came to him—its relation to Harry's
-future, to the matter of the Duc, to Moira. But as he
-grew more furious, he grew more pale, more calm, and
-listened in a silence punctuated by brief questions, to the
-conclusion of the story, a little contemptuous of the
-nervousness of his companion, reading below the thin veneer
-of braggadocio the meanings that the younger man strove
-to conceal.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So," he said coolly, "ye've gone and let us all in for a
-nice mess of broth! Shell-shock! Humph! And ye'll let
-a man be tearing the uniform off yer very back—winning
-yer honors for ye."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He rose and stood at his full height, looking down at
-the figure in the opposite chair. "And Moira—?" he
-asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He came—here—to this apartment—when he left the
-hospital——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She did not guess?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor you," said Harry with, some spirit, "since you
-invited him here——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"True for ye—I did—bad cess to him." He broke off
-and took a pace toward the lay figure in the corner and
-back. And then, "This is a bad business," he said soberly.
-"And ye don't know where he is at the present moment?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. He got away clean through a passage to the
-river——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You've no idea who helped him?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. And Tricot's no fool—nor Pochard——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But they lack imagination—like yerself——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry Horton aroused himself. "He was drugged, I
-tell you—to the limit. I saw him before I came here to
-see Moira. He was clean out. Tricot was for dropping
-him into the river when we 'got' him—but I wouldn't let
-them do that—no—not that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye were always lacking in a pinch, Harry——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But my brother—my own brother——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin shrugged. "I can see yer scruples. A
-brother's a brother, even if he does wean away yer wife."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry started up, his face livid at the cool, insulting
-tones.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And ye can't blame Moira," continued Quinlevin
-coolly, "if he's turned out a better man than yerself."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His fiery eyes burned in his pale face and challenged the
-other man—intimidated him until the hot words on
-Harry's tongue died unuttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A fine mess! And he's no baby—this frolicsome
-brother of yours! How much does he know of the de
-Vautrin affair?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough," muttered Harry sullenly, "from the letters
-and what you told him in the hospital——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He can't go far—" He broke off and then, with a
-quick change into eager inquiry. "He'd hardly have had
-time to find the Duc, and if he did——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Harry sullenly. "De Vautrin is in Nice."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good. Then we'll have time."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For what?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To meet the situation as it should be met. I intend
-to take a hand in this affair myself."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What can you do?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll find a way. There's one thing sure. I don't
-intend to have the ingenious plans of half a lifetime spoiled
-by any blundering hay-maker from Kansas City. He's
-not my brother. I won't have your scruples. And if
-Moira has learned to be fond of him, so much the worse
-for her. I asked her to marry you because I didn't want
-any strange young man to come poking about my affairs
-or hers. She's a good girl—too good for the likes of
-either of us. She was never much after the men, being
-wedded to her art, and I thought you'd do as well as
-another—that ye'd make good over here and turn out the
-husband she deserved." He paused to give his words more
-weight. "Instead of making good—ye've made a mess of
-it—to say nothing of falling short with Moira. I might
-have known. But it's too late now for me to be crying
-over my spilt milk or yours. And whatever happens I'd
-like ye to know, my boy, that this affair means too much—to
-be balked for a mere sentiment. If she doesn't love
-you that's yer own affair. And as for yer brother,
-Jim—all I say is let him look out for himself."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He had sunk into his chair again, his lips compressed,
-his eyes closed to narrow slits and his voice, husky a
-moment ago with his passion, enunciating his words with icy
-precision.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But how are you going to find him? Haven't I told
-you that he's slipped away—lost in Paris? And you know
-what that means."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How could he slip away—drugged—after being
-knocked out and unconscious?" He leaned forward in his
-chair, his white fist clenched on the table. "Somebody
-helped him——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not possible."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not? How do ye know? Ye were all so frightened
-of the police that ye took to yer heels without a look
-around."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But nobody but Pochard's crowd knew about the old
-passage to the river——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then somebody in Pochard's crowd did the helping."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It can't be. They're all in on it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin shrugged. "Perhaps, but I'll be looking into
-that phase of the question myself."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go ahead. I wish you luck. But how is that going to
-help?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It'll find Jim Horton. And that's the only matter I'm
-concerned about."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a pause, and another voice broke the silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And when you find him what will you do about it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In her place of concealment Moira trembled at the
-sound. For there was a harsh scraping of chairs as
-Harry and Quinlevin rose, startled, and faced Jim
-Horton, who had opened the door of the closet and stood
-revealed before them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry Horton drew back a pace, leaning on a chair,
-his face gray, then purple again. Quinlevin stared, one
-eye squinting, his face distorted in surprise and curiosity
-at the astonishing apparition.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"So," he said, "the skeleton in the closet!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll find me far from that," said Jim Horton, striding
-forward to within a few paces of them. "You thought
-I might be hard to find. I'll save you that trouble."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," said the Irishman, finding his composure and a
-smile. "So ye're the interloper—the comic tragedian of
-the piece, all primed and set for trouble. Well, I can't
-say that ye'll be disappointed—" He reached deliberately
-for his trousers pocket and drew out a weapon. But Jim
-leaped for him at the same time that Moira, rushing into
-the room, shrieked Quinlevin's name.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The sound disconcerted him and the shot went wild and
-before he could shoot again Jim Horton had caught his
-arm and given his wrist a vicious twist which wrenched
-the weapon away and sent him hurling into a chair. Harry
-Horton hadn't moved. His feet seemed riveted to the
-floor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Father!" Moira gasped, her face white as paper.
-"You might have killed him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That was the exact intention," said Quinlevin, making
-a wry face and nursing his wrist.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Jim Horton, frowning at the two men, held the
-weapon in his hand, in command of the situation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you come out, Jim—why?" Moira pleaded,
-wringing her fingers and staring from one to the other.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Jim Horton didn't even hear her. His gaze was
-fixed steadily on Barry Quinlevin, who had shrugged
-himself back into self-possession and was smiling up at the
-intruder as though in appreciation of an admirable joke.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We'd better have this thing out—you and I," said Jim,
-coolly, eliminating Harry from the discussion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By all means," said Quinlevin. "And I'm glad ye
-know a real enemy when ye see one."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You've hardly left any doubt about that. There's not
-much to say, except that you're not going to drag Moira
-into this dirty business with the Duc. Do I make myself
-clear?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perfectly—but ye'll hardly be less perspicuous if the
-muzzle of the revolver is twisted a bit to one side. It's a
-hair trigger—thanks. As you were saying——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't waste words. I gave Harry his warning.
-Instead of heeding it, he hired a pair of thugs to put me
-out of business. But I'll take no chances for the future.
-I'm in no mood to die just yet."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I like yer nerve, Jim Horton. I may add, it suffers
-no disadvantage in comparison to yer twin brother." He
-shrugged and folded his arms. "Well. Ye seem to have
-turned the odd tricks—the ace of clubs—the ace of hearts.
-Now what are ye going to be doing with us all entirely?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I told Harry what I'd do, and I'll repeat it now.
-Drop this affair of the Duc de Vautrin—without dragging
-Moira through the dirty mess, and I quit—leaving Harry
-with his rank and honors."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I refuse——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton shrugged carelessly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll tell the truth—that's all."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Brevity is the soul of wit. Permit me to say that I
-admire the succinctness of yer statement. But the
-alternative is impossible."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean, that you'll go on with this affair——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye've guessed it, me son—as sure as ever ye find it
-convenient to remove the imminent and deadly weapon and
-yerself from my presence."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's final?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin laughed and very coolly poured himself out
-a glass of whisky.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the use of quarreling? By a bit of mistaken
-heroics ye've fired yerself into the midst of my little family
-circle and exploded. Maybe ye've done some damage. But
-I'm an old bird, and I don't scare so easily. Come now.
-Ye wouldn't kill me out of hand. Ye're not that kind.
-And so—let's be reasonable. Can I pour ye a drink?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thanks——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As ye please. But ye've got to admit that there are
-two sides to this question. If the information in my
-possession is correct, d'ye see, ye're a deserter from the
-army of the United States. A word to the nearest private
-of the Military Police and ye're jugged, to do yer
-explaining to a judge advocate."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't—you won't do that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira seemed to find her speech with an effort, for the
-rapidity of events and their portentous consequences to
-her own destiny had robbed her of all initiative. But
-her courage came back with a rush as she faced this man
-who had deceived her all these years—and charmed her
-even now with his reckless grace and magnetism.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't do that," she went on breathlessly. "I
-can't permit it. I've heard all you said. I've been
-listening—-there——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you heard," said Quinlevin with a quick glance
-at her. "Then perhaps it's just as well. I would be
-having to tell you some day." And then, with quick
-decision. "Ye're not my daughter. Ye're the child of the
-Duc de Vautrin."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As he shot this bolt at her, he watched its effect. Moira
-grew even paler and stared at him as though he were a
-person she had never seen before.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The daughter—of the Duc de Vautrin?" she stammered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's not true, Moira," broke in Jim's voice, "but
-you're not </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> daughter either. I'll take my oath on it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced at Jim as though the deep tones of his
-voice had steadied her for a moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not his daughter—then who——?" She paused and
-sought Quinlevin's eyes uncertainly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've told ye the truth, my dear. It was my crime
-not to have told ye before—but that's all ye can lay
-against me—that and the love for ye that has made the
-confession difficult."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira faltered. But Barry Quinlevin's eyes were upon
-her, alive, it seemed, with the old affection. And across
-her brain flitted quick visions of their careless past, their
-years of plenty, their years of privation, in which this
-man, her father she had thought, had always loomed the
-dominant figure, reckless perhaps, aloof at times—but
-always kindly—considerate.... But there was Jim
-Horton just beside her.... She felt his presence too—the
-strength of him—the honesty and the love of her that
-gave him the courage to face oblivion for her sake. The
-silence was deathly, and seemed to have gone on for hours.
-Jim did not speak. There was Harry too, standing like
-a pale image, the ghost of her happiness—staring at her.
-Were they all dumb? Something seemed to be required of
-her and her instinct answered for her. She moved toward
-Jim Horton, her fingers seeking his.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I love him," she found herself saying. "I—want
-you both to know. It has all been a horrible mistake—But
-it's too late to cry over. It has just happened—that's
-all. I can never love any one else——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira——," whispered Jim.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But I know that—that there's nothing to be done. I
-only wanted you to know," she finished firmly, "that any
-one who harms him, harms me——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira," Jim's voice broke in pleadingly at her ear.
-"Come away with me—now. You can't stay here. The
-situation is impossible."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She felt Barry Quinlevin's eyes before he spoke.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't need to remind ye, Moira—of yer vows at
-the altar——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What vows!" broke in Jim, fiercely facing his brother.
-"A travesty—a cruel hoax. There's no law that will keep
-it binding——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She married me—with her eyes open," muttered
-Harry. "And unless I release her——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop! For God's sake," Moira's voice found itself
-in pity for her own humiliation. "There's no release—no
-hope for either of us. There's no divorce—except
-death——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask nothing of you, Moira," Jim was pleading again,
-"only to go with me—away from here—to-night—for
-your own self-respect."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"An outcast——," sneered Quinlevin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He saw how the game was going, but he went too far.
-She turned on him defiantly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"An outcast!" she said. "I would be proud to be
-facing the world alone with such an outcast as Jim
-Horton—the shame and the glory of following blindly
-where my heart was leading me——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, then," said Jim.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Don't you see? I can't. What Harry says is
-true. I married with my eyes open. I swore to a lie.
-And I've got to abide by that lie. I've got to, Jim. For
-God's sake, have pity."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She sank helplessly into a chair, relinquishing his hand.
-All hope, all life, it seemed, had gone out of her.
-Jim Horton stood regarding her for a moment and then
-silently walked to the door, when he heard her voice
-again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim," she cried despairingly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He turned in the doorway and their glances met for a
-moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you come, Moira?" he asked quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't, Jim. I can't——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He waited a moment, and then laying Quinlevin's
-weapon on the table in front of him, turned again and
-walked out of the door and into the darkness of the corridor.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="beginning-a-journey"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIII</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">BEGINNING A JOURNEY</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>It would have been easy for Quinlevin to have shot
-him in the back, and at the moment Jim Horton
-wouldn't much have cared if he had. He went down
-the stairs slowly, across the court and out into the street,
-wandering aimlessly, bare headed, with no sense of any
-intention or direction. "There's no divorce—but
-death." Moira's words rang again and again in his brain. That
-was a part of her creed, her faith, her religion. She had
-once spoken of what her Church had always meant to
-her—her Mother, she had called it,—and she was true to
-her convictions. "There's no divorce—but death." The
-revelation of her beliefs was not new to him, yet it came
-to him with a sense of shock that she had chosen at the
-last to remain with Harry and Quinlevin and all the
-degradation that the association meant to her. It had
-been a choice between two degradations, and force of
-habit had cast the last feather into the balance. In the
-bitterness of his own situation—isolated, outcast, with no
-hope of regeneration, he tried to find it in his heart to
-blame her. But the thought of the pain and bewilderment
-he had seen in her eyes made him only pitiful for
-her misfortunes. It seemed as though the shock of the
-many revelations of the evening had deadened her initiative,
-enfeebled her fine impulses and made her like a
-dependent child—at the mercy of custom and tradition.
-And he could not forget that he had gone to her asking
-nothing, expecting nothing, and that in spite of all the
-barriers that she recognized between them, in spite of the
-deception he had practiced, she had still clung to him
-and even acknowledged him in the presence of her husband
-and the man she called her father. Love had glowed in
-her eyes and in her heart, lifting her for a time above
-the tragic mystery of her origin and the broken ideals
-of a lifetime. It was almost enough for him to ask of her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It didn't seem to matter much now what happened to
-him. But almost unconsciously he found himself casting
-an occasional glance over his shoulder to see if he was
-followed. He had no fear of Harry. His brother had
-shown to-night in his true colors, but the picturesque
-scoundrel whose name Moira bore was clearly a person
-to be reckoned with. Why Quinlevin hadn't taken a
-pot-shot at him on the stairs was more than Jim Horton
-could understand, unless some consideration for Moira
-had held his hand. The impulse of fury that had made
-him draw his revolver had faded. But their controversy
-was still unsettled and Jim Horton knew that the one duty
-left him must be done at once. After he had told what
-he knew to de Vautrin, Quinlevin could try to kill him if
-he liked—but not before....</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Would the memories of the past prevail in Moira's
-relations with Quinlevin? Would he be able to convince
-her that she was the Duc's daughter? He remembered
-that most of what he had heard from his place of
-concealment could be susceptible of a double interpretation
-under the skillful manipulation of the resourceful Irishman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton knew that Piquette had told him the
-straight story, from Harry's own lips, but he could not
-violate her confidence by using her name. It meant
-danger for Piquette from Quinlevin and perhaps a
-revelation of her breech of Pochard's confidence and a
-greater danger even from Tricot. He knew that he must
-move alone and reach the ear of de Vautrin at once with
-his testimony.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He approached the café of Leon Javet when he heard
-the light patter of feet behind him and stopped and
-turned. It was Piquette, divested of her fine raiment and
-dressed in the simple garb of a </span><em class="italics">midinette</em><span>.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"Jeem——," she said. "I 'ave been waiting for
-you—outside——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Piquette——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You mus' not go in Javet's—come, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>, to de
-oder side of de street——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Piquette?" he asked curiously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because Tricot and </span><em class="italics">Le Singe</em><span> are looking for you and
-dey will watch Javet's."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"H-m. Who told you this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But he let her take him by the elbow to the darkness
-opposite.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pochard. De house in de Rue Charron is watch' by
-de police. Dey are afraid you will give de evidence——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They needn't worry just now," he muttered. "I've
-something else to do."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But you mus' keep away from de </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span>——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I expect to. I'm going away, Piquette——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeem! Where?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To Nice. I've got to see your friend de Vautrin, at once."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah—de Vautrin!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She walked along with him for a moment in silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is your 'at, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He ran his fingers through his hair, aware for the first
-time of his loss.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I left it——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"In the Rue de Tavennes?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you mus' tell me. Come to de Boulevard Clichy.
-It is safer."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've taken a lodging in the Rue Jean Paul."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she insisted. "You mus' take no more chances
-on dis side of de river jus' now—nor mus' I."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean that they suspect——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet—but dey will if dey see us—you and I——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't run that chance, Piquette."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We are quite safe in de Boulevard Clichy. Come."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so he yielded to her persuasions and followed her
-by a roundabout way across the Pont Carrousel and so
-toward their destination, while he told her in general
-terms of the events of the evening. She listened, putting
-in an exclamation or a brief question here and there, but
-made no comments until they reached her apartment,
-where she made him comfortable in her best chair, gave
-him a cigarette and getting out of her street dress, slipped
-into her dressing gown. To the western mind, unused
-to the casual ways of the </span><em class="italics">atelier</em><span>, this informality might
-have seemed indecorous. But Jim Horton was deeply
-absorbed in his own thoughts and for the moment did not
-think of her. And when she drew her robe around her
-and took up a cigarette, she seemed for the first time to
-be aware of his abstraction. To Piquette's mind those
-things which were natural to her must be natural to every
-one else, and this, after all, is only the simple philosophy
-of the child. As she curled herself up on her </span><em class="italics">chaise longue</em><span>
-and lighted her cigarette he smiled at her.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"Well, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem*," she said, "what you t'ink of
-Monsieur Quinlevin?" (She pronounced it Canl'van.)</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He's just about the smoothest proposition that ever
-happened," he replied. "He'd have gotten me, if I hadn't
-moved in close."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"An' 'Arry——? 'E did not'ing?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Just stood there. He's lost his nerve again.
-He won't bother me, but the Irishman is in this game
-for keeps."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He is dangerous, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>. You 'ad better not go on
-wit' dis affair."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Piquette, I must," he said quietly. "I got into
-this situation by being a moral coward, I'm not going to
-get out of it by being a physical one. Besides, I've
-promised."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Myself. It's a duty I owe——," he paused.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To Madame 'Orton? An' what t'anks do you get?" She
-shrugged expressively. "A bullet or a knife in de
-ribs, perhaps. You 'ave already almos' enough been
-shot and beaten, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet here I am quite comfortable in your best
-chair, and none the worse—thanks to you, Piquette."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But you cannot always be so lucky. I would be ver'
-onhappy if you were kill', </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you, Piquette?" he said, taking her hand
-impulsively and kissing it gently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"An' den it is too late to be onhappy——," she sighed
-and put her other hand over his. "Oh, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem, life is
-so short, so sweet. It is not right to take a chance of
-dying before one's time."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want to die just yet, and I don't expect to,
-but life doesn't mean a whole lot to me. It's too complex,
-you understand?—</span><em class="italics">difficile</em><span>——" He gave a sigh and
-sank back in his chair, relinquishing her fingers. "I guess
-I was meant for the simple life," he said, with his slow
-smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent for a moment, regarding him soberly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What 'as happen', </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>? She 'as let you go?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He paused, frowning at the ash of his cigarette.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What else could she do?" he asked quietly. "I asked
-nothing—expected nothing of her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you cannot be disappoint'!" said Piquette dryly.
-"She is not worth de trouble. You run a risk of being
-kill', to save 'er from 'er 'usban' who is a </span><em class="italics">vaut rien</em><span>, you
-offer 'er de bes' you 'ave an' she send you away alone into
-de darkness. You t'ink she loves you. </span><em class="italics">Saperlotte</em><span>! What
-she knows of love! If I love a man I would go wit' 'im
-to de end of de worl', no matter what 'e is."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He sat watching her as she spoke—listening to the
-clear tones of her voice, watching the changes in her
-expressive features.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe you would, Piquette," he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"An' you," she went on shrilly, "you who 'ave save'
-'er 'usban' from disgrace, you who win 'im de </span><em class="italics">Croix de
-Guerre</em><span> an' den go into de darkness an outcas'—she let
-you go—she let you go——!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh——," he broke in. "She had to—I understand—she
-is a Catholic——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She paused and then went on. "Why 'as she marry
-your broder if she does not love 'im? La la!" She
-stopped and shrugged her pretty shoulders. "Perhaps
-you onderstan' now, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span> Jeem, why I 'ave not
-marry. Not onless I love, and den——," her voice sank
-to a tense whisper, "and den ontil deat' I would be
-true——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Piquette. You are that sort. But this——,"
-and he glanced about the room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She shrugged as she caught his meaning.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur 'as much money. Why should I not be
-content as well as some one else?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Deep in his heart he was sorry for her, but he could
-see that she was not in the least sorry for herself. And
-the unconventionality of her views, the total lack of
-moral sense, seemed somehow less important than the
-rugged sincerity of her point of view and the
-steadfastness of her friendship.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you have never loved well enough to marry?"
-he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem," she said gently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Their glances met, his level and friendly. And it was
-her look that first turned away. "No, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem," she
-repeated slowly. "One does not meet such a man, ontil
-it is too late." She gave a sharp little gasp and sat up
-facing him. "An' I speak of my troubles when you 'ave
-greater ones of your own. I want to 'elp you, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>.
-You 'ave in your mind a duty to do with Monsieur the
-Duc de Vautrin. You 'ave make me t'ink. Perhaps it
-is my duty too."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to see him at once, before Quinlevin does."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Eh bien</em><span>. He is on the Riviera—Nice. We s'all find 'im."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parfaitement</em><span>! Perhaps I can make it easier for you
-to see him——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll go with me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not? Onless you do not want me——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I'll be only too happy, only——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems a great deal to ask. You've already done so
-much."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said with a smile. "It will perhaps be safer
-for both of us away from Paris. An' you are onhappy.
-Will I perhaps not cheer you up a little?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no doubt of that, Piquette——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I would like to go wit' you. It will give me
-pleasure—if you do not mind."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But Monsieur the Duc——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Je ne me fiche pas</em><span>. Besides, shall I not now be doing
-him a service?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, that's true." He stopped as a thought came to
-him. "The Duc suspects something. What made him
-go to Ireland and question Nora Burke?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps I talk' a little too much dat night——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Has he spoken of it since?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. But I tol' 'im not'ing. I did not wish to get
-'Arry in trouble. But now——," she shrugged and lighted
-a fresh cigarette. "I do not care about what 'appen to
-'Arry or Monsieur Quinlevin. It is only what 'appens to
-you dat matters, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But in befriending me you've made enemies of all that
-crowd——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not onless dey find out. It is you who are in danger.
-After what you 'ave 'eard to-night, you are more
-dangerous to Quinlevin dan ever."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I gave him his chance. He didn't take it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But he'll make anoder chance. You do not know dat
-man. Even Tricot is afraid of 'im."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'm not. He thinks the world owes him a
-living. But he wouldn't last half an hour out in the
-country where I come from. He's clever enough, to put
-it over Moira all these years——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem. An' 'e may 'put it over' still—now
-dat you go from 'er——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps," he muttered, with a frown. "But that
-doesn't matter. She's not de Vautrin's daughter—or
-his—I'd take an oath on it. I've got to clear her skirts of
-this dirty mess. She wouldn't come. They've got her
-there now—a prisoner. She can't help herself. I can't
-be losing any time."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He rose suddenly as though aware of the passage of
-time and took a few paces away from her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to-night?" said Piquette.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The first train. I've got to go and find out."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced at the small enameled clock upon the
-mantel.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is too late. Dere would be no fas' express until
-de morning."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well. I'll see." And he strode toward the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"At de Hotel Gravelotte—at de corner you will find
-out, but wait——" She had sprung up and running out
-of the apartment, returned in a moment with a soft hat,
-which she gave him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks, Piquette—you're my good angel. I do seem
-to need you, don't I?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'ope you do, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>," she said quietly. And
-then, "Go an' 'urry back. I will wait for you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Thus it was that the next day found Jim Horton and
-Piquette together in a compartment of the Marseilles
-Express on their way to the Riviera. Jim had managed to
-get reservations in a train which was now running
-regularly, and then, after advising Piquette, had returned
-to his lodgings in the Rue Jean Paul, meeting her at the
-Gare de Lyon at noon. Piquette seemed to have thought
-of everything that he had forgotten, and greeted him
-with an air of gayety which did much to restore his
-drooping spirits. It was very cozy, very comfortable, in
-their compartment </span><em class="italics">à deux</em><span>, and Piquette looked upon the
-excursion from the angle of the child ready and willing
-to take a new pleasure in anything. Curiously enough,
-she had traveled little—only once to the Côte d'Azur,
-and looked forward with delight to the southern sunshine,
-the blue of the sea, and the glimpse of the world of fashion
-which was once more to be seen upon the </span><em class="italics">Promenade des
-Anglais</em><span>. The passing landscape she greeted with little
-childish cries as she recognized familiar scenes—the upper
-reaches of the Seine, Juvisy, then Arpajon, Etampes and
-Orleans.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And Jim Horton sat watching her, detached by her
-magnetism from the gloom of his thoughts, aware of the
-quality of her devotion to this newly found friend for
-whom with joyous carelessness she was risking the good-will
-of her </span><em class="italics">patron</em><span>, the displeasure of her bloodthirsty
-friends of earlier days and even perhaps her very life. She
-was a new event in his experience, giving him a different
-meaning for many things. There had been no new
-passages of anything approaching sentiment between them
-and he watched her curiously. It seemed that what she
-wished him to understand was that she was merely a good
-friend that he could tie to and be understood by. Even
-when he took her hand in his—a natural impulse on
-Jim's part when it lay for a moment beside him—she only
-let it rest there a moment and then gave a careless gesture
-or made a swift useful motion which dispelled illusions
-and exorcised sentiment. And yet of sentiment of another
-sort she was full, fairly bubbling over with sympathy and
-encouragement, inviting him to share her enjoyment of
-the gray and brown pastoral from the car window,
-peaceful, beautiful and untouched by the rough hand of war.
-It was a kind of friendship he couldn't understand and
-wouldn't have understood perhaps even if he had been
-skilled in the knowledge of women. And yet, there it was,
-very real, very vital to him in all its beauty and
-self-effacement.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Whatever her past, her strange philosophy of life, her
-unique code of morals, he had to admit to himself that
-she was a fine young animal, feminine to the last glossy
-hair of her head, and compact of splendid forces which
-had been diverted—of virtues which refused to be stifled
-by the mere accident of environment. But most of all was
-she that product of the Latin Quarter, which knows and
-shares poverty and affluence, friendship and
-enmity,—the </span><em class="italics">gamine</em><span>, the </span><em class="italics">bonne camarade</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She thought nothing of her exploit in rescuing him
-from the house in the Rue Charron, nor would she permit
-a repetition of his admiration and gratitude. The
-impulse that had driven her to the rescue was
-spontaneous. He was one she knew, an American soldier,
-a friend of France, in trouble. Was not that enough?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As the day wore on Piquette grew tired looking at
-the scenery and after yawning once or twice, laid her
-head quite frankly upon his shoulder with all the grace
-of a tired child and immediately went to sleep. Jim
-Horton smiled down at her with a new sense of pride in
-this strange friendship, admiring the fine level brows, the
-shadows on her eye-lids, slightly tinted with blue, the
-well-turned nose, the scarlet curve of her under lip and
-the firm line of her jaw and chin. Two outcasts they
-were, he and she, strangely met and more strangely linked
-in the common purpose of protecting the destinies of a
-decadent French gentleman whom Jim Horton had never
-seen and in whom he had no interest. And Piquette——?
-What was her motive? Her loyalty to de Vautrin, unlike
-that which she had shown for him, was spasmodic,
-actuated by no affection but only by the humor of the
-moment. She did not love this man. He had never
-been to her anything more than a convenience.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled. The word suggested a thought to him.
-Convenience! Was this relation of Piquette to her patron
-any worse than those marriages of the ambitious girls of
-his own country, without love, often without hope of love,
-to bring themselves up in the world? Piquette at least was
-honest—with the </span><em class="italics">patron</em><span> and with herself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The vows at the altar were sacred. He knew how
-sacred now. He had not dared to think of Moira and he
-knew that it was well that Piquette had kept his thoughts
-from her. But now as his companion slept, his arm around
-her slim figure, he began to think of Moira and the tragic
-decision that he had given her to make. She had chosen
-to remain there in the Rue de Tavennes because that was
-the only home she knew, and in the agony of her mind
-she felt that she must find sanctuary in her own room with
-her thoughts and her prayers. And the love she bore
-him, he knew was not a mere passing fancy, born of their
-strange romance, but a living flame of pure passion, which
-could only be dimmed by her duty to her conscience—but
-not extinguished.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>*      *      *      *      *</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Piquette stirred slightly in her sleep and spoke his
-name. "</span><em class="italics">Mon</em><span> Jeem," she muttered, and then settled
-herself more comfortably against his shoulder. Jim Horton
-did not move for fear of awakening her, but his gaze
-passed over her relaxed features and a generous wave
-of gratitude swept over him for all that she had done
-for him. What a trump she was! What a loyal little
-soul to help him with no hope of reward but the same kind
-of loyalty she had given him. He must not fail her. If
-there were only some way in which he could help her to
-happiness. In sleep she was so gentle—so child-like—so
-confiding. Thinking of all that he owed her, he bent
-over and kissed her gently on the brow.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She did not waken, and Jim Horton raised his head.
-Then suddenly, as if in response to an impulse, looked
-at the small, uncurtained window that let out upon the
-corridor of the carriage. There, two dark eyes stared
-at him as though fascinated from a pallid face, the whiter
-for its frame of dusky hair—the face of Moira Quinlevin.
-He thought for a moment that the vision was a part of
-his obsession and for a second did not move—and then
-started forward, awakening Piquette, for behind the face,
-in the obscurity of the corridor, he made out another
-head—and the iridescent eyes of Barry Quinlevin.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="a-night-attack"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIV</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A NIGHT ATTACK</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>And even as he looked the faces were merged into
-the obscurity and vanished.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette clung to his arm, whispering.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd such a dreadful dream— Why, Jeem, what is it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He started to his feet.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Barry Quinlevin—there!" he gasped. "With </span><em class="italics">her</em><span>!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her clutch on his arm tightened.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Here—impossible!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw them."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You dreamed, like me. I can't believe——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They were there a moment ago. Let me go, Piquette."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she gasped in a frightened whisper. "You mus'
-not follow——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to—to explain," he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But she only clutched his arm the more firmly and he
-could not shake her off, for she held him with the strength
-of desperation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not now, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem," she pleaded. "I—I am frighten'——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her quickly and it seemed as if this were
-so, for her face had gone so white that the rouge upon
-her lips looked like the blood upon an open wound.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is jus' what 'e want', </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem, for you to go
-after him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It would give him de excuse he want' to shoot you——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Defense personnelle</em><span>. He knows de law. He will kill
-you, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not afraid. I've got to go, Piquette——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. You s'all not. An' leave me here alone——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There's nothing to be frightened about on a train
-full of people——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He managed to reach the door with Piquette clinging
-to him and peered out into the corridor. A guard was
-approaching.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Ou est ce monsieur et cette dame</em><span>——" he stammered,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Ollendorf fashion, and then his French failed him and
-he floundered helplessly, pleading with Piquette to finish
-what he wished to say.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the man understood, rattled off a rapid sentence
-and disappeared.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is dat dey have gone into anoder carriage," she
-translated. "You see. It will be impossible to find dem."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he muttered, but he knew that the delay had cost
-him his opportunity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You mus' not leave me, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>," Piquette pleaded
-at his ear. "I 'ave fear of him. 'E 'as seen us together.
-Now 'e knows that it is I who 'ave tol' about Monsieur
-le Duc—I who 'ave 'elp you from de house in de Rue
-Charron—everyt'ing. I 'ave fear——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim laid a hand over hers and patted it reassuringly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't worry. He can't harm you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not afraid when you are 'ere,——" she whispered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And she won her way. It was the least that he could
-do for her; so he sat again thinking of the look in Moira's
-eyes and frowning out of the window, wondering how best
-to meet this situation, while Piquette clung to his arm
-and patted his hand nervously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We should 'ave watch' for 'im, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem—at de Gare
-de Lyon. I don' on'erstan'——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor I—how he got her to come with him," muttered
-Jim fiercely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ave I not tol' you 'e is a man </span><em class="italics">extraordinaire</em><span>—a man
-to be watch'—to be fear'——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How did he get her to come?" Jim repeated, as
-though to himself. "How did he——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There seemed no necessity to find a reply to that, for
-there she was, in the next carriage, perhaps, with this
-shrewd rascal, whose power and resource seemed hourly
-to grow in importance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was difficult to believe that Moira had listened to
-Quinlevin, had believed the story he had chosen to tell
-her, directly after the convincing proof of his villainy,
-directly after Jim Horton's own plea to save her. What
-art—what witchcraft had he employed?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The answer came in a shrewd guess of Piquette's.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dis was de firs' fas' express to de Mediterranean,"
-she said. "'E knew you would go to Monsieur de
-Vautrin. Las' night 'e foun' out I would go wit' you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But how——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who knows——?" she shrugged uneasily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He turned with a frown and examined Piquette with
-quick suspicion, but her gaze met his frankly. The
-thought that had sped through his mind was discreditable
-to her and to him for thinking it. There was no
-possibility of her collusion with Quinlevin. Her fear of
-him was too genuine.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"H-m. He arranged things nicely. To show her </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>
-with </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parfaitement</em><span>! It is dat only which made 'er come,
-</span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Smooth!" muttered Jim. "And she saw me, all right,"
-he finished bitterly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette was silent for awhile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She is ver' 'andsome," she said at last. And then,
-"An' she foun' me asleep wit' my 'ead on your shoulder."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," muttered Jim. "She did."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At the moment he could not think how much his words
-wounded her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sorry, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>," she said gently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His conscience smote him at the tone of contrition.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it doesn't matter, of course," he said. "There
-was no hope—for me—none. But it complicates things
-a little."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I comprehend. Monsieur hopes to keep you from
-reaching the Duc."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He won't succeed—but I'd rather he hadn't seen me
-in the train."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Or Madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton made no reply and was at once enwrapped
-in his thoughts, which as Piquette could see, excluded her.
-And after a glance at his face, she too was silent. The
-train, stopping here and there, rushed on through the
-darkness, for hours it seemed to Piquette, and her
-companion still sat, staring at the blank wall before him,
-absorbed in his problem. He seemed to have forgotten
-her—and at last she could bear the silence no longer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Mon pauvre</em><span> Jeem, you love 'er so much as dat?" she
-asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He started at the sound of her voice and then turned
-and laid his hand over hers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm a fool, Piquette," he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who s'all say?" She shrugged. Then she turned
-her palm up and clasped his. "I am ver' sorry, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The touch of her hand soothed him. In spite of the
-danger that she now ran, only half suggested by what she
-had said, she could still find words to comfort him. Selfish
-brute that he was, not to think of her!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette! I have gotten you into trouble."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I got myself into it, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He made no reply—and sat frowning. The train had
-stopped again. By contrast with the roar to which their
-ears had become accustomed, the silence was eloquent as
-though their train had stopped breathless upon the edge
-of an abyss. Then small sounds emerged from the silence,
-a complaining voice from an adjoining compartment, the
-buzzing of an insect, a distant hissing of steam. Then
-suddenly, the night was split with a crash of sound and
-glass from the window was sprinkled over them. Another
-crash. And before Piquette had realized what was
-happening Jim had seized her bodily and thrown her
-to the floor of their compartment, and was crouching
-over her, while the missiles from outside, fired rapidly,
-were buried in the woodwork above the place where they
-had sat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Six shots and then a commotion of voices here, there,
-everywhere, and the sound of feet running inside the train
-and out.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Lucky I pulled that blind," said Jim as he straightened,
-glancing at the bullet holes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Quinlevin," gasped Piquette as she rose to a sitting
-posture.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton got up and opened the door just as the
-guards came running with excited inquiries, and seeing
-Piquette upon the floor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame has been shot——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Piquette immediately reassured them by getting
-up, frightened but quite unhurt.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By the window—the shots came," she explained
-quickly in French, while Jim exhibited the damaged
-paneling. "Some one outside has fired at us——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They understood and were off again, out into the
-darkness where there was much running about with lanterns
-and many cries of excitement, while the other passengers
-crowded into the compartment and examined the bullet
-holes, mouths agape.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it the Boches?" asked an excited </span><em class="italics">mondaine</em><span> of her
-</span><em class="italics">compagnon de voyage</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not unlikely," replied the other.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Jim Horton knew better. Consideration for Moira's
-position had kept him silent and inactive until the present
-moment, but he was angry now at Quinlevin's dastardly
-attempt at the murder of either or both of them, so
-nearly successful. And so, when the officials of the train
-led by a fussy, stout, black-bearded individual in buttons,
-returned to question him, he answered freely, his replies
-quickly translated by Piquette, describing Quinlevin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A monsieur with a mustache and </span><em class="italics">Imperiale</em><span>?" echoed
-the stout official, taking notes rapidly on a pad. "And
-mademoiselle had dark hair and blue eyes——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They were of the party of four in the second
-carriage——," broke in the guard whom Jim had
-questioned earlier in the day.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is impossible, Monsieur. They left the train at
-St. Etienne."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A party of four?" questioned Piquette, astonished.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oui, Madame</em><span>. The two you mention besides another
-man and an older woman."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What did the other two look like?" asked Jim,
-thinking of Harry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The old woman had reddish hair streaked with
-gray—the man was small, with a hooked nose."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the man with the hooked nose, did he leave at
-St. Etienne too?" asked Jim.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parbleu</em><span>, now that you mention it——," said the
-guard, scratching his head, "I think I saw him a while
-ago at the rear of the train."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton scowled. "Find the man with the hooked
-nose, Monsieur," he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the fussy official was now shrugging and gesticulating
-wildly. It was impossible to do anything more. It
-was like hunting for a needle in a hay-mow. His train
-was already an hour late. The search would be taken up
-in the village where they had stopped, but nothing could
-be done for the present. The train would be thoroughly
-searched and then they must go on. In the meanwhile
-perhaps it would be better for Monsieur and Madame to
-change to a vacant compartment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton protested, but to no avail. And after
-another wait, during which there were more waving of
-lanterns outside and more shouts, the train went on upon
-its way. He had to confess himself astonished at the
-desperate measures his enemies had taken to prevent his
-revelations. Who was the small man with the hooked
-nose? It wasn't Harry, who was tall—and whose nose
-was straight. But when they were seated in the new
-place provided for them, a thought came to Jim and when
-the guard came around again he questioned.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Was there anything especially noticeable about the
-small man with the hooked nose?" asked Jim.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't comprehend, M'sieu."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you notice anything curious in the way he walked
-for instance?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No—yes. Now that you mention it, I think he walked
-with a slight limp."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette and Jim exchanged quick glances.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tricot!" gasped Piquette.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You're sure he is nowhere on the train?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Positive, M'sieu. We have searched everywhere."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was with a feeling of some security therefore that
-Jim settled himself again and tried to make Piquette
-comfortable for the remainder of the journey. Neither of
-them felt like sleeping now and they talked eagerly of
-the extraordinary happening. There seemed no reason
-to doubt that their assailant was Tricot and that the
-clever brain of Quinlevin had planned the whole affair.
-There was no doubt either that Quinlevin had told the
-</span><em class="italics">apache</em><span> of Piquette's part in the affair of the Rue Charron
-and that the shots were intended as much for Piquette as
-for him. This was the danger in the path of those who
-betrayed the secrets of the underworld. But Piquette
-having recovered from her fright was now again quite
-composed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's very clear why Monsieur Quinlevin left the train
-at St. Etienne with Madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He was afraid she would make trouble."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem. Also, 'e t'ought Tricot would have
-success." She caught his hand and held it a moment.
-"'E would 'ave kill' me if you 'adn' push' me on de floor."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pretty clever, sizing us up like that, then letting
-Tricot do his dirty work. He didn't think I'd see him.
-But we know what we're up against now. And they'll
-waste no time in following. I've got to get a 'gun'
-somewhere, that's sure, and you've got to stop at
-Marseilles."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"At Marseilles?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded. "I'm not going to let you run your head
-any further into this noose. You see what the danger
-is——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Piquette only smiled.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew what de danger was when I offer'd to come,
-</span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>. I'm not going to stay at Marseilles. I'm going
-on wit' you, as I promis'."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Piquette——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She put her fingers over his lips.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not know my great force of mind. Besides,"
-she added, "dey cannot catch us now."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't have you running any more risks," he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I s'all run de risk you run, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her gently. There was something animal-like
-in her devotion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the dusk of the soft illumination from above, the
-shadows at her eyes and lips seemed more than ever
-wistful and pathetic.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you dare all this for me, Piquette?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should I not tell you?" she said gently. "It
-makes no difference to you, but I t'ink I should like you
-to know. It is because I love you, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's true, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>. It 'as never 'appen to me before.
-Dat's why I know.... No, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem. It is not
-</span><em class="italics">necessaire</em><span> for you to make believe. Voila! You can 'old
-my 'and. So. But I want you to know. It was from
-de firs'—at Javet's—'Ow else should I 'ave care' enough
-to go find you in de Rue Charron? 'Ow else would I
-care enough to fin' out de difference between you an'
-'Arry?" She took a long breath before she went on. "It
-did not take me long, I assure you—for you, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>,
-were de man I was to love an' 'Arry——" she paused
-painfully. "'Arry was jus' a mistake."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I'm not what you think I am, Piquette," he broke
-in awkwardly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me finish, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>," she said with a wave of the
-hand. "Confession is good for de soul, dey say. I want
-you to know about me. I am on'y what de </span><em class="italics">bon Dieu</em><span>
-make me—a </span><em class="italics">gamine</em><span>. If 'E wish' me to be </span><em class="italics">fille honnête</em><span>,
-'E would not make a </span><em class="italics">gamine</em><span>. </span><em class="italics">C'est la destinée</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't, Piquette. I know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mos' men are </span><em class="italics">si bête</em><span>—always de same. Dey talk of
-love—Pouf! I know. </span><em class="italics">Toujours la chair</em><span>.... But
-you—</span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>—" She held her breath and then gasped
-gently. "You touch' me gently—wit' respec', like I was a
-queen—you kiss me on de brows—like I was a </span><em class="italics">fille bonnête</em><span>.
-</span><em class="italics">Mon Dieu</em><span>! What would you? Is it not'ing to be care'
-for by a man clean like dat?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do care," he said impulsively. "Yes—and like that.
-I'd give anything to make you happy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She gently disengaged his arm from about her waist.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Den care for me like dat—like you say you care," she
-said gently. "It is what I wish—all I wish, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>
-Jeem."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He touched her hand with his lips but there seemed
-nothing to say.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">C'est bien</em><span>," whispered Piquette with a smile. "I t'ink
-you 'ave taught me somet'ing, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As you've taught me," he blurted out, "but I won't
-lie to you, Piquette."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dat is as it mus' be. An' now we on'erstan' each
-oder. I am ver' content."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton, from embarrassment at the astonishing
-confession, began to understand its motive and sat silent,
-Piquette's hand in his, aware of the bond of sympathy
-between them.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a queer world, Piquette," he said at last, with a
-dry laugh. "I care for somebody I can't have—you
-care for me—why, God knows. I've made a fine mess of
-things and will probably go on making a mess of things—</span><em class="italics">her</em><span>
-life, mine, yours—when you and I might have hit it
-off from the beginning."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem, you were not for me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She caught his hand in both of her own and with one
-of her swift transitions from the womanly to the
-child-like she pleaded.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"An' now you will not 'ide me away in Marseilles?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her earnestness and it wasn't in his heart
-any longer to refuse her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Piquette. You shall go."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And impulsively, with the innocence that was a part of
-her charm, she kissed him fair upon the lips.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem. You are ver' good to me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But at Marseilles he armed himself with a new automatic
-and with the weapon in his pocket felt a reasonable
-sense of security, at least until they reached their
-destination.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette was resourceful. And on the train to Nice
-found the answer to the problem that neither of them
-had been able to solve.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"De ol' woman, wit' de gray hair," she said with an
-air of conviction after a long period of silence—"it is
-Nora Burke."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By George!" cried Jim, awakening. "I believe you're
-right, Piquette. Nora Burke! And he's bringing her
-along to clinch the thing—down here—at Nice."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded. "But we s'all reach Monsieur le Duc firs',
-</span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Delays awaited them when they reached the Hôtel
-Negresco. Piquette was provided with the name which
-Monsieur the Duc chose to use when traveling. Upon
-inquiry of the polite gentleman who presided over the
-destinies of the guests of this newest addition to the
-luxuries of the </span><em class="italics">Promenade des Anglais</em><span>, they were informed
-that Monsieur and Madame Thibaud had gone upon a
-motor-journey along the Cornice Road.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At the information, Piquette laughed outright and the
-polite Frenchman frowned.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is there anything so extraordinary in a motor-trip
-with Madame?" he asked frigidly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No—nothing, Monsieur," she replied and laughed
-again. But Jim Horton understood. Monsieur the
-Duc was relieving Piquette of a great moral
-responsibility.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They were shown adjoining rooms where they removed
-the traces of their journey, and then met for dinner,
-when they held a consultation as to their future plans.
-If Monsieur the Duc had gone on a motor-trip he might
-be back that night, or he might be away for a week.
-They found that Monsieur and Madame had taken only a
-suitcase and the chances were that they would return to
-the Negresco by the morrow. But time was precious—and
-it would not be long before Quinlevin and his queerly
-assorted company would be arriving in Nice, ready in some
-nefarious way to interfere with their plans. And so after
-dinner they took the train for Monte Carlo, hoping that
-de Vautrin's weakness for gaming would have led him
-to that earthly paradise of loveliness and iniquity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was late when they reached there, but Piquette had
-made no mistake, for they found their man at the tables,
-so deeply engrossed that he did not notice their approach
-or even look up when Piquette, ignoring the wonderfully
-accoutered lady at his side, addressed him in her most
-mellifluous tone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton took him in with a quick glance of
-appraisal—a man still in his fifties, about the age of
-Barry Quinlevin, but smaller, with a thin nose, sharp,
-black eyes, a bald head, and a dyed mustache waxed to
-long points. And the hands upon the green baize of the
-table wore large rings, one set with a ruby, the other with
-an emerald. That he was losing some money was indicated
-by the pucker of his bushy eyebrows and the nervous
-tapping of his jeweled fingers upon the cloth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was not until Piquette had spoken his Christian name
-several times that he seemed to hear and then looked up,
-his face a cloud of impatience and ill-temper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is I, Olivier," she repeated—"Piquette."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You—Madame!" he said with a glance at his companion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur," said Piquette coolly, "and it seems
-that I've brought you luck," for at that moment a pile of
-gold and bank notes was swept in his direction.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah—perhaps," he said confusedly. And then, "But it
-isn't possible. I was told that you were coming. I
-can't see you or this monsieur who comes with you. Go
-away if you please."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His attitude was uncompromising, his announcement
-bewildering, but Piquette was undismayed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The red, Monsieur," she said calmly, and before he
-could prevent, shoved a pile of the gold coins upon the
-color. And the Duc, aghast at her impudence, sat for
-a moment scowling at his pile of money, the gambler in
-him arrested by the fascinating click of the little ball.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Red wins," announced Piquette, echoing the </span><em class="italics">croupier</em><span>.
-"You see, Monsieur, it will be wise for you to treat me
-with more politeness."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And as he still sat as though fascinated by the turn
-of his fortune, and made no motion to prevent her, she
-put all the money she had won for him on the black.
-Black won and Piquette laughed gayly, while the woman
-beside de Vautrin sat in silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It does not do to venture here with strange Goddesses."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced rather scornfully at the Duc's companion
-and straightened.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Again, Madame," muttered de Vautrin, "the wheel
-runs for you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have finished," said Piquette firmly. "It is enough."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," growled the Duc, thrusting his winnings again
-upon the black.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will lose," said Piquette calmly, watching the
-leaping of the little ball. He did—all that she had won
-for him. He tried again, lost more, then turned on her
-with a frown.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sacré</em><span>——" he began.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh——," she silenced. "</span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>. I did not come to
-interfere with your games, but if Madame Thibaud will
-permit us——" and she smiled with diabolical irony at
-de Vautrin's companion—"I would like to have a word
-with you at once."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will not listen to you—or him." He scowled at Jim.
-"I know what it's all about. I don't wish to see you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you mad?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what do you mean by this? I've come to save
-you from a great financial disaster——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You——?" he sputtered. "What are you doing here,
-with this man? It is infamous. I want no more of you.
-Go."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Olivier. I stay," she said quietly. "You will
-kindly compose yourself and tell me who has been sending
-you lying telegrams."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A—a friend in Paris."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! What did he say?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What does it matter to you what he said?" gasped
-de Vautrin. "You are in love with this monsieur. </span><em class="italics">Eh
-bien</em><span>! Go to him. I don't care. I'm through with you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, no, you're not, Olivier," said Piquette, smiling
-calmly, "not until I'm through with you." And then,
-soberly: "Don't be a fool. Your </span><em class="italics">petit bleu</em><span> was sent by
-Monsieur Quinlevin. He has the best of reasons for not
-wanting you to see us. Will you listen to me now?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin's name had startled him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" he sputtered.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="green-eyes"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XV</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">GREEN EYES</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>For a moment after Jim Horton's departure Moira
-sat in her arm-chair, her head buried in her arms,
-more than half stupefied. One horrible revelation
-had followed another with such rapidity that she was
-aghast at the complete disruption of all the ties that had
-made her life. And this last tie—the strongest and the
-weakest of all—that too had been broken as relentlessly as
-the others.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She straightened slowly, her face haggard with her
-suffering, but she did not move from her chair and her
-fingers clutched its arms fiercely. Her eyes, staring
-blankly past Quinlevin, were following Jim out into the
-darkness of the Rue de Tavennes, but her fingers still
-clung to the chair-arms and her body did not move. It
-seemed that her limbs refused to obey her will to follow.
-Then after a moment, she sank down again, crushed,
-bruised and nerveless.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She felt the touch of Quinlevin's hand upon her shoulder
-and his voice whispering at her ear.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There, acushla! I'll be explaining it all to you in the
-morning. Go to your room now, child, and rest."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She obeyed him silently, mechanically, not replying or
-looking at him or at Harry. Her throat like her eyes was
-dry, and parched, as though with fever, but her hands,
-like her heart, were ice cold. In the sanctuary of her own
-room with the doors closed, she threw herself headlong
-upon the bed, racked for a while by shuddering soundless
-sobs—and then after a while merciful tears came.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim," she whispered hopelessly into the darkness.
-"Jim, forgive me!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her fingers groped for her crucifix and clung to it,
-seeking strength and courage. And after a long while
-the spasm of weeping stopped and she lay motionless
-and soundless, scarcely breathing. She knew in her
-heart that what she had done was best for Jim's soul's
-good and her own, but her heart cried out against the
-cruelty of it. And yet she was sure that if she had
-followed him beyond the studio door, she would have gone
-out with him into the world, glorying in her shame. She
-had chosen. Her one brief, gorgeous, pitiful romance
-was over.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And what was there left for her here at the studio but
-the shattered fragments of ruined affections? She had
-lived a lie—was living it now—like her father.... She
-started up at the horror that she had forgotten and sat
-on the edge of the bed, trying to collect her thoughts;
-then she rose with an effort, groped for the matches and
-lighted her candle. Her father? By his own
-admission—her father no longer. Who was she then? A waif?
-The daughter of de Vautrin? Her mirror sent her back
-a haggard reflection, pale, somber, but with blue-black
-eyes that gazed steadily from their swollen lids. Strength
-she had prayed for, and courage to do what was right
-to do, and she needed them both now....</span></p>
-<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 60%" id="figure-44">
-<span id="the-mirror-sent-her-back-a-haggard-reflection-pale-and-somber"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="THE MIRROR SENT HER BACK A HAGGARD REFLECTION, PALE AND SOMBER" src="images/img-202.jpg" />
-<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
-<span class="italics">THE MIRROR SENT HER BACK A HAGGARD REFLECTION, PALE AND SOMBER</span></div>
-</div>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was no sound from the studio. She glanced at
-her clock. For hours it seemed she had lain upon her
-bed of pain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>With a new resolution she bathed her face and wrists
-in cold water, then went through the kitchenette into the
-studio to find Barry Quinlevin. He was not there, but her
-husband was,—crouched in the armchair by the table and
-the whisky bottle was empty.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She shuddered a little but approached him resolutely.
-He tried to rise but, with a dull laugh and fumbling the
-arm of the chair, fell sideways into a grotesque attitude.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is——?" she began, and halted.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Gone out," he mumbled, struggling into a straighter
-posture, "back soon."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where has he gone?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head. "Dunno. Asked me to stay—take
-care of you, m'dear."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She turned away from him, in disgust.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—don' worry," he went on—"not goin' bother you.
-After t'morr'—won' see me, y'know——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She turned quickly and he laughed again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Goin' join m'regimen'. Furlough up t'morr'."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She whispered a "Thank God" below her breath as she
-stood looking at him. And then aloud, gently, in a new
-kind of pity for him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd better lie down, Harry, and get some sleep,"
-she said, "or you'll be in no condition to go on duty."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks. Ought to sleep. Haven' slep' f'r weeks,
-seems to me. Don' seem to care though."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd better. There's a room outside. Your
-baggage is there too."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Um—that's nice of you, Moira. R'turnin' good for
-evil. Baggage. </span><em class="italics">He</em><span> brought it—didn' he?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Harry."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He paused a moment and then leaned forward in his
-chair while she watched him curiously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Rotten mess! What?" he mumbled.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She didn't reply. And he went on, concentrating
-thought with difficulty. "He told you I tried—kill
-him—didn' he?" He wagged his head comically. "I couldn'
-do that—not kill 'im—wouldn't do y'know—m'own
-brother—no—not that——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He put his hands to his eyes a moment and swayed, but
-Moira steadied him by the shoulder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry—come. I'll help you. You must go to bed."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet—in a minute. Somethin'—say."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He groped for her hand on his shoulder, found and
-clung to it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Shame I'm such rotter, Moira. Beas'ly shame. I'm
-not half bad sort if leave me 'lone. I was sick—out there.
-Head of Levinski—grinned at me. Gold tooth—grinned
-at me—in wheatfield——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, Harry," she broke in again, "lean on me. I'll
-help you to bed."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I was sick awright——" he shuddered, oblivious
-of her. "Makes me sick now—think of it. Jus' a head,
-Moira, nothin' else. But God! What a head!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It won't do you any good now to think about that,"
-she put in quickly, for he was shivering as though with a
-chill.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. No goo' now. Awf' rotter, ain't I?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He stumbled to his feet and she helped him to support
-himself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you forgive me, Moira?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And as she urged him out of the door toward the
-vacant room, "Knew y'would," he mumbled. And then,
-"Goo' ol' Moira!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the room she helped him off with his coat, puttees
-and shoes and then pulling a blanket over him left him to
-his own devices and went back to the studio to wait for
-Barry Quinlevin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But she wasn't weary now. From the same reserve
-force from which she drew the strength to stand for
-hours and paint even when her sitters were weary, she
-gained new courage and resolution for the return of
-Quinlevin. But for a moment she was tempted again.
-The way was clear. What was to prevent her from going
-and finding Jim? For a moment only. Then she sank,
-into the chair by the fireplace—to fight her battle with
-herself and wait. Her glance restlessly passed from one
-familiar object to another, the portrait on the easel, the
-lay figure in the corner in its fantastic pose and
-heterogeneous costume, the draperies for her backgrounds,
-hanging just as they had hung this afternoon, and yet
-all so strangely changed. The door of the closet where
-Jim had been hidden remained open, exhibiting its untidy
-interior. Instinctively she rose and closed it, her sense
-of order triumphant even over her mental sufferings.
-Then she went back and sat down to think. There was
-much that she and her—that she and Barry Quinlevin
-would have to say to each other.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>He came at last, expecting to find Harry and not the
-straight figure of the woman who faced him like a pale
-fury. The shadows of pain at her eyes were gone, lost
-in deeper shadows of anger and determination.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You! Moira," he said in surprise.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's Harry?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I put him to bed. He was drunk," she said shortly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The devil he was!" He frowned darkly and then
-seemed as ever, quite the master of himself. If the glance
-he cast at her discovered her state of mind, he gave no
-sign of uneasiness. He approached her with his easy air
-as if nothing unusual had happened, but when he spoke
-again his voice was pitched low and his eyes were soft.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you'd be in bed, child——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've something to say to you——" she cut in quickly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, very well,—say on, my dear. You don't mind
-if I smoke a cigarette?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As she made no reply he lighted one and sank into the
-most comfortable chair with a sigh of content.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"At least you owe me something, Barry Quinlevin," she
-began tensely, trying to keep her voice under control, and
-announcing her </span><em class="italics">leit motif</em><span>, so to speak, in her first phrase.
-"I'm no chattel of yours, no infant any longer, to be
-bandied about as a dupe in your wild plans for the future.
-It's </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> future you're dealing with just as you've dealt
-with my past——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have ye had any cause to complain of my treatment
-of ye?" he broke in calmly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You've cheated me—lied to me all my life—isn't that
-enough? Kept me in ignorance of the source of our
-livelihood—God knows what else—made me a partner in a
-crime—without my knowledge—made me help you to get
-dishonest money——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hardly," he said. "It was yer own money."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe you," she said icily, "if it was my
-money you would have gotten it for me—all of it—long
-ago."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And lost yerself, my dear, to the Duc de Vautrin," he
-countered quickly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She started slightly. That possibility hadn't occurred
-to her. But she went on rapidly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget that I heard what you said to Harry—That
-I know what has been in your heart all these years.
-I was your decoy and you used me as you pleased, glad
-of my working, which kept me busy so that I couldn't be
-inquiring what was going on. You forget that I heard
-why you wanted me to marry Harry, but </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> can't forget
-it—would to God I could—and you'd dare to ask me if
-I have anything to complain of, knowing all that and
-knowing that </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> know it. Do you think I'm a mere piece
-of furniture without a soul, not to care what my heritage
-is, not to cherish my traditions——? You've built my
-life on a lie, destroyed my very identity in a breath, torn
-down all the sacred idols of my girlhood and young
-womanhood and ground them under your feet. You!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She caught at her heart and took a step nearer him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My mother—who was my mother?" she gasped.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He shrugged. "Mary Callonby—the Duchesse de
-Vautrin," he said easily. "And you are Patricia Madeline
-Aulnoy de Vautrin."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible. I'm no longer credulous."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll have to believe the truth!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And who are you to ask me to believe? You who
-dared to speak to me of the sanctity of motherhood, who
-taught me that I was your own daughter—and that my
-mother, your wife——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She broke off with a sob, quickly controlled.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was because I loved ye, Moira dear," he said very
-quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She halted, aghast at this tenderness, the familiar tones
-of which made her wonder for a moment whether she
-weren't dreaming all the dreadful accusations on her
-tongue's end. But a pain shot through her heart to
-remind her of her sufferings.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And was it because you loved me that you dared
-obliterate me, sneered at my pitiful love affair—the only
-passion I've had in my life or will have—and even tried
-to murder in cold blood—the—the object—of it? Answer
-me that—Barry Quinlevin!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Irishman's manner now changed. His brows drew
-together in a tight knot and the long fingers upon the
-chair-arm clenched until the knuckles were white.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll answer ye that," he said abruptly. "And more.
-I've heard what ye had to say with patience and chagrin.
-I'll take the blame for me sins of omission where blame
-is due, trusting to yer conscience to be forgiving me
-presently for yer harsh tones to one who sinned for the
-very love of ye. But when ye speak of this other man
-who by a trick forces his way into yer lodgings and yer
-affections, learns yer family secrets and mine, reads yer
-letters and mine, makes love to his own brother's wife
-behind his back,—yer own brother-in-law, mind ye—and
-then tells one lie after another to make his story good,
-its time there was a man about the place to protect ye,
-if ye can't protect yerself——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop——!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I've heard </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>. Now ye'll be listening to me.
-If Harry isn't man enough to be looking out fer what
-belongs to him, then I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span>. Ye've given this man yer
-heart, acknowledged yer affections before us all. God
-be praised that's all it amounts to! But when ye hear
-me out, ye'll be wishing yer tongue had rotted before
-ye'd made such an admission."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He saw her shrink and he rose from his chair, following
-up his advantage quickly. "There—there my dear,
-Ye've almost had enough of trouble for one night——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on," she murmured stanchly, "but if you're going
-to speak ill of Jim Horton I won't believe you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye can do as ye please about that, but I'll be telling
-ye what I know of him just the same. And when I tell
-ye I wish I'd shot him dead before yer eyes, I'd only be
-satisfying the conscience of yer life-long guardian and
-protector——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Conscience! </span><em class="italics">You</em><span>!" she laughed hysterically. "Go on."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will, little as ye'll like it. When I went from here
-where d'ye suppose I went? To Pochard. And I wrung
-from him the truth about yer friend Jim Horton. It
-was Piquette Morin who helped him from the house in
-the Rue Charron——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I know it. I thank God for it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was Piquette Morin who took him back to her
-apartment in the Boulevard Clichy and kept him there
-until he recovered."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I know that too. Go on——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But ye didn't know that Piquette Morin was a woman
-without a shred of conscience or morals, a woman of the
-streets, who glories in her infidelities to the Duc de
-Vautrin, whose mistress she is——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I care nothing for that," stammered Moira.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye may not care, since Jim Horton has lied about
-that too, but ye </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> care about the relations that exist
-between the two of them."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't listen," said Moira, making for the door. But
-he barred her way.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, ye'll listen, Moira dear, and I'll be giving ye
-all the proofs ye need before I'm through."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Proofs! I dare you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All in good time. If ye'll be patient. Where do ye
-think I went from Pochard's? To the Boulevard Clichy,
-where yer precious friend had returned to the arms of
-Madame Morin——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She waved a hand in protest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I watched the door of the apartment. He came out.
-I followed, and where do you suppose he went? To the
-ticket office where he booked a compartment for two—on
-the twelve o'clock train to-morrow for Marseilles."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And what of that?" she stammered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Merely that yer friend Jim Horton, failing of success
-with his brother's wife, has decided upon a honeymoon to
-the Riviera with a lady who is more </span><em class="italics">complaisante</em><span> than
-yerself."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye'd find it less difficult to believe if ye guessed how
-mad she was for him, how handsome she is and how skilled
-in the wily arts of her sex and trade," he said keenly.
-"Oh," he said, with a shrug, "it could only have been a
-great passion that would have dared the rescue from the
-house in the Rue Charron. And no man remains long
-ungrateful for such an act of unselfishness."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira leaned against the mantel-shelf, staring at him
-wide-eyed, but he met her look with one more steady than
-hers, hardy, indignant, but injured and grieved too at
-her attitude. Skillfully he had baited his hook with a
-truth that she knew. He saw the fleeting question in
-her eyes and answered it quickly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If ye want the proofs——go to the Boulevard Clichy
-now." He paused to give the suggestion weight, "Or if
-ye've no heart to-night for such a brutal
-encounter—to-morrow—on the train to Marseilles."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He had caught her ear. He knew it by the sudden
-shutting of her teeth over her words, the proud lift of her
-chin, the hard look that came into her eyes. And though
-she answered him still defiantly, her tone had no body in
-it and trembled with the new uncertainty.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't ask ye to. But ye will believe in the evidence of
-yer eyes, and I'll be providing ye with that, my dear."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How you hate him!" she gasped.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He shrugged and turned half toward her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hate? Hardly. I merely despise him. I would have
-killed him to-night with a clean conscience, knowing what
-I do." He dropped the cigarette he had taken up and
-approached her a pace or two. "Oh, Moira, alanah,
-won't ye see? Is it blind ye are to the truth that lies
-before yer very eyes——? Can't ye see that it's the love
-of ye that drives me to protect yer happiness? Have I
-ever failed ye, all these years? Haven't I given ye yer
-share of all I had? Answer me that—aye—even when
-there was not too much for the both of us?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I've heard enough—to-night," she said wearily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry. I—I've done what I thought was the best.
-I'm still yer guardian—until ye come into yer own——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't listen to that," she shuddered. "De
-Vautrin—my father!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He bowed his head with tragic grace.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The same—bad cess to him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She sank into a chair, bewildered and helpless.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I want nothing—only to go away somewhere alone.
-I've heard enough."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That you shall do presently, alanah," he said, touching
-her gently, the familiar voice close at her ear. "But
-now you must be going to bed and trying to sleep. 'Tis
-a cruel day ye've had—cruel! But to-morrow when ye've
-had some rest——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow——?" she raised a despairing face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye've got to be facing it. But no more to-night.
-Come."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She let him take her by the arm to the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Forgive me, acushla," he whispered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But she made no reply and left him standing there.
-And Quinlevin watched her merge into the darkness within,
-then turned and picked up the cigarette he had dropped,
-lighted it with great care, and sat and smoked, ruminating
-over the ashes in the fireplace.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But he had played his cards with the true gambler's
-knowledge, of the psychology of his victim. Jealousy!
-Such a weapon at his very hand. It was almost a pity
-to use it. Poor child. As if she hadn't already suffered
-enough! But there was no choice. And she would get
-over it. Love never killed—only hate ... only hate.
-He finished one cigarette and then glanced toward the
-door through which Moira had passed. Then lighted
-another and composed himself for awhile longer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was not until he was near the end of this cigarette
-that a slight sound caused him to look up over his
-shoulder. Framed against the black opening Moira stood,
-pale, dark eyed, her black hair streaming over her flimsy
-dressing-gown, and then came forward noiselessly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira, child——!" he cried, rising, with an air of
-surprise.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You must show me the proof——," she stammered,
-"what you said—to-morrow."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. If ye insist——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do. It's a test—of the truth—between you
-and—and him——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll provide it. Ye'll leave with me on the twelve
-o'clock train for Marseilles?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—anything."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," he muttered. "I'll arrange for it. I've
-some business in Nice. It's just as well if you come
-along."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything——," she whispered, shivering and still
-protesting, "but I don't believe—I don't believe——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go to bed again, child. I'll call ye in the morning."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As she disappeared he turned toward the mantel, hiding
-the smile of triumph that crossed his lips. Then he
-leaned for a long while looking into the hearth.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor child!" he whispered. "'Tis a cruel pity,
-but—" He paused and then turned toward the bottle upon the
-table, which he raised and examined carefully, then set
-down with an air of disgust. "The drunken scut!" he
-muttered, then swore softly below his breath.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>*      *      *      *      *</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>What remained of Quinlevin's task was not difficult, for
-he had already anticipated his success with Moira by
-making arrangements with Nora Burke and Tricot, Nora
-to face de Vautrin with her confession and her evidence,
-Tricot to help him in keeping Jim Horton from reaching
-the Duke.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>By the expression of Moira's face when they met in the
-studio in the morning, he discovered that his poison had
-worked its slow course through her veins. Irish she
-was—all Irish now—slow to love and quick to
-jealousy—proud to the quick, and capable of a fine hatred when
-the proofs were brought as Barry Quinlevin intended
-to bring them. She listened with an abstracted air as he
-told her that her old nurse, Nora Burke, and a man, a
-friend of his, were to be the other members of their party.
-She showed some surprise and then a mild interest, but
-he could see that to Moira her companions meant very
-little. She was thinking, brooding somberly over what
-he had told her, and his air of confidence in his
-undertaking did nothing to give her courage for her decision.
-And yet he knew that she would abide by it—a choice
-between Jim Horton and himself. And he knew already
-what that choice was to be. For reasons of his own it
-was important that Jim Horton and Piquette should not
-see him on the train; nor that Moira should be presented
-merely with the evidence of the two of them entering the
-train. The evidence must be condemnatory. He would
-wait and trust to circumstances.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The thing was simplicity itself. The window into the
-corridor was like a dispensation. He passed the
-compartment once or twice to make sure that the shade of
-the little window had not been drawn and then when it
-grew dark saw that Piquette had gone fast asleep with
-her head on Horton's shoulder. Then he acted quickly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," he said to Moira. "It is time I showed you
-who is the liar."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And resolutely she followed him, looked—and saw.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>*      *      *      *      *</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Nothing seemed to matter to her after that. Incredulity,
-surprise and then guilt, all expressed so clearly
-in Jim Horton's face in the brief moment when their
-glances had met. The pretty painted face upon his
-shoulder, the arm that he withdrew from around the
-woman's waist, her sudden awakening as he started—all
-these brief impressions so vivid, so terrible in their
-significance, armed her with new strength and courage to
-hide her pain from Nora Burke and Barry Quinlevin. He
-watched her with admiration. Her heart might be
-breaking but she'd never whimper now. He knew her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are ye satisfied, my dear?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Quite," she gasped.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you'll be listening to Nora while she tells ye the
-truth?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good. I must be leaving ye for a while to talk with
-my friend. And don't be distrusting me again, alanah."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira was silent and gazed out of the window into the
-darkness until Nora came. And she listened to the tale
-that Nora Burke told, or seemed to listen, and thus Quinlevin
-found them later, the girl's hand in that of her old
-nurse.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The announcement that they were to get out of the
-train at St. Etienne created no astonishment. Moira
-moved as in a dream, obeying blindly as she had always
-been accustomed to obey the suggestions of her protector,
-caring nothing for their significance and reassured as to
-the integrity of his intentions with regard to herself.
-There was no doubting that he loved her in his strange
-way. And the fury he had expended upon Jim Horton
-seemed scarcely less than that she now felt for him. A
-man could kill—but a woman could only despise.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was at least thankful when she saw the train
-bearing the couple pass out of her sight into the
-darkness, and followed Quinlevin where he led—to a hotel
-for the night—to another train in the morning, to
-Marseilles, to Nice, and the Hôtel Ruhl, where in the privacy
-of a room of her own, she threw herself upon the bed and
-gazed dry-eyed at the ceiling.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="nora-speaks"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVI</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">NORA SPEAKS</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The attention of Monsieur de Vautrin having been
-attracted by Piquette's news of the immediate
-threat against his fortune, it was no longer
-difficult to persuade him to listen to what Jim Horton had
-to say. Madame Thibaud was therefore conducted with
-scant ceremony to an apartment in the Hôtel de Paris,
-after which the Duc rejoined Piquette and Jim in the
-Casino. The unflattering opinion Jim Horton had formed
-of this French nobleman was, upon closer acquaintance, in
-no way modified. The peevish and supercilious air with
-which he had greeted Piquette had changed to one scarcely
-less unpleasant,—a fidgety anxiety and apprehension
-which revealed weaknesses of fiber one would not have
-expected to discover between the points of so long and so
-imposing a mustache. He gave Jim the impression of
-being very weary in the pursuit of a will-o'-the-wisp.
-And in repose, his face bore the scars worn by those who
-live for pleasure alone. Altogether he seemed a person
-scarcely worth borrowing so much trouble about. His
-attitude of suspicion toward Jim Horton was illy
-concealed, but he listened, frowning and questioning, until
-at last convinced of the reality of his danger at the hands
-of the renegade Irish adventurer to whose venial cleverness
-he had so long paid handsome tribute.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But they can do nothing," he said at last in excellent
-English, with an air of bravado which was meant to
-be effective, and which was only pitiful.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not so sure about that," said Jim, "the mere fact
-of your having paid for the support of the child for so
-many years makes it seem as though you believed in the
-thing."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do I care? I have the money. Let them take
-it if they can."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, they'll take it all right, if you don't find some
-way to meet their evidence."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Lies."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, of course. But you've got to prove that they
-are. Where's your defense? You didn't even know you
-had a daughter until Barry Quinlevin told you you had.
-What proof have you that your own child died? And if
-you believed Quinlevin then, why shouldn't you believe
-him now——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I had my suspicions——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon me. Suspicions won't satisfy an Irish court
-or a French one. What proof have you that Madame
-Horton isn't your own child? None? Exactly! But
-everybody who could have known anything about the
-matter is dead except Nora Burke, and you've already
-heard what she has to say."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"H—m. And what is </span><em class="italics">your</em><span> interest in this matter,
-Monsieur?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a fair question," said Jim slowly. "I'll give
-you a fair answer. Madame Horton is my brother's
-wife. The story I've given you is straight—as Piquette
-will tell you since she heard much of it from my brother.
-Your daughter died shortly after her mother, your wife.
-My interest in this affair is personal to this extent. I
-don't intend to have Madame Horton used any longer
-by an unprincipled blackmailer."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely then you would have told Madame Horton
-the truth and saved me this unpleasantness——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—I've told her," said Jim slowly, "but she's
-helpless. Can't you see, Monsieur? It has all been very
-sudden—for her. She doesn't know what to believe.
-Besides, Monsieur Quinlevin has the birth certificate and the
-testimony of the nurse."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But if Madame Horton is an honorable woman——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You can count on that," put in Horton quickly.
-"She doesn't want your money—she isn't Quinlevin's
-kind——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why doesn't she renounce him?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She might—but what difference would that make?
-She might permit herself to think she was Joan of Arc,
-but that wouldn't make her any one but Patricia Madeleine
-Aulnoy de Vautrin, if Barry Quinlevin has evidence
-enough to prove that she is...."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>De Vautrin frowned darkly and twitched his jeweled
-fingers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But she would have something to say about her own
-desires in the matter," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Her own desires haven't anything to do with it. See
-here, Monsieur de Vautrin—Barry Quinlevin proves her
-birth by a certificate; he also proves by the nurse that
-she was the child brought into his house, and the child he
-has brought up as his ward, bearing his name and
-accepting your money for twenty-one years—hush money,
-monsieur, that you paid to keep her out of a fortune you
-thought belonged to her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But it doesn't belong to her," cried de Vautrin,
-gesticulating. "It's mine since the child is dead. Monsieur
-Harry Horton——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette broke in. "Monsieur 'Arry 'Orton could be
-call' to the stan' of course, but 'is testimony is not to be
-relied upon."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your brother, Monsieur——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur de Vautrin," replied Jim, "my
-brother—but an intimate of Barry Quinlevin's——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I comprehend—an accomplice?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You might call him that—if you like." He shrugged
-and turned aside. "We don't get along, my brother and
-I, but I don't think you'll find much to gain by putting
-him on the witness stand. Besides, it won't look very
-pretty in the papers. It's as much to my interest as
-yours to keep it out."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Duc eyed him suspiciously again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must have some other interest besides this
-in wishing to help me. What's the ax you have to grind,
-Monsieur?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton grinned and shrugged.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For myself—nothing."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That is difficult to believe."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I would advise you to tax your imagination to
-the utmost. I don't want Madame Horton to figure in
-an affair that she will regret the rest of her life."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But why——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur is in love wit' Madame 'Orton——" Piquette's
-voice broke in very calmly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a silence for a moment in which Jim Horton
-looked at Piquette, Piquette gazed at de Vautrin and de
-Vautrin stared from one to the other in astonishment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His knowledge of the world had given him no instinct
-to appraise a situation such as this. But Piquette met
-his gaze clearly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is de trut', Olivier," she repeated. "An' now
-perhaps you on'erstan'."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is extraordinary," he gasped. "And you two——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I brought 'im to you. Your interests are de
-same—and mine, wit' both."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parbleu</em><span>! If I could believe it——!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton rose, aware of a desire to pull the waxed
-mustaches to see if they were real.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You needn't believe it, if you don't want to," he said
-carelessly. "And you don't have to believe my story.
-But I've given you your warning. Barry Quinlevin may
-be in Nice now, with his birth certificate and his Nora
-Burke." He buttoned his overcoat and turned toward
-the door. "I think I'll be going back to Nice, Piquette,"
-he said coolly, and then to the bewildered Frenchman,
-"Good-night, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"One moment," gasped the Duc, toddling after him
-and catching him by the hand, "I believe you, Monsieur.
-Why should I not believe you since what you say is what
-I wish to believe? It is all very bewildering. I should
-have thanked you long ago for your kindness."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton turned with a smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's about time. And it ought to be fairly clear that
-I have little interest in your fortune or even in you,
-Monsieur. I don't mind being shot at for my interference in
-Mr. Quinlevin's affairs, but I might have been hit—or
-Piquette might—which would have been worse, and I
-don't relish having my word doubted—or hers."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg forgiveness. You have been shot at?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette explained quickly while de Vautrin's watery
-eyes grew larger.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Mon Dieu</em><span>! And you say they are coming here?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. If their dinky little train ever reaches its
-destination. I'm afraid you're in for it, Monsieur de
-Vautrin."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>De Vautrin threw out his arms wildly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will not see them. I will go away."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton nodded. "That's all right—but it's only
-putting off the evil moment. When they get their
-evidence working you'll have to meet it, someway. And then
-what will you do?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>De Vautrin had caught Jim by the coatsleeve and
-pulled him down into the seat beside him. And then with
-a pseudo-dramatic air which failed of conviction,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall fight, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"With what?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"With the evidence you've given me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not enough."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton shook his head and laughed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It looks to me as though you were elected President of
-the Quinlevin Endowment Association."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But there must be some way of getting at the truth,"
-cried the Frenchman, now really pitiful in his alarm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, that's it," laughed Jim. "</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> know Madame
-Horton is not your daughter and </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> know it, but that
-doesn't beat Quinlevin."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What then, Monsieur?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You've got to kill his evidence."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But how?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"With stronger evidence of your own. You haven't it,
-or any prospect of getting it that I can see. So there's
-only one course open."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And that, Monsieur?" asked de Vautrin eagerly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To break down Quinlevin's. I'm no lawyer, but that's
-only common sense. Nora Burke is a liar bribed with five
-thousand pounds. And there never was a lie that didn't
-have its weak points. You've got to make her speak the
-truth——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know. But I wouldn't mind trying. Then
-you've got to get that birth certificate——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't see how you expect to do that."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Neither do I—Quinlevin is no fool, but then he's not
-super-natural either."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Duc was silent, appalled by the undertaking which
-had presented itself. And the calm way in which his
-visitor discussed his projects filled him with wonder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Justice, Monsieur de Vautrin, is on your side. Will
-you fight for it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Assuredly, Monsieur—if you will but help."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton laughed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you no longer believe I have an ax to grind?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you no longer cherish evil thoughts of Piquette?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Upon my honor," said the Duc, a jeweled hand at
-his heart. "And yet, Monsieur, you can hardly blame
-me for some irritation at meeting her here with you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton glanced toward the door significantly.
-And then dryly, "You hardly deserve her, Monsieur de
-Vautrin. I am proud of her friendship. It's the finest
-thing in my life."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>De Vautrin wagged his head foolishly and then
-shrugged a futile shoulder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you want me to do, Monsieur?" he asked
-peevishly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton lighted a cigarette carefully and took Piquette
-by the hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"First, Monsieur de Vautrin," he said coolly, "you will
-send Madame Thibaud about her business——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur!" said the Duc with a show of dignity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Suit yourself. But she's in the way. This is no time
-for fooling. Does she go or doesn't she?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>De Vautrin's injured dignity trembled in the balance
-for a moment and then fell away, merged in his
-apprehension for the immediate future.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That can—can doubtless be arranged," he said with
-a frown.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good," said Horton jovially. "And the sooner the
-better. It will clear the atmosphere amazingly. Then
-we will prepare to fight Monsieur Quinlevin with his own
-weapons."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You—I—Piquette. That's what we came here
-for. You've made the mistake of under-rating Barry
-Quinlevin. He's desperate. He is playing a big game and if
-you don't want to be the goat you'll do what I advise."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm listening."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If I'm not mistaken he will reach here to-morrow
-afternoon with Madame Horton and Nora Burke. And
-you've got to see them."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—Monsieur?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—you—here in your rooms in the Hôtel de Paris.
-You will give it out that you are here for a week. They
-must take rooms in Monte Carlo. Then you will listen
-politely to everything Quinlevin has to say—to
-everything Nora Burke has to say, but you yourself will say
-nothing."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But you, Monsieur?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall be in an adjoining room, but they must not
-know it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But Barry Quinlevin will discover that you have been
-here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course. You will tell him that. They will tell you
-that I have lied. But you won't believe them. And then
-you will tell them that I have gone away."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But when will you come in to my assistance?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That depends upon what I hear through the keyhole."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But would it not be simpler to pay this Nora Burke
-for telling the truth?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton laughed. "It does seem simple, doesn't it?
-I don't know much about French law, but I wouldn't
-want to be caught at it out where I come from. Let's
-play this game straight and trust to luck. If Quinlevin
-is too sharp for us we'll try something else. Do you
-agree?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so it was settled. On the following morning
-Madame Thibaud was sent back to Paris. And Piquette
-and Jim Horton ostentatiously took the train for Nice,
-returning subsequently by automobile to Monte Carlo,
-where they were hidden in rooms in the Hôtel de Paris.
-In this they were aided by an official of the Hotel who
-proved to be an old acquaintance of Piquette's in Paris.
-And so when Barry Quinlevin arrived from Nice in the
-afternoon, with Moira and Nora Burke, inquiring for
-the Duc, the information was conveyed directly to
-Horton, who was happy to learn that Tricot had not yet
-caught up with the party.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur de Vautrin, who had been carefully rehearsed
-in the part he was to play, seemed to enter into the game
-with some spirit, and was sent over to the Casino to
-play </span><em class="italics">trente et quarante</em><span> where after awhile Barry
-Quinlevin found him, deeply absorbed in his game of chance.
-The Duc manifested polite surprise, Quinlevin polite
-insistence, and then they talked for awhile, the Duc
-indifferently, Quinlevin impressively,—to the end that an
-appointment was made for an hour later the following
-afternoon in the Duc's apartment, where he would listen
-in all good nature and tolerance to what his visitors
-would have to say. He hoped his "daughter" was
-handsome. It would be a pity if all this money was to go to
-one who could not use it with dignity. All this in an
-ironic and jocular mood which only brought a dour smile
-upon Quinlevin's face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the main object of the preliminary encounter was
-achieved, for Barry Quinlevin accepted without
-reservation the Duc's assertion that Jim Horton, having
-performed his mission, had returned to Paris.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When the hour of the appointment arrived, Jim
-Horton sat behind the door into the bedroom of Monsieur
-de Vautrin, carefully studying the pages of an
-English-French dictionary. The Duc sat over his paper with an
-air of unconcern he was far from feeling. Piquette,
-at the American's instructions, was elsewhere.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin, shown to the door of the room by a servant
-of the hotel, met the Duc with his most amiable smile and
-introduced the women of his party. Moira was pale,
-Nora Burke uncomfortable but arrogant.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur de Vautrin," Quinlevin began with
-something of an air, "permit me to present to ye yer
-daughter, Patricia Madeleine Aulnoy de Vautrin."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Duc smiled politely, bowed—and stared. Moira,
-who, as though in duty, had taken a step toward him,
-paused. And then as she saw the look that Monsieur de
-Vautrin swept over her, the color flamed into her cheeks.
-The Duc's rebuff gave for the first time a true perception
-of the position in which she had voluntarily placed
-herself. If she were a mere adventuress he could not have
-accused her more eloquently and the admiration in his
-impudent stare was even more insulting. This man—this
-effete boulevardier—her father——? Impossible! And
-the repulsion she felt at the sight of him made her wish
-only to go anywhere away from the sight of him. What
-else she had expected, she didn't know, for even Barry
-Quinlevin had not been too explicit as to what would be
-likely to happen. But there was her mentor at her side,
-a gentle hand upon her elbow urging her forward into
-the arm-chair by the window, which Monsieur de Vautrin
-was indicating with a rather exaggerated gesture of
-formality.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks, Monsieur," said Quinlevin with an easy laugh,
-sinking into another chair. "Ye're not to be blamed for
-not flying to each other's arms after all these years, when
-yer acquaintance in the beginning was to say the least a
-most trivial affair. But in a while, perhaps, ye'll be
-knowing each other better and I'm sure, Monsieur, ye'll
-be finding my ward as I have done, a fine creature capable
-of a most filial devotion."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said de Vautrin. "I don't doubt that. It would
-truly be a great pleasure to me to discover so beautiful
-a creature to be a daughter of mine, but the facts of the
-matter unfortunately——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"One moment, Monsieur," broke in Quinlevin, "before
-we arrive at the facts in the matter. Ye must be aware
-that this situation is none of my ward's choosing. She
-came because she knew that it was a sacred duty which
-she owed to the memory of her mother. Many years have
-passed since yer affairs—er—called ye away from
-Ireland and she lays no fault to yerself for yer desertion,
-for which I have taken all the blame. She knows that
-ye've provided for her comfortably, and that I have made
-it my pleasure to act as yer substitute, as well as I
-could. But the time has come when she must take her
-place in the world to which she belongs, and it's my duty
-to be putting her there. To this end, as ye'll see, I've
-brought with me her old nurse, Nora Burke, with whom
-ye're already acquainted, and who will be answering any
-questions that ye would like to put to her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur de Vautrin frowned and moved his gaze from
-Moira to the servant who stood, her large hands, badly
-gloved, folded upon her stomach, her feet shifting
-uneasily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've heard something of Nora Burke's story," said
-de Vautrin dryly, "but there are parts of it that I have
-not heard."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye're quite at liberty to question, Monsieur," put in
-Quinlevin, "Nora too is merely an instrument of truth
-in the hand of Providence."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Since Providence has ceased providing," said the Duc
-dryly, "I comprehend. But I will listen to this
-extraordinary tale again, since I have promised to do so. It
-can do no harm. </span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>! Proceed, Nora Burke. My
-poor wife, you say, engaged you some weeks before my
-daughter was born?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She did, yer Highness——" And, as the woman hesitated——</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on, Nora," said Quinlevin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The choild was born, this very girl they call Moira
-Quinlevin, who sits before ye, a beautiful choild she was,
-fine and healthy that the poor Duchesse never lived to see,
-for she died that night, God rest her soul, faded away
-before our very eyes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And who was there beside yourself," asked the Duc
-coolly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Dominick Finucane, the doctor from Athlone, and
-Father Reilly, the priest who gave her Absolution——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And who has since died," said de Vautrin dryly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yer Highness—but the birth certificate I was
-afther kapin' since no father came near us, nor any
-relation. Mary Callonby was a lonely kind and when she
-came back to Galway took to living solitary-like on the
-small farm with only the one servant, Mrs. Boyle, to look
-afther her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And Mrs. Boyle is also dead?" put in de Vautrin
-keenly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She is."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's very unfortunate that all the witnesses have seen
-fit to die."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All but me, yer Highness," said Nora assertively.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>De Vautrin shrugged. "Well. What happened then?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Mrs. Boyle and meself, we didn't know what to
-be afther doing, so we just followed the advice of Father
-Reilly."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did he tell you to do?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nora glanced at Quinlevin, who nodded.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"In a whoile he brought Mr. Barry Quinlevin—this
-gentleman here—who lived on the only place nearby, and
-tould us to be going to his home. Mr. Quinlevin was
-afther bein' very lonely, he said, his own wife and colleen
-havin' died a few months before."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That was kind of Mr. Quinlevin."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We thought so—yer Highness—but it was kind of
-Father Reilly too—for nobody was afther coming to see
-about the poor choild and Mr. Quinlevin was that
-grateful—he watched the babby like it was his own——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true enough. He would," sneered the Duc.
-"And what happened then?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Boyle and I we lived in the house of Mr. Quinlevin,
-her as cook and me as nurse, bringin' up the choild
-as Miss Moira Quinlevin,—alone in the house for wakes
-at a toime, when Mr. Quinlevin was afther bein' away to
-London or Paris on business. But all the whoile I was
-kapin' the birth certificate an' all the whoile tryin' me
-best to take the place of poor Mary Callonby."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you were well paid for this service?" asked de
-Vautrin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I had me wages. It was enough."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And when you heard that Mr. Quinlevin had seen me
-in Paris, two years afterward, you received more money?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nora's glance sought Quinlevin, who broke in calmly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I gave Nora as well as Mrs. Boyle a bit more, ye
-understand—a proper share of the sum for the support of
-the child. And they agreed to say nothing." He fingered
-in his pocket and brought forth a paper. "This, as ye
-can plainly see, is a copy of the birth certificate of yer
-child."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the original?" asked the Duc.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Will be produced at the proper time," said Quinlevin
-shrewdly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>De Vautrin took the paper and read it carefully.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And where is Mrs. Boyle at the present moment?" he
-asked. "Dead also?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Three weeks ago," said Quinlevin calmly. "It's most
-unfortunate—but her signature can be verified."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"H—m. And Father Reilly also. Of course," said
-the Duc with a quick glance toward his bedroom door.
-"And there are other papers?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Quinlevin. "Letters from you—accompanying
-yer checks—which guarantee yer verbal agreement
-in Paris. The will of Patrick Callonby and a few
-other trifles which are important to ye."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you think your case is complete?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, quite. An Irish court won't hesitate very
-long just at this time in carrying out the provisions of
-this will."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur de Vautrin smiled. "And what do you wish
-me to do?" he asked quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"To perform merely an act of restitution, an act of
-justice to yer own. Ye know the terms of the will. In
-the event of the mother dying, her fortune was to revert
-unconditionally to the child. But she's to be considerate
-of yer age and the relation that exists between ye, which
-however strange it may seem to ye both at this time, is
-that of father and only daughter. Ye've both formed the
-habits of yer lives—yerself living bachelor-fashion in
-Paris and London. Yer daughter is disposed to be
-generous and does not wish to interfere with yer plans for
-the future. She will, if you please, still keep the matter
-secret, and go on living with me—yerself to continue in
-the comfortable life of yer bachelorhood."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And your terms?" asked de Vautrin quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Barry Quinlevin pocketed the copy of the birth
-certificate which Monsieur de Vautrin had put upon the
-table.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As to terms, that won't be made difficult. The estate
-of Patrick Callonby was reckoned at a million pounds
-sterling—we'll say twenty millions of francs or
-thereabouts—since ye're not a man of business and allowing
-for depreciation. Give yer daughter proper securities to
-the amount of one third of her fortune and she will
-assign the other two thirds to you——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin paused, for when the terms were mentioned
-Monsieur de Vautrin had begun to smile and now burst
-into an unpleasant laugh.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Monsieur de Vautrin," broke off Quinlevin angrily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's merely," he replied, "that you don't figure enough
-for depreciation."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do ye mean?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Twenty-one years is a long while. And you are right
-when you say that I am no man of business. My fortune
-has diminished year by year and since the war—pouf! it
-has vanished into thin air. The estate of Patrick
-Callonby, Monsieur, is now a myth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Barry Quinlevin rose, trying to keep his temper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There are ways of verifying yer statements, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course. I commend you to them. And Nora Burke,
-who might have told me the truth last summer in
-Ireland, when I was disposed to be generous."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've tould the truth," asserted Nora doggedly, in
-spite of her bewilderment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And how much more will you tell when there's no
-money for the telling?" said de Vautrin, rising.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>For at this moment the door into the adjoining room
-opened and Jim Horton strode quickly into the room.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="jim-makes-a-guess"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVII</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">JIM MAKES A GUESS</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Horton did not look at Moira and quickly sought
-out the tall figure of the astonished Irishman,
-who stood by the table, glaring angrily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What's this, Monsieur de Vautrin?" Le asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg pardon," said Horton quickly, "but my departure
-has been delayed by the necessity for presenting
-some evidence which had been overlooked by Mr. Quinlevin."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A trick—Monsieur de Vautrin," stormed the Irishman.
-"I'll have none of him," and moved toward the
-door into the corridor. But Jim Horton had reached it
-ahead of him, and quickly locking the door, put the key
-into his pocket, turned quickly, his height topping
-Quinlevin's, his bulk dominating him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid you must," said Horton coolly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Must——!" Quinlevin struggled for his temper and
-then, realizing that he was doing his cause no good,
-shrugged a careless shoulder and glanced toward the door
-into the adjoining room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And yer </span><em class="italics">compagnon de voyage</em><span>? Is she to be with us
-also?" he said insultingly, for Moira's benefit.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton met Moira's glance as she took a pace forward
-toward him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By what right do you keep me here against my will?"
-she asked in angry disdain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He faced her coolly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By every right you've given me—to act in your
-interest whether you wish it or not."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm quite capable of looking after my own affairs,"
-she cut in quickly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If I thought so, I shouldn't be here."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you unlock that door?" she asked icily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He did not move and his level gaze met hers calmly.
-"No, Moira——" he said gently, "I won't."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" she gasped furiously, then turned her back and
-went to the window where she stood silently looking down
-over the garden.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Without noticing her further Horton turned toward
-Quinlevin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem to have forgotten your conversation with
-me in the hospital at Neuilly, Mr. Quinlevin, and the
-intimate blood-ties that bind me to your fellow-conspirator,
-Harry Horton."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin had sunk into a chair in an attitude of
-careless grace and playing this old gambler's game smiled
-grimly up into the face of the enemy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yer talents for the dramatic will be getting ye into
-trouble, Mr. Horton. I've only to be asking Moira to
-shout for help from the window to land ye in a jail. But
-I confess to some idle curiosity as to yer reasons for this
-behavior. And I warn ye that when ye unlock the door
-I'll see ye into the prison at Monaco. In the meanwhile
-I'll tell ye that what ye say will be held against ye."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And what of the evidence I hold against </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>, Barry
-Quinlevin?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The evidence of a deserter from the American army,"
-Quinlevin sneered. "Let it be brief and to the point,
-Corporal Horton."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't alarm me," said Horton calmly. "I've
-discounted that. Give me up to the Provost Guard and my
-brother will go on the witness stand, against me, but
-against you too, Mr. Quinlevin, in Monsieur de Vautrin's
-interests." Horton laughed easily as the Irishman
-refused a reply. "Come. Perhaps it won't be necessary to
-go so far as that. If your friend Tricot had done his
-shooting at Marboeuf a little lower neither Piquette nor
-I would be here to oppose you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton saw Moira turn from the window with
-startled eyes at Tricot's name, but he went on carelessly.
-"But here I am, and I'm not easy to kill, Mr. Quinlevin.
-If I came through at Boissière Wood I'm not likely to get
-hit now. So you'd better listen to me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been doing little else these ten minutes, Mr. Horton,"
-said Quinlevin, yawning politely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't waste any more time than I can help, but
-when you promise Nora Burke five thousand pounds for
-telling a lie I want to give her her money's worth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He turned to the old woman with a frown as he caught
-her off her guard but Quinlevin broke in quickly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"See here, Horton, I've had about enough of this——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Irishman rose furiously, but Horton took a quick
-pace toward him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep your hands out of your pockets, Quinlevin," he
-shouted warningly. "I'm younger than you—and
-quicker. That's better. And Monsieur de Vautrin, you
-will please close the window. The interview is apt to
-be noisy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Irishman knew that he was no match in physical
-strength for the American, and so he sank into his chair
-again, Horton near him in a commanding position where
-he could watch Nora Burke. He was conscious of Moira's
-gaze from the corner by de Vautrin. She had not spoken
-but he knew that he had her attention again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Five thousand pounds for a lie," he said distinctly
-over Quinlevin's head. "That's true, isn't it, Nora?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the woman had had time to regain some of her
-composure after the sudden shock of his first accusation
-and turned on him defiantly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not," she replied. "And the man lies who says it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Even if it was Mr. Quinlevin himself?" said Horton.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Say nothing, Nora," the Irishman's voice broke in
-quickly. "No one can make you speak."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But when he says——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton shrugged. "As you please. But she'll have to
-answer later, and it won't be so easy then. Five thousand
-pounds is a lot of money——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a lie——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence!" from Quinlevin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a mighty small sum, Nora Burke, for so big a lie."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When the woman opened her mouth to speak again
-Quinlevin silenced her with a gesture. But her face was
-flushed and she shifted from one foot to the other,
-glaring at her tormentor, who, it seemed, had just begun his
-inquisition.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton smiled at her grimly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a mighty small sum, Nora—especially as you're
-not going to get any of it—unless Mr. Quinlevin has other
-means at his disposal."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I want no money from Mr. Quinlevin."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you're just lying for the fun of it? Do you
-happen to know what the penalty for false-swearing is in
-France?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't let him frighten you, Nora," interjected the
-Irishman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's Excommunication," said Horton, grinning at his
-own invention.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nora was silent but her face was a study in her
-varying emotions. She had not bargained for this, and her
-knees were shaking under her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin's laugh reassured her a little.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not believin' ye——" she muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't have to believe me—but you'll wish you'd
-never left Galway when Monsieur de Vautrin's lawyer gets
-through with you—and nothing at the end of it all but a
-French jail."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I never did any harm in me life."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Except to forget to speak the truth. You're getting
-old, Nora. Maybe that's what's the matter with your
-memory. Because Monsieur de Vautrin is certain that
-the facts about the birth of his child are quite different
-from those you've related. You've said that Mary
-Callonby's child was this very girl called Moira Quinlevin——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I did—she was," blurted Nora, furiously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And before she died—that very night—she gave the
-child a Christian name?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She did."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You're very sure of this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nora——!" warned Quinlevin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure of it. Why wouldn't I——" cried Nora,
-"when I was hearin' the very words of her tongue."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the child was a girl?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—a—a girl——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin rose, glaring at Horton.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence, Nora!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why," insisted Horton, "if the child was a girl,
-was it given the Christian name of a boy?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A boy——!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nora Burke started back a pace, her round foolish
-face, usually florid, now the color of putty.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nora!" Quinlevin roared. "Keep silent, d'ye hear?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But it was too late to repair the damage done. Horton
-had not taken his gaze from Nora Burke's face, and he
-knew that he had struck his mark. He was aware of
-Moira, who had come forward and was leaning on the
-table near him, watching as eagerly as he.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton shrugged and brought quickly from his
-pocket a small red book, which he opened at a page
-carefully dog-cared.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This little book is a dictionary of French and English,
-Nora. It's a very good dictionary. Here's a page of
-Christian names in French and in English. Here you
-are: Patrice—Patrick. Can you tell me in the name of
-all that's sensible why Mary Callonby named the child
-Patrick unless it was a boy?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Nora gasped for breath once or twice, glancing at
-Quinlevin, who shrugged and frowned.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The name upon the birth certificate is Patricia," he
-growled.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then who changed it?" asked Horton keenly, glaring
-at Nora.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I, sor. I—I can't write," she gasped.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton laughed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It couldn't have been Father Reilly, or Dr. Finucane.
-Perhaps Mr. Quinlevin will produce the certificate."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"When the time comes," gasped Quinlevin, "ye'll see
-it—in a court of law."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the death certificate of your own child too,
-Mr. Quinlevin?" asked Horton amiably.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay—that too," he stammered in his rage as he faced
-the American, "but you won't be there to see. For on
-my evidence you'll be shot, my friend the masquerader."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll have to run that chance——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira's voice, tense, shrill with nervousness, broke in
-as she caught Quinlevin by the arm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, never. You will not dare. I forbid it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll see to that——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Duc, who at last seemed to have recovered his
-initiative, came forward with an air of alacrity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps, Monsieur Horton, it is just as well if you
-now unlock the door."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton looked at his wrist watch.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Willingly. Oblige me, Monsieur." And he handed
-de Vautrin the key. "Unless there are some further
-matters Mr. Quinlevin wishes to discuss."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim's gaze met Moira's for the fraction of a second and
-brief as it was, he seemed to find a glimpse of that fool's
-paradise in which he had lived for a while. And then her
-glance turned from him to Quinlevin as she moved past
-Horton toward the door. Nora Burke, her stolidity
-shaken, her arrogant mien fallen amid the wreck of her
-probity, sent a fleeting glance over her shoulder toward
-the long mustaches of de Vautrin and stumbled after
-Moira.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the Duc was in high feather again and fairly
-danced to the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you give me your Paris address, that I may send
-you the money, Mr. Barry Quinlevin?" he shouted after
-him into the corridor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was no reply. Quinlevin's clever house of cards
-had toppled and fallen. But Horton followed down the
-corridor when they turned the corner and watched what
-happened. At the landing, the Irishman made a gesture
-and the two women went in the direction of their rooms,
-while Quinlevin passed down the stairs.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When Horton returned to the room the Duc closed
-the door and came delightedly toward him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>. It was as good as a play. How did you
-know that my child was not a girl—but a boy?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't know it," sighed Horton, with a laugh. "I
-guessed it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must have——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I got to thinking—last night. The whole story was
-a lie—why shouldn't this be a part of it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But a suspicion wasn't enough——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough for a starter, Monsieur. You'll admit, it
-</span><em class="italics">might</em><span> have been a boy. Just because you always </span><em class="italics">thought</em><span>
-the child was a girl, that didn't make it one. I lay
-awake. Phrases in Quinlevin's talk in the studio came
-back to me and I began to think about the name 'Patrice'—he
-said, '</span><em class="italics">a little hard to read. Patricia it is</em><span>.' Just
-phrases, but this meant something. '</span><em class="italics">Female, me boy. A
-little illegible</em><span>——'" Horton turned with a quick gesture.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should the name Patricia be illegible when all the
-rest was clear?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But you said nothing of this to me," muttered the Duc.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I wasn't sure. I sent out for the dictionary. It had the
-Christian names in the back. Patrice was Patrick.
-There wasn't any Patricia. You French have a way of
-giving males and females the same names anyway.
-Madeleine—I knew a Frenchman in America with Madeleine
-for a middle name. Aulnoy might be anything——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A family name——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Your wife wanted your family name in it—but
-she wanted her father's name too—Patrick—so she called
-the boy Patrice—we can prove this now, I think."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Assuredly, Monsieur," said de Vautrin, "you are a
-genius."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I'm only a good guesser. But it worked. I
-got the poor thing rattled. And when I saw Nora's face
-I knew I'd hit with the second barrel."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Outside it was getting dark. Horton went to the
-window and peered out.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur de Vautrin, there's nothing to keep you
-here now," he said. "It may be even dangerous to remain.
-You must go away incognito and by the first train.
-You've been very careless with your affairs. Lay your
-entire case in the hands of your lawyer—telling him all
-that has happened here and sending to Ireland for a
-careful search of the birth records of the parish of
-Athlone——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But you, Monsieur. What will you do?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall stay here awhile. There's something else that
-I must do."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And Piquette——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will see that she returns safely."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are very good, Monsieur," said the Duc. "Will
-you forgive me for my suspicions?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. If you will promise to give Piquette the affection
-she deserves. She is a child, Monsieur, with great
-impulses—both good and bad—what she becomes will
-depend upon your treatment of her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She has saved me from great trouble, bringing you,
-my savior——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton moved into the bed room and picked up his
-hat. "Don't let that trouble you," he said, and then
-offered his hand. "Glad to have met you, Monsieur. </span><em class="italics">Au
-revoir</em><span>. I will see you in Paris in a week. But don't waste
-any time getting out of here. </span><em class="italics">Allez—tout de suite</em><span>, you
-understand. Paris in a week, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And with a quick wave of his hand Horton went out
-and walked rapidly down the corridor. The interview
-with Quinlevin had served a double purpose. He had
-succeeded beyond all hope in finding out what he had
-wanted to know; and he had so occupied the Irishman's
-time that Piquette could proceed unmolested in making
-an investigation of her own. He hurried up to her room
-to meet her, as agreed. Watching the corridor, he
-knocked by a preconcerted signal. There was no reply.
-After a moment he opened the door and entered. The
-room was empty.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>*      *      *      *      *</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Piquette was fearless but she was also clever. It was
-her thought that Barry Quinlevin would take no chances
-with the original birth certificate and other papers in the
-apartment of Monsieur de Vautrin. It was her
-suggestion that she be permitted to take advantage of the
-absence of Quinlevin and his party to make a thorough
-search of the rooms for any private papers. And in this
-she was aided and abetted by Monsieur Jacquot, in the
-office of the hotel, to whom she explained as much as was
-necessary, and who provided the keys and wished her luck
-in her undertaking.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim had allowed her an hour for the investigation,
-during which period he had promised to keep Quinlevin
-prisoner. Here then, Piquette reached new heights of
-self-abnegation, for in helping Jim in the cause of Moira, she
-worked against her own interests, which had nothing to
-do with Moira Quinlevin. Jim had opened her eyes to
-her obligations to Monsieur de Vautrin but she had done
-her duty merely because Jim had asked it of her. He
-had kissed her as though she were a queen. She could
-never forget that.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But in spite of any mental reservations she may have
-had in doing something in the interest of the girl Jim
-Horton loved, she was conscious of a thrill of keen
-interest in the task that she had set herself. And Piquette
-went about her investigation methodically, waiting on the
-steps from the upper landing until Quinlevin and the two
-women had entered the room of the Duc, when, keys in
-hand, she made her way quickly to the rooms Quinlevin
-had engaged. There were three of them </span><em class="italics">en suite</em><span>, with
-connecting doors, and with a quick glance along the empty
-corridor she entered the nearest one.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>An ancient valise, and a flannel wrapper, proclaimed
-its occupant—Nora. There might be something of
-interest here—but it was doubtful, for Barry Quinlevin was
-hardly a man to leave Nora in possession of any
-documents that were better kept in his own hands. But
-Piquette nevertheless searched carefully and for her trouble,
-found nothing. The door into the adjoining room, that
-of Madame Horton, was open, showing how quickly and
-easily an </span><em class="italics">entente</em><span> had been re-established between Moira
-Quinlevin and her old nurse.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At the threshold of this room Piquette paused, glancing
-with a delicate frown at the articles of feminine
-apparel on bed and dressing stand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"H—m," she sniffed, scenting the air delicately, her
-chin raised. "Violette!" Then she approached the bed
-and took a white garment and rubbed it critically
-between thumb and forefinger. "H-mph!" said Piquette
-again. A pair of stockings next—a small slipper which
-she measured with her own, shrugged, and then searched
-the suit case and dressing table thoroughly. Of paper
-there was nothing—not even a post-card.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The door into Barry Quinlevin's room was bolted on
-the side where Piquette stood. She went back through
-the rooms that she had passed, to be sure that nothing
-had been disarranged, locked the outside door of Nora
-Burke's room as she had found it, and then went back to
-Quinlevin's door which she opened quickly and peered
-around. Here there was a field for more careful investigation,
-a suit-case, a dressing-stand, a bed, some chairs, a
-closet—all of them she took in in a quick inspection. The
-suit-case first—and if locked she meant to take it bodily
-away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It wasn't locked. She had a slight sense of disappointment.
-It contained a change of under-linen, some collars,
-socks, a box of cigars, and a bottle of Irish whisky. All
-of these she scrutinized with care, as well as the cloth
-lining and the receptacles in the lid, and then arranging
-the contents as she had found them, straightened with a
-short breath, and looked elsewhere. No. Monsieur
-Quinlevin would have hidden such important papers more
-cleverly than that. Where then? In a place so obvious
-that no one would think of looking there for them? That
-was an ancient trick well known to the police. But after
-she had looked around the room, she examined the bed
-minutely, running her nimble fingers along the ticking
-of the mattress, the pillows, dismantling the bed
-completely, and then satisfied that she had exhausted this
-possibility, remade it skillfully.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Next, the dressing-stand, inch by inch inside and out,
-then the upholstery of the chairs, straightening at last,
-puzzled. And yet she knew that the birth certificate must
-be in these rooms somewhere. She moved the rugs,
-examined the ashes in the fireplace, the base board and
-molding, took down the pictures from the walls and then,
-baffled, sank into the arm chair for a moment to think.
-Could Quinlevin have taken the precaution to leave the
-documents in the safe at the Hôtel Ruhl in Nice, or
-would he perhaps have deposited them downstairs in the
-strong-box of the Hôtel de Paris? In that event
-Monsieur her friend would help....</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But her hour had not yet expired. There were a few
-moments left. Where else was she to look? She
-glanced at the picture molding, the walls, the electric
-light brackets by the bed and dressing-stand, then rose
-for a last and possibly futile and despairing effort. She
-ran her sensitive fingers over the bracket by the bed. It
-was affixed to the wall by a hexagonal brass plate held
-by a small screw. She tried to move the screw with her
-fingers but it resisted, so she ran to the dressing-stand
-for a nail file and in a moment had moved the brass plate
-from the wall. A patch of broken wall-paper and wires in
-a small hole—but no papers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She screwed the plate carefully into place and turned to
-the other fixture over the dressing-stand. This was her
-last venture, but she had determined to make it, and felt
-a slight thrill of expectation when the screw of the first
-bracket moved easily in her fingers. She loosened the
-plate and as it came out from the surface of the wall,
-there was a sibilant rustle and something slipped down
-behind the dressing-stand to the floor. Eager now with
-excitement, she thrust her fingers behind the plate and
-brought forth some papers. These she examined quickly
-in amazement, then carefully screwed the bracket into its
-place, recovering the other paper that had fallen to the
-floor—success! The papers that she had taken from
-behind the bracket she could not understand, but the paper
-that she had recovered from the floor was the much
-desired birth certificate of the dead child. The light was
-failing, but in the shadow of the hangings of the French
-window she stood and read the name Patricia Madeleine
-Aulnoy de Vautrin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She was filled with the joy of her success and so
-absorbed in the perusal of the paper that she did not hear
-the small sounds that came from the adjoining room, nor
-was she aware of the tall dark figure of the girl with the
-pale face who for a long moment had stood in the
-doorway watching her in silent amazement. And it was not
-until Moira spoke that Piquette turned, the papers
-hidden behind her, and met the steady gaze of the woman
-Jim Horton loved.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you doing in this room?" asked Moira steadily.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="at-bay"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVIII</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AT BAY</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Piquette sent one fleeting glance at her, then
-stepped out upon the sill of the French window
-which extended to the floor. When she turned
-toward Moira, a little pale and breathing rapidly, her
-hands were empty.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What did you throw out of the window? What are
-you doing here?" Moira asked again, moving quickly to
-the push-button by the door. "Answer me or I'll ring."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette by this time had recovered some of her
-composure. "Oh, Madame, it is not necessaire to ring," she
-said easily. "I can explain myself if you will but listen."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have no right in this room—unless you are a
-servant of the hotel. And that you are not——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Madame," said Piquette coolly, "I am no servant
-of de hotel. But strange to say, even agains' my will,
-I am your frien'."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My friend! Who are you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette glanced toward the door into the hall rather
-anxiously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you will permit me to come into your room I will
-answer you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira hesitated for a moment, and then indicated the
-door by which she had entered. Piquette preceded her into
-the room, as Moira stood by the door, still uncertain but
-curious as to this stranger who claimed friendship.
-Piquette indicated the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will please close it, Madame," she urged with a
-smile. "I am quite 'armless."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And Moira obeyed, catching the bolt into its place
-and turning with an air very little mollified.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who are you?" she demanded shortly. "Answer me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>instead of replying at once Piquette sank into a chair,
-crossed one knee over the other and leaned forward, her
-chin on her fingers, staring frankly at her companion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are 'andsome, Madame 'Orton," she murmured
-as though grudgingly. "Ver' 'andsome."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira flushed a little and returned the other woman's
-look, a sudden suspicion flashing across her mind that
-this woman—this was——</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who are you?" she stammered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I am Madame Morin—and I am called Piquette,"
-said the visitor clearly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira recoiled a pace, her back as flat as the door
-behind her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You——! Piquette Morin! You'd dare!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Quietly, Madame 'Orton," said Piquette gently, "I
-'ave tol' you I am your frien'."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, Madame," said Moira in a choking voice and
-pointing to the door. "Go."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Piquette did not move.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! You do not believe me. It is de trut'. I am
-your frien'. I am proving it by coming in here—by
-trying to 'elp you in dis——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not need your help, Madame. Will you go?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame 'Orton. I will go in a minute—when I
-tell you de risk Jeem 'Orton an' I 'ave run to keep you
-from making of yourself a fool."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira gasped at the impudence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What I am does not matter, but what you and Jim
-Horton are, does. I wish to hear no more——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not even dat Monsieur Quinlevin has got de </span><em class="italics">vilain</em><span>
-Tricot, to shoot at us in de train——" Piquette
-shrugged. "</span><em class="italics">Sapristi</em><span>! Madame 'Orton,—if we 'ad been
-kill' you would perhaps t'ink it a proof of friendship."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She had caught the girl's attention, but Moira still
-demurred.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask no favors of you, Madame Morin," she said haltingly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Madame 'Orton," said Piquette quietly, "but I
-'ave give' dem freely, for you—for </span><em class="italics">heem</em><span>. Perhaps you
-t'ink dat is not'ing for me to do. </span><em class="italics">La, la</em><span>. I am only
-human after all."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So was Moira. Piquette's purposeful ambiguity
-aroused her curiosity and she turned toward the French
-girl, her glance passing over her with a new interest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't understand you, Madame," she said coldly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not 'ope dat you would. But it is not so </span><em class="italics">difficile</em><span>.
-I try to 'elp Monsieur Jeem 'Orton, because 'e 'as taught
-me what it means to be brave an' fait'ful an' honorable to
-de one 'e love', an' because you are blind, an' will not see."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so blind that I have not seen what you would
-have hidden."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'ave not'ing to hide from you, Madame 'Orton. I
-am proud of de frien'ship of Jeem 'Orton. I would go to
-de en' of de worl' to make 'im 'appy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Friendship!" gasped Moira.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Or love, Madame," said Piquette gently, "call it what
-you please."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you dare to tell me this—you!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette only smiled faintly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I love 'im." And then, with the simplicity of a
-child, "Don't you, Madame?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira stared at her for a second as though she hadn't
-heard correctly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. No. This is too much. You will oblige me——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You wish me to go?" said Piquette with a shrug. "In
-a moment. But firs' let me tell you dat what Monsieur
-Quinlevin 'as tol' you about us is a lie—all lies."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget, Madame," said Moira, "that I have seen."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette smiled.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I go to sleep wit' my 'ead on 'is shoulder. An'
-what is dat? For shame, Madame. Jeem 'Orton care'
-not'ing for me. I bring 'im out of de 'ouse in de Rue
-Charron—I nurse 'im in my apartment. You t'ink 'e
-make love to me when 'e t'ink of you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette laughed scornfully.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What kind of woman are you to see de love in de eyes
-of an hones' man an' not remember it, for de greates'
-t'ing dat come' in a woman's life? 'Is eyes! </span><em class="italics">Mon Dieu</em><span>,
-Madame. I know de eyes of men. 'E on'y love once,
-Jeem 'Orton—an' you t'ink 'e make love to me. I would
-give myself to 'im, but what Jeem 'Orton give' to me is
-much more sweet, more beautiful. 'E kees me on de
-brow, Madame, like I was a chil', when I would give 'im
-my body." Piquette stopped, and then, gently, "A
-woman like me, Madame, can on'y worship a man like dat."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira was leaning against the bed rail, her head bent,
-her eyes searching out Piquette's very soul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you, Madame," said Piquette, her voice gathering
-scorn in its very suppression. "You, Madame, who
-love 'im too, you listen to everyt'ing 'is enemies say
-agains' 'im—you believe dese lies, you let dem try to keel
-'im, you 'elp dem bring you to </span><em class="italics">déshonneur</em><span>. You try to
-keep 'im from saving you from disgrace! What kind of
-a woman are you, Madame, to 'ave a love like dat t'rown
-at your feet an' walk away an' leave it like a dead flower
-upon de groun'? Mus' it take a woman like me to show
-you what is fine and noble in de worl'? You sen' 'im away
-into de night. </span><em class="italics">Juste ciel</em><span>! Is dere no blood in your heart,
-Madame, no tenderness, no pity, for de love of a man
-like Jeem 'Orton? Love! You do not know what love
-is, you——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop, Madame!" gasped Moira, her lips gray and
-trembling under the wrist that masked her eyes. "You
-dare not tell me what love is. You don't know—everything."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Piquette quietly. "I know everyt'ing. But
-only God could keep me from de man I love."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, God!" whispered Moira tensely. "Only God."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The pallor of her face, the agonized clutch of her white
-fingers on the table and the tone of her voice silenced
-Piquette, and she glanced up at Moira partly in pity,
-partly in scorn. Piquette's education had not fitted her
-to understand the motives of women different from
-herself, but she saw in Moira's face the scars of a great
-passion and the marks of suffering not to be denied. And so
-after a painful moment for Moira, she turned her glance
-aside.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot speak of this to you, Madame," she heard
-the girl stammer. "You have no right to judge me or
-to question my motives. And if I've misjudged you—or
-Jim Horton, God knows I'm sorry for it. But
-you—Madame—why should </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> come and tell me these things?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira's breath seemed suspended while she waited for
-the woman's answer. Piquette traced for a moment with
-her finger on the arm of the chair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You may be' sure it 'as cos' me somet'ing," she said
-slowly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Does he know—does Jim Horton know?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Madame. He knows noding."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because," said Piquette, rising with some dignity,
-"because it pleases me, Madame. What Jeem 'Orton wish'—is
-my wish too. 'E love you. </span><em class="italics">Eh bien</em><span>! What 'e is to
-me does not matter."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira stared at her dully. She could not believe.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If you do not on'erstan' me, Madame," Piquette
-continued, "it is because you do not wish to on'erstan',
-because all de sacrifice 'e make for you is in vain. You
-listen to deir lies, become a partner in a crime to get
-money which does not belong to you——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you know this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"'Arry 'Orton—your 'usband—tol' me de trut'."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame. I was a frien' to your 'usband."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The glances of the two women met, held each other—read
-each other, omitting nothing. It was Piquette who
-looked away. If self-abasement was to be the measure
-of her sacrifice, she had neglected nothing.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"An' now," she said quietly, "if you please, I shall go
-away."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet, Madame," said Moira gently. "Not until I
-tell you that I know what you have done—that I believe
-what you have said."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She caught Piquette by the hand and held her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot be less noble than you, Madame. Forgive me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Jeem 'Orton who should forgive."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have done him a great wrong—and you. And I must
-do him another great wrong. You have said that only
-God could keep you from the man you love. God </span><em class="italics">has</em><span> kept
-me from Jim Horton. I cannot see him again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But you cannot stay here, Madame," put in Piquette
-earnestly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, perhaps not," wearily, "but you have taught me
-something. If sacrifice is the test that love exacts, like
-you, I can bear it——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"An' make Jeem 'Orton suffer too——!" cried Piquette
-wildly. "What for you t'ink I tell you dese t'ings,
-Madame? You mus' go wit' 'im to Paris."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I can't."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What will you do?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know yet. I must think."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will do what 'e ask of you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You mus' see 'im."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Don't ask me, Madame——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a knock upon the door into the corridor—repeated
-quickly. The two women exchanged glances,
-Moira bewildered, Piquette dismayed. She had remained
-too long.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Quinlevin——!" she whispered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira, a finger to her lips, beckoned her toward the
-door into Nora Burke's room, when there was another
-quick knock and Quinlevin entered quickly, followed by
-another figure.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira, why didn't ye——" the Irishman began, and
-then his glance passed to Piquette. "Ah—you here,
-Madame," he frowned with quick suspicion, glancing
-toward the door into his own room. And then suddenly
-beckoned his follower in. It was Monsieur Tricot, bent,
-hobbling, but full of every potentiality for evil.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin closed and locked the door behind him,
-putting the key into his pocket, and then with a muttered
-injunction to his companion, unbolted and opened the
-door into his own room and disappeared. Moira had
-scarcely time to note the villainous look the </span><em class="italics">apache</em><span> cast
-in Piquette's direction, when Quinlevin came striding in
-like a demon of vengeance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Madame Morin," he snapped, "it seems as though
-I were just in time. What have ye done with the papers?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The little patches of color upon Piquette's lips and
-eyes seemed suddenly to grow darker in the pallor of
-her face; for Tricot's evil face nearby was leering at
-her, Tricot whose secrets she knew and whose secrets she
-had betrayed. She was horribly frightened, but she
-managed to control her voice as she replied steadily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What papers, Monsieur? I know nothing of any papers."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The papers referring to the de Vautrin case. </span><em class="italics">Your</em><span>
-papers, Moira, yer birth certificate and the letters
-which went with it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira stood near the door into Nora's room, pale but
-composed. And now she spoke bravely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame Morin has not left this room since she came
-into it. I know nothing of any papers."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette smiled inwardly. Her embassy had not been
-entirely without success. But Quinlevin glanced quickly
-at Moira, suspicion becoming a certainty.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, we'll see about this." And striding quickly to
-Nora Burke's door locked it securely. And then to
-Piquette.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye'll please accompany me into my room, Madame
-Morin," he said dryly. "Perhaps Monsieur Tricot and I
-can find a way to unlock yer lips."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette cast an appealing glance at Moira.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will let Madame Morin go," pleaded the girl to
-the Irishman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No!" he thundered. "There will be no more trickery
-here. And ye'll stay here too—under lock and key,
-until yer new friend speaks."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The two women were helpless and they knew it.
-Already Tricot's sharp talons had closed on Piquette's
-shoulder, but with an effort at composure she shrugged
-him off and entered the door beside which Barry Quinlevin
-stood, bowing with ironical politeness. Piquette
-caught just one glimpse of Moira's white face before the
-door closed between them. Then the key was turned in
-the lock, the other key also and she sank rather
-helplessly into a chair, a prisoner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This locking of doors is a game that two persons may
-play at, Madame," said Quinlevin easily, in French. "Our
-friend, the deserter, locks me in with Monsieur de
-Vautrin while you rifle my papers, and now I keep you
-prisoner until they are found. Where are they, Madame?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>His voice was soft, but even in the dim light iridescent
-fires played forbiddingly in his little eyes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette was silent, her glance passing about the
-obscurity as though in search of a resting place. She
-feared Quinlevin, but more than him she feared the evil
-shape just beside her shoulder. She could not see Tricot,
-but she felt his presence, the evil leer at his lips, the bent
-shoulders, the vulture-like poise of his head and the
-vengeance lust burning in his little red eyes. For whatever
-Monsieur Quinlevin owed her, here she knew was her real
-enemy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The papers, Madame," Quinlevin repeated more brusquely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Still no reply.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You took them from behind the bracket yonder.
-What did you do with them?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They are gone," she said quickly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That I shall not tell you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She felt the claws of Tricot close upon her shoulder
-until she shrank with the pain, but she made no sound.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"One moment, Tricot," said the Irishman, "there are
-first other ways of making Madame speak. Release her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Tricot obeyed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course Tricot and I can search you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette laughed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Search me, Monsieur. It is your privilege. I am not
-squeamish."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Irishman frowned. There was no doubt that what
-he had proposed had no terrors for a life model. But
-there were other means at his disposal, to find out what
-he wished to know.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I should have remembered your métier, Madame," he
-sneered. And then, "Our friend Tricot has a long
-memory. He is not a man who forgets. If you will look at
-him you will see that this chance meeting is much to his
-liking."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette did not dare to look.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems," the Irishman went on, "that the betrayal
-of the secrets of the small society to which you belong is
-a grave offense."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've betrayed no secrets," said Piquette, finding her
-voice. "No one knows of the affair of the Rue Charron——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Except Monsieur Horton, who will tell it when he is
-less busy——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. He will tell nothing——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tricot is not willing to take that chance. Eh, Tricot?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," snapped the vulture. "Piquette knows the
-penalty. She'll pay it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I pay it," said Piquette bravely, "you'll know
-no more about what has become of your papers than you
-do now."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin made a sign to Tricot.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There's something in that.—but I'm in no mood to be
-trifled with. That ought to be pretty clear."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is. I'm not trifling."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then speak. Or——" Quinlevin paused significantly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette continued to glance around the room as
-though in a hope that something might happen to release
-her from her predicament. It had now grown dark outside,
-but her captors showed no disposition to make a
-light. And yet it seemed impossible that they would
-dare...</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She tried to gain time.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I could tell you what has happened to the
-papers," she asked uncertainly, "will you let me go?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—speak."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I cannot tell you——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will tell you, Madame. You will be left here alone
-in this room with the good Tricot." And as Piquette
-shrank down into her chair, "He is a very ingenious
-rascal, Tricot. Never yet has he been caught by the
-police." Quinlevin stopped suddenly, his gaze on the rectangle of
-the open window, as though listening. "An open window,"
-he mumbled. "I left it so—perhaps. But do you
-go, Tricot, and look out. Perhaps there is some one below."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The man obeyed, without a sound, vanishing outside
-the window upon the small portico.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No one can help you, Madame," Quinlevin said in a
-threatening whisper, "for at my word Tricot shall be
-quick and silent." He caught Piquette furiously by the
-wrist and twisted it. "What have you done with my
-property?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are lying."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Tricot's silhouette appeared at the window.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur," he whispered tensely, "there's a man—below."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Horton!" said Quinlevin. "What is he doing?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Crawling in the bushes, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The clutch on Piquette's arm grew tighter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What did you do with the papers?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I burned them in the fireplace," she said desperately.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin rushed to the hearth and struck a match,
-examining the ashes minutely. Then he straightened
-quickly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You lie, Madame. I burned some letters here this
-morning. The ashes are just as I left them." In one
-stride he was at her side again, a pistol in his hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He caught her roughly by the arm and she bit her lip
-to keep from crying out with pain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He is down there. What did you do with the papers?
-Answer me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me go."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What will you do?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Unless you tell me the truth—shoot him from the
-window."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You would not dare——" she whispered, in spite of
-her pain, "the people of the hotel—will investigate. The
-police——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Bah! A burglar comes along the portico, I shoot him.
-He falls—will you tell the truth? Are the papers in this
-room?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't tell."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well." And then turning to his companion at
-the window, "What is he doing now, Tricot?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He does not move——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Irishman released Piquette suddenly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A better chance for a shot, then," he snapped. "Here,
-Tricot." And he moved toward the window, his weapon
-eloquent.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette sprang up despairingly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur," she cried, "for the love of God. Don't
-shoot. I will tell."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought so. Where are they? Quick."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He had her by the wrists now, one on each side, and
-Tricot's skinny hand threatened her throat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak——!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I threw them out of the window," she gasped.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was evident that at last in her terror she had spoken
-the truth. With an oath Quinlevin threw her aside and
-ran to the window while Tricot twisted her arm back of
-her, his other hand at her throat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeem!" she shrieked in a last despairing effort. "Go!
-Go!" And then the fingers of the </span><em class="italics">apache</em><span> closed and the
-sound was stifled as she fell back in a chair helpless.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Shut up, damn you," growled Quinlevin. "Keep her
-quiet, you. Not death, you understand. We may need her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette heard these things dimly. A torrent was roaring
-at her ears and her eyeballs seemed to be starting
-from her head as she fought for her breath, but the
-relentless fingers pressed at her windpipe.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you, Monsieur?" she heard Tricot ask.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going down—into the garden. If she speaks the
-truth I'll find it out."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Dimly she heard the door open and shut and the key
-turned in the lock, while she fought Tricot. But strong
-as she was, she knew, that she was no match for him. His
-arms were like steel springs, his fingers like iron. But
-still she fought, trying to make a commotion that would
-arouse the hotel. But Tricot had pinioned her in her
-chair and even the dim light that came in at the open,
-window grew black before her eyes. She struggled again
-at the very verge of the gate of oblivion it seemed,
-choking—choking, when a pain sharper than that at her
-throat came at her side.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Be quiet," croaked Tricot's voice at her ear—"or
-I'll——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And she obeyed. For death was in his voice and in
-his hand.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="in-the-dark"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIX</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">IN THE DARK</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton looked at his watch again. He had
-kept the visitors in the apartment of Monsieur de
-Vautrin more than an hour. He hurried cautiously
-down the stairs toward the doors of the rooms occupied
-by Quinlevin's party. There was no one in sight and so
-he stole along the corridor, listening. Moira and Nora
-Burke had entered their rooms. But Piquette would of
-course be in the room of Quinlevin. No sound. And so
-he waited for a moment in the shadow of a doorway,
-hoping at any moment to see Piquette emerge, reassured at
-the thought that the Irishman at least had probably not
-yet come up. But the suspense and inaction weighed
-upon him, and at last, moving quickly, he went down the
-back stair and so to the office, where he sought out the
-friend of Piquette, Monsieur Jacquot. But to his
-disappointment he found that the man had gone off duty
-for the night and was probably in Nice. Quinlevin, he
-discovered, had been seen leaving the hotel, so any
-immediate danger from him was not to be expected.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton was plagued with uncertainty. If Piquette
-had already succeeded in her mission, he couldn't
-understand why she hadn't returned to her room. Perhaps he
-had missed her on the way. She might have used the main
-stair-way, though under the circumstances this would not
-have been probable. During the day he had managed to
-take a surreptitious survey of the rear of the hotel where
-the Quinlevin suite was situated, and it was only
-Piquette's suggestion to keep the Irishman busy while she
-searched his room that had dissuaded Horton from an
-attempt to reach Quinlevin's room from the outside.
-There was a small portico at the Irishman's windows
-which, it seemed, possibly could be reached by climbing
-a wooden trellis and a small projecting roof of an
-out-building where a rain spout rose alongside a shutter which
-offered a good hand hold—something of a venture at
-night, but a chance if everything else failed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He was sure now that he had missed Piquette on the
-way and if she had been successful she was by this time
-safe in her room with the doors securely bolted and a
-push-button at hand by means of which, if molested, she
-could summon the servants of the hotel. And Quinlevin
-would hardly dare to try that, because an investigation
-meant the police, and the police meant publicity—a thing
-to be dreaded at this time with the battle going against
-him. Nor did Horton wish to make a row, for Piquette
-was a burglar—nothing less—and discovery meant
-placing her in an awkward position which would take some
-explaining. Monsieur Jacquot would have been a help,
-but there was no hope of trying to use him to intimidate
-Quinlevin even had the Frenchman been willing to take a
-share in so grave a responsibility.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So Jim Horton waited for awhile, lurking in the
-shadows of a small corridor near the office, watching the
-entrance of the hotel for the Irishman's return, and was
-just about to go out of the rear door into the garden
-for a little investigation of his own when he heard the
-sounds of voices near the office and saw Monsieur de
-Vautrin dressed for travel, talking to the major-domo.
-Horton paused behind a column to watch and listen, the
-Duc's flushed face and gay mien proclaiming the triumph
-he had experienced and, while he had packed his clothing,
-no doubt a short session with the brandy-bottle. This
-was Monsieur de Vautrin's incognito, this his silent
-departure from the shades of his beloved Monte Carlo.
-The man was a fatuous dotard, not worth the pains that
-had been wasted upon him. His account paid, Monsieur
-de Vautrin walked toward the door, where an automobile
-awaited him, but as he was about to get into the machine
-a tall figure emerged from the darkness and stood beside
-him. A passage of words between the two men and the
-Duc laughed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A great game, Monsieur the Irishman," Horton heard
-him say, "but you have lost. In a week I shall be again
-in Paris in the hands of my avocat. And then—beware!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin shrugged and de Vautrin got into the machine
-which dashed off into the darkness, leaving the Irishman
-standing uncertainly upon the step. It was not until
-then that Horton noticed that he had a companion, for
-at that moment two figures emerged into the light and
-Horton knew that Quinlevin's forces had been augmented
-by one. For Monsieur Tricot had arrived.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The two men came in hurriedly, as though having
-reached a decision, and went up the stairs.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There'll be the devil to pay if Piquette has
-succeeded," muttered Horton to himself. And then in a
-quick afterthought, "And maybe a worse devil—if she
-hasn't."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He waited until they had gone beyond the landing and
-then hurried to the rear stairway and up the two flights
-to the door of Piquette's room—aghast at his discovery.
-She was not there, nor had she been there, for he struck a
-match and found its condition precisely that in which he
-had left it half an hour before. He waited for a few
-moments, then turned the corner of the corridor and
-went quickly toward Quinlevin's door, waiting for a
-moment and listening intently. He made out the murmur
-of voices, a man's and a woman's, but he could not hear
-it distinctly. But that the man's voice was the Irishman's
-he did not doubt, nor that the woman's was Piquette's.
-Cautiously he turned the knob of the door. It was locked.
-Quinlevin evidently expected him. There was no chance
-of ingress here unless Quinlevin permitted it. The
-Irishman had the law on his side. If Horton persisted,
-Quinlevin could shoot him (which was what he wished to do),
-with every prospect of acquittal in any trouble that
-might follow.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton waited here only a moment and then ran
-quickly down the stairs, past some guests on their way
-to the Casino, and out into the garden. At this hour
-of the night it was dark, for the dining rooms were upon
-the other side and the smoking and billiard rooms were
-deserted. Glancing toward the well-lighted promenade
-just beyond the hedge, he stole along the walls of the
-hotel beneath the windows of the first floor, using the
-deeper shadows, until he reached a palm tree, from the
-shelter of which he carefully scrutinized the façade of the
-building, identifying the windows and portico of the room
-of Quinlevin. Then went nearer, to a clump of bushes,
-beneath the portico, where he crouched to listen for any
-sounds that might come from above. Silence, except for
-the distant murmuring of the surf among the rocks below
-the Casino.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He tried to believe that the voice he had heard through
-the door upstairs was not Piquette's—that it might have
-been Moira's or Nora Burke's. But if it was not
-Piquette's voice, then where was she? And why had she
-stayed so long, venturing Quinlevin's wrath at her
-intrusion? There seemed to be no doubt that she had
-overstayed the allotted time and that now they had come
-in upon her—-the Irishman and the rascal Tricot. She
-was in for a bad half hour—perhaps something worse.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Horton reassured himself with the thought that
-Quinlevin desired to keep the tale of his hazard of new
-fortune a secret. They would not dare to do physical
-harm to Piquette in a hotel, which had its name for
-respectability. They would not dare to risk her outcries,
-which, if damaging to herself, would be doubly damaging
-to Barry Quinlevin. So Horton crouched in the center
-of his hiding place and uncertainly waited, sure that if
-she was in danger his place was now beside Piquette, who
-had played a game with death for him in the house in the
-Rue Charron. He glanced up at the trellis just beside
-him, planning the ascent. And as he did so he noticed a
-small object hanging among the twigs just above his
-head. It was within reach of his hand and he took
-it—a letter or a slip of paper somewhat rumpled. He
-fingered and then looked at it, but it was too dark to see.
-Near him upon the turf was another square of paper—and
-a letter further off, another, and another hanging in
-the opposite side of the bush.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In his hands idly he fingered the letter. The paper
-was fine and it bore an embossed heading or crest. He was
-about to throw it aside when he looked up the wall of
-the building at the portico outside Barry Quinlevin's
-windows—realizing with a sudden sense of his discovery
-that these papers had fallen from the windows of the
-second floor or those of the third—Quinlevin's. Of course
-they were unimportant—and yet.... He started to
-his feet and looked around. Elsewhere, so far as he could
-see, the garden was scrupulously neat, the pride of a
-gardener who was well paid to keep up the traditions of
-this fairyland. Horton bent over searching and found
-another paper, even more rumpled than the others. He
-glanced up at the windows on the third floor. There was
-no sign of occupancy, for though one of the windows was
-open, both were still dark, but he waited a moment
-listening and fancied that he heard the low murmur of voices,
-then a dull glow as though some one had made a light for
-a cigarette.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But the papers in his fingers! He realized with a
-growing excitement that they were quite dry to the touch
-and had not therefore been long exposed to the damp sea
-air. Had Piquette...? Not daring to strike a
-light he turned and crept quickly back to the light of
-the hall way. And here, behind the door, he read the
-papers quickly. Their meaning flashed through his
-consciousness with a shock—a letter from Monsieur de
-Vautrin, a receipt for money, and the crumpled paper a
-square printed document bearing the now familiar name of
-Patricia Madeleine Aulnoy de Vautrin—the birth certificate
-upon which all Barry Quinlevin's fortunes hung—and Moira's.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He could not take time to investigate the characters of
-the handwriting, for the light was dim. And the real
-significance of his discovery was not to be denied. No one
-but Piquette would have thrown such papers out of the
-window into the garden, nor would she have done so
-desperate a thing unless she had found herself at bay with
-no other means of disposing of them. He reasoned this
-out for himself while he thrust the documents safely into
-an inner pocket and crept quickly back to his place
-beneath the windows, searching as he went upon the
-ground for any other papers that might have escaped him.
-There was no time to spare. Piquette was up there. He
-was sure of it now. Otherwise why hadn't she escaped and
-run down to recover the documents before Quinlevin's
-return with Tricot? But why had she thrown them from
-the window unless their presence threatened? These and
-other speculations were to remain unanswered, for if
-Piquette were in that room alone with the two men her
-danger was great.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a slight sound from above. He peered
-upward. In silhouette against the sky was the figure of a
-man—he couldn't tell whether Tricot or the Irishman.
-It was to be a desperate game then. They had just
-guessed what Piquette had done with the birth certificate
-and there seemed not the slightest hope that the man on
-the portico could have failed to see his figure below the
-thin screen of winter foliage. Desperate! Yes, but worth
-it—for Piquette. He owed it to her. And, as in moments
-of great danger, he found himself suddenly cold with
-purpose and thinking with extraordinary lucidity.
-Quinlevin would not dare to shoot him out of hand without a
-cause, but to catch a man climbing the wall of his hotel
-into the window of his room,—that would be a sufficient
-reason for an obvious act of self-defense. And yet had
-Quinlevin considered the possibility of Horton's attempting
-so dangerous a climb? If not, the element of surprise
-might be in Jim Horton's favor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But there was to be no choice for Horton—for as he
-stood, measuring the height of the trellis, from the window
-above he heard a stifled voice crying his name. "Jeem!"
-it called, "Go! Go!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He ran to the trellis and climbed it easily, putting his
-revolver in an outer pocket as he reached the friendly roof
-of the little outbuilding, crouching behind a projection
-of the wing and gazing upward for a further sight of
-Monsieur Tricot. He thought he heard sounds now, the
-creaking of furniture and the growl of a masculine voice.
-Other sounds, more terrible, more significant....
-They were choking her.... D—— them! Cowards!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Scorning further secrecy, he measured with his eye the
-distance he would have to spring for a hand hold on the
-window-sill of the window above him, the water-pipe, his
-main hope, upon investigation proving unreliable. The
-window sill which was his objective was at least two feet
-above his outstretched arms and to the left, beyond the
-edge of the projection on which he stood. It was not
-above him and he would have to leap sideways from the
-roof, risking a drop of at least twenty feet to the
-menacing stone flagging of a path which led to the kitchen
-entrance. But he leaped upward and out into the dark,
-his fingers clutching, swinging for a second above vacancy,
-and then hauled himself up until he got a hand hold on
-the hinge of the open shutter; then a knee on the sill,
-pushing the French window which yielded to his touch.
-He hoped the room was unoccupied, but had no time to
-consider that possibility; straightening and climbing the
-shutter. Quinlevin's portico was within his reach now.
-He waited cautiously for a second, listening and peering
-upward. No sign of any one outside, but the sounds
-within.... He heard them again now—fainter, horribly
-suppressed. He caught the edge of the portico and
-swung himself up, close to the wall of the building, and
-in a moment had gained a safe foot-hold within the railing.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was no light within the room and now no sound.
-Had they ... In the brief moment he paused, gasping
-for his breath, he was aware of a figure below moving
-cautiously along the outskirts of the garden. He crouched
-below the balustrade instinctively. It was just at this
-moment that the cautious head and shoulders of a man
-emerged from the French window to peer over. It was
-Tricot. Like a cat, Horton sprang for him, and the
-impact of the shock sent them both sprawling, half in,
-half out of the room. Neither made a sound, each aware
-of the hazard of his situation. Horton struck and struck
-again, felt the sharp scratch of Monsieur Tricot's knife
-upon his shoulder, and caught the wrist of the hand that
-held it, twisting, twisting until the weapon dropped,
-clattering, just within the door of the room. But the
-Frenchman was strong and struggled upward, kicking, biting,
-until Horton with his right arm free struck him under
-the jaw. That took some of the fight out of him, but he
-still fought gamely, while Horton, whose blood was hot
-now, wondered why Quinlevin hadn't joined in the
-entertainment. Tricot in desperation tried to reach for
-another weapon with the arm Horton hadn't pinioned, and
-it was about time to end the matter. A memory of the
-night in the Rue Charron was behind Horton's blow which
-struck Monsieur Tricot neatly behind the ear and sent
-him sprawling out on the portico, where his head came
-into contact with the cement balustrade, and he fell and
-lay silent.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton took no chances, kicking the knife, a cruel,
-two-edged affair, into the fireplace and appropriating
-Monsieur Tricot's revolver, which he put into the other pocket
-of his coat, then turned to look for Quinlevin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He didn't find him, but Piquette was there, prone in
-the arm chair, and gasping horribly for her breath.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette! It's Jim," he whispered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her swollen tongue refused her, but her fingers clutched
-his hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They choked you, Piquette."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tri—cot," she managed to utter painfully.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I've attended to him. Where's Quinlevin?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She pointed, soundless, toward the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He went down to look for me?" he questioned.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good," laughed Jim. "We'll be ready when he comes back."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He went out and had another look at Tricot. The
-man was out of it and there was a dark shadow on the
-stone work where he had fallen. So Horton came back
-into the room, found a pitcher of water, with which he
-bathed Piquette's forehead and throat and then gave
-her to drink. And in a moment she was able to enunciate
-more clearly. But she was very weak and it seemed that
-her nerve was gone, for her shoulders shook with hysteria
-and she clung to Horton still in terror of her frightful
-experience. But Horton was taking no chances now and
-did the thinking and talking for them both.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You're sure Quinlevin went down to look for me?"
-he asked again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">m-mon ami</em><span>. Tricot,—'e saw you below—in—de—de
-garden."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He knows you threw out the papers?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Into de garden."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not now," said Horton. "In my pocket."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You found dem?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Dieu merci</em><span>! It's what I—I 'ope'."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But we mustn't lose them again now, Piquette, after
-all this. Is the door locked?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I doan know. I——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton strode to the door and turned the key.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now let him come," he whispered grimly. And then,
-"Where's Moira?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Lock' in 'er room—yonder."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You saw her?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But she must have heard all this commotion."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I doan know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Um." He paused a moment, glanced at the door into
-the corridor, and then crossed quickly to the door
-Piquette indicated, knocking softly. There was no reply.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira!" he said through the key-hole. "It's I—Jim."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He seemed to hear sounds within, a gasp, a movement
-of feet and then silence.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira—it's Jim." There was no sound, so he unbolted
-the door and turned the knob. It was locked on the
-inside.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A gasp from Piquette, who had been listening for
-sounds at the other door, now warned him to be quiet
-and he straightened. There were footsteps outside and
-then a knock.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Tricot!" said the Irishman's voice. "Let me in."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Quickly!" whispered Horton, into Piquette's ear, "in
-the chair and gasp like hell."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She understood and obeyed him. Horton went to the
-door, turned the key and Barry Quinlevin strode in.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He's gone, Tricot—the papers too——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>So was Quinlevin: the door closed behind him and a
-wiry arm went around his throat from behind, a knee in
-the middle of his back, and he crumpled backward in
-Horton's strong arms, down to the floor, where in spite of
-his struggles Horton held him powerless, quickly disarming
-him, his weight on the astonished Irishman's chest,
-his fingers at the man's throat, gently pressing with a
-threat of greater power at the slightest sound. The
-achievement was ridiculously easy as all important things
-are, given some intelligence and a will to do.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Quinlevin at this point had come to realize that the
-purely psychological stage of his venture had passed into
-the realm of the physical, in which he was no match for
-this young Hercules who had so easily mastered him.
-And Tricot...? Outside upon the balcony was a
-shadow that had not been there before. The game was
-up. And so he resorted to diplomacy, which was indeed
-the only thing left to him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Horton," he uttered, "ye've won."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet, Quinlevin," said Horton grimly. And then
-to Piquette, who had stopped gasping and already showed
-a lively interest in the proceedings, "The sheets from the
-bed, Piquette, if you please."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She obeyed and helped him while they swathed their
-prisoner from head to foot, binding and gagging him with
-his own cravats and other articles of apparel which they
-found adaptable to the purpose and then between them
-lifted him to the bed where he lay a helpless clod of
-outraged dignity. Then they turned their attention to
-Monsieur Tricot, who, as they dragged him by the heels
-into the room, already showed signs of returning
-consciousness, binding him first, reviving him afterward. Of
-the two Tricot was now the least quiescent, but he
-understood the touch of Horton's revolver at his temple, and
-in a moment lay like Quinlevin, writhing in his bonds but
-quite as helpless.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And now, Quinlevin," said Horton coolly, "it must be
-fairly obvious to you that the fraud you've practiced at
-the expense of Madame Horton is now at an end. The
-documents upon which you rely are in my pocket, where
-they will remain until they are turned over to Monsieur de
-Vautrin. In the morning you and your brave companion
-will doubtless be released by the servants of the hotel, by
-which time I hope to be in another part of France!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped with a shrug at the sound of Piquette's voice.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We mus' not stay too long, Jeem 'Orton. Some one
-may come."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame Horton?" he muttered, and went over to the
-door of Moira's room and listened. There was no sound.
-"Moira," he said again distinctly through the keyhole.
-"Will you unbolt the door?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A small sound of footsteps moving, but they did not
-come toward the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira," he repeated more loudly. "You must let me
-in. We are going away from here—at once."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>No reply.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is as I suppose', Jeem 'Orton," whispered Piquette
-at his ear. "She does not wish to come."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw her, Jeem," she whispered. "I talk wit' 'er. It
-is 'opeless. I do not t'ink she will come. She is afraid."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Afraid—of me?" he muttered incredulously. "I——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not of you, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>," returned Piquette. "Of '</span><em class="italics">erself</em><span>!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't understand——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette shrugged. "Try again den, Jeem 'Orton."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He did—to no avail. There was now no sound from
-within in reply to his more earnest entreaties.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Something must have happened to her," he mumbled
-straightening, with a glance toward the bed. "If I
-thought——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But no," Piquette broke in quickly. "Not'ing 'as
-'appen' to 'er, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem. She is quite safe."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not so sure about that——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And putting his weight against the door, he tried to
-force it in. It yielded a trifle, but the slender bolt held.
-He waited a moment, listening again, silencing Piquette's
-whispered protestations at the commotion he was creating,
-but heard nothing. Then moving away a few paces he
-pushed the door with his full weight and it flew open with
-a crash, almost throwing him to the floor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The room was empty, but the unlocked door leading
-into Nora Burke's room showed which way she had gone.
-He went in and looked around. Then out into the corridor
-by Nora's door. There were some people at the other
-end of the corridor but Moira and her Irish nurse had
-disappeared.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Uncertainly, he came back through the rooms to
-Piquette, who stood in Moira's room, watching the
-prisoners through the doorway.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is what I 'ave said, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem. Madame does not
-wish to go wit' you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But why——? After all——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ave I not tol' you? She is afraid of 'erself. She
-knows as I know—she is a woman who loves—but not as
-I love, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem. It is 'er God dat stan' between you,
-'er God—stronger dan you and what you are to 'er. She
-is afraid. She knows—if she touch your 'and—she will
-go wit' you—whatever 'appens."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What makes you think that?" muttered Horton, bewildered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She tol' me so——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw 'er—talk wit' 'er. Dat is why I wait too long
-ontil Monsieur Quinlevin came."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton paused, thinking deeply.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I must find her, Piquette. She's got to go with us,"
-he murmured, starting toward the door away from her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Piquette caught him by the hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Jeem. You mus'n't. Do you t'ink you can fin'
-'er? Where? An' if you do, your friend Monsieur
-Quinlevin will be discover' and dey will put you in de
-jail——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let them. I've got to take her away. She's helpless,
-Piquette, with him—penniless, if she deserts him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so 'elpless as you t'ink. But she does not want
-to see you. Is not dat enough?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said, trying to shake loose her clutch on his
-arm. "I'll find her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeem," Piquette pleaded desperately. "You will
-spoil all de good you do. What does it matter if you
-fin' 'er or not if you lose de paper to Quinlevin again?
-You mus' go away now before it is too late an' make
-Quinlevin powerless to 'urt 'er again.. Den, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem,
-when 'er future is safe, you s'all fin' 'er. What does it
-matter now? In time she will come to you. I know. You
-s'all fin' 'er. An' I, Piquette, will 'elp you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She felt his arm relax and knew that she had won.
-He stared for a long moment toward the open door into
-Nora's room, then turned with a quick gasp of decision.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You're right, Piquette. We've got to get away—to
-draw his claws for good."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parfaitement</em><span>! You need not worry. 'E will not 'urt
-'er now."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so they returned to the Irishman's room and looked
-carefully to the bonds of the prisoners. Nothing was
-disarranged. They had done their work well, and
-continued it by methodically making all arrangements for
-departure; shutting the French window, putting an extra
-turn on the bindings of the prostrate men, who glared at
-them sullenly in the obscurity. Then they went out,
-locking all three rooms from the outside and leaving the keys
-in the doors. Unobserved, they went up to their rooms—packed
-their belongings, descended to the office where Jim
-coolly paid their bills, and went out into the night.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a garage nearby, where they hired a car,
-paying for it in advance, and in less than twenty minutes,
-Jim Horton driving, were on their way to Vingtimille, on
-the border line between France and Italy. There they
-left the machine in the care of a hotel and wrote a
-postcard to the owner of the garage at Monte Carlo, telling
-him where he would find his machine. This message they
-knew would not reach him until some time the next day,
-by which time they would be lost in Italy.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="freedom"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XX</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">FREEDOM</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Meanwhile, Destiny was at her loom, weaving
-with careless hand. The American and French
-armies were moving closer to the Rhine, but the
-Infantry regiment to which Harry Horton belonged lay
-at Château Dix awaiting orders. There Harry went
-upon the morning following the return of Barry
-Quinlevin from Ireland. Upon his breast he wore the </span><em class="italics">Croix
-de Guerre</em><span>, but in his soul was a deathly sickness, the
-inward reflection of the physical discomfort with which
-he had awakened. The prospect that lay before him was
-not to his liking. The period during which he had been
-out of uniform, the weeks of secrecy, of self-indulgence
-and abasement, had marked him for their own, and
-unfitted him for the rigorous routine of discipline that
-awaited him. And so he faced the ordeal with a positive
-distaste for his old associations, aware of a sinking feeling
-in his breast that was not entirely the result of his heavy
-potations while in Paris.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He felt the burden of his failure and a terror that he
-would not be able to live up to the record Jim Horton had
-made for him. There would be no more fighting perhaps,
-but always beside him there would stalk the specter of
-his military sin, of which the medal at his breast was to
-be the perpetual reminder. On the train down from
-Paris, the medal and its colorful bit of green and red
-seemed to fill the whole range of his vision. D—— the
-thing! He tore it off and put it in his pocket, and then,
-somewhat relieved, sank back into his seat and tried to
-doze. But his nerves were most uncertain. Every sound,
-even the smallest, seemed to beat with an unpleasant
-staccato, upon his ear drums. And he started up and
-gazed out of the window, trying to soothe himself with
-tobacco. That helped. But he knew that what he wanted
-was stronger drugging—whisky or brandy—needed it
-indeed to exorcise the demons that inhabited him. And
-the thought of the difficulties that would lie in the way
-of getting what he craved, to-day, to-morrow, and the
-long days and nights that were to follow still further
-unmanned him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Before Moira had left for Nice, he had given her his
-promise to report for duty fit and sober, and he had put
-his will to the task, aware that the first impression he
-created with his Colonel was to be important. It
-was for this reason that he did not dare to open his valise
-and touch the bottles hidden there because he knew that
-one drink would not be enough to sooth either his nerves
-or the dull pangs of his weary conscience. That he had
-a conscience, he had discovered in the house in the Rue
-Charron when the desire of Monsieur Tricot and </span><em class="italics">Le Singe</em><span>
-to put Jim Horton out of the way for good had brought
-him face to face with the evil image of himself. He hated
-his brother Jim as much as ever, because he was all the
-things that Harry was not, but the plans of Quinlevin
-which seemed to stop at nothing, not even Moira herself,
-now filled him with dread and repugnance. His nerve was
-gone—that was it. His nerve—his nerve....</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But arrival at regimental headquarters restored him
-for awhile. His Colonel gave him a soldierly welcome,
-fingered with some envy the </span><em class="italics">Croix de Guerre</em><span>, which Harry
-had pinned on his breast again before leaving the railroad,
-and summoned Harry's Major, whose greeting left
-nothing to be desired. And for the moment it almost
-seemed to Harry as though he might be able to "put it
-over." But the next day was difficult. He managed a
-drink early and that kept him going for awhile; but they
-gave him his company in the morning, and from that
-moment the intimate contact with those who had known
-him began—a lieutenant he had never liked, a sergeant
-who was a psychologist, and a familiar face here and
-there associated unpleasantly with the long weary days
-of training and preparation until the regiment had been
-worked up into the advanced position. But his long
-sickness in the hospital and his unfamiliarity with recent
-orders served him well for excuse, and the </span><em class="italics">Croix de Guerre</em><span>
-upon his breast served him better. A corporal and a
-sergeant with whom in the old days he had had nothing
-in common, each of whom wore decorations, came up to
-him, saluting, and reported that it was they who had
-carried him back to the dressing station from the rocks at
-Boissière Wood. He shook them by the hands with a
-cordiality which did not disguise from himself the new
-terror, and when they attempted a recital of the events
-of the great fight in which they had shared, he blundered
-helplessly for a while and then cut the interview short,
-pleading urgent affairs.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then, too, there was the nasty business of the wounds.
-He hadn't any. He was scathless. He had tried the ruse
-of the adhesive tape on Moira with disastrous effect.
-Here the result of the discovery of his unblemished skin
-would prove still more disastrous. And so at once he
-discouraged familiarity, kept to his billet and attempted
-with all the courage left to him to put through his daily
-round with all credit to his new office. But it irked him
-horribly. His supply of strong drink did not last long,
-and the thin red wines, the only substitute procurable,
-were merely a source of irritation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And there were others in his company of whose approbation
-he was not at all certain. There was the sergeant,
-who had had the platoon that had been caught with his
-own in the wheat-field. There were four or five men of
-one of his own squads who had been close beside him in
-the same wheat-field when he had been taken ill and they
-had left him face to face with the grinning head of the
-hated Levinski. And there was the late Levinski's own
-"buddy," Weyl, who had sometimes shared in Harry's
-reprobation. Weyl annoyed him most perhaps, with his
-staring, fishy eye and his Hebraic nose, so similar to that
-of his lamented tent-mate. Weyl had been in the wheatfield
-and his heavy face seemed to conceal a malevolent
-omniscience. The large staring eyes followed the new
-Captain of infantry, inquisitive, accusing and contemptuous.
-Whenever Corporal Weyl came within the range of
-Harry's vision, their glances seemed at once to meet and
-hold each other and it was the Captain who always looked
-away. Weyl's fishy eye fascinated and haunted him. He
-saw it by day, dreamed of it by night, and he cursed the
-man in his heart with a fury that did nothing for his
-composure.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>One day as Harry was making his way to mess, he
-came upon Corporal Weyl standing at ease just outside
-his billet. The man's eye seemed more round, more fishy,
-and his demeanor more contemptuous than ever. The last
-of the whisky was gone. Harry Horton's heart was
-behaving queerly within him, and muscles with which he
-was unfamiliar announced their existence in strange
-twitchings. The breakfast coffee would help. In the
-meanwhile—he glared at Corporal Weyl, his fists clenched.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What the H—— do you mean by staring at me all
-the time?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Weyl came to attention and saluted in excellent form.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg pardon, sir. I don't understand," he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why the H—— do you stare at me?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't know that I did stare, sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you did. Cut it out. It annoys me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Corporal Weyl still stared as the regulations
-demand, looking his Captain squarely in the eye. And the
-Captain's gaze wavered and fell.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"When I'm about," he ordered, "you look some other
-way. Understand?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes sir. I understand," said Weyl, saluting again as
-Harry turned away, but still staring at him. And Harry
-felt the fishy stare, more than ever omniscient, more than
-ever contemptuous, in the middle of his back, all the way
-down the road to mess. But he had just enough of self
-control to refrain from looking around at the object of
-his fury.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And at mess a disagreeable surprise awaited him, in the
-person of a medico who had just joined the outfit. The
-new Captain had barely finished his coffee when he found
-himself addressed by the officer, a Major, who sat just
-opposite him at table.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How are you, Captain Horton?" asked the man
-cordially, extending a hand across. "Didn't recognize
-you at first. How's the head?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry stammered something.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm Welby—looked after you down at Neuilly, you know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," said Harry. "Of course. Glad to see you
-again, Major."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Things were a bit hazy down there, eh?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, rather," said Harry.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Delicate operation that. Touch and go for awhile.
-But you came through all O.K. Delusions. Thought you
-were another man—or something——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh yes," said Harry faintly, "but I'm all right."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Glad to hear it. How's the head?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Fine."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No more pains—no delusions?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No sir."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd like to have a squint at the wound presently, if
-you don't mind. Interesting case. Very."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry rose suddenly, his face the color of ashes.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sorry, sir," he muttered, "I've got a lot to do now.
-Later perhaps," and then without a word took up his
-cap and fled incontinently from the room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There were but two other officers present, but they
-stared at him as he went out, for the conversation across
-the table had drawn attention.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"H-m," remarked the Major into his coffee-cup. "Surly
-chap that. Considering I saved his life—</span><em class="italics">Croix de Guerre</em><span>,
-I see?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes sir," said a Lieutenant. "Just joined up.
-Worried, maybe."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not much worried about me, apparently," said the
-Major.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry went straight out to his billet, locked the door
-of his soom and sank on the edge of his bed. The situation
-was horrible. This man of all men who had seen Jim
-Horton through the hospital! Suppose out of professional
-curiosity the fool came nosing around! Was Welby
-now with the regiment? Harry cursed himself for the
-hurry of his departure. Would the man suspect
-anything? Hardly. But Harry couldn't take a chance like
-that again. A second refusal of the Major's request
-would surely make him an object of suspicion. And the
-wound in the shoulder—there was none! D—n them all!
-Why couldn't they leave him alone?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He couldn't face the thing out. It was too dangerous.
-Already he had had enough of it. And yet what was
-he to do? Yesterday he had thought he read suspicion of
-him in other men's eyes. They seemed to strip him naked,
-those hundreds of eyes, to be gazing at the white uninjured
-flesh where his wounds should have been. All this in a
-week only—and what was to happen in the many weeks
-to follow? If this fool Welby had come why wouldn't
-there be other men of the regiment, of the battalion, who
-had been at the hospital at Neuilly also? They would
-catch him in a false statement, force him into a position
-from which he could not extricate himself, and then what?
-The Major,—the Colonel,—what answer could he give
-them if they asked to see his wounds?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>To Harry's overwrought imagination the whole army
-seemed joined in a conspiracy to bring about his ruin. To
-go about his work seemed impossible, but to feign illness
-meant the visit of a doctor, perhaps Welby himself. He
-would have to go on, at least for the day, and then
-perhaps he would think up something—resignation, a
-transfer to some other unit....</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He managed to put through the day, still wondering
-why men looked at him so strangely. Was there anything
-the matter with his appearance? In the afternoon, the
-youngest of his Lieutenants approached him kindly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Hadn't you better take a run down to the hospital,
-sir?" he asked. "You look all in."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry stared at him stupidly for a moment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm all right—just—er—a little stomach upset——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The youngster saluted and disappeared and Harry
-went back to his quarters. There was no wonder that
-he looked "all in." He hadn't dared to go to the mess
-table since morning and he hadn't had a drink since
-yesterday. Tobacco had ceased to have the desired effect
-upon his nerves. He felt like jumping out of his skin.
-The thing couldn't go on. He </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> "all in." A short leave
-of absence which might give him time to pull himself
-together meant being gone over by a doctor—it meant
-showing his scarless shoulder—impossible! There was
-only one thing to do—to quit while there was
-time—before the truth came out. The more he thought of his
-situation, the more clearly this course seemed indicated.
-To disappear silently—in the night. It could be managed—and
-when he didn't come back, perhaps they would think
-that the wound in his head was troubling him again, and
-that he was not responsible for what he did. Or that he
-had met with foul play. They could think anything they
-chose so long as they didn't guess the truth. And they
-could never learn the truth, unless they examined his body
-for the wounds.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But they would never find him to do that if he ever got
-safely back of the lines. He had managed it before. He
-could do it again now; because he wouldn't have to trust
-to blind luck as he had done back of Boissière Wood. The
-more he thought of his plan, the more he became obsessed
-with it. At any rate it was an obsession which would
-banish the other obsession of the watching eyes. It was
-the dark he craved, the security and blessed immunity of
-darkness—darkness and solitude. He wouldn't wait for
-the ordeal of the morrow ... to-night!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so, driven by all the enemies of his tortured mind,
-and planning with all the craft of a guilty conscience, he
-arranged all things to suit his purpose, passing beyond
-the village with the avowed purpose of visiting a friend in
-another unit and then losing himself in the thicket.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He traveled afoot all night, using his map and making
-for the railroad at St. Couvreur, and in the early morning
-breakfasted at a farmhouse, telling a story of having lost
-his way and craving a bed for a few hours' sleep. He
-was well provided with money and his host was hospitable.
-He slept a while, awoke and no one being about, searched
-the house for what he sought. He found it in a wardrobe
-upstairs—a suit of clothing which would serve—and
-leaving some money on a table, made off without ceremony into
-the thicket, covering a mile or so in a hurry, across
-country, when he found a disused building in which he
-tore off his uniform and donned the borrowed clothing,
-leaving his own, including its </span><em class="italics">Croix de Guerre</em><span>, under a
-truss of straw.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It grew dark again. But he did not care. In a village
-he managed by paying well to find a bottle of cognac.
-His cares slipped from him. Nothing mattered—not
-even the rain. His soul was set free. He paid for a good
-lodging and slept, warm inside and out; purchased the
-next day a better suit of clothing and then boldly boarded
-a train for Paris.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was extraordinary how easily his liberty had been
-accomplished. They would look for him, of course. The
-M.P. would bustle about but he had given them the slip
-all right and they would never find him in Paris. Paris
-for awhile and then a new land where no questions would
-be asked. Curiously enough the only human being he
-seemed to think about, to regret, in what he had done,
-was Moira. His thoughts continually reverted to the
-expression on her face the night that Jim had surprised
-them in the studio. Its agony, its apprehension, so
-nearly depicted the very terrors that had been in his own
-soul. He remembered hazily too, that she had been kind
-to him when Quinlevin had left him there to watch her
-and he had finished the bottle of Irish whisky. Then,
-too, again in the morning she had awakened him and
-started him upon his way back to his post, while the
-expression of her face had shown that she was trying to
-do her duty to him even when her own heart was breaking.
-She had had a thought that even at this last moment he
-still had an opportunity to "make good." He felt that
-Moira, his wife in name only, would know the pain of
-his failure. Quinlevin would sneer, Jim would shrug, but
-Moira would weep and pray—in vain.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He had cared for Moira in his strange selfish way,
-permitted Quinlevin to use him for his own purposes,
-hoping for the fortune that would bring ease and luxury
-for them all, and with it a glamour that he might turn
-to his own account and win the girl to a fulfillment of their
-marriage vows. But Jim had dashed the cup from his lips,
-Jim—his hero brother—now like himself an outcast! So
-there were to be two of them then after all. "It served
-him right—D—n him!" Harry Horton found a malicious
-pleasure in the situation. If </span><em class="italics">he</em><span> wasn't to have her, Jim
-shouldn't either. He wasn't going to give his brother
-the pleasure of reading </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> death notice in the morning
-paper. He, Harry Horton, would just go on living
-whatever happened, and he knew that without the evidence
-of his death, Moira would never marry again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He had gathered in a cloudy way the general meaning
-of the visit to the Duc de Vautrin at Nice and had
-wondered at Moira's consent to go with Quinlevin on such a
-mission after what she must have heard that night. But
-he had been in no humor to ask questions the next
-morning, and knew nothing whatever as to the prospects of
-success for the undertaking. It looked very much as
-though with Jim Horton in on the game, the mission was
-dubious. And yet Quinlevin might succeed. If he did
-there would be enough money to stake Harry in a new
-life in some distant part of the world. This was the
-price that they would pay for immunity—and Harry
-would go. He knew now that Moira was not for him.
-She had settled that matter definitely the night when he
-had come in drunk from the Rue Charron.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He reached Paris and lost himself in Montmartre,
-avoiding the old haunts. There he found new acquaintances
-and many bottles to soothe the awakening pangs.
-Many bottles ... moments of lucidity ... how long
-would it be before Moira and Quinlevin returned to
-the Rue de Tavennes? He would have to sober up.
-Things weren't bad at all now. What difference did it
-make to any one but himself what he did or what he
-became? It was his own life to do what he pleased with.
-And it pleased him to do what he was doing with it. He
-laughed at the amusing inversion. Good joke, that!</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But he would have to go down to the studio in the
-Rue de Tavennes and talk things over. No use quarreling
-with Quinlevin. Everything amiable and friendly.
-No. 7 Rue de Tavennes. If Moira wasn't there, he'd go
-in and wait. Her studio ... his too. Perhaps a little
-of the Irish whisky and a doze....</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="the-petit-bleu"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXI</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">THE PETIT BLEU</em></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The road to Paris was long by the way Jim Horton
-and Piquette had chosen, but without mishap they
-came through Geneva and Lyons, reaching their
-destination at the end of the second day. Of the
-further adventures of Monsieur Barry Quinlevin and his
-apostle Tricot they had learned nothing, though they
-had scanned all the newspapers upon their way for any
-echoes of the adventure at the Hôtel de Paris. Jim
-Horton had spoken little of Moira, but as they neared
-their journey's end, the birth certificate and other papers
-still secure in Jim's inner pocket, he was sure that however
-difficult and painful his decision to desert Moira at the
-critical moment, Piquette's counsel had been wise. Moira
-had fled from him and he knew now that her convictions
-had laid a barrier between them which no further effort
-that he could make would ever pass. Pity he felt for her,
-deep and abiding, for she was so helpless and now more
-than ever alone. But he had done his duty as he had
-seen it, drawn Quinlevin's sting and opened Moira's eyes
-to his perfidy, throwing a light along the path into which
-that perfidy was leading her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He and Piquette had tried to picture events in the hotel
-at Monte Carlo after their flight: The helpless men
-lying in the dark, awaiting the morning, Moira's probable
-return with Nora Burke and their liberation. As to what
-Moira would do after that, they could not decide. Her
-flight to Paris without money seemed impossible, and yet
-for her to remain with her spurious father after this
-awakening seemed also impossible. Piquette had related
-to him parts of her conversation with the girl and Horton
-had listened, aware of Piquette's motives and the hopeless
-impediments to the success of her efforts.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette spoke no more of love, nor did Jim Horton
-revive the topic which had given him a more awkward
-half an hour than he had ever spent in his life, but he
-showed her by every act a consideration that touched her
-deeply and made the friendship that she asked of him a
-sacred thing to them both. What the future held for
-him was yet to be fully revealed, but as yet he could not
-see it clearly. With the collapse of Quinlevin's scheme
-it was probable that all the vials of his wrath would be
-turned upon Horton, who would be denounced to the
-military authorities, no matter what happened to his
-unfortunate brother Harry. It was necessary therefore,
-until the birth certificate and the evidence of Horton
-and Piquette was all placed with Monsieur de Vautrin's
-legal representative, that Horton remain hidden and that
-Piquette avoid all contact with her friends of the </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span>.
-It seemed also the part of prudence for Piquette to remain
-for awhile away from her apartment, keeping in touch
-with her maid who would bring her clothing and letters to
-a designated place.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It would have been much more sensible to have killed
-Tricot," laughed Horton when they were established in
-rooms in his obscure lodging in the Rue Jean Paul. "He'll
-come poking about with a brand new knife and revolver,
-and then we'll have the devil to pay all over again."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not sure," said Piquette.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll take no chances. And when this business is
-finished, if Monsieur de Vautrin doesn't do his duty by
-you I'd like to take you away from Paris, Piquette."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He shrugged. "To America. Where else?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But she shook her head like a solemn child.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>. You will not wish to be taking me to
-America. One cannot change one's destiny like dat. You
-s'all not 'ang me like a millstone aroun' your neck. My
-place is 'ere, in Paris, where I am born, an' if de </span><em class="italics">bon Dieu</em><span>
-will, where I s'all die. As for you, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>, all will be
-well. De </span><em class="italics">vrai gamine</em><span> is born wit' de what you call—secon'
-sight. It is I, Piquette, who say dis to you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her curiously, aware of an air of fatalism
-in her words and manner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How, Piquette?" he laughed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She shrugged. "I doan know, but I believe you s'all be
-'appy yet."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"With her, you mean?" he asked. "Not a chance,
-Piquette. That's done. But if I can help her——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You s'all 'elp 'er, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>. I know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled gently, and then thoughtfully lighted a pipe.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You've got Cassandra beaten by a mile, my little
-Piquette."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Cassandra?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The greatest little guesser in all history. But she
-guessed right——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"An' I guess right too, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>. You see."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled. "Then I wish you'd guess what's happened
-to your silly friend de Vautrin."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Silly!" she laughed. "Dat's a good word, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>"
-and then shrugged. "'E will come one day——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"In a week—and here we sit cooling our heels with our
-evidence all O.K., burning in our fingers. If he doesn't
-arrive to-morrow I'm going to find his </span><em class="italics">avocat</em><span>."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>They had examined the birth certificate with a magnifying
-glass and there was not a doubt that the final "a" of
-"Patricia" had been added to "Patrice," also that the
-word "male" had been changed to "female" by the
-addition of the prefix. With Nora Burke as Quinlevin's only
-witness and Horton and Piquette to oppose her, there
-would not be the slightest difficulty in disposing of Barry
-Quinlevin's pretensions. But Horton still worried much
-about the fate of Moira, for it was difficult for him to
-conceive of her resumption of the old relations with the
-Irishman. And yet it could not be long before Quinlevin
-returned to Paris, and what would be Moira's fate unless
-she accompanied him to the Rue de Tavennes? Perhaps
-she was there now. Already four days had elapsed since
-the flight from the Riviera and of course there had been
-ample time for Quinlevin and his illy-assorted company
-to return. Horton wanted to go to the Rue de Tavennes
-and try to learn what had happened, but Piquette advised
-against it. Until the responsibility for the papers was
-shifted to de Vautrin, she did not think it wise for him to
-take any risk of danger. Jim Horton demurred, but when
-he saw how much in earnest she was, he consented to
-remain in hiding a few days longer.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And late the following afternoon, Monsieur de Vautrin
-not yet having returned, and while they still waited, an
-astonishing thing happened, for Piquette's maid, under
-cover of nightfall (as was the arrangement) brought
-the letters from the Boulevard Clichy, and among them
-was a </span><em class="italics">Petit Bleu</em><span> addressed to Jim Horton. He picked it
-up gingerly in his fingers as though it had been dynamite
-and curiously scrutinized the envelope. It augured badly
-for his security in Paris if many people knew so readily
-where he was to be found. De Vautrin perhaps——?
-Or——</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He tore the envelope open quickly, Piquette looking
-over his shoulder. It was in French, of course, and he
-read,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall be alone Rue de Tavennes to-night eight. Forgive
-and don't fail. MOIRA."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He read the lines over and over, Piquette helping him
-to translate, and stood a moment as though transfixed
-by its significance. "Forgive." That was the word that
-stood out in black letters. What had come over her?
-Did this mean that driven to desperation by the situation
-in which she had found herself she had been forced
-against her will to plead with him for sanctuary? Or was
-it help that she needed? Whatever the real meaning of
-the message, there was no doubt in Jim Horton's mind as
-to where his duty lay.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Piquette was already questioning Celeste rapidly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"When did this </span><em class="italics">Petit Bleu</em><span> arrive?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not an hour ago, Madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are sure?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame, positive. I myself received it from the
-messenger."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, Celeste. You will return to the apartment
-and if any other message arrives, be sure to bring it at
-once."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And be sure to take the roundabout way and be sure
-that you are not followed."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When the woman departed, Piquette took the blue slip
-from Jim Horton's fingers and sat by the gas-light,
-rereading it slowly and thoughtfully.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I must go, of course, Piquette," said Jim quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>, you mus' go. An' yet there are some
-t'ings I don' on'erstan'."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What, Piquette?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is strange, dis sudden change of min' of Madame
-'Orton," she replied.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"She wants me,—needs me," said Jim, unaware of the
-pain he caused.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette shrugged.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I could 'ave tol' you dat at Monte Carlo," she said
-dryly, "but to ask you to come to 'er—it's different, dat."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet she has done it——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"De character of Madame 'as change' a great deal in
-a few days, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Something must have happened. Her position!
-Think of it, Piquette."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do. It is mos' onpleasan'. But I t'ink you would
-be de very las' person she would sen' for."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who then——? Piquette, I——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She rose, and handed him his message. "You mus' go,"
-she said with a shrug, "an' dere is not much time. But
-wit' your permission, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem——" she added firmly,
-"I will go wit' you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You, Piquette!" he stammered dubiously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But she smiled at him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>, I s'all not intrude. You know dat,
-</span><em class="italics">n'est-ce pas</em><span>? But Madame 'Orton and I, we on'erstan'
-each oder. Per'aps I can 'elp 'er too. An' where could
-she go onless to de Boulevard Clichy?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton stood speechless for a moment and then,
-slowly, "I hadn't thought of that," he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They dined and then Piquette went to her room to put
-on her hat, while Jim Horton sat watching the clock
-which ticked off the minutes before their departure. Of
-course Moira's appeal for forgiveness was only the weary
-cry of a heart sick with disappointment—a cry for
-sanctuary from the dreaded evils that encompassed her.
-But he would not permit himself to believe that it meant
-any new happiness for him, except the mere joy that he
-would find in doing her a service. What he hoped was that
-at last she had decided to permit him to take her away
-from Quinlevin. With that he would be content—must
-be content—for the thing that separated them was
-stronger than her will or his. "There's no divorce but
-death." Her words came to him again, the weary tones
-with which she had uttered them, and he realized again
-that there was no hope for her or for him. Even if his
-will were stronger than hers, he must not use it to coerce
-her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When Piquette joined him they went forth by a
-circuitous way toward the Rue de Tavennes. To be certain
-that they were not recognized they avoided the populous
-streets and chose narrow by-ways, shadowed and
-unfamiliar, their coat collars turned up, their hats pulled
-well down over their eyes, while Horton strode beside
-her, saying nothing. To see Moira, to speak to her, to
-take her away from the rogue who had for so long held
-her in his thrall....</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As they turned into the Rue de Tavennes Horton
-glanced at his watch. It was some moments before the
-appointed hour. Under a gas lamp, he glanced at
-Piquette. He thought that she seemed pale, that her
-dark eyes burned with a deeper intensity, that she was
-compact of suppressed emotions, as though she were
-driven forward upon her feet by a power beyond her to
-control. And something of her tenseness seemed curiously
-communicated to him. Was it that Piquette knew that the
-spell that bound her to him was to be broken to-night,
-that the strange and wonderful friendship that she had
-found was to be dissipated by a new element. Why had
-she chosen to come with him—insisted on it even? And
-the rapt, eager, absorbed look he had seen upon her
-face made him almost ready to believe that she had in
-her something of the seer and prophetess at which he had
-been pleased to jest. He knew that she was "game,"
-physically, spiritually, and that she could walk into the
-face of danger and suffering to do him a service. It
-almost seemed as though she had chosen to come with him
-to-night because it was her final act of self-abnegation, to
-bring Jim and Moira together—to help the woman he
-loved to security if not to happiness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As they neared the familiar gate of Madame Toupin,
-Horton was conscious of a sense of grave responsibility.
-It was the same feeling that had come to him there in
-the trench before the advance upon Boissière Wood, the
-imminence of great events, the splendid possibilities of
-success, the dire consequences of failure, a hazard of some
-kind, with happiness or misery for many as the stake.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At the corner Piquette suddenly caught him by the
-elbow and held him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>," she whispered. "Wait!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He looked down at her in surprise at the sudden pause
-in her eager footsteps.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Piquette?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I don' know, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem," she muttered breathlessly,
-one hand to her heart. "I don' know—somet'ing
-tell me to wait——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you want to go back?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What then——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't tell you. Jus' a feeling dat you should not
-go. I am not sure——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But I don't understand——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor I, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem," she laughed. "'Ave I not tol'
-you de </span><em class="italics">vrai gamine</em><span> 'ave secon' sight? Forgive me. You
-t'ink I am foolish. But it is 'ere in my 'eart——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not want me to go to her, Piquette?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. To 'er, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem. </span><em class="italics">C'est bien</em><span>. Is it not for dat
-which I come?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated for another long moment, Jim watching
-her, and then raised her head like some wild creature
-sniffing at the breeze.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>!" she said. "We shall go now."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her mood and they went on, Piquette
-making no further protest, and reached the gate of
-Madame Toupin, where they paused for a moment. The
-</span><em class="italics">loge</em><span> was dark and the gate was open. This was unusual,
-but Horton remembered that sometimes Madame Toupin
-and her pretty daughter went together for visits in the
-neighborhood. Two men were chatting under the lamp
-in the court-yard, but so absorbed in their own affair that
-they gave no attention to the visitors who entered the
-building and slowly climbed the stairs, so familiar to
-Jim, and so suggestive of the greatest joy and the greatest
-misfortune he had ever known. Piquette followed him one
-step behind, clinging to the tail of his overcoat. They
-met no one. A light showed beyond a transom on the
-second floor, the odor of a cigarette was wafted to them,
-and the sound of a voice softly singing. There was no
-other studio-apartment on the third floor but Moira's,
-and they mounted the steps softly on tiptoe, peering
-upward into the obscurity for signs of illumination that
-would proclaim occupancy. But they could see no
-light but the reflection of the cold starlit sky which came
-through a window on the stair and outlined the rail and
-baluster.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is dere no light?" asked Piquette in a voice which in
-spite of itself seemed no more than a whisper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't see any yet," muttered Jim. And then, as his
-head came in line with the floor, he pointed upward.
-Above the door the transom showed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! </span><em class="italics">Elle est là</em><span>," she gasped, falling into her native
-tongue unconsciously.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Silently they mounted and Jim knocked upon the door.
-There was no reply. He knocked more loudly. Silence
-again. Then he put his hand on the knob and turned
-it. The door yielded and they entered, Piquette peering
-curiously over his shoulder, and around the room. The
-gas-light, turned low, cast a dim light over the room. The
-corners ware bathed in shadow, and Horton's gaze swept
-them eagerly, while he moved here and there. The familiar
-chairs, the couch by the big window, the easel with its
-canvas, the draperies, the lay figure, seemed to be all as
-when he had seen them last, but there was no one there.
-The studio was empty. With Piquette close at his side
-he went to the door of the kitchenette. It was locked and
-the key was in the door. It had been fastened from the
-studio side.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's curious," muttered Jim. "She may have gone
-out for a moment."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps," said Piquette.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim went around the studio, glancing at the windows,
-and then joined his companion by the door, scrutinizing
-his watch.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We're a few moments early, Piquette," he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I will go down, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>, and ask when she come back,"
-she ventured.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And they went out of the studio, closing the door behind
-them. But Jim Horton hesitated, glancing back at the
-door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder if there could have been any mistake," he
-muttered. "Eight o'clock. I don't understand——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeem," said Piquette, "I do not like de look of dis. I
-am afraid——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She peered down into the obscurity suddenly and put
-her fingers to her lips.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Some one is coming," she murmured. "It is——" she
-paused, listened, and then caught him by the arm. "It is
-not a woman,—it is a man. Listen."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He obeyed, catching her meaning and its significance
-quickly. The footsteps were surely not those of a woman,
-and the stairs to the floor below creaked heavily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A man! Who?" he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is what I fear'. We mus' 'ide—somewhere—quick!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The door of the hall-room Jim had slept in was near
-them. Tiptoeing over to it quickly, the girl behind him,
-he tried the knob. It yielded and they entered its
-darkness, leaving the door wide enough open so that they
-could look out. The man was now climbing up the stair
-and reached the landing. If either of them had expected
-to see Barry Quinlevin they were disappointed, for the
-figure was heavier, strangely similar to Jim Horton's, and
-like him wore a dark overcoat and slouch hat. And while
-they peered out at him, the man hesitated, looked up at
-the transom and then turned the knob and entered the
-studio, closing the door carefully behind him. Jim Horton
-had felt Piquette's fingers clutch his arm and questioned
-in a whisper.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, Piquette?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Your broder—'Arry," she gasped.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible. He's at camp——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I would swear it——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"In civilian clothes? He knows better than that." He
-laughed gently. "You're nervous, Piquette——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's 'Arry, I tell you," she insisted. "I am not
-mistake'——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"H-m. It did look like him—but what——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I doan know. Its strange what I t'ink——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But why should Harry come here when Moira sent me——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"An' what if she did not send you de </span><em class="italics">Petit Bleu</em><span>?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I doan know——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That Harry sent it? Why would he want to meet
-me?" he shrugged. "But it's queer, Piquette. If he's
-here to worry her again I'll break his head."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh——," whispered Piquette, calming him. "She mus'
-go wit' me, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But she isn't there. I don't understand."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We mus' wait 'ere."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so they stood at the door, listening for sounds
-from below. Silence. And then a strange commotion
-close at hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly Piquette clutched Jim's arm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeem!" he heard her whisper in sudden terror. "What
-is it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He had heard the same thing too, a faint sound, like a
-cough, followed by a groan as though some one were
-struggling for breath. Another pause while they listened
-again. There was no mistaking it now. Jim Horton
-had heard the same sounds before from the throat of one
-of the Engineers who had been horribly gassed. Another
-groan, then the impact of a heavy body falling.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton sprang out into the hallway, drawing his
-automatic, and threw himself against the studio door.
-It was locked. He assaulted it again, again, and at last
-the door-jamb tore away and he was precipitated into the
-middle of the room, revolver in hand, glaring about him,
-Piquette close beside him, her eyes distended with horror.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>In the middle of the floor near the fireplace lay the
-figure of a man, quite motionless, a dark blotch growing
-on the rug beneath his body. And the distorted face
-turned toward the feeble light of the flickering gas-jet
-was that of his brother—Harry.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sainte Vierge</em><span>," came from Piquette in an awed tone.
-"'E 'as kill' 'imself."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Jim was bending over the body.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible. A knife under the arm—in the heart.
-It's murder!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He straightened, keenly alert, and searched the room
-quickly, weapon in hand, thoroughly, aware of its
-possibilities for concealment. A chair was overturned but
-the lay figure, the draperies, the easel were undisturbed,
-and the door into the kitchen was locked, </span><em class="italics">the key on the
-outside</em><span>, as before. The thing was unbelievable, and the
-mystery deepened as he searched. Moira was not here—had
-not been here—he was sure of it now. This trap,
-super-natural it seemed, had been set to catch Jim Horton
-and Harry—God knows how or why—Harry had walked
-into it.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As Piquette bent over to examine the dead man, Horton
-hauled her away quickly. He had just wits enough left
-to know how dangerous was his own position.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't touch anything—this is a case for the police.
-Come."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And he led the way down the stairs to the second floor,
-shouting incoherently for help, while Piquette, her tongue
-loosened, now ably seconded him. And in a moment, it
-seemed, the entire household appeared in the hallway,
-while people from the court and from the street came
-crowding up.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton, who knew that there was no possibility of the
-murderer's escape by the window, stood at the stair on
-the second floor, guarding it, still bewildered by the
-mystery, trying to explain while the crowd surged up and
-a police officer who had been passing, forced his
-way through. To him Piquette, gathering her courage,
-explained, telling him briefly what had happened while
-they had watched from the room upstairs. The police
-officer went up with Horton and Piquette, and entered
-the studio, the crowd following to the door, where the
-policeman commanded them to stop. Then while he
-questioned Piquette he lighted all the burners and
-examined the body, then the closet, the windows and with
-drawn weapon approached the door to the kitchenette.
-It was still locked, the key still in the door. He turned
-the key—then locked it again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You say you tried this door when you first—entered
-the room?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur," said Piquette promptly. "We thought
-that Madame Horton might be inside. But finding it
-locked we did not go in."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The policeman drew back muttering.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Most extraordinary!" he said. "There is a door from
-these other rooms into the hallway outside?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The policeman pushed a way through the crowd and
-tried the door from the outside. It, too, was locked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He turned to the crowd.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No one came out of this door?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No one, no one, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And this other door?" indicating the hall room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There was no one there," said a man who seemed much
-at home. "One of us went in when we came up the stair
-and came out saying it was empty. Look! You may see
-for yourself." And he threw the door open while the
-officer investigated. He came out more puzzled than
-ever, rejoining Horton and Piquette at the door of the
-studio, summoning the man and one or two of the others,
-with Horton and Piquette, as witnesses, taking the names
-and addresses carefully.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This is a case for the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>," he said to them.
-"You will please wait."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="mystery"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXII</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">MYSTERY</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The sudden extraordinary turn of events and the
-inexplicable horror of his brother's death had so
-bewildered Jim Horton that he stood awaiting the
-arrival of the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire de Police</em><span> in a kind of
-stupefaction, looking down at the huddled form of the man
-upon the floor, unable to think with any clearness. The
-officer requested him not to move or touch anything, and
-Piquette stood beside Jim as though to give him courage.
-But the policeman kept an eye on Horton and remained
-by the door, watching outside and in as though guarding
-it against his possible escape. Horton noticed this but
-remained immovable, aware that the fellow was only doing
-his duty, and that further explanations must await the
-arrival of the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, who had been telephoned for.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The furniture of the studio, each object of which
-possessed for Jim some poignant association, seemed
-strangely familiar, yet unreal. The chairs, the rugs, the
-hangings, had suddenly become merely a background for
-the body lying among them, a part of it, linked in a
-horrible conspiracy of silence, Moira's plain furniture,
-her easel, which still bore the placid portrait of the
-indomitable Parisienne who had refused to be a </span><em class="italics">froussarde</em><span>;
-the arm chair by the fireplace in which Moira had
-sat, the table from which they had supped; the lay figure
-in its old costume, felt hat and draperies; the couch by
-the window; the brass bowl on the mantel, full of Moira's
-brushes—all of them spoke so eloquently of her. And
-Moira....</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He frowned as he tried to put the pieces of the puzzle
-together. The knife in his brother's side had been intended
-for him. There was no doubt of that, and the motive for
-the crime was obvious.... Quinlevin.... Tricot?
-Yes. But how? His glance passed over the room again
-and again, seeking in vain the answer. His guardian had
-preferred to await the arrival of his superior before
-examining the kitchenette and bed-rooms, but with the
-door locked upon the outside there was no hope that the
-solution of the mystery would be found there.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, Jim Horton's mind became slowly impregnated
-with the realization of his own position which must
-become more dubious when he answered the questions of
-the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, for answer them he must, telling the
-whole of his story if it were necessary, without thought
-of consequences to himself or others. The future became
-at each moment more ominous. Horrible as the thought
-was, they might even suspect him of this crime and even
-if he escaped that disaster, with the publicity which must
-follow, the Provost Guard awaited him. But at his side
-was Piquette, who had seen what he had seen and who
-knew what he knew and he felt her fingers clasp his with
-a valiant touch that gave him courage and assurance.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And in a short while the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> entered, followed
-by his secretary, several Agents and newspaper men. The
-</span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, Monsieur Matthieu, was a man of medium
-height strongly built, with small sharp eyes, and reddish
-hair. He went about the affair with a business-like mien,
-exchanging a few words with the policeman who had first
-come, glancing quickly at Horton, Piquette, and the other
-witnesses.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let no one enter the room," he said in his sharp
-staccato, when he had selected his witnesses. "Let no one
-leave it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then quickly he questioned Horton and Piquette as to
-their visit and the exact circumstances of their discovery
-of the body. Horton was at a loss, but Piquette spoke
-rapidly and in a few moments had given the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>
-a complete narration of their experiences from the moment
-they had climbed the stairs to the studio of Madame
-Horton.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You say that you and this monsieur came to this
-room by appointment to meet Madame Horton at eight
-o'clock?" questioned the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That you came up the stair and as the door was
-unlocked, you entered this room, finding it empty?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the door to the apartment yonder was locked
-from this side and the key was in the lock as it is at this
-moment?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The rooms beyond, then, have not yet been entered?"
-he asked of the policeman who had come up at the first
-alarm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Bien</em><span>. Then we shall enter at once."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded significantly to the two </span><em class="italics">Agents</em><span>, who took
-their places by Jim and Piquette, and with his secretary
-and the policeman following him, M. Matthieu unlocked
-the door into the kitchenette and investigated the kitchen
-and bedrooms.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When he reappeared some moments later his face was
-puzzled. But he went to the big studio window and
-examined the catches.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"These windows you say were also locked?" he asked of
-Horton suddenly, in excellent English.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They were—all of them," said Horton.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you did not know that one of them was open?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Open!" Horton crossed the room eagerly. "I could
-have sworn——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You observe——?" said the Frenchman, and touching
-the window, it swung open noiselessly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's strange," muttered Horton, "I thought the
-catch was on. But even so," he added, "there was no
-chance for the murderer to have escaped there. As you
-will see, Monsieur, it is a blank wall of full three stories
-in height."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> peered out. There was a broad
-wooden ledge or sill just outside, but the ledge led nowhere
-and he could see that what Horton had stated was true.
-It was sixty feet to the flagging of the court below and
-a drop meant death or injury to any one who dared
-attempt it. Nor was there any sign of a rope or ladder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"H-m. We shall wait for daylight for that. In the
-meanwhile——" he relapsed into silence, gazing about
-the room with great care, examining each object and
-coming at last to the body.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It has not been touched?" he questioned of the policeman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He walked around the corpse dictating quickly to the
-man with the note-book and then drew the knife from the
-wound. It was a two-edged affair at least six inches in
-length, a weapon evidently intended for just such a deadly
-business.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He was struck below the left arm and from behind,"
-Piquette heard him dictate, "the direction of the weapon
-in the body indicating without the possibility of a doubt
-that the wound was not self-inflicted. A case of murder,"
-he finished, looking up at Horton, who had followed his
-motions with intense interest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Then he moved the body so that it lay flat upon the
-floor, throwing a pocket light full upon the face, starting
-back in amazement.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>"Monsieur!" he gasped to Horton, and then threw the
-light suddenly into Jim Horton's face.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Horton, did you know——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is my brother," said Jim quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Nom d'un chien</em><span>! I could swear it was yourself."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My twin brother, Monsieur," repeated Horton.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu's eyes narrowed as he gazed at Jim.
-"The case becomes more interesting. H-m. You will now
-tell me, please, what happened when you went out of the
-studio into the hallway."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton nodded.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We thought of going away and returning when
-Madame Horton, my sister-in-law, should return."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The wife of the murdered man?" broke in the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur," said Jim. "As we were about to go
-down to the court below we heard the footsteps of some
-one coming up. But it was not Madame Horton. We
-knew that by the sounds. It was a man's step—so we
-withdrew into the little hall room and watched."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The facts are curious, Monsieur Horton," put in the
-</span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> with sudden interest. "Why did you wish to
-conceal yourself from the other visitors of Madame
-Horton?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The question was pertinent and there could be no
-evading a reply. So Jim told briefly of Quinlevin, Moira
-and Harry and his unfriendly relationship with his
-brother. As he did so he heard the gasps and whisperings
-among the listeners which gave him an unpleasant realization
-of their conception of the affair. And the testimony
-of Piquette, who grew angry at the sounds from the
-auditors, did nothing to improve his situation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I see, Monsieur," said M. Matthieu sagely. "It is wise
-that you see fit to tell us the truth now since it must all
-come out later. There was bad blood between you and
-your brother and between you and Monsieur Quinlevin—so
-that you feared a plot in the </span><em class="italics">Petit Bleu</em><span> which meant
-to do you violence?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not when I received the message, Monsieur. I came
-here with Madame Morin in good faith to try and help
-Madame Horton—to take her away from a situation in
-which she was most unhappy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And your relations with your sister-in-law?" asked the
-</span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton flushed angrily, but he realized that the man
-was within his rights. As Piquette cried excitedly,
-"Madame 'Orton was on'appy wit' 'er 'usband, Monsieur——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame Horton and I were the best of friends——"
-broke in Jim quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Evidently," said M. Matthieu dryly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The changed manner of Monsieur Matthieu, his sudden
-air of intense interest in Jim himself, and the keen
-appraisal in his eyes did not augur well for the result of
-the investigation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will please go on with the rest of the story,
-Monsieur," he added, and then with a glance at Piquette,
-"And you, Madame, will be pleased to remain silent until
-I question you. You say that you realized that the visitor
-coming up the stair was a man and that you and Madame
-withdrew in the darkness into the little hall-room and
-waited?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you both saw the man come up the stairs to the
-studio door. What happened then?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He turned the knob and entered."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Had you recognized him as your brother at that time?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I hadn't. I thought that my brother had joined his
-regiment."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah—a soldier! And do you know why he is here in
-civilian's clothes?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Did Madame Morin recognize him?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. But I didn't believe it was he—even then."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu smiled and shrugged. "And you
-didn't realize how much alike you were in your dark
-overcoats and soft hats?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And after your brother went in at the studio door,
-how long did you and Madame wait in the hall room?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know exactly—a matter of four or five
-minutes, when we heard sounds in the studio and the
-falling of a body."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you rushed out to the studio door and went in?"
-asked the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> craftily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The door was locked," said Jim. "I put my shoulder
-against it and broke it in."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah. You broke it in? How long did that take?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps half a minute."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And when you entered the room, Madame was with you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—just behin' heem," broke in Piquette eagerly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>M. Matthieu glanced at Piquette with a frown which
-silenced her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did you see, Monsieur?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What you saw, Monsieur—my brother lying there—the
-chair upset—but no sign of any one in the room. It
-was very mystifying."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it must have been," dryly, "miraculous, in fact.
-And then what did you do?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I examined the room thoroughly—I was bewildered,
-Monsieur. I couldn't understand any more than you can,
-because the only door by which the murderer could have
-escaped I found to be locked—as you found it, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Most extraordinary! And what is your theory as to
-the escape of the murderer?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't any. The more I think, the more astounding
-it seems. I couldn't believe, unless I had seen all these
-things with my own eyes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you, Madame?" he asked at last in French, turning
-to Piquette.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What Monsieur tells is the truth, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le
-Commissaire</em><span>. I swear."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu laughed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come now. What you two ask me to think is beyond
-belief. I come to this room and find a man murdered by
-a dastardly blow dealt by a man of great muscular force." Here
-he ran a careless glance up and down Jim Horton's
-long figure. "The only door by which he could have
-escaped is locked, exit by the window is impossible, and
-you and Madame guard the stairs until the crowd gathers.
-Do you think you will get me to believe that the murderer
-flew up the chimney?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't ask you to believe anything," said Jim, trying
-to keep his nerve.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But I must believe the evidence of my observation.
-There is no way in which the man could have passed you
-on the stair?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"None," said Jim helplessly, "until I came up with the
-policeman no one went down."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That is true," added Piquette. "Monsieur 'Orton was
-armed. No one could have passed him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Here the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> was puzzled, for what had
-seemed clearer a moment ago was lost in the frankness of
-this confession.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are the other witnesses in the case?" he asked
-of the policeman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Here, Monsieur," indicating one of the men he had
-detained. "This man was in the hall with the crowd.
-These others too are willing to testify."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The secretary took the witness's name, Paul Joubert,
-his address, and M. Matthieu questioned him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have heard the testimony of Monsieur Horton?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"In every particular. I and these others," indicating
-the men beside him, "came up the stairs to the landing
-and entered the studio."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How many were there in the crowd?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Eight—ten—a dozen," he replied, while the others
-confirmed him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you know them all?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah no, Monsieur. I live in the Court at the rear.
-Some of them were strangers who ran in from the street."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There was no one in the upper hall?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No one."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And in the hall-room?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"One of the men who had rushed up examined the room
-and said it was empty. I went in myself also and saw
-that this was so."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is the man who first went into the hall-room here?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>. I do not recognize him,
-the light from the doorway was dim and——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," said Matthieu. "No matter."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And then,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the other door from the apartment to the
-hallway remained locked all the time?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur. No one came out of there. We tried
-it many times."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"H-m. And you have no theory as to how any one
-could have escaped from the room under the circumstances?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Monsieur. It is nothing less than a miracle."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The other witnesses shook their heads in confirmation
-of the testimony.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That will do, Monsieur Joubert." And then turning
-to Horton. "Now, Monsieur Horton, what did you think
-when you found the body of your brother, when you had
-positive proof that unless the murderer had jumped from
-the window to death, he must at that moment have been
-in the room?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton had courage but he couldn't deceive himself
-as to the intent of the question. The cord was tightening.
-He felt it in the looks of those around him, in the
-frightened breathing of Piquette and in the steady gaze of his
-questioner, which he met with more and more difficulty.
-But he managed to answer calmly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Think! Why, I couldn't think, Monsieur. I was
-bewildered, dazed, stupefied with astonishment and horror."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must give me credit for some intelligence,"
-protested the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>. "Since the murderer couldn't
-have gone out of the door while you say you were
-breaking in, he must have been in the room all the while."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There was no one in the room. I searched it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That is true," almost screamed Piquette in her
-excitement. "I was wit' 'im. There was no one."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Quietly, Madame," said M. Matthieu reprovingly.
-And then, "Monsieur Horton, when you searched the
-room, what did you do?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> would have done, Monsieur—I rushed
-down the stair and gave the alarm, watching the stair and
-waiting for the police. I am as mystified as you. If I
-could tell you any more I would do so."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu tapped his eye-glasses thoughtfully
-and it was a long time before he spoke. And then,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is Madame Horton?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And Monsieur Quinlevin?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have no means of helping me to find them?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If I had I would tell you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A pause. And then the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> cleared his throat
-in an important manner.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a feeling that you are keeping something back,
-Monsieur Horton. I warn you that you will not make
-things easy for yourself in making them difficult for me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean, Monsieur?" asked Jim, sure that
-his position and Piquette's had now grown desperate.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Merely, Monsieur," said the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> with a
-glance at the dead man, "that blows such as this are not
-struck by spiritual agencies, that when there is a
-murdered man there must also be a murderer. Your
-testimony and that of Madame Morin agree, but then I cannot
-neglect the possibility that you may have some object
-in agreeing."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You believe that I——" Horton broke in in horror.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe nothing until it is definitely proved. I admit
-that there are many phases of this case which seem
-favorable to a belief in your story. But there are also some
-points which from your testimony seem to be—er—incredible.
-We do not live in an age of miracles. Murders
-are not committed by spirits who vanish. There was bad
-blood between you and your brother. You yourself have
-admitted it. Madame Morin had a suspicion when he
-came up the stair that the </span><em class="italics">Petit Bleu</em><span> you received was a
-trap intended for you——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Which my brother fell into," said Horton, in a last
-desperate effort to clear himself. "Why, Monsieur, you
-yourself can see how like we are. The blow was intended
-for me——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are fortunate, Monsieur," said the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>,
-with a shrug. "And you will have every chance to prove
-your innocence. But I cannot take the grave responsibility
-of liberating you. The case must go to the </span><em class="italics">Prefet</em><span>
-and will be heard in its entirety, including the many
-details which have been suggested as to Madame Horton and
-Monsieur Quinlevin. I am only sent here to investigate
-the case in its physical aspects. And the result of the
-investigation is to place you and Madame Morin under
-arrest."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton straightened and glanced around at the others
-in the room. They had ceased to have personalities.
-They looked like wax images—staring at him in wonder,
-in curiosity, as though he were already condemned. From
-them his glance found Piquette. Her face was white and
-she was staring at the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> as though she could
-not believe the evidence of her ears.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Monsieur, have we not told you——?" he heard
-her begin, when the officer silenced her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will have every opportunity to testify to-morrow,
-Madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She sent one glance at him, the </span><em class="italics">gamine</em><span> in her terrified
-at the Law as represented in the man before her, and then
-bewildered, rushed to Jim and caught him by the hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Courage, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>," she gasped. "You 'ave on'y to
-speak de truth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not frightened," he said, "but you, Piquette—a
-prison——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not'ing——" she said bravely, but he saw that
-she was on the point of breaking.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And now," broke in the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, who had watched
-this byplay with some interest, "I am sorry that we must
-be off. Come."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And giving some instructions as to the witnesses to one
-of the </span><em class="italics">Agents de police</em><span> who had accompanied him, and
-taking the revolver which Horton silently offered him, he
-led the way down the stair, with Piquette and Horton
-following, policemen at their elbows.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A great crowd had assembled in the street and
-courtyard below. Horton caught a glimpse of the white cap
-and whiter face of Madame Toupin at the door of her
-</span><em class="italics">loge</em><span>, and then was hurried by a policeman into a
-carriage which was awaiting them. He saw poor Piquette
-put into another one and they drove off in the direction
-of the </span><em class="italics">Prefecture de Police</em><span>, where he was shown without
-ceremony into a cell alone to await a further
-investigation upon the morrow.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He sank down upon the cot, buried his head in his
-hands and tried to think.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin was at the bottom of this—Quinlevin—Tricot.
-One of them had done this dastardly thing, believing
-to save their skins and thinking that they were killing
-him. But how had the murderer gotten away? How? How?</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="escape"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXIII</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">ESCAPE</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The events in the Hôtel de Paris at Nice, the
-revelation in Monsieur de Vautrin's rooms, the
-confession of Piquette Morin and the startling events
-that immediately followed it were all bewildering. From
-affection for Quinlevin, Moira had passed through the
-stages of incredulity, doubt, and reassurance, and then at
-Nora's downfall, dismay at her own position, and after
-Quinlevin's brutal treatment of her, aversion and terror.
-When he turned the key of her door and went with
-Piquette into his own room, she threw herself into her chair,
-aware of her dependence upon him, and yet ready to
-run away and throw herself upon the mercy of the first
-stranger that she could find. But the sounds that came
-from behind the closed door fascinated her, the murmur
-of conversation rising and falling, and then the strange
-noises, heard indistinctly yet frightful in their
-significance. The silence that followed, still more suggestive.
-She shrank upon her bed in terror, shutting her ears
-with her fingers. Then the renewal of the commotion, as
-she raised her hands, her terror inquisitive for the
-worst—the sound of blows, the grunts of men in struggle, and
-then the falling of a body.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Tricot and Quinlevin—they were killing each other....
-That was the chief thought in her mind—that and
-the imperative need of escape. She got up, trembling,
-and went to the door, shooting the brass bolt, then turned,
-catching up her coat and gloves. The door into the
-corridor was locked but she could still go out through
-Nora's room. She tried the other door, but found it
-locked on the outside. She called Nora softly, then more
-loudly, and heard the woman answer. Presently, by dint
-of wild persuasion, she prevailed upon her old nurse to
-open the door. Nora was red of face, disheveled, and
-bewildered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it ye want, alanah?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I must go—you must go with me," she stammered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"For why? Isn't it enough I've been through this day
-widout——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Moira pushed her way past the woman.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Something dreadful has happened—in there," she
-stammered, her face white, "I can't stay——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What then——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A fight—Mr. Quinlevin and Tricot——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The woman tried to restrain her but Moira flung
-herself away and unlocked the door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye'll not be lavin' me here alone," gasped Nora.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come then. Quickly."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And she fled out into the corridor, the woman following,
-down the stairway and into the night.... The memory
-of those dreadful hours of wandering with Nora along
-the roads was like a dream in a fever, but after awhile
-the physical exercise made her more calm and she was
-able to explain to the frightened Irish woman what had
-happened.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Her first impulse had been to flee from it all—to escape
-anywhere—but without money where should she go? With
-the return of reason came courage. And with courage
-a resolve to go back and do what she could for Piquette
-Morin. They would not have dared to kill her. It was
-impossible. An impulse to tell the people of the hotel
-what had happened came to her again, but as she turned
-toward the gardens, followed heavily by the frightened
-Nora, she resolved to go upstairs and face whatever was
-in store for her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>What she found was rather terrifying at first, but when
-she summoned nerve enough to turn on the light, she saw
-two swaddled figures squirming to be free. Madame
-Morin had vanished. With the help of Nora, who came
-out of her state of coma when the facts were made
-obvious, she liberated the two men and questioned eagerly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"W-why didn't you—come before?" was Quinlevin's
-reply. He was not pleasant to look at.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I was frightened at the sounds. I ran away. What
-has happened?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Isn't it obvious?" mumbled the Irishman, spitting out
-a fragment of the cotton towel from his dry throat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim Horton!" gasped Moira.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The same—damn him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And Madame?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Need you guess?" he sneered. "They're well on the
-road to Paris by now."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God," said Moira fervently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her but said nothing. His feelings were
-too deep for words.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>*      *      *      *      *</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>But the day following, Moira was to learn her
-dependence upon him. He took little pains to conceal the
-change of his feelings towards her, the suddenness of
-which proclaimed only too insistently the fact that his
-years of kindness were only the device Jim Horton had
-proved them to be. On the way back to Paris he was for
-the most part silent and morose, remaining much of the
-time with the abominable Tricot, leaving Moira to the
-tender mercies of her old nurse, who now shared with her
-the Irishman's displeasure. It was indeed a sisterhood
-of consolation and she saw that with the failure of the
-great plan, Nora was much chastened by her experience,
-for she sat and wailed in a most discomfiting manner,
-confessing at last her share in the conspiracy and throwing
-herself upon Moira's mercy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira was sorry for the woman who had brought her
-safely through her baby diseases and acted as guide,
-counselor and friend until it was time for her to go away
-to boarding school. And so, mingled with the contempt
-that Moira felt for her, there was a little pity too, and
-a leaven of the old affection. In those moments of
-rapprochement and confession, Moira learned in astonishment
-the secret of her birth. Jim Horton had not been
-mistaken. She was not the daughter of Barry Quinlevin,
-but his niece, posthumous daughter of his younger
-brother, whose widow had died in childbirth. Barry
-Quinlevin's own wife, an invalid and bedridden, had acquiesced
-in the plan of adopting the daughter of her sister-in-law,
-but had not known in the few years before her own death
-of the deception that was to be practiced upon Monsieur
-de Vautrin. The community in which the families lived
-was sparsely settled, the neighbors ignorant and
-illiterate. If Monsieur de Vautrin had taken pains to make
-inquiries at this time he must surely have discovered the
-ruse, but he had apparently taken all things told him
-for granted, or was too enwrapped in his own selfish
-pursuits to give the case attention. So long as he was left to
-the enjoyment of his fortune by the paying of the tribute
-Quinlevin demanded, he was satisfied. And so Quinlevin
-managed things in his own way, paying Nora for her
-silence and keeping Moira in ignorance as to the source
-of their income.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>If Quinlevin guessed the nature of the conversation that
-passed between the two women upon the train he gave no
-sign of it, but when they reached Paris and returned to
-the studio, he seemed to experience a change of heart
-toward Moira, did what he could to restore the breach in
-their old relations, admitting the truth of Nora's
-confession and shrugging off his failure as a matter that was
-ended. Apparently taking Moira's forgiveness for
-granted, he treated her, in their new relation of uncle
-and niece, with marked consideration, and planned in his
-grandiose way for the future. He seemed to have plenty
-of money and spent it upon her generously, but he did
-not leave her for a moment. And when he proposed a
-trip to Fontainebleau, a spot which in former years she
-had loved to visit, he asked her to accompany him. Her
-reasons for acquiescence were logical enough. Until she
-decided upon a definite plan of separation from him, she
-thought it wisest to assume an attitude of forbearance.
-She wanted to go away somewhere where she could think
-and she wanted to hide herself where Jim Horton couldn't
-find her. For she was sure that he would not be content
-to let their affair remain as she had desired it. He would
-come pleading with her and then—God knows what she
-would do. Alone, helpless—she was afraid—of herself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The little inn in the Forest where they stopped was not
-far from the house of some friends of Moira's, and thither
-if the opportunity offered, she could go for sanctuary.
-But here again she felt the constant supervision of her
-indomitable foster-father and uncle. He recovered some
-of his old spirits and his old affection as he seemed to be
-trying to obliterate from her memory the last few weeks
-which had been so disastrous to them both. But she
-accepted these marks of his regeneration with reserve,
-enjoying the rest and recuperation and trying her best to
-forget the man she loved, praying for strength and
-guidance and planning the struggle for existence which must
-begin when this brief interlude came to an end. And so
-in a few days she lulled him into a sense of security and
-convinced him of her spirit of resignation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She wandered off alone into the forest, and sometimes
-did not see him for hours at a time, but she did not
-attempt escape. She was thinking deeply. She was still
-afraid that an escape from Quinlevin meant the
-other—the greater danger to her soul.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was upon her return from one of her solitary
-pilgrimages through the dripping woods (for the early morn
-had been foggy), that she learned that Barry Quinlevin
-was still in bed. She smiled as she thought how easily
-her acquiescence had disarmed him. But when she sent
-up a message that she had returned he sent down word
-that he would join her at </span><em class="italics">déjeuner</em><span>. Something of the
-old attraction toward him still remained in spite of her
-knowledge of his villainy. She had not yet been able to
-obliterate from her mind the many years of his
-encouragement in her work, his gentleness and the many marks
-of affection. In his strange way he loved her, and the
-fact that she now felt contempt for him did not disguise
-the fact that she felt a little pity too. But she knew
-that she must decide very soon what she would do. There
-were so many years to set in the balance against the
-present. Rogue? Yes. But full of consideration and
-a lively appreciation of the creature that he had made
-her. To cut him out of her life—root and branch—much
-as she had learned to despise him, was not easy. But
-she must do it—for her own self-respect—to-morrow—the
-next day....</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As she thought of her problems she sank into an arm
-chair by the fire and picked up a copy of a morning paper,
-which a new visitor had just brought in from the city. It
-was part of Moira's purpose in hiding herself from the
-world to hide also the world from herself. But she picked
-up the </span><em class="italics">Matin</em><span> and in a moment was absorbed in the
-account of the projected Peace Conference.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But as she turned the page, her glance fell upon a
-familiar name—many familiar names, and in a moment, her
-eyes starting from her head, she read the dreadful
-headlines:</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>"MURDER IN A STUDIO IN THE QUARTIER.
-<br />Captain Horton, U.S.A., killed under strange
-<br />circumstances."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Then the news which followed, describing briefly (for
-space was valuable) the known facts regarding the
-mystery, the arrest of an American, James Horton, and a
-French woman, Piquette Morin, pending a further
-investigation of the mysterious crime. Apparently all the
-facts in the possession of the police were given, which,
-unless some other details of the mystery were discovered,
-pointed the finger of suspicion at the American, who was
-the twin brother of the dead man.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira read with growing horror the familiar address,
-the names of Madame Toupin and the other tenants, her
-own name and Barry Quinlevin's, whose absence had added
-to the mystery. The type danced before her eyes like the
-shifting colors in a kaleidoscope and then became merged
-and incomprehensible. Was she dreaming? With an
-effort, she focused again upon the damnable page, aware
-of this new crisis that had sought her out from the depths
-of her retreat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Harry—dead——! murdered——! What had he been
-doing at the studio? There must be some mistake. Harry
-was at camp a hundred miles away—And Jim—Jim
-Horton—his murderer. The thing was impossible!...</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She got up, paper in hand, and scarcely aware of what
-she was doing, went to her room and quickly put on her
-hat and coat, coming down stairs a few moments later
-and taking the road in the direction of the Railroad
-Station. She had no definite plan except to escape her uncle
-and get to Paris as quickly as possible. But she was
-aware that some instinct was guiding her. She inquired
-of the Station Agent when the Paris train was due. She
-was lucky. There would be a train in half an hour. She
-bought a ticket out of the slender means in her possession
-and waited, going over and over in her mind the terrible
-phrases which seemed already to have burned themselves
-indelibly upon her memory. The motive for the crime?
-There seemed to be none—"except that the two brothers
-had not been friendly." Motive! Harry—her husband—and
-Jim——! Holy Virgin! She leaned against a tree
-by the roadside and wordlessly prayed. Not that
-motive—not that! And Jim Horton—whatever the things
-he had suffered through Harry, his own misplaced
-gallantry, and through </span><em class="italics">her</em><span>, he was not the man who could
-have done this thing. When she raised her head, listening
-for the sounds of the train, a smile was on her lips, a
-new smile of confidence and faith. She had tried him.
-She knew the kind of man he was. He could fight, in the
-open, as a brave man should, but not in the dark, not
-with a dastardly blow for his own brother in the dark.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>When the train came in she was calm again and resolved.
-Whatever skill, whatever intelligence she had, was
-to be dedicated to solving this mystery, and clearing Jim
-Horton of all complicity in the murder. Her name was
-mentioned. The police required her presence. She would
-go to them and tell her whole story, neglecting nothing,
-whatever it cost her.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She stared at the passing scenery with eyes that saw
-nothing. But there was a frown at her brows and her
-lips were drawn together in a firm line. She was beginning
-to see with an inner vision, to turn over one by one
-the events of the last few weeks and the motives of all
-those concerned in them. The police did not know who
-had committed this crime if Jim Horton were innocent.
-The circumstances were such as to preclude the
-possibility of any one escaping from the room. </span><em class="italics">And yet some
-one must have been there and some one, somehow, must
-have escaped</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Out of her own knowledge emerged a motive for a
-murder—not of Harry, but of his brother—a motive that
-had already been the cause of two abortive attempts upon
-his life. Somehow this thought emerged with
-photographic distinctness from the others, becoming at each
-moment more definite and more full of sinister suggestion.
-But a life, perhaps two lives, one of them Jim Horton's,
-hung upon the keenness of her vision and intelligence. If
-Monsieur Matthieu, the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, whose name had
-been given in the </span><em class="italics">Matin</em><span>, was balked in getting at the
-truth, she would help him. There were many things he
-did not know, many things that she could tell him, such
-as would perhaps open new vistas for investigation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Quite calmly now she took out the paper and re-read
-the details, her imagination catching at neglected clues,
-her instinct groping, and her horror grew—not at the
-thought of Jim in his prison, but of other suspicions that
-rose from every known fact and confronted her—pointing
-accusing fingers.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She passed between the white columns of the entrance
-to the Palais de Justice, through the iron and gilt barrier
-and then paused, but not in any fear, for her mind was
-made up and her courage had come back to her with a
-rush that put to shame her days of uncertainty. So she
-approached one of the palace guards and asked to be
-shown to the office of the </span><em class="italics">Prefet</em><span>. The </span><em class="italics">Prefet</em><span>, she was
-informed, was not in the building. Would any one else do?
-Was it upon a matter connected with the administration
-of justice? She replied promptly that she came upon a
-matter in connection with the murder mystery in the
-studio at No. 7 Rue de Tavennes and the man pricked up
-his ears, conducting her promptly up a long flight of
-stone steps to the left, where he told her she would find
-the </span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span>. And when in reply to his
-question as to what name he should announce, she told him
-that she was Madame Horton, his interest and activity
-were intense. With a word to the </span><em class="italics">greffier</em><span> who stood near,
-he disappeared through a door and in a moment returned
-with two gentlemen who hurried forward to meet her,
-introducing themselves as Monsieur Simon, the </span><em class="italics">Juge
-d'Instruction</em><span>, who had taken charge of the investigation, and
-Monsieur Matthieu, the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire de Police</em><span> for the
-District in which the crime had been committed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She followed them through the door from which they
-had emerged and answering their questions told her story
-without hesitation, from the moment of her visit to Jim
-Horton at the hospital at Neuilly until she had read in
-the morning paper of the crime.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I came, Messieurs, because it was my duty to aid you
-in clearing up this mystery, and because I know that
-whatever the evidence you hold against him, Monsieur Horton
-could never have been guilty of this crime."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Simon wagged his head sagely and plucked
-with slender white fingers at his dark beard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We are greatly indebted to you, Madame. Our agents
-have been looking for you. No doubt they would have
-found you in time, but it was wiser for you to come—much
-wiser. Your story is interesting and may do much to
-help Monsieur Matthieu in his investigation, but——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must admit, Madame," broke in the practical
-</span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, who had a reputation at stake, "that
-instead of tending to clear Monsieur Horton of suspicion,
-you have only added one more thread to the net that
-already enmeshes him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean, Monsieur?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"His love for you—his dislike for your husband——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira flushed painfully. "I have told you the truth
-of this matter because I believe that only by knowing the
-whole truth will you be able to solve this mystery. If
-Monsieur Horton tells you that the studio was empty, he
-tells you what he believes to be the truth. Why,
-otherwise, would he lie about a situation which must surely
-condemn him?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We have thought of all that, Madame," said Monsieur
-Simon, "and I am willing to admit that there are several
-points in his testimony which are very puzzling. We
-have only finished his examination and that of
-Madame Morin, which have lasted the greater part of the
-morning. Both he and Madame Morin have repeated
-without the slightest divergence the testimony taken in the
-preliminary examination at the scene of the crime. I am
-glad to say also that their statements confirm in a
-general way your own in regard to what has happened in the
-affair of the Duc de Vautrin. The entire department of
-Police is now upon a search for Monsieur Barry
-Quinlevin and the man named Tricot, who will, of course, be
-given the opportunity to explain where they were last
-night at eight o'clock. An agent goes at once to
-Fontainebleau. But that does not exonerate Monsieur
-Horton or Madame Morin. A man has been killed in a room
-from which the murderer could not have emerged without
-detection. The door to the sleeping apartments was
-locked, the key on the outside, the window was sixty feet
-from the stone flagging below. The window and wall were
-carefully studied this morning after daybreak. The
-murderer could not have climbed down. It is impossible.
-Monsieur Horton admits that he did not escape by the
-stair. How then did he escape? The doors have been
-guarded. He is not there now nor did Monsieur Horton
-discover him either before or after the murder——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet he was there, Monsieur Simon——" said
-Moira, her voice gathering strength and clearness from
-the depth of her faith and conviction. "He was there,
-</span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>," she repeated, "all the time.
-Nothing else is possible."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu tapped his eyeglasses upon the
-palm of his hand.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I should be very willing to believe you, Madame," he
-said, with polite scepticism, "had I not ocular
-demonstration that there could have been no one in the room at
-any moment between the arrival of Monsieur Horton and
-Madame Morin and the alarm given by Monsieur Horton
-himself. I have not yet exhausted every avenue of
-investigation, but I need not conceal from you the extreme
-danger of the position in which Monsieur Horton finds
-himself. We have a motive for the crime. Even you,
-Madame, have only added testimony as to that. With
-his brother dead, there was no obstacle to your
-unfortunate affection——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur——!" Moira had drawn back from him in
-dismay, her face blanched again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If I seem cruel, I only speak with the cold logic of the
-professional analyst of human motives. The fact that
-you are a Catholic and opposed to divorce only provides
-another reason why your husband should be removed from
-the path of Monsieur Horton——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Everything that Moira had said seemed to be weaving
-more tightly the skein of evidence around the man she
-loved. And this thinking machine in the eyeglasses,
-grasped only at the threads that seemed to incriminate
-him. And what of the other evidence that she had
-presented—would they disregard that? She was trying to
-think clearly, connectedly, and presently managed to put
-her thoughts into words.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you discovered how or why Monsieur Jim Horton
-happened to be at the studio and why if he was bent
-upon the murder of his own brother he took Madame
-Morin as a witness——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Or accessory——" put in Monsieur Matthieu sharply.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That is absurd——" broke in Moira with some spirit,
-"and you know it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Simon nodded approval.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am glad you have made that point, Madame. It is
-our trade to make our witnesses uncomfortable that
-they may controvert themselves. But you have probed
-quite straight. And instead of answering your question,
-permit me to ask you another. Did you send a </span><em class="italics">Petit
-Bleu</em><span> to Monsieur Horton requesting him to come to your
-studio last night at eight o'clock?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The expression upon Moira's face showed so genuine
-an astonishment that there could be no doubting the
-sincerity of her reply.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I? No, Monsieur Simon. I was at Fontainebleau.
-Why should I ask him to come to the studio when I was
-not there?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The two men exchanged glances of new interest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Both Monsieur Horton and Madame Morin testify
-that Monsieur Horton received such a message."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira started forward in her chair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What did that message say, Messieurs?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Simon took the blue slip from a packet of
-papers and laid it before her. With eyes dilated, she read
-the message that was signed with her name. Then for a
-moment frowned deeply, staring at this confirmation of
-her suspicion.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think, Madame?" asked Simon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira was silent for a moment, struggling for the
-mastery of her emotions. And then in a suppressed tone,
-barely audible,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is as I supposed, Messieurs. Monsieur Jim Horton
-was lured to the studio by this message and—my
-husband—was killed by mistake in his stead."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By whom, Madame?" asked the Judge quickly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira made a nervous gesture of recantation.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I do not know. It is horrible to suspect without
-further proof. I—I cannot say."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Quinlevin?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's impossible. He was at Fontainebleau."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then who——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That's for you to find out. I did not come to accuse—but
-to liberate. Search! Find! Let their own words
-convict them," she said wildly. "I cannot. I only know
-that Monsieur Horton did not kill my husband. That is
-impossible."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu, who had listened for most of the
-while in silence, now rose and took a pace or two before
-her, tapping his glasses quickly against his palm.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame Horton, let us confine ourselves to the physical
-evidence that confronts us. </span><em class="italics">No one could have been
-in that studio between the moment when Monsieur Jim
-Horton and Madame Morin say they left it until they
-say they returned some moments later</em><span>. That is the fact.
-I know. It is my business to neglect nothing. I </span><em class="italics">have</em><span>
-neglected nothing. Therefore I tell you that no matter
-whom you suspect to have committed this murder, no
-matter whom Monsieur Simon or I might believe to have
-had a motive in committing it, the fact remains that he
-could not have entered the studio or departed from it
-during the short period in which this crime was
-committed. And I say to you now that </span><em class="italics">no human being
-except Monsieur Horton could have been present to
-commit this murder</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet," said Moira desperately, "a human being
-other than Monsieur Horton killed my husband."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu shrugged and smiled.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have not investigated as I have done, Madame,"
-he said.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Monsieur. But I am right," she said firmly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are persistent."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is my duty to find the truth of this matter."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And mine—but not to achieve the impossible——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Simon, whose nervous fingers had been caressing
-his dark beard, while his small deep-set eyes followed
-the changing emotions in Moira's troubled face, now broke
-into the discussion with some spirit.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not safe, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>, to disregard
-the intuitions of a woman. In this case, since we have
-weighed all immediate evidence, perhaps it would be wise
-to give Madame Horton the opportunity of confirming to
-her own satisfaction the results of your investigation."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu smiled and shrugged again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Volontiers</em><span>, Monsieur, if you think it worth while."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"At least it can do no harm. Madame Horton is
-familiar with her own studio. Perhaps she may notice
-something that has escaped your eye."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As you please."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is that which you desire, Madame?" asked the Judge.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, thanks, Monsieur," uttered Moira gratefully. "I
-could not be satisfied, even after the skill of </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le
-Commissaire</em><span>, unless I had probed this mystery with my
-own eyes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, then, Madame. There is still time. We shall
-go at once."</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="the-clue"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXIV</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE CLUE</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>The body of Harry Horton had been removed from
-the studio and this it seemed made Moira's task
-less painful. But she was now armed with a
-desperate courage which even the sight of Harry's mangled
-body would not have dismayed. And the thought that
-her keenness of perception, her intelligence, her woman's
-instinct were the only weapons she had with which to
-combat the scepticism of this skillful detective and save Jim
-Horton from the perils of impending indictment for
-murder, gave her a sense of responsibility which keyed her
-faculties to their utmost and drove from her heart all
-terrors of her situation. She </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> succeed where Monsieur
-Matthieu had failed. Instinct would guide her, instinct
-and faith. Monsieur Matthieu, if not her enemy, was
-prejudiced in favor of a pre-conceived idea which every
-bit of evidence justified, and yet there must be other
-evidence—clues neglected, trifles overlooked—and she must
-find them out.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The burden of the testimony against Jim Horton would
-fall if she could prove it physically possible </span><em class="italics">for some one
-to have been in the studio while Jim Horton and Piquette
-had waited outside</em><span>. This was her object—nothing else
-seemed to matter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>On the way to the Rue de Tavennes in a cab Monsieur
-Simon replied politely to her questions, giving her all the
-information she desired, while Monsieur Matthieu sat
-opposite. How she hated the man! His smile patronized,
-his reddish hair inflamed her. She could see that in his
-mind Jim Horton was already convicted. But when they
-reached the </span><em class="italics">porte cochère</em><span> of Madame Toupin, Monsieur
-Simon handed her gravely down and Monsieur Matthieu
-led the way up the stair to the studio where a policeman
-was still on guard. Moira followed the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>
-closely and stood for a moment on the threshold of the
-room while Monsieur Matthieu unbent enough to show
-her where the body lay and to indicate the locked door
-and the chair which had been overturned. To Moira
-these matters were already unimportant, since she saw
-no reason to deny the testimony of the many witnesses
-on these points. She entered the room slowly, with a
-feeling of some awe, and for a moment stood by the
-fireplace, glancing from one object to the other, thinking
-deeply. A dark stain on the rug, just before her, gave
-her a tremor, but she recovered herself immediately and
-walked slowly around the room, examining each object
-as though she had never seen it before.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Does Madame wish to look in the apartment or the
-kitchenette?" she heard Monsieur Matthieu's voice asking.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But she shook her head. The answer to the mystery
-lay here—in this very room. She was already satisfied
-as to that.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this room in the precise condition in which it was
-found when the police first arrived?" she asked coolly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame, except for the removal of the body,
-nothing has been disturbed."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are sure of this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am, Madame. It is for this reason that a
-policeman has been always on guard."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you yourself, Monsieur,—you have moved no
-object—no drapery—no chair?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Madame. Nothing. I climbed upon the couch
-to look out of the window. That is all."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded and passed around the lay figure which
-she was regarding with a new interest.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And the gray drapery on the shoulder of the lay
-figure—you say it has not been touched?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu looked up with a smile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I examined the figure carefully, Madame. I may have
-raised the drapery—but I restored it as I found it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then things are not precisely as they were," she said
-keenly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Madame. Not the gray drapery," said Matthieu
-amusedly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You did not touch the bolero jacket?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor the skirt?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I am quite sure of that," said the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She removed the hat from the head of </span><em class="italics">papier maché</em><span>
-and examined it minutely, then took off the head itself
-and stared into the painted eyes as though asking the
-mute familiar lips a question. And then suddenly, as the
-</span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> and Monsieur Simon watched curiously,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a pity that you moved the draperies, Monsieur
-Matthieu," she said slowly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Madame?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you have disturbed the dust."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't understand why——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I was away for a week. Some dust would have
-accumulated, upon the draperies—the figure has been
-touched. It is not as I left it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, Madame, I made a thorough investigation——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did you learn from it?" she asked quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu glanced at her once and then
-shrugged.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, Madame. A lay figure is a lay figure."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"True," said Moira carelessly, but the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>
-found himself regarding her with a new appraising eye.
-What did she mean by this question?</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But she moved past him quickly as though with a
-definite purpose, and approached the north window.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Which of these sashes was unlocked, Monsieur?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The one to the right, Madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I see. You say it was closed but not fastened?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That is correct."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That is strange."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Madame?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I fastened it with great care before I left
-for Fontainebleau."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are sure of this?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Positive. It has an awkward catch. You see?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And she demonstrated how easily it came unlatched
-unless pressed firmly down.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu came forward smiling.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You only indicate, Madame, that it will slip easily out
-of place."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira met his gaze firmly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Try to make it slip, Monsieur," she said, "since I
-have fastened it."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He tried by tapping—by shaking the window, but the
-catch held.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a matter of little moment," he muttered, "since
-it would be impossible for the murderer to have escaped
-by this way."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps," said Moira.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But while she spoke she unlocked the catch, then slipped
-it insecurely into place and stood aside, studying it keenly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it that interests you, Madame?" asked the
-</span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The catch, Monsieur," she replied quietly. "It is an
-old one. The edges are worn quite smooth." And just
-then as a breeze came from without, the French window
-swung gently open.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu started back a pace and glanced at
-Monsieur Simon.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You found this window open, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>,"
-said the Judge.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That is true," replied the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> confidently,
-"but it is possible that Monsieur Horton may have
-disturbed it when he examined it before the murder."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira turned quickly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The window was securely locked. I left it so.
-Monsieur Horton found it so. You make nothing of this,
-either, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu shook his head and pointed toward
-the opening.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My answer to your questions, Madame, is yonder,"
-he said with a grin. "Explain to me how any living man
-could have descended from that window and I will
-surrender to you my position and my reputation as
-</span><em class="italics">Commissaire de Police</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira made no reply. She had climbed upon the couch
-and was already half out of the window, examining the
-broad ledge outside, while Monsieur Simon, somewhat
-alarmed lest she should lose her balance, had caught her
-by the skirt of her dress.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Be careful, Madame," he warned, "you may fall."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have no fear, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Juge</em><span>," she said with a
-smile. But she had lowered herself to her knees upon the
-ledge outside and clinging to the jamb of the window was
-carefully examining every inch of the sill and tin gutter.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu, inside the room, had lighted a
-cigarette and was puffing at it contentedly, looking on
-with an amused tolerance at the solicitude of Monsieur
-Simon, who as he knew was more easily swayed than
-himself from the paths of his duty by a pretty face or a
-well-turned ankle. Through the panes of glass he saw
-that the girl had bent forward at the edge, her eyes near
-the tin gutter, the fingers of one hand touching the edge,
-while Monsieur Simon held her other arm and besought
-her to return. This she did presently, standing for a
-moment upright in the open window and looking down at
-them intently, a challenge in her eyes for the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you discover anything, Madame?" he asked
-politely enough.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Though his professional manner may not have indicated
-it, Monsieur Matthieu was sorry for her. She had
-attempted the impossible. Her lover was doomed. But
-she was handsome—with the fine color that had come into
-her face from her exertions, and the new gleam of hope
-that had come into her eyes—handsome, but her effort
-was futile, so futile to hope to find clues where he,
-Matthieu, had failed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She didn't reply and accepting the hand which the gallant
-</span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span> offered her, stepped down to the
-couch and so to the floor.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, Madame," ventured the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> more
-kindly, "that it would be quite out of the question for
-the murderer to have descended from the window."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have never thought that he did, Monsieur," said
-Moira dryly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> stared at her for a moment in
-astonishment. What was the meaning of this sudden
-assurance in her tone? Could it be possible that this girl had
-noted something that he had overlooked? That she had
-evolved a theory out of some intangible bit of evidence
-that had escaped him? Impossible. And yet curiously
-enough, he experienced a slight feeling of uneasiness which
-might have been discomfort had he not been so sure of
-himself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have perhaps happened upon something that has
-escaped my eye?" he asked frankly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know what your eye saw or what it did not
-see, Monsieur," she said quietly, "but I have learned
-nothing to make me change my opinions as to this crime."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope that you will be able to confirm them," said the
-</span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>. "If there is anything that I can do——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur," broke in Moira with precision. "If
-</span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Juge d'Instruction</em><span> will grant permission,"
-with a flash of her eyes at Monsieur Simon, "I would be
-obliged if you will summon for me Monsieur Joubert or
-any others in the building who followed Monsieur Horton
-up the stair."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced at Monsieur Simon, who bowed his head
-in agreement.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By all means," said the Judge, "if Madame has reason
-to believe——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask it, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Juge</em><span>, not as a favor, but as a
-necessary step in the administration of justice in this
-case."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is little enough. Go, Monsieur. Here are the
-names. Madame Toupin will direct you."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu hesitated. He did not wish to leave
-the room. Something had happened to change the manner
-of this woman. Her eyes glowed—she was
-authoritative—inspired. He was beginning to believe
-that after all...</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You will please go at once, Monsieur," the voice of
-the Judge was saying. "Madame and I will await your
-return."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And so with a backward glance, Monsieur Matthieu
-went out.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You think you have found a clue, Madame?" asked
-Monsieur Simon with an air of encouragement.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know, Monsieur—a hope—perhaps a vain one.
-But you are friendly. You shall see."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And crossing quickly in front of him she went directly
-to the lay figure and examined it minutely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This old skirt, Monsieur, as you will observe, is
-fastened by buttons and is somewhat twisted to one side."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This was the first thing that attracted my attention.
-But one button holds it, and it is fastened at the wrong
-button-hole."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And what does that signify?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Merely that it has been tampered with—I did not
-fasten it in this way, Monsieur," she said positively.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are sure?" Monsieur Simon was now as eager
-as she.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Absolutely. I am a leisurely person. I have done all
-the cleaning in this studio myself. I am careful in small
-matters. It would have been impossible for me to have
-fastened these buttons as you see them."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sapristi</em><span>! Madame—And you think——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He paused as Moira unbuttoned the old skirt and
-slipped it down while she moved eagerly around the
-partially disrobed figure.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur!" she gasped in sudden excitement as she
-pointed to the cotton covering of the mannikin. He
-looked where she pointed and saw a stain of dirt and
-dust which extended the full length of the thigh.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What does it mean?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The lay figure has been moved from its iron bracket——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And even so, what——?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But she had fallen on her knees before it and didn't even
-hear him, for she suddenly bent forward with a little
-cry and put her finger into a small tear in the cotton
-cloth on the outside of the right calf.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I have it," she muttered excitedly, as though half to
-herself. "I have it—new—clean on one side, soiled on the
-other——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What, Madame—what?" asked Simon, catching the
-fire of her eagerness.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The hole in the leg, Monsieur," she cried. "Don't you
-see? A piece torn out against some rough surface——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And here is the cloth that was torn from it," she
-gasped, exhibiting a small piece of cotton cloth. "You
-see? It fits the tear exactly."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Simon took it from her hands and scrutinized it through
-his glasses. The torn piece was of the same material
-as the cotton skin of the lay figure, soiled upon one side
-and clean upon the other.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did you find this piece of cotton, Madame?"
-he asked in a suppressed tone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Outside the window—hanging below a torn edge of the
-tin gutter, where it must have escaped the eyes of
-</span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Mon Dieu</em><span>! Then the lay figure must have been
-outside on the ledge——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly. Outside. The stain of dust upon the leg
-shows how it lay——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Magnifique</em><span>, Madame——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But the skirt and the jacket were first removed," she
-went on breathlessly. "Isn't it obvious? Otherwise there
-would have been no stain of dirt upon the leg. There is
-no mark of dirt upon them."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Quick, Madame. The jacket——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And with his own hands the Judge helped her remove
-the Spanish jacket, taking from his pocket a small
-magnifying glass with which he examined the figure intently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By the armpits, Monsieur Simon. It is there the
-hands would have caught."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Simon obeyed while Moira lifted the arms.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"There's something," he muttered softly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A stain," broke in Moira quickly. "I can see it with
-the naked eye."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>It was a faint smudge, of a brownish color like rust.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The print of a finger?" she mumbled.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It shall be analyzed. It looks like——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The murderer's fingers—stained——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"If it is blood, Madame——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then the murderer carried this figure back—</span><em class="italics">after</em><span>
-the murder——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly. And he——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She paused and then was suddenly silent, for Monsieur
-Matthieu, the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, appeared at the door of the
-studio. He came quickly forward, glancing at the
-denuded mannikin in the absurd pose of gesticulation into
-which they had put it. It seemed to be making a ribald
-gesture at the astonished </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have left nothing to the imagination, I see,
-Madame." And then, "You have discovered something?"
-he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps," said Moira briefly. "You have been able
-to find some of the witnesses?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame. The most important. But it would
-give me pleasure to know——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"In a moment, Monsieur. I am intent upon this problem.
-Perhaps we shall learn something. It is Monsieur
-Joubert that I wished to see particularly. He is a
-carpenter and lives in the court at the rear——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is he I have found, Madame." And turning aside,
-Matthieu beckoned toward the corridor, and Monsieur
-Joubert entered. He was well known to Moira and saluted
-her, his brow troubled.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Bon jour</em><span>, Monsieur Joubert," she said, trying to control
-the beating of her heart and the labor of her
-breathing, for here she knew was to be the test of the worth
-of her discoveries. Everything that she believed, would
-stand or fall by the testimony of the people who had
-followed Jim Horton up the stair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Bon jour</em><span>, Madame 'Orton," said the carpenter politely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Where were you, Monsieur," she began, "when you
-heard Monsieur Horton's cry of alarm?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"In the court below, Madame. I was standing with
-Monsieur Lavaud, the pastry cook, at the angle of the
-wall just inside the </span><em class="italics">Loge</em><span> of Madame Toupin——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And when you heard the cries what did you do?" asked
-the girl.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I waited a moment in fear and then with Monsieur
-Lavaud went toward the entrance."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Were there some others there?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oui, Madame</em><span>. A number of persons came running
-into the court. They seemed to spring from the earth as
-if by magic."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And were you among the first to rush up the stair?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oui, Madame</em><span>. There were but two or three before me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And whom did you find on the second landing?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur 'Orton and a lady who told us that a murder
-had been committed."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you went with him up the stair?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur. A policeman had come rushing in, and
-we all mounted to the third floor."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Was it dark out there on the third floor landing?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not dark, but dim. The studio door was open and
-threw a light outside."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did you do then?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Some rushed into the studio. We were all greatly
-excited. I stood in the hallway. Some went to the small
-hall room, the door of which was partly open."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was dark inside the hall room?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oui, Madame</em><span>—dark."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have testified that one of the crowd went into
-the small hall room and came out saying that no one was
-there."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Non, Madame</em><span>. No one was there. I and Monsieur
-Lavaud went into the room, made a light and verified the
-statement of the man who had come out."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira clasped and unclasped her hands nervously, and
-when she spoke again her throat was dry with uncertainty.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Joubert, you will please listen very carefully
-to my question and try to answer very accurately."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oui, Madame</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You say that one of the crowd who had come up the
-stair with you examined the room. Did you see him
-come out of the door?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oui, Madame</em><span>. I saw him come out."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She paused significantly, and then, with emphasis,</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you see him </span><em class="italics">go in</em><span>, Monsieur Joubert?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Joubert stared at her stupidly for a moment, and
-Monsieur Matthieu and the Judge leaned forward, aware of
-the intent of the question.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>As the man did not reply, it was the </span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span>
-who broke the silence impatiently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, Monsieur Joubert," he questioned sharply,
-"</span><em class="italics">did you see him go in?</em><span>"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The truth—Monsieur Joubert," gasped Moira.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Joubert scratched his head and snuffled his feet awkwardly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Madame. I can't really say that I did."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Did any of the others see him go in?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Here Monsieur Simon broke in quietly. "Pardon, Madame!
-But that is a question the other witnesses must
-answer."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira glanced at him and then at Monsieur Matthieu.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you can inform me, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>,"
-she said. "Have any of the witnesses who testified to
-seeing this man come out of the door also testified to seeing
-him go in?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Many persons went into the room, Madame——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Later</em><span>, Monsieur," she broke in quickly. "</span><em class="italics">Later</em><span>, after
-this man who had come out had mingled with the crowd
-and gone down the stair."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu started.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame!" he gasped.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen, Monsieur Joubert," she went on earnestly,
-"and answer me truthfully, for the life of a human being
-hangs on your replies. Did you know some of the people
-in the crowd who rushed up the stair?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"As to that—</span><em class="italics">oui, Madame</em><span>," said Joubert more easily.
-"Most of them I knew—they are of the neighborhood.
-Monsieur Lavaud, Monsieur Picard of the </span><em class="italics">Lavoir</em><span>,
-Monsieur Gabriel and others——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But this man who came out of the door of the hall
-room," she insisted clearly. "You had never seen him
-before?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Joubert shrugged.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Now that you mention it, Madame, I think that is the
-truth."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you sure that you never saw him in the neighborhood?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Madame. I never saw him in this neighborhood."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira gasped in relief, aware that the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>,
-from contempt, from indifference, had been reduced to the
-silence of consternation. She saw it in his face and in the
-eyes of Monsieur Simon, who stood beside her, listening
-in admiration and ready to aid her with advice or question.
-He was on her side now. But she was reserving her
-strongest stroke for the last and she delivered it with
-growing assurance, for in her heart all along she had
-known through whom and by whom the murder must have
-been committed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Joubert," she asked coolly, "you say the
-light was dim in the corridor. Was it too dark for you
-to see what the man who came out of the door looked
-like?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was dim, Madame. But I remember him perfectly."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You could identify him, if you saw him?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I think so, Madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good. Perhaps I can describe him to you, Monsieur
-Joubert. He was not a large man, he was smaller than
-you, with broad but bent shoulders, long arms like an
-ape's, which reached nearly to his knees, a thin face, small
-black eyes, a nose like the beak of an eagle——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Joubert had started back in astonishment.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is he, Madame! You have described him——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And when he walked he had a slight limp of the left
-leg——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"A limp, Madame. It is true," cried Joubert, "the
-very same. He limped. I saw it as he came forward——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"That will be all, Monsieur Joubert," said Moira wearily.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And when the man had gone out she turned to Monsieur
-Simon with a smile of triumph. "Have I made out a
-case, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Juge</em><span>?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parfaitement, Madame</em><span>. But the murderer——?" he urged.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She grew grave at once.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The man I have described is Monsieur Tricot."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The two men exchanged glances.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"We have already taken steps. He will be found,
-Madame," said the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>. "All the police of Paris
-are on his trail."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I pray God you may find him," said Moira quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And even if we do not, Madame," said Monsieur
-Simon, "you have created already a reasonable doubt." And
-then, with a mischievous look toward Monsieur Matthieu,
-"But I think perhaps it would be as well if you took
-</span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span> into your confidence."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu, aware of the position the </span><em class="italics">Juge
-d'Instruction</em><span> had now taken, was silent, but still
-incredulous.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I should like to hear the other facts upon which you
-base this testimony," he said slowly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Simon waved his hand toward the mannikin,
-its frozen gesture now almost prophetic. "Tell </span><em class="italics">Monsieur
-le Commissaire</em><span> what happened in this room as you have
-traced it, Madame."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira glanced at the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, who bowed his head
-in an attitude of attention, which had in it not a little
-of humility.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"The murderer lay in wait for Monsieur Jim Horton,"
-said Moira. "There is no doubt in my mind as to that.
-The </span><em class="italics">Petit Bleu</em><span> was the lure, this studio the trap. The
-affair had been planned with skill. The motive was
-vengeance, and a desire to prevent certain papers from
-reaching the hands of Monsieur le Duc de Vautrin. This
-man Tricot was already in the studio when Monsieur
-Horton and Madame Morin arrived. Perhaps </span><em class="italics">Monsieur
-le Commissaire</em><span> has already guessed where."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on, Madame," said Matthieu gravely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He had taken the clothing from the mannikin and
-put the lay figure out in the darkness on the ledge outside
-the north window. Then he went and stood in the place
-of the lay figure. He had put on the old skirt and bolero
-jacket, and slouch hat, and about his shoulders was the
-gray drapery. He had only to remain silent and motionless.
-He was prepared to spring upon and stab Monsieur
-Jim Horton when his back was turned, but the appearance
-of Madame Morin disconcerted him. He had counted on
-a quick death without an outcry. Madame Morin knew
-him. He did not dare to attempt to kill them both. And
-so he waited."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Saperlotte!</em><span>"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Horton and Madame Morin examined the
-studio in curiosity and then went out into the hall, now
-suspicious that all was not as it should be. Monsieur
-Tricot did not dare to go until he was sure that they had
-gone. He was about to take his leave when he heard a
-man's footsteps upon the stair and went back to his
-position on the model stand. The man entered. He thought
-that it was Monsieur Jim Horton come back alone. But
-it was not Jim Horton. It was my husband, Harry
-Horton, his twin brother. The testimony shows that their
-clothing was much alike. Their faces were the same.
-Tricot saw my husband's face for a moment under the
-low gas light as he came in the door, locking it behind
-him. God knows why my—my husband was here. I
-don't. He came to spend the night perhaps—to wait for me."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She paused, breathing hard, her words scarcely audible.
-But a word from Monsieur Simon encouraged her again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"This Tricot is desperate and very strong. He sprang
-upon my husband and killed him. But there was a sound
-of struggle and the noise of a falling body which
-Monsieur Jim Horton and his companion heard from the door
-of the room in the hall. They came out. And weapon in
-hand, Jim Horton, after several minutes, broke in the
-door. But by this time the murderer had taken his place
-again as the lay figure, just as he stood when they had
-first entered the room. In their horror at their discovery
-they passed him by and rushed down the stair."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And then, Madame?" nodded the Commissaire.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He ran quickly to the window, outside which he had
-put my lay figure, dragged it in hurriedly, dressed it in
-its clothing and restored it to its place, then ran out and
-hid in the darkness of the hall room, intending to leap out
-to the roof below. But he did not dare it with his injured
-leg, resorting to the clever device which I have indicated
-to you, of going out when the crowd swarmed excitedly
-up to the studio door, and announcing that no one was
-there. Then, Messieurs, in a moment he had mingled with
-the crowd and was gone."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And how did you learn this, Madame?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By a trifle which even your experienced eyes had
-overlooked. This, Monsieur——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And she produced the small piece of torn cotton cloth
-from her pocket.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It was torn from the mannikin upon a projecting
-piece of tin and hung from the gutter outside. You have
-only to apply it to the leg of the mannikin, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le
-Commissaire</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The bewildered police officer took the small object and
-turned it over in his fingers, then went to the lay figure
-while Monsieur Simon showed him the stains at the arm
-pits and upon the thigh, explaining the line of reasoning
-the girl had employed.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He raised his head and looked at her, but his voice was
-that of a broken man.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"My honor—my reputation, are in your keeping,
-Madame," he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Moira caught him by the hands in an access of
-generosity.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I render them to you, Monsieur. If </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Juge</em><span>
-keeps silent, you may be sure that I shall do so."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are very good, Madame——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not your fault. You were not familiar with the
-studio as I was. And besides—you were doing your duty,
-while I—it was my life, my whole happiness, that was
-involved."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And what can I do to repay you, Madame?" he asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Find Monsieur Tricot!" she cried with spirit.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And Monsieur Quinlevin?" asked the Judge quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira glanced at them, then sank upon the couch and
-buried her head in her arms, but she did not reply. She
-could not. She had reached the end of her resources.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Simon bent over and touched her kindly on
-the shoulder.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You had better be going and getting some rest,
-Madame. If you will permit me. I am sure that Madame
-Simon will be glad if you will let me bring you to her."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira looked up at the dark stain upon the floor, the
-terrible mannikin, and then rose. There were tears in
-her voice as she gave the </span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span> her hand in
-gratitude.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, thanks, Monsieur, you are very kind. If it will
-not trouble you——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And leaving the theater of her life's drama to the
-solitary policeman on guard, she followed the charitable
-Monsieur Simon down the stair.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu had already disappeared.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst" id="the-conclusion"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXV</span></p>
-<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">CONCLUSION</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
-</div>
-<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton passed the night pacing the floor of
-his prison, and his interrogation by Monsieur
-Simon, the </span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span>, with the assistance of
-the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire de Police</em><span> in the morning gave him little
-hope of release. The examination was severe, but his
-inquisitors had not been able, of course, to shake his
-testimony and had left his cell more puzzled than when they
-had entered it. But he had sense enough to see that
-unless it were proven possible for some one to have been
-in the studio to commit the murder all the evidence must
-point to him. And yet he could not help them, nor could
-he suggest a line of investigation. He was still
-completely in the dark about the whole tragic affair and could
-scarcely blame them for their uncompromising attitude
-toward himself—and poor Piquette—toward her also. He
-sat upon the edge of his cot for hours after the examination,
-his head in his hands, trying to evolve some possible
-explanation of the mystery.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>A more encouraging affair was the visit in the late
-afternoon of a captain of the regular army of the United
-States, representing the Judge Advocate General's
-office, who interviewed him in the presence of an officer of
-the </span><em class="italics">Prefet de Police</em><span>. And in the course of this investigation
-Jim Horton learned of Harry's second defection from
-the army which had resulted in his horrible death.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Captain Waring questioned shrewdly, but Jim Horton
-now needed no encouragement or threat to reveal the
-whole truth, for, whatever happened to him at the hands
-of the </span><em class="italics">Prefet de Police</em><span>, he knew that there was nothing
-left for him but to throw himself upon the mercy of the
-Army officials. And so he told the whole story, from the
-moment when as Corporal of Engineers, he had heard the
-Infantry Major's instructions to his brother, of his
-meeting with Harry, of his effort to save his brother's name
-and position by attempting to carry out the Major's
-orders, the changing of uniforms, the fight at Boissière
-Wood, the hospital, and the events that had followed in
-Paris, leaving out what references he could to Harry's
-wife, and palliating where he could his brother's offenses
-against the military law.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>From sternness, he saw Captain Waring's expression
-change to interest, from interest to sympathy, and to
-Horton's surprise, when the officer finished taking the
-testimony, he extended his hand frankly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You have committed a military offense, Corporal
-Horton. But your story has impressed me. It can be easily
-verified. I will do what I can for you at Headquarters.
-It was </span><em class="italics">your Croix de Guerre</em><span>, you see."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, sir," said Jim, "but it looks as though
-I'm in a bad position here. Do you think I could have
-done this horrible thing, sir? Do you?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said the Captain, "but sit tight, Corporal. I
-think you'll find that things will turn out all right."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>What did the man mean? Jim Horton followed his
-neatly fitting uniform out of the cell with his gaze and
-then, more mystified than ever at this mingling of good
-fortune and bad, sank again upon his cot to try and think
-it out.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But he was no sooner seated than the man who had done
-the most to put him where he was, Monsieur Matthieu, the
-</span><em class="italics">Commissaire de Police</em><span>, again entered the cell. His
-manner during the examination by the </span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span> in
-the morning had been aggressive—Horton's ordeal had
-been most unpleasant, the French counterpart of what
-he had heard of in his own country as the "Third
-Degree." But Monsieur Matthieu's ugly face was now
-almost kindly, its expression quite calm. And while Horton
-wondered what was the meaning of the visit the
-</span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> explained.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Evidence has been introduced into this case,
-Monsieur, which somewhat changes its complexion."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! You have found Tricot? Or Quinlevin?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No—not yet, Monsieur. But we have hopes. The
-evidence came from another quarter. We believe that the
-</span><em class="italics">apache</em><span> committed this crime."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton couldn't restrain a gasp of relief.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is only what I told you, Monsieur."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu nodded. "But you will not blame
-us for not accepting, with some reserve, the testimony of
-a person in your position."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Who has testified, Monsieur?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame Horton."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And in a few words he described the line of procedure
-which had resulted in the discovery of the part the lay
-figure had played in the tragedy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira had come to the rescue! Moira—whose eyes, it
-seemed, had been keener than his own, keener even than
-those of this veteran detective. And amazement at the
-simplicity of the device, and the ease with which it had been
-put into practice, made him dumb.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is always so, Monsieur. The mysteries which seem
-most difficult to solve are always the simplest in
-conception."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But Tricot did not invent this crime, Monsieur. The
-</span><em class="italics">apache</em><span> is shrewd, but the brain that conceived this
-plan——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe you now, Monsieur. But I'm afraid that he
-will not be easy to catch. He was at Fontainebleau last
-night and this morning. It was his alibi. When my men
-reached there, he had gone."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And Tricot?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"It is as to Tricot that I wished to see you. We have
-watched the house in the Rue Charron. Every haunt of
-men of his type is under observation. I thought perhaps
-that you might give us a further clue."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Émile Pochard should know. Pochard in the Rue
-Dalmon—under arrest he may talk——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Good, Monsieur. The help that you give us will make
-your deliverance the more speedy."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I know nothing more."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You understand, it is not possible to release you until
-the evidence is more definitely confirmed. But I will do
-what I can for your comfort and convenience."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks. And for Madame Morin?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur. She is, I think, now quite contented."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> departed as rapidly as he had
-entered. Presently Jim Horton lay down at full length
-on his bed—the first time since he had been shown into
-the cell. Everything would be right. He knew it. And
-it was Moira who had come from her retreat at the first
-news of his trouble and Piquette's to help them. Behind
-the reserve of Monsieur Matthieu's disclosures he had read
-that it was Moira's will—her intelligence that had been
-matched against that of the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> and Barry
-Quinlevin, her instinct—her faith in him that had drawn her
-unerringly to the neglected clues. Where was she?
-Would she come to him now? Or was the hypnotic spell
-of Barry Quinlevin still upon her? He stared into the
-darkness, thinking of the tragedy of Moira's life, and
-the greater tragedy of his brother Harry's. But in spite
-of the terrible climax of Harry's strange career and his
-own unwitting part in it, Jim Horton found himself
-repeating Moira's wild words, "No divorce—but death——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And this was the divorce that neither of them had wished
-for nor dreamed of. But Destiny, which had woven the
-threads of Harry's life and Moira's and his together for
-awhile, had destroyed the imperfect tissue—to begin anew.
-In a while Jim Horton slept, soundly, dreamlessly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The morning dragged heavily and no one came to his
-cell. It almost seemed that Monsieur Matthieu had
-forgotten him and it was not until the afternoon that he was
-again conducted to the room in which his examination and
-Piquette's had taken place. There he was brought face
-to face with the </span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span>, who shook him by the
-hand and informed him that word had just been received
-that the </span><em class="italics">apache</em><span>, Tricot, had been captured and in charge
-of Monsieur Matthieu was to be brought at once to
-confront the witnesses. Monsieur Simon informed him that
-a partial confession having been extracted from Tricot,
-the case was simplified and that there seemed little doubt
-that he would be restored to freedom in a few hours.
-While disposing of some other cases, Monsieur Matthieu
-showed the prisoner into the inner room, where Piquette
-had preceded him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>They were both still technically prisoners, but that did
-not prevent Piquette from springing up from beside her
-guard and rushing to meet him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem!" she cried joyfully. "I knew it could
-not be for long."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette! They're going to set us free!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oui, mon brave</em><span>. An' 'ave you not 'eard? It is
-Madame 'Orton who 'as make de way clear? Dey
-capture' Tricot an hour ago in a cellar out near de </span><em class="italics">Porte
-Maillot</em><span>. You may know dat I am 'appy. Gr——!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And she made a queer little sound of repulsion in her
-throat.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And Quinlevin?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Escape'—gone! Dey cannot find him."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He sat beside her and they talked while they waited.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you going to do, Piquette?" he asked, after
-awhile.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do? Jus' go on living, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>. What else?" she
-replied calmly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to help you to get away from </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>, Piquette——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sapristi</em><span>! I need no 'elp for dat. Don' worry, </span><em class="italics">mon
-ami</em><span>. I s'all be 'appy——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Not with Monsieur——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed rather harshly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, la la! You are not de on'y man in de worl'——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And then, as she saw the look of pain in his eyes, she
-caught him by the arm again. "You </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> de on'y man in
-de worl'—for 'er—</span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>, but not for me. You t'ink
-of me? </span><em class="italics">Eh bien</em><span>. What you say? Forget it. I s'all be
-'appy—and free."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment Monsieur Simon entered bringing no
-less a personage than Monsieur de Vautrin, who had been
-apprehended as a witness the moment he had returned to
-Paris. And the details of the affair at Nice having been
-set down, Monsieur Simon went out to question Tricot,
-who had just been brought in under heavy guard.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The birth certificate and other papers were still in
-possession of the </span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span>, but the Duc had
-been permitted to examine them and questioned Horton
-and Piquette eagerly as to what had happened after his
-departure from Nice. And when he learned the facts, his
-gratitude expressed itself in a desire to kiss Horton on
-both cheeks, which Piquette only frustrated by quickly
-interposing her small person.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And I, Olivier?" she asked in French with a spirit of
-</span><em class="italics">diablerie</em><span>. "What is my reward for helping in the great
-affair?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You, Piquette!" he laughed, "you are as ever my
-angelic child who can do no wrong. Come to my arms."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>But Piquette laughed and tossed her chin.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I refuse?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you are still an angelic child," said de Vautrin.
-"I shall give you money—much money."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I refuse that too?" she asked.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He started a pace back from her in amazement.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You would desert me now, </span><em class="italics">ma petite</em><span>?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette's face grew suddenly solemn.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Duc</em><span>. We shall make no more pretenses,
-you and I. I go back to the </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span> where I am
-free. Perhaps one day I shall marry. Then you shall
-give me a present. But now——" And she extended a
-hand, "</span><em class="italics">Adieu, mon ami</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her and at Horton as though unwilling
-to believe what he had heard, then took a pace toward
-Piquette, his arms extended. But she only smiled at him.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">C'est fini, Olivier</em><span>," she said quietly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>De Vautrin pulled at his long mustache and laughing
-turned away.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">À demain</em><span>, Piquette——" he said confidently.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Adieu, Olivier</em><span>," she repeated.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The Duc stared at her again and then with a shrug,
-took up his hat and stick and swaggered out of the room.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette," whispered Horton eagerly. "Do you mean it?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">mon brave</em><span>," she returned lightly. "To be
-free—free——!" And she took a long breath, while she gazed
-past him out of the big window into the sunshine.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>There was a commotion outside and they turned to
-the outer door, as two policemen entered, between them
-Tricot, securely manacled, and followed by the </span><em class="italics">Juge</em><span>, the
-</span><em class="italics">Commissaire de Police</em><span>, Madame Toupin, Moira, Madame
-Simon, the carpenter, Paul Joubert, and the other
-witnesses whose testimony had already been taken.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Moira's gaze and Jim Horton's met for a moment, full
-of meaning for them both, and then she turned away to the
-seat beside Monsieur Simon to which the </span><em class="italics">Juge</em><span> directed
-her. She was very pale and sat for a while with eyes
-downcast during the preliminaries which led to the
-confession of the </span><em class="italics">apache</em><span>.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Tricot stood with bowed head, listening to the evidence
-against him, his long arms hanging from his bent shoulders,
-his thin lips compressed, his small eyes concealed by
-the frowning thatch of his dark brows. He was surly
-but indifferent as to his fate, and answered the
-questions of Monsieur Simon in a low voice, but distinctly,
-evading nothing. His identification by the carpenter
-Joubert and two others as the man who had emerged from
-the room in the hallway when the crowd had surged upon
-the upper landing, caused him to shrug. The corroboration
-of Madame Toupin who saw him leave the courtyard
-after the murder only caused him to shrug again.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I did it——" he growled. "I've confessed. What's
-the use?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence!" commanded the </span><em class="italics">Juge</em><span>. "You will answer
-only when questioned. Are these two persons," indicating
-Horton and Piquette, "the ones who first entered the
-studio?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"They are."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And when </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Capitaine</em><span> entered the studio,
-you thought he was his brother—yonder?" indicating Jim.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I did. I made a mistake——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And your motive for this crime, Tricot?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I was paid," he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"How much?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Five thousand francs."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"By whom?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Tricot paused, and then gasped the name.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Quinlevin."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know where Monsieur Quinlevin is now?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you tell if you knew?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you anything further to say?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Simon waved his hand in the direction of the
-door.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Take him away. The proof is now complete." And
-then to the witnesses, "You will hold yourselves in
-readiness to attend the trial. </span><em class="italics">Bonjour, messieurs</em><span>."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>And rising from his chair at the head of the table he
-came over to Jim and Piquette and shook them warmly
-by the hands, while Monsieur Matthieu, who had taken
-no part in the proceedings, quickly followed his example.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You are now free, Monsieur Horton—Madame Morin,
-I thank you both, in the name of Justice, for your
-indulgence and apologize for the inconvenience that has
-been caused you. Had it not been for the keenness of
-Madame Horton yonder, you would still doubtless have
-been languishing in your cells."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks, Monsieur," said Horton gravely.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me add, Monsieur Horton, that before the
-murderer arrived, I was in consultation with </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le
-Capitaine Waring</em><span> of the office of the Judge Advocate of
-the American Army. I told him what had happened in
-the case and he informed me that there was no disposition
-to make you suffer for an act which resulted in the
-</span><em class="italics">Croix de Guerre</em><span>. He empowers me to ask only for your
-parole to report to him to-morrow morning, at ten o'clock,
-to comply with the military law. I should say that in the
-end you will have nothing to fear."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God!" muttered Horton, half to himself.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And now, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>," said the </span><em class="italics">Juge</em><span>,
-with a smile, "Madame Simon, Madame Morin, perhaps
-we had better leave Monsieur the American to give his
-thanks to the lady who has helped us to liberate
-him—Madame Horton——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Horton turned around to look for her but she had gone.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>The others were already filing out of the door and
-suddenly Jim and Moira found themselves silent, face
-to face by the big window in the sunlight, amazed at the
-sudden termination of the case, and what it meant to
-them. Their glances met and a gentle flush stole along
-the pallor of Moira's face, suddenly flooding it from brow
-to chin. Scarcely daring to believe this evidence of his
-happiness, Jim stared at her awkwardly, and then took
-a pace forward.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira," he whispered at last.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God," she murmured.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He took her in his arms, gently, as though she were a
-child, and held her silently in a moment of wordless
-communion. Beyond the river below them, the city of their
-tribulations murmured as before, but to them it held a
-note of solace and of joy.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You did this, Moira—you!" he said at last.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Something stronger than I, Jim. Faith, Hope——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And Charity," he added.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew that I must succeed," she went on quickly. "I
-was driven by some inward force which gave me new
-courage, and strength. It was Faith, Jim, the Faith in
-you that my blindness had lost in the darkness of my
-uncertainty—the Faith that I found again. I had to
-succeed where others had failed. Faith gave me new
-vision—just in time," she finished with a gasp.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You never believed that I could have——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, never, Jim," she broke in in a hushed voice. "Not
-for a moment. It was too horrible!"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She hid her eyes with a hand for a moment as though
-to blot out the stain of the thought. "I've wondered
-why they didn't see as I saw. It's like a dream—all that
-afternoon after Fontainebleau. I hardly seem to
-remember why I did </span><em class="italics">what</em><span> I did. It seems so easy now that
-it's done. I only know that I prayed again and
-again—that you—not he—should triumph."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Quinlevin——" he muttered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>She drew closer into his arms.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He has escaped," she said with a shudder. "Perhaps
-it is best."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you find out——?" he began, but she broke in
-quickly, reading his thought.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"He was—my uncle—my father's brother. Nora told
-me everything. You've blamed me in your thoughts,
-Jim——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Moira——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know," she insisted, "but I couldn't forget the
-long years of his kindness—until I knew what—what had
-happened—the horror of it. I ran away—here. Even
-then I did not tell them everything. And when they went
-to take him, it was too late. He's gone."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You poor child. You've suffered——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I wanted to go to you, Jim—that night when they
-came to the studio. I wanted to—and again at Nice.
-But I was afraid, Jim."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Afraid——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Of myself—if I had gone to you then ... our love
-had been so sweet a thing, Jim—so pure and beautiful.
-I </span><em class="italics">couldn't</em><span> let it be anything else. I had never known
-what love was before. I am afraid," she whispered.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"But not now, dear?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Not of myself or of you. Only afraid that
-it's all a dream—that I'll wake up imprisoned by vows
-that may not be broken——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You're released from them now, Moira," he said soberly.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Jim."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"And you'll marry me, dear?"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Jim. But it would be a sin for us to be too happy
-too soon."</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"I can be patient——"</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't be needing to be too patient, Jim," she
-whispered, her warm lips on his.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>He held her in the hollow of his arm, where she was
-meant to be, both of them muttering the phrases that had
-been so long delayed, while their eyes looked down toward
-the sun-lit river, when suddenly Jim felt the girl's fingers
-tighten in his and he followed the direction of her gaze.
-Across the </span><em class="italics">Petit Pont</em><span>, just below them, a figure passed,
-a female figure in a heavy coat with a small hat that
-they both recognized, set rakishly upon a dark head.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette!" said Moira.</span></p>
-<p class="pnext"><span>Jim was silent and they watched for another moment.
-Piquette paused for a moment on the bridge and then,
-raising her head quickly, squared her shoulders and went
-quickly along the Quai toward the Boulevard Saint
-Michel, where she was engulfed in the crowded thoroughfare.</span></p>
-<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
-</div>
-<p class="center pfirst"><span>END</span></p>
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