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diff --git a/47900-8.txt b/47900-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 00ff381..0000000 --- a/47900-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13967 +0,0 @@ - THE SPLENDID OUTCAST - - - - -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 Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at -http://www.gutenberg.org/license. 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. - - - -Title: The Splendid Outcast -Author: George Gibbs -Release Date: January 06, 2015 [EBook #47900] -Language: English -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPLENDID OUTCAST *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - - -[Illustration: SHE CROUCHED, WATCHING, BREATHLESS AND UNCERTAIN. (PAGE -109)] - - - - - _*The*_* - SPLENDID OUTCAST* - - - BY - - GEORGE GIBBS - - AUTHOR OF "THE SECRET WITNESS," "THE GOLDEN BOUGH," - "THE YELLOW DOVE," ETC. - - - - ILLUSTRATED BY - GEORGE GIBBS - - - - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - NEW YORK LONDON - 1920 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - - Copyright, 1919, by - THE RED BOOK CORPORATION - - - - - *CONTENTS* - -CHAPTER - - I. The Convalescent - II. The Mystery Deepens - III. The Goose - IV. Outcast - V. Piquette - VI. Youth Triumphant - VII. Awakening - VIII. Threats - IX. Piquette Takes a Hand - X. The Samaritan - XI. Confessions - XII. Quinlevin Speaks - XIII. Beginning a Journey - XIV. A Night Attack - XV. Green Eyes - XVI. Nora Speaks - XVII. Jim Makes a Guess - XVIII. At Bay - XIX. In the Dark - XX. Freedom - XXI. The Petit Bleu - XXII. Mystery - XXIII. Escape - XXIV. The Clue - XXV. The Conclusion - - - - - *ILLUSTRATIONS* - - -She crouched, watching, breathless and uncertain . . . _Frontispiece_ - -Moira talked gayly - -Through Moira's clear intelligence the epic filtered - -The mirror sent her back a haggard reflection, pale and somber - - - - - *THE SPLENDID OUTCAST* - - - - *CHAPTER I* - - *THE CONVALESCENT* - - -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. - -"How long have I been here?" he murmured hazily. - -"Six days," she replied; "but you mustn't talk." - -"Six--? Wounded----" - -"Sh--. In the head, shoulder and leg, but you're doing nicely." - -"Won't you tell me----?" he began. - -But she soothed him gently. "Not now--later perhaps. You must sleep -again. Drink this--please." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Jim Horton sighed, his mind, ambling weakly into vacancy, suddenly -arrested by a query. - -_What else?_--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. - -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. - -By George!----the fight--he, Jim Horton, had won the victory at -Boissière Wood for the --th Infantry--_for Harry!--as Harry_! - -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. - -No. He was Jim Horton, all right--Jim Horton. There was no mistake -about that. - -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---- - -The nurse appeared silently and looked into Jim Horton's eyes. He -closed them a moment and then smiled at her. - -"How do you feel?" she asked. - -"Better--lots better," he answered; "you see, I can really think----" - -"I wouldn't try to do that--not yet." - -"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. - -"I say, nurse, would you mind telling me what my name is?" - -She gazed at him a moment as though a little disappointed and then -replied quietly: "Lieutenant Henry G. Horton, of the --th Infantry." - -"Oh," said the patient, "I see." - -"I think you'd better sleep a while, then I want the Major to see you." - -"Oh, don't bother; I'm coming through all right, now. I'm sure of it. -But I want to tell you----" - -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. - -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. - -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? - -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. - -"Would you mind, sir--just a word?" - -"Of course. Something bothering you?" - -"Yes. You see----" the patient hesitated again, his lip twisting, "this -whole thing is a mistake." - -The doctor eyed the sick man narrowly. - -"A mistake?" And then kindly, "I don't understand." - -Horton frowned at the bed-rail. "You see, sir, I'm not Henry G. Horton. -I--I'm somebody else." - -He saw the nurse and the doctor exchange glances, - -"Ah, well," said the medical man with a smile, "I wouldn't bother about -it." - -"But I _do_ 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. - -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. - -"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." - -And the Major moved slowly down the ward. - -Jim Horton frowned at the medical officer's broad back. - -"Thinks I'm nutty," he muttered to himself, and then grinned. The story -_was_ a little wild. - -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." - -"But, nurse," he protested, "I don't want to sleep any more. I told him -the truth. I've taken another man's place." - -"You did it very well, from all accounts," she said with a smile; "and -you'll take another man's before long, they say." - -"What do you mean?" - -"Promotion," she laughed; "but you won't get it if you have a relapse." - -"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." - -"You may be whatever you please, if you'll only go to sleep." - -"Bless your heart! That isn't going to change my identity." - -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." - -"But nurse----" - -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. - -"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!" - -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. - -Downstairs in the Major's office two surgeons and the nurse in charge -were discussing the case. - -"Queer obsession that. Thinks he's another man. There may be some -pressure there yet. It ought to have cleared up by this." - -"It's shock, sir, I think. He'll come out of it. He's coming on, Miss -Newberry?" - -"Splendidly. That's what I can't understand. He _looks_ as though he -knew what he was saying." - -"Any chance of there being a mistake?" - -"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----" - -"Never mind, keep an extra eye on him. The wound is healing nicely. -He'll come through all right." - -So Nurse Newberry returned to the ward, somewhat gratified to find her -charge again peacefully asleep. - -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. - -"You say there were some things in the pockets of--of my blouse," he -asked of the nurse. - -"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. - -It was in a feminine hand and added more heavily to the burden of his -responsibilities. - - -"Dear Harry" (it ran): - -"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. - -"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. - -"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. - -MOIRA." - -"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. - -M." - - -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.... - -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. - - -"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. - -"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. - -"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--_instanter_. 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. - -"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. - -"Yours very faithfully, - "BARRY QUINLEVIN. - -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. - -B. Q." - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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! - -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. - -"Well, Harry, don't you know me?" a voice said. "Rather hazy, eh? I -don't wonder...." - -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. - -"I've brought Moira--thought ye'd like to see her." - -The patient started--then recovered himself. He had forgotten the lapse -of time since the letters had been written. - -"Moira," he muttered. - -The girl advanced slowly as the man made place. Her expression had been -serious, but as she came forward she smiled softly. - -"Harry," she was whispering, as he stared at her loveliness, "don't you -know me?" - -"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. - -"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----" - -"I'm not----" the words stuck in Jim Horton's throat. And he couldn't -utter them. - -"You're not what?" she questioned anxiously. - -Another pause of uncertainty. - -"I--I'm not--very strong yet," he muttered weakly, turning his head to -one side. - -And as he said it, he knew that in sheer weakness of fiber, spiritual as -well as physical, he had made a decision. - -The Satyr behind her laughed softly. - -"Naturally," he said, "but ye're going to be well very soon." - -They were both looking at him and something seemed to be required of -him. So with an effort, - -"How long--how long have you been in France?" he asked. - -"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." - -Then Moira spoke again, with a different note in her voice. - -"Are you glad that I came?" she asked. "It was the least I could do." - -"Glad!" - -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. - -And Barry Quinlevin stood beaming upon them both, his bright eyes -snapping benevolence. - -"If ye get the V.C., Harry boy, she'll sure be worshiping ye." - -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. - -"One cannot deny valor," she said coolly. "It is the greatest thing in -the world." - -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! - -Jim Horton gathered courage. If he wasn't to tell the truth he would -have to play his part. - -"Everybody is brave--out there," he said, with a gesture. - -"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." - -Horton felt the girl's calm gaze upon his face. - -"I'm so glad you've made good, Harry. I am. And I want you to believe -it." - -"Thanks," he muttered. - -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. - -"You're to come to us, of course, as soon as they let you out," she said -quietly. - -"Well, rather," laughed Quinlevin. - -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. - -"Well, _au revoir_, old lad. In a few days again----" - -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. - -"Well--now you've done it. Now you _have_ gone and done it," he -muttered. - - - - - *CHAPTER II* - - *THE MYSTERY DEEPENS* - - -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. - -Missing! - -The blank expression on the face of her patient was rather pitiful. - -"It probably means that he's a prisoner. He may be all right. H.Q. is -pretty cold-blooded with its information." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Father sent me in his place," she said. "I've put him to bed with a -cold." - -"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?" - -"Oh, no. He's a bit run down, that's all. And you--you're feeling -better?" - -He liked the soft way she slithered over the last syllable. - -"Oh, yes--of course." - -All the while he felt her level gaze upon him, cool and intensely -serious. - -"You are out of danger entirely, they tell me. I see they've taken the -bandage off." - -"Yesterday," he said. "I'm coming along very fast." - -"I'm glad." - -"They promise before long that I can get out into the air in a -wheel-chair." - -"That will do you all the good in the world." - -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. - -"I have brought you some roses," she said quietly. - -"They are very beautiful. They will remind me of you until you come -again." - -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. - -"You _are_ 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." - -He was thoughtful for a moment. - -"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." - -She smiled with him. - -"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." - -"Really----!" he muttered, uncomfortably, his gaze on the gray blanket. -"Well, you see, I suppose it's what I've been through. My eyes _would_ -seem darker, wouldn't they, against white, and then my voice--er--it -isn't very strong yet." - -"Yes, that's it," she replied. - -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. - -"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." - -"Me----?" He fancied that there was a hard note in her voice, a little -toss, scarcely perceptible, of the rounded chin. - -"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?" - -He paused, hoping that she would speak. She did, after a silence and a -shrug. - -"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----" - -"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." - -"And if I fell in love with another man-- That never seems to have -occurred to either of you----" - -He laughed her soberness aside. "As far as I'm concerned, divorce or -suicide. I'll leave the choice to you." - -He gained his purpose, which was to bring the smile to her lips again. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -"I haven't a doubt of it. You were made for success--and for -happiness." - -"Sure and I think that I was--now that you mention it," she put in -quaintly. - -"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?" - -"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." - -Horton thought for a moment. - -"He doesn't want to worry you, of course. And you oughtn't to be -worried. Things will come out all right." - -"I intend that they shall. Father always gave me the best when he had -it. I'll see that he doesn't suffer now." - -"But that's my job, Moira. We'll get some money together--some -way--when I get out." - -"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." - -Horton sat up in bed and looked out of the window. - -"I'll get money," he said. "Don't you worry." - -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. - -Her next remark was disquieting. - -"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." - -"Suffering--yes, perhaps," he muttered. - -She leaned forward impulsively and put her hand over his, smiling -brightly at him. - -"We'll be good friends now, alanah. I'm sure of it." - -"You like me a little better----?" - -"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." - -"You will come soon again?" he asked slowly. - -"Yes--with better news, I hope. _Au revoir, mon brave_." - -And she was gone. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -"Stronger every day," replied Horton cautiously. - -"Then we can have a talk, maybe, without danger of it breaking the -spring in yer belfry?" - -"Ah, yes,--but I'm a bit hazy at times," added Horton. - -"Well, when the fog comes down, say the word and I'll be going." - -"Don't worry. I want to hear the news." - -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. - -"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." - -"What will you do?" - -"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." - -The visitor paused as though for a comment, and Horton offered it. - -"He didn't see you?" - -"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." - -"Things are as bad as that----?" - -Quinlevin shrugged. "I bettered myself a bit the next night and I'll -find a way----" - -He broke off with a shrug. - -"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 _coup d'état_ will satisfy the ambitions of Barry Quinlevin!" - -"Well?" asked Horton shrewdly. - -"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." - -Horton nodded. It _was_ blackmail then. The Duc de Vautrin---- - -"You wrote that you had a plan," he said. "What is it?" - -Barry Quinlevin waved a careless hand. - -"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!" - -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. - -"Nora Burke----" he put in slowly. - -"I wrote ye what happened----" - -"I couldn't have received the letter----" - -He stopped abruptly, for Quinlevin was staring at him in astonishment. - -"Then how the devil could ye have answered it?" - -Horton covered the awkward moment by closing his eyes and passing his -fingers across his brow. - -"Answered it! Funny I don't remember." - -The Irishman regarded him a moment soberly, and then smiled in -deprecation. - -"Of course--ye've slipped a cog----" - -Then suddenly he clapped a hand on Horton's knee. - -"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----?" - -Horton ran his fingers over his hair thoughtfully and bent his head -again. - -"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. - -"Thinks his child by this early marriage is still alive----" said -Quinlevin, regarding him dubiously. - -"Yes, yes," said Horton eagerly. "It's coming back to me now. And de -Vautrin's money----" - -"He'll pay through the nose to keep the thing quiet--unless----" - -Barry Quinlevin paused. - -"Unless--what?" - -There was a moment of silence in which the visitor frowned out of the -window. - -"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." - -"Nora Burke--five hundred pounds!" muttered Horton vaguely, for he was -thinking deeply, "that's a lot of money." - -"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." - -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?" - -Of this at least Jim Horton was sure. - -"Nothing," he replied. - -"Not to Piquette Morin?" - -Here was dangerous ground again. - -"Nothing," he repeated slowly, "nothing." - -"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----" - -"I--I'm sorry I can't help----" said Horton, "but you see--I'm not----" - -"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." - -"Will you see de Vautrin?" - -"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?" - -"Don't worry--I won't," said Horton soberly. - -He watched the tall figure of Quinlevin until it disappeared into the -outer hall and then turned a frowning gaze out of the window. - - - - - *CHAPTER III* - - *THE GOOSE* - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Behold, _mon ami_," she cried in greeting, "I've come to take you -prisoner." - -He laughed gayly as he took her hand. - -"And there's a goose in the pantry, bought at a fabulous price, just -waiting for the pan----" - -"Be sure you don't kill your prisoner with kindness," put in Nurse -Newberry. - -"I'll take that risk," said Horton genially. - -"Sure and he must," put in Moira. "It isn't every day one brings a -conquering hero home." - -"Especially when he's your husband," said the artless Miss Newberry -wistfully. - -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. - -"I want to thank you, Miss Newberry," he said soberly, "for all that -you've done for me. I'll never forget." - -"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." - -"I've never felt better in my life," he replied. - -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. - -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 _fiacre_ 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. - -It was then that her voice recalled him. - -"Can't you smell that goose, Harry dear?" she said. - -He flashed a quick smile at her. - -"Just can't I!" he laughed. - -"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." - -"And you do all the cooking----?" he asked thoughtfully. - -"Sometimes--but more often we go to a café. Sometimes Madame Toupin -helps, the _concierge_--but father thinks my cooking is the best." - -"I don't doubt it. I shall, too." And then, "where is your father -to-day?" - -She looked at him, eyes wide as though suddenly reminded. - -"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?" - -"Oh," said Horton quietly. "I see." - -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. - -"How long will he be gone?" he asked. - -"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." - -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----" - -"No. You shall have the best that there is--the very best--_mon -ami_----" - -"I don't propose to let you work for me, Moira. I can get some money. -I can find a _pension_ somewhere near and----" - -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----" - -"Moira!" He caught her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, "I didn't -mean----" - -"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 _pension_----" - -"Moira--I thought it might be inconvenient--that it might be more -pleasant for you----" - -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. - -"We'll say no more about it," he muttered. "But I--I'm very grateful." - -Moira's lips wreathed into an adorable smile. - -"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." - -"I'd be pretty rotten if I hadn't learned to do some thinking about -_you_," he said, as he looked into her eyes with more hardihood than -wisdom. - -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. - -"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." - -"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." - -"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." - -He laughed as gayly as she had done. - -"I've a notion, Moira," he said, "that it's my goose you're going to -cook." - -"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." - -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. - -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 _intime_, 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. - -"And I shall teach you to speak French, Harry--the real _argot_ of the -_Quartier_--and you shall love it as I do----" - -"I do speak it a little already," he ventured. - -"Really! And who was your instructress?" - -The dropping intonation was sudden and very direct. - -Jim Horton looked out of the window. He was sure that Harry wouldn't -have been able to meet her gaze. - -"No one," he muttered, "at least no girl. That's the truth. We had -books and things." - -"Oh," she finished dryly. - -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. - -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? - -The answers to these questions were still puzzling him when they drove -up the hill by the Boulevard St. Michel--_Boul' Miché_ she called -it--reached the Luxembourg Gardens and then turning into a smaller -street were presently deposited at their _porte cochère_. 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. - -"Welcome, _Monsieur le Lieutenant_. Madame Horton has promised us this -visit since a long time." - -"_Merci, Madame._" - -"Enter, Monsieur--this house is honored. Thank the _bon Dieu_ for the -Americans." - -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. - -"_Allons_, Monsieur," she said gayly in French, as she rolled up her -sleeves. - -"We shall now cook a goose, in this modern apparatus so kindly furnished -by the _Compagnie de Gaz_. 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 -_pâtisserie_--and a _demi-tasse_. What more can the soul of man -desire?" - -"_Rien_," he replied with a triumphant grin of understanding from behind -the dish pan. "_Absolument rien_." - -"Ah, you do understand," she cried in English. "Was she a -_blonde--cendrée_? Or dark with sloe-eyes? Or red-haired? If she was -red-haired, Harry, I'll be scratching her eyes out. No?" - -He shook his head and laughed. - -"She was black and white and her name was Ollendorff." - -"You'll still persist in that deception?" - -"I do." - -"You're almost too proficient." - -"You had better not try me too far." - -She smiled brightly at him over the fowl which she was getting ready for -the pan, stuffing it with a dressing already prepared. - -"I wonder how far I might be trying you, Harry dear," she said -mischievously. - -He glanced at her. - -"I don't know," he said quietly "but I think I've learned something of -the meaning of patience in the army." - -"Then God be praised!" she ejaculated with air of piety, putting the -fowl into the pan. - -"Here. Cut. Slice to your heart's content, thin--like jack-straws. -But spare your fingers." - -She sat him in a chair and saw him begin while she prepared the salad. - -"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?" - -"They did." - -"And did you never get tired of being patient, Harry dear?" - -He met the issue squarely. "You may try me as far as you like, Moira," -he said quietly, "I owe you that." - -She hadn't bargained for such a counter. - -"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. - -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. - -"_Voilà_, Monsieur--we are now _chez nous_. Is it not pleasant?" - -It was, and he said so. - -"You like my studio?" - -"It's great. And the portrait--may I see?" - -"No--it doesn't go--_on sent le souffle_--a French dowager who braved -the Fokkers when all her family were _froussards_--fled in terror. She -deserves immortality." - -"And you--were you not afraid of the bombardments?" - -"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. - -He watched her curiously with the eyes of inexperience as she brought -all the various operations neatly to a focus. - -"_Allons_! It is done," she said finally--in French. "Go thou and sit -at the table and I will serve." - -But he wouldn't do that and helped her to dish the dinner, bringing it -in and placing it on the table. - -And at last they were seated _vis-à-vis_, 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 _vin ordinaire_ which was all that Moira could afford--after -the prodigal expenditure for the _pièce de résistance_. 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. - -[Illustration: MOIRA TALKED GAYLY] - -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. - -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, - -"Why have you done all this for me?" he asked gently. - -She smiled and their glances met. - -"Because--because----" - -"Because you thought it a duty?" - -"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?" - -"I hope you are. I'm not likely to forget your charity--your----" - -"Charity! I don't like that word." - -"It _is_ charity, Moira. I don't deserve it." - -The words were casual but they seemed to illumine the path ahead, for -she broke out impetuously. - -"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." - -"Why did you?" he muttered. "I had no right to ask--even a war -marriage." - -"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...." - -She raised her head proudly, and stared into the glowing embers. - -"For Liberty--you gave your own freedom----" he murmured. - -"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." - -He leaned closer and laid his fingers over hers. - -"It was a mistake----" he said. "I would do anything to repair it." - -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. - -"Don't you believe me, Moira?" - -She glanced at him and then leaned forward, away--toward the fire. - -"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." - -"I gave you your chance to be alone----" - -"Yes. You did that. But I couldn't let you be going to a _pension_, -Harry. I think it was the pity for your pale face against the pillows." - -"Nothing else?" he asked quietly. - -His hand had taken the fingers on the chair arm and she did not withdraw -them at once. - -"Sure and maybe it was the blarney." - -"I've meant what I've said," he whispered in spite of himself, "you're -the loveliest girl in all the world." - -There was a moment of silence in which her hand fluttered uneasily in -his, while a gentle color came into her face. - -Then abruptly she withdrew her fingers and sprang up, her face aflame. - -"Go along with you! You'll be making love to me next." - -He sank back into his chair, silent, perturbed, as he realized that this -was just what was in his heart. - -"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. -_Allons_!" - -She brought him to himself with the clear, cool note of _camaraderie_, -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. - -She put the candle on the table and gave him her frankest smile. - -"Sleep sound, my dear. For to-morrow I'll be showing you the sights." - -"Good-night, Moira," he said gently. - -"_Dormez bien_." - -And she was gone. - -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--_as_ 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. - -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. - -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.... - -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. - - * * * * * - -The feat was not difficult, for as he emerged from the gate of the -_porte cochère_ of the _concierge_ 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. - -"What the H---- are you doing at No. 7 Rue de Tavennes?" said a voice -gruffly. - -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! - - - - - *CHAPTER IV* - - *OUTCAST* - - -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. - -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. - -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 _his_ uniform. He'd be taking long chances -too. He had always been a fool.... - -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? - -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. - -"Some say he showed yellow yesterday in the wheat field," said the -private. - -"Yellow! They'd better not let _me_ hear 'em sayin' it----" - -They were talking about _him_--Harry Horton. And the figure, lying -awkwardly, a shapeless mass----? - -At the risk of discovery, the coward straightened and peered down into -the white face ... Jim! - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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? - -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! - -That opened possibilities--to substitute with his brother and come back -to his own--with all the honors of the fool performance! It was _his_ -name, _his_ job that Jim had taken, and his brother couldn't keep him -out of them. He could make Jim give them up--he'd _make_ 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! - -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. - -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. - -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 _concierge_ and found -that the apartment of Madame Horton was _au troisième_. He strolled past -the _porte cochère_ 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 _concierge_, 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 _troisième étage_ 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 ... - -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. - -There was a sound of a door shutting and in a moment he saw the man in -uniform emerge by the gate of the _concierge_. 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. - -Jim Horton stopped, stepped back a pace and then peered at the man in -civilian clothing from beneath his broad army hat-brim. - -"Harry!" he muttered, almost inaudibly. - -"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!" - -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. - -This wouldn't do. Any commotion would surely arouse the curiosity of -Madame Toupin, the _concierge_. - -"Keep a civil tongue in your head, Harry," he muttered, "and I'll talk -to you." - -He caught him firmly by the arm, but Harry still leaned against the -wall, muttering vaguely. - -"A civil tongue--_me_? You--you dare ask me?" - -"Yes," said Jim gently, "I've been trying to find you." - -"Where?" leered Harry, "in my wife's studio?" - -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. - -"Come," he said quietly. "Let's get away from here." - -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. - -"G-get me something to cat. I--I'm hungry," he gasped. - -"Hungry! How long----?" - -"Since yesterday morning--a crust of bread----" - -And Jim had been eating goose----! The new sense of his own guilt -appalled him. - -"Since yesterday----!" he muttered in a quick gush of compassion. -"We'll find something--a _café_----" - -"There's a place in the Rue Berthe--Javet's," he said weakly. - -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 _café_, 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. - -"Give me a cigarette," he demanded with something of an air. - -Jim obeyed and even furnished a light, not missing the evidences of -Dutch courage Harry had acquired from the stimulation of food and -coffee. - -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. - -Harry sank back into his chair for a moment, inhaling luxuriously. - -"Well," he said at last, "maybe you've got a word to say about how the -devil you got here." - -"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." - -Harry glowered at the ash of his cigarette and then shrugged heavily. - -"I see. They think you're me. That was nice of you, Jim," he sneered, -"very decent indeed, very kind and brotherly----" - -"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." - -"H--m. Maybe I do, maybe I don't," he said shrewdly. "It was you who -found me--er--sick. Nobody else did." - -"We needn't speak of that." - -"We might as well. I'd have come around all right, if you hadn't butted -in." - -"Oh, would you?" - -"Yes," said Harry sullenly. - -Jim Horton carefully lighted a cigarette from the butt of the other, and -then said coolly: - -"We're not getting anywhere, Harry." - -"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." - -"Meaning what?" - -"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." - -An ugly look came into Jim Horton's jaw. - -"I'm not so sure about that," he said in a tone dangerously quiet. - -"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?" - -"They came to the hospital--Mr. Quinlevin and--and your wife. I--I -fooled them. They don't suspect." - -"How--how did you know Moira was my wife?" - -"Some letters. I read them." - -"Oh, I see. You read them," he frowned and then, "Barry Quinlevin's -too?" - -"Yes--his too. I had to have facts. I got them--some I wasn't looking -for----" - -"About----?" - -"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." - -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. - -"I see," he muttered, "Quinlevin's been talking." - -"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." - -It was a half-random shot but it hit the mark. - -"Moira," muttered Harry somberly. "I see. You haven't been wasting any -time." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"Don't bring _her_ 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. _You_!" - -"Be careful what you say to me," said Harry, trying bravado. "She's my -wife." - -"She won't be your wife long, when I tell her what I know about you," -finished Jim angrily. - -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. - -"Jim! You--you wouldn't do that?" he muttered. - -Jim released his hand, shrugged and leaned back in his chair. - -"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 _Croix de Guerre_----" - -"The _Croix de Guerre_! Me----?" - -"Lieutenant Harry G. Horton to be gazetted captain--me!" put in Jim, -with some pride. "Not you." - -A brief silence in which Harry rubbed his scrawny beard with his long -fingers. - -"That might be difficult to prove to my Company captain," he said at -last. - -"You forget my wounds," laughed Jim. "Oh, they're _my_ 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." - -"You won't dare----" - -"I don't know what I'd dare. It depends on you." - -"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." - -Jim laughed. "_I_ tried to tell in the hospital and they thought I was -bug-house. Try it if you like." - -Harry frowned and reached for another cigarette. - -And then after awhile, "Well--what do you want me to do?" - -His brother examined him steadily for a moment, and then went on. - -"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." - -"Straight!" sneered Harry, "like _you_. You call this straight--what -you're doing?" - -"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 _you_. 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----" - -Jim Horton paused as he realized that he had said too much, for he saw -his brother start and then stare at him. - -"Ah, Barry Quinlevin--is away!" - -Jim nodded. "Yes," he said, "in Ireland." - -Harry had risen, glowering. - -"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 _me_--to Moira." - -Jim Horton thought deeply for a moment and then rose and coolly -straightened his military blouse. - -"Very well," he said, "we'll go back to her together." - -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. - -"Jim," he muttered, "you won't do that!" - -"We'll tell her the truth--I guess you're right. She ought to know." - -"Wait a minute----" - -His hand was trembling on the officer's sleeve and the dark beard seemed -to make the face look ghastly under its tan. - -"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----" - -"How?" dryly. - -"I--I don't know just now, but we can work it somehow----" - -"It's too late----" - -"You could have been captured by the Boches. We can find a way, when -you let me have my uniform." - -Jim Horton grinned unsympathetically. - -"There are two wounds in that too, Harry," he said. "Where are yours?" - -And he moved toward the door. - -"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." - -His brother obeyed mechanically. - -"Well," he said. - -"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. - -Jim Horton read his meaning. - -"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." - -Harry frowned at the floor, and was silent, but his brother's answer -satisfied him. - -"All right. You go back--but I've got to get some money. I can't -starve." - -"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----" - -"And so have I--but I don't dare----" - -"Very good. What's your bank?" - -"_Hartjes & Cie._" - -"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?" - -"Yes." - -"Who?" - -"A woman I know." - -Jim shrugged. "All right. But be careful. I'll meet you here -to-morrow night. And don't shave." - -Harry nodded and put the bills into his pocket while Jim rose again. - -"You play the game straight with me," he said, "and I'll put this thing -right, even if----" - -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. - -"'Arry 'Orton," she was saying joyously in broken English. "You don -seem to know me. It is I--Piquette." - -The name Quinlevin had spoke in the hospital! - -Jim glanced over his shoulder into the shadow where Harry had been, but -his brother had disappeared. - - - - - *CHAPTER V* - - *PIQUETTE* - - -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 _retroussé_, black eyes, rather small but expressive, with -brows and lids skillfully tinted; her figure was graceful, _svelte_, 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. - -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. - -"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." - -"You know of the fight in Boissière----?" put in Jim. - -"And who does not? It is all in _le Matin_ to-day--an' 'ere I find you -trying to 'ide yourself in the obscure _café_ of Monsieur Javet." - -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. - -And when laughing gayly she released him, he turned toward Monsieur -Valcourt, who was regarding her with a dubious smile. - -"For all her prosperity, Monsieur 'Orton," Valcourt was saying, in -French, "she is still a _gamine_." - -"And who would wonder, _mon vieux_! 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? _La la_! I do not intend to grow too respectable, I assure -you." - -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." - -But she was already turning to Horton again. - -"A 'ero. The world is full of 'eros to-day, but not one like my 'Arry -'Orton. _Allons_! 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." - -"If Monsieur will excuse me----" said Valcourt, offering his hand. - -Jim Horton took it, wondering where the adventure was to lead. She was -a very remarkable person and her _élan_ 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. - -"It is indeed you," she said gayly, "and yet you seem different--more -calm, more silent. What is it?" - -"I've had two months in the hospital." - -"And you're quite strong again?" - -"Oh yes. And you have been well--Piquette?" - -"Well--but _so_ ennuyée. It is why I come back here to de _Quartier_ to -get a breath of fresh air. I've been posing for Monsieur Valcourt--_La -Liberté_. He says my figure is better than ever. And Valcourt knows." - -"I'm sure you are very lovely." - -"_La, la, mon vieux_, but you are the _grand serieux_. Of course I am -lovely. It is my business. But you do not _show_ me 'ow lovely I am, -for you are so quiet--so cool----" - -Jim Horton laughed and caught her fingers to his lips. - -"You are--Piquette. That is enough." - -"_C'est mieux_. 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?" - -"I don't know--when I shall get my orders." - -"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...." - -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. - -"Tiresome, yes," he said slowly, "all old men are tiresome----" - -"And _difficile_," 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?" - -"Er--nothing definite." - -"Monsieur le Duc still pays?" - -Horton meditated for a moment. - -"No," he said, "he has stopped paying." - -Piquette Morin leaned further over the table, frowning. - -"Ah! Since when?" - -"For--er--three months or more." - -"Then you t'ink he suspects somet'ing?" - -"I don't know. It looks so, doesn't it?" - -"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 _bon Dieu_ 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." - -Horton laughed. "I don't doubt it." And then, carefully, "You heard -how he got rid of her?" he questioned. - -"It was 'er riches, of course. 'E spent 'er '_dot_' 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. - -"And then?" he asked, wondering whither the conversation was leading. - -"And den, as you know, she ran away to Ireland----" - -"To Ireland----" he muttered eagerly. - -"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 _Quartier_ 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, -_mon vieux_, and we s'all make it 'appy." - -He kissed the rosy palm she thrust to his lips, with difficulty -concealing his curiosity. - -"But the child of Monsieur the Duc----" he urged after the moment of -_badinage_. "He said nothing----?" - -He paused as though in doubt. - -She shrugged carelessly and lighted a cigarette. - -"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, _mon_ 'Arry." - -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. - -"You asked the Duc no questions that might have aroused his suspicions?" - -"No. I t'ink not. And yet I remember once 'e ask' me if I know -Monsieur Quinlevin." - -"And what did you reply?" - -"Of course, dat I never heard of 'im." - -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. - -"The money has stopped coming to Quinlevin. We've got to do something." - -"_Parfaitement_," said Piquette carelessly. "De time 'as come to -produce de girl Moira and de papers." - -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. - -For a moment he did not dare to speak for fear of betraying himself. -And then only assented safely to her suggestion. - -"Yes; it is the only thing to be done." - -"It mus' be manage' carefully. You are sure de papers are all correct?" - -"It is as to that Monsieur Quinlevin has gone to Ireland." - -"Ah, I see--we mus' wait until 'e comes back. But I s'all 'elp you, -_mon ami_. You will rely upon me, _n'est ce pas_?" - -"Yes, I will." - -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. _Gamine_ 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. - -"You are so _triste_, 'Arry," she broke in suddenly. "I do not t'ink I -like you so _triste_. What s'all we care, you and I, for Monsieur le -Duc an' 'is money? To be young an' in love----" - -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. _Allons_! I s'all make you laugh again, until de -_triste_ look come no more into your eyes." - -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. - -"Your frien' who was wit' you--'e 'as come back again," she whispered. - -"Ah----" he turned and saw Harry peering through the door. - -"'E wants you to come? _C'est embêtant_! Sen' 'im away." - -"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. - -"I've had enough of this," growled his brother. "You come out of here -with me or I'll----" - -"Don't be a fool. You could see that I couldn't help it." - -"You can help it now----" - -"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." - -And without waiting for a reply he returned to Piquette, his mind made -up. - -"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----" - -She pouted and rose. - -"I can't explain--not now. You won't be cross----" - -"It is not--anodder woman----?" she asked shrewdly. - -"Another----? How can you ask? No. There are no other women in Paris, -Piquette." - -"You are cruel," she muttered in a low tone, her dark eyes flashing. - -"No. It is a matter of importance. Will you let me have your -address----?" - -"No 82 Boulevard Clichy--de same place." - -"Good. To-morrow I will write you." - -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. - -"Méchant!" she whispered softly. - -"It is not my fault, Piquette. Soon----" - -He gave the address to the _cocher_ and she was gone. - -Jim Horton stood for a moment listening to the sounds of the retreating -_fiacre_ 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. - -As for Harry--he would make short work of _him_. He went with long -determined strides to the appointed spot and Harry met him with a -threatening air. - -"What the Hell has she been saying?" he muttered. - -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. - -As he didn't reply, his brother continued angrily. "You've gone about -your limit, I tell you. What did she tell you?" - -"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. - -"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----" - -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. - -"Get up!" Jim ordered. "Somebody will be coming along in a moment and -we'll both be going with the police." - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -Harry started back as though to dodge another blow, the reaction of his -venture setting in with the terror of this information. - -"Jim!" he whispered, clutching at his arm. "You wouldn't do that, Jim. -My God! It's ruin to me--and you too." - -"I'm prepared for that----" - -"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----" - -"Tell me the truth," Jim broke in sternly. "How much money did -Quinlevin owe you?" - -"Twenty thousand dollars----" - -"And that was Moira's price----" contemptuously. - -"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----" - -"You----! You forget what I know." - -"It's the truth." - -"How much were you to get of this money of the Duc's?" - -Harry halted, mumbling, "That wasn't settled." - -"Well, it's settled now," said Jim, with an air of finality, turning -aside. - -"What are you going to do?" - -"Tell her--in the morning." - -"You can't, Jim. Why, she'd go right to Quinlevin." - -"I expect her to--and the Duke." - -Harry leaned back against the wall, his fingers working at his trouser -legs, but he was speechless. - -"That's about all, I think," said Jim dryly. "Good-bye." - -"Then you won't listen--not if I promise----" - -"What----?" - -"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." - -"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." - -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?" - -"I--I didn't start this thing----" - -"But you'll finish it, Jim. She believes in _him_, even if she doesn't -believe in me. It will kill her." - -He saw that he had made an impression on his brother. Jim stood silent, -his head bowed. - -"Don't tell her to-morrow, Jim," Harry pleaded. "Promise." - -Jim shrugged and turned. - -"All right," he said at last. "I'll sleep on it." - -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. - -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 _did_ 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - - - *CHAPTER VI* - - *YOUTH TRIUMPHANT* - - -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. - -"Lazy bones! Get up! Will you be lying abed all day?" - -"A--all right----" - -He opened his eyes with an effort and glanced at his wrist watch---- -Eight o'clock. - -"Coffee in the studio, Harry dear, in ten minutes." - -"Oh! All right----" - -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 _reveille_, 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 _brioches_ -in her hands. - -"Good morning! I've been waiting for you an hour or more. You've been -developing amazing bad habits in the hospital." - -"Why didn't you call me before?" - -"Sure and I believed you might be thinking I was anxious to see you." - -"And aren't you?" - -"And do you think I'd be telling--even if I was?" - -"You might." - -"And I won't. Will you have your coffee with cream and sugar?" - -"If you please." - -It was real cream and real sugar--some magic of Madame Toupin's, she -explained, and the _brioches_ 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. - -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. - -"You're a bit subdued this morning, Harry dear," she said at last, -whimsically. "Maybe that goose was too much for you." - -"Subdued!" he laughed. - -"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?" - -"There isn't a thing--except--except your kindness. I don't deserve -that, you know." - -She looked at him seriously and then broke into laughter. - -"Would it make you feel more comfortable if I laid you over the -shoulders with a mahl stick?" - -"I think it would," he grinned. - -"Sure and that is one of the few pleasant prerogatives of matrimony--in -Ireland." - -"And elsewhere----" added Horton. - -"But I do want to know if anything's troubling you. Are you still -worried----" she took a _brioche_ and smiled at it amiably, "because -we're not appropriately chaperoned?" - -"No--not so much. I see you're quite able to look out for yourself." - -"And you derive some comfort from the fact?" she asked. - -He looked at her, their eyes met and they both burst into laughter. - -"Moira--you witch! But you'd better not tempt me too far." - -"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." - -"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. - -"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?" - -"Excellent," he said gloomily. - -"And now you're vexed. Is there no pleasing a man?" - -"If you'd only stop pleasing--you'd make it easier for me to see a -way----" - -She was all attention at once, listening. But he paused and set his -coffee-cup down with an air of finality. - -"Stop pleasing! Sure and you must not ask the impossible," she said, -her mouth full. - -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----" - -"Well, I'm letting you," she smiled over her coffee-cup. - -"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. - -"Well," he heard her saying, "I don't think you are." - -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. - -"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. _Allons_! 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." - -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. - -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 _Quartier_, they sauntered forth, in the direction she -indicated. There were to be no vehicles for them, she insisted, for -_fiacres_ 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. - -[Illustration: THROUGH MOIRA'S CLEAR INTELLIGENCE THE EPIC FILTERED] - -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. - -When he reached his bank, which was in the Boulevard des Italiens, near -the _Opera_, 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 _Opera_. 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. - -"And where now, Harry dear?" - -"I'm hungry. To the most expensive restaurant in Paris for _déjeuner_. -If I'm not mistaken we passed it just here." - -"But you must not--I won't permit----" - -He only grinned and led her inside. - -"For to-day at least, Moira, we shall live." - -"But to see Paris, _en Anglais_, that is not to live----" - -"We shall see." - -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. - -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 _Bois_ and a visit, much less expensive, to a _cinema_ -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 _Rive Gauche_ 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, _piou-piou_ -and milliner, workman and _bonne_, _flaneur_ and _grisette_, 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. - -"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. - -But when they reached the studio Moira set with alacrity at putting -things to rights and preparing the evening meal. - -"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." - -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. - -"I wish that you would tell me what worries you," she said gently, after -a long silence. - -He started forward in his chair by the fire. "Er--nothing," he -stammered, "there's nothing." - -"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?" - -"About you?" he asked to gain time, and then, grasping at the straw she -threw him, "about--you--yes--Moira," he said quietly. - -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. - -"Why?" she asked. - -"Because--because I don't deserve--all this--from you." - -She smiled softly from her chair nearby. - -"Don't you think I'm the best judge of that?" - -"No," he said miserably. "No." - -"You can't deny a woman the faith of her intuitions." - -"And if I proved your intuitions false----" - -"Sure and I'd never speak to you again," she put in quaintly. - -"It might be better if you didn't," he muttered, half aloud. - -She heard him, or seemed to, for she turned quickly and laid her hand -over his. - -"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." - -His fingers caught and pressed hers and then quickly relinquished them -as he rose, struggling for his composure. - -"You _will_ 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----" - -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. - -"Hush, alanah," she said. - -"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. - -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. - -"I can't be listening when you call yourself such names." - -"You don't understand--and I can't tell you--anything more just now. I -haven't--the will." - -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. - -"I can't make you unhappy--not to-night. I--I'm sorry you read my -thoughts. I shouldn't have let you see." - -He had turned to the fire and leaned against the chimney piece. And -after a moment, clear and very tender, he heard her voice. - -"You must tell me everything, alanah. I've got the right to it now." - -He shook his head in silent misery. - -"But you must." - -"No. I can't." - -"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 _was_ 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----" - -"_You_--make amends----" he gasped. - -"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." - -"You can't----" he groaned. - -"Not if they concern me," she continued simply, "for they're mine -already." - -He took a pace or two away from her. - -"You mustn't speak to me like this." - -"And why not? You're mine to speak to as I please. Is it that you don't -love me enough, alanah?" - -He knew that she wouldn't have asked that question, if she hadn't -already seen the answer in his eyes. - -"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. - -"Well----" she said softly, "I'm waiting for your answer." - -"I--I can't give you an answer," he said in a colorless voice. - -"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 _you_--the only one in all the world for me." - -"Moira," he whispered, tensely, as his arms went about her. "God -forgive me--I worship you." - -"God will forgive you that, alanah," he heard her say happily, "since I -do." - -He touched his lips to her brow tenderly ... then her lips. - -"You love me," he muttered. "_Me_? You're sure that it's _me_ that you -love?" - -Her eyes opened, startled at his tone. - -"If it isn't you that I love, then I'm sure that I can't be loving any -one at all." - -"And you'll believe in me--whatever happens?" - -"I will----" she repeated proudly. "Whatever happens--since _this_ has -happened to us both." - -"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...." - -She drew away from him a little, deeply perturbed. "You frighten me, -alanah." - -"I--I don't want to. To-morrow----" he paused, searching for strength -to speak. But it did not come. - -"To-morrow. What do you mean?" - -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. - -"What do you mean?" she repeated. - -"That--that to-morrow--you shall judge me." - -The tense expression of her anxiety relaxed and she smiled. - -"You needn't fear what that will be." - -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." - -"But it shouldn't have happened," he groaned, "it shouldn't have -happened." - -"Then why should I thank God for it----?" - -"Don't----" - -"Yes. Everything will be right. A woman knows of these things." - -He smiled at her tenderly, but he didn't attempt to take her in his -arms. - -"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." - -But he did not dare. - -"Moira, I--I've got to go out for awhile--a matter of duty----" - -"Now?" she faltered. - -"I must. An engagement. I'm in honor bound----" - -Now really alarmed, she caught him by the elbows and looked into his -eyes. - -"An engagement--to-night! And to-morrow----?" - -His meaning seemed to come to her with a rush. - -"Harry----! This engagement to-night has something to do with us--with -me. To-morrow----! What is it, Harry? Speak!" - -"I can't. I've promised." - -"I won't let you go, Harry. It is something that has come between -us----" - -"It has always been--between us----" he muttered. - -She clung to him and held him as he moved toward the door. - -"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?" - -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. - -"It is because I understand what it means that I have--the courage to -go--now--before you despise me." - -"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." - -"Good-bye, Moira," he whispered, his hands clasping her arms. - -"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--_please_ don't go." - -"Yes," he said firmly. "I must." - -But she was strong, and greater than her strength was her tenderness. - -"Look me in the eyes, dear, while I'm pleading with you. If your love -were as great a thing as mine----" - -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. - -"My love! ... if you hadn't said that! You've _got_ 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----" - -"Whatever happens?" - -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. - -"Harry----!" - -"Good-bye," he called hoarsely as he opened the door and went out. - -She rushed after him but he was already running furiously down the -stairs into the dark. - -"Harry," she called, "Harry--come back!" - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - - - *CHAPTER VII* - - *AWAKENING* - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 _was_ a -little cruel that he had not sent her a message--a note, a _petit bleu_ -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.... - -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. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -"Harry," she gasped happily, "at last!" - -She couldn't help noting the slight movement of recoil before her -tenderness. Then, bending his head, - -"Hello, Moira," he muttered. - -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. - -"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?" - -"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. - -She had struck a match to make a light. - -"What--what are you doing?" he asked. - -"I'm going to see what's the matter with you. You look sick. You need -medicine." - -"No," he protested. "I'm just tired. A drink of whisky if you've got -one----" - -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. - -"What is it, Harry?" she asked. "Tell me." - -"It's nothing," he said. "I'm all in, I've had some worries. I'll be -all right.' - -"Have you had something to eat?" - -"Yes. I'm not hungry." - -His voice too ... thin, weary, somber. - -Now greatly alarmed, she caught his hand in both of hers. - -"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----" - -"Were you?" he said, with a frown. "I was all right." - -"I'm glad. But it was cruel of you not to send me a message." - -"I couldn't. But I'm here now, Moira. So there's no need worrying any -more." - -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. - -"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." - -He turned away toward the glass at his elbow, - -"No," he murmured, "that difficulty--has been removed." - -He couldn't repress the smile of triumph as he took his drink, and she -saw it. It wasn't a pleasant smile. - -"Come," he went on more easily, "aren't you glad to see me?" - -"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." - -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. - -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.... - -She kept her gaze fixed upon him and she saw his look flicker and fade. - -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? - -"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." - -He forced a laugh and sank into his chair again, lighting a cigarette -with an assumption of ease. - -"I'm sorry," he said quietly. - -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. - -"You--you are Harry Horton--my--my husband?" she whispered in a kind of -daze. - -"Well, rather." - -She paused another long moment as though on the verge of a difficult -decision and then spoke searchingly. - -"If you are Harry--my husband--then who--_who is the other_?" - -Harry Horton started. "The other----?" - -"The other--who was here with me yesterday, who was ill in the hospital -at Neuilly, wounded--the hero of Boissière wood?" - -"Moira," he said, rising, "this is serious. There has been no other -here." - -"Yes," she repeated doggedly, "the other has been here--your twin----" -The word seemed born of her necessity. "Your twin," she repeated. - -He winced at the word and she saw the change in his expression. - -"Tell me the truth of this thing," she went on quickly, "_he_ said -yesterday that something was to come between us. It was _you_." And -then, as he made no reply, "For God's sake, speak----" - -He turned away from the light. - -"I'm your husband," he muttered hoarsely. - -"Show me your wounds," she gasped suddenly, reasoning with singular -directness. - -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. - -There was no wound. - -"What's this deviltry?" he muttered, his face an angry red. - -But the look that he met in her eyes pierced all subterfuge. - -"You have not been wounded," she gasped. - -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. - -"Well," he muttered with a shrug, "I haven't." And then, folding his -arms he found her gaze. "What of it?" he asked shortly. - -She glanced down at the slips of adhesive tape and then let them fall -through her fingers. - -"I'm glad," she said coolly, "that you've decided not to carry on the -lie----" - -He laughed again. "Well, it looks as though it were hardly worth -while." - -Already all her thoughts were beyond him. - -"Who--who is the other?" she asked at last, with a cold precision that -might have come from a disembodied spirit. - -He waited a moment before replying and then his tone matched her own. - -"I can hardly wonder at your interest after the warmth of your greeting -when I came in." - -The shot told and she colored painfully. - -"Who--who is he?" she repeated with an effort. - -He smiled. "There's no harm in your knowing, since you've guessed the -rest. He's my twin brother, Jim Horton." - -"Jim," she gasped below her breath. - -"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----" - -"Shell--shock----" - -"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----" - -"While he won you the Croix de Guerre. And you're going to step into -his shoes----" - -"They're _my_ shoes. It's not my fault----" - -"And he--what's to become of him?" - -"That's his lookout. He merely disappears from the scene." - -She leaned heavily against the mantel shelf, breathing fast. But she -had no reply, and so he went on unpleasantly. - -"Now, perhaps you would like to explain." - -"I have nothing to explain." - -"Not the joy in your eyes when I came in? The kisses you gave me that -you thought were for him?" - -"I ask no forgiveness," she said in a hollow tone. - -"Of course you thought he was your husband. And he let you think so." - -"Yes. He let me think so," she repeated, parrot-like. - -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. - -She saw her husband's bony fingers clasp the chair arm. - -"You were easily deceived," he went on. "It's hardly flattering to me. -I would like to know----" - -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. - -"He came here from the hospital night before last. He wanted to go to a -_pension_ but I would not permit it----" - -"That was kind of you. But I'm not blind. And your kisses for him were -warm on your lips when you greeted me." - -She paled and drooped in her shame. - -"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?" - -"No. You're not," she answered slowly. "You've already answered me." -And then, with a painful effort, "What have you done with him?" - -He sank into the armchair with a laugh. "With _him_? Nothing. He has -gone. That's all." - -"I don't believe you." - -"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." - -"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." - -"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----" - -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." - -She didn't reply at once and when she did speak her words came slowly -and with dignity. - -"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 _you_ that I visited, _you_ 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." - -He started up from his chair. - -"Moira----" - -"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." - -At this, Harry Horton's fury relaxed in a laugh. He poured himself out -another drink. - -"You can spare him these new honors." - -She glanced at him keenly but he was too angry to notice. - -"He went--away--because he had to," he muttered. - -"What do you mean?" - -"What I say. It was getting too hot for him." - -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. - -"What have you done with him?" she whispered. - -"N--nothing." - -"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. - -"He got what he deserved," he muttered sullenly. - -"What have you done?" she repeated. - -"Put him where he won't mess in _my_ 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?" - -"Let go my wrists--you're hurting me----" - -"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." - -"Let me go, Harry." - -"Kiss me." - -"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----" - -"No--no." - -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. - -"Let me go," she gasped. "Do you hear?" - -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. - -His arms relaxed in astonishment and she sprang away, putting a small -table between them. - -Breathing rapidly, she saw him put his fingers to his cheek and then -look at them in a bewildered way. - -"I see," she heard him muttering to himself, "so that's the way of -it----" - -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. - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII* - - *THREATS* - - -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. - -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. - -"Lucky dog, I am. Pretty little devil to come home to. Love tap!" He -shrugged and raised his glass. "To our better acquaintance!" - -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. - -"So you've fallen in love with my pretty brother?" he muttered. - -"No." - -"Complaisant husband--_mari complaisant_. You wanted Jim to take you in -his arms--and you only had _me_. 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." - -"We--we've got to come to an understanding----" she gasped at last -desperately. - -"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." - -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." - -"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." - -"Quite so. And we've both failed?" - -"Thanks. We--we have both failed," she repeated. "I can't say I ever -really believed we should succeed until----" - -"Until you went to the hospital." - -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." - -"Why? Because I take a fancy to my own uniform--my own personality?" - -"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." - -"He's quit, I told you," he protested. "There wasn't anything else for -him----" - -"Where is he?" - -"What does it matter? He's out of your life--out of mine." - -"No--not out of your life----" she paused. - -"What do you mean?" - -"Merely that the truth of this thing must be told." - -"Impossible. It would ruin us both." - -She gave a little gasp of relief. - -"Tell me where he is." - -"He's safe----" - -She deliberated a moment. - -"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----" - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -She understood his drift. The facts in her possession made her -dangerous. - -"It can't be kept quiet, so long as Jim Horton is in danger." - -"Who said he was in danger? I said he'd quit----" - -"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." - -She saw him glare at her somberly. - -"What do you want me to do?" - -"Take me to him--to-night." - -"That's impossible. I couldn't find him." - -"Yes. You can find him. Or he would have found me." - -He smeared out the ash of his cigarette in a receiver and rose, his face -livid. - -"You seem very sure of him--and of yourself. And if I don't find him -for you, what are you going to do?" - -"I shall tell what I know to the proper authorities." - -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. - -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 _concierge_. - -Madame Toupin, aroused suddenly from her doze, started up in amazement. - -"Madame Horton, what is it?" she asked in French. - -"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?" - -"_Parfaitement, Madame. Ah, les jeux d'amour. Entrez vite_." And she -opened the door of the closet which Moira entered quickly. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 _Rue de Monsieur le Prince_, -past the _Lycée_ and the _École de Médicine_, 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 _Boule' Miche'_ 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 _Isle de la Cité_, 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 _Quai_, 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. - -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. - -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. - -"Tricot!" he called. "Tricot! Tricot!" - -And in a moment she heard a sound at the door, which was opened a few -inches. - -"_C'est moi, Tricot_," 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. - -"_Oh, Monsieur_----" 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 _apache_! There were others like him here. -And Harry.... - -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 _Boule' Miche'_. 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 _Petit Pont_ 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 _Quai St. Michel_. 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. - -"What was the name this man spoke at the door?" asked one of the -policemen. - -She told him. - -"Ah, Tricot! _Parbleu_! I think perhaps, Mademoiselle, that there may -be some reason in your anxiety." - -"You know----?" - -"An _apache_ of the old régime, Mademoiselle. We would do well to find -him." - -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. - -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. - -"Enter, Mademoiselle," he said, when she had come around. "You are sure -that this is the house?" - -"Yes, Monsieur." - -"There is no one here. The house is deserted. It is a street of -deserted houses." - -"That is impossible----" she stammered. "With my own eyes, less than an -hour ago, this Tricot met the other at the door." - -"_Allons_! We will search a little further, then." - -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. - -"Mademoiselle, you are right. This bottle is not yet empty. There's -something suspicious here." - -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. - -"Some one lay here but a short while ago," he muttered positively, "tied -hand and foot. The bed is still warm." - -"They can't have gone far then----" - -"But the door was bolted on the inside----" - -"The window----" - -"There would hardly have been time, is it not so, Mademoiselle?" - -"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----" - -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. - -"Listen," he whispered. - -Scarcely able to breathe, Moira obeyed. From the passage-way at a -distance, there came the sounds of voices. - -"Come, follow me, Dupuy! Mademoiselle had better remain." - -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. - -"I dare not stay here, Monsieur. I must go with you." - -"_Bien_. But I warn you it may be dangerous." - -And yet what could be more dangerous than remaining in the cellar of the -_apache_, 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. - -"_Tonnerre de Dieu!_" 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. - -Frightened and mystified, Moira followed up the steps where after a -moment the two men joined her. - -"We have missed them. We were too late----" - -"But the captive--the prisoner," pleaded Moira, in an agony of -apprehension. - -"That's the point--the prisoner," said the younger man. "Wait a moment, -Mademoiselle." - -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. - -"_Vite_, Dupuy. There may be yet time." - -And the two of them started running toward the distant bridge, leaving -Moira to follow as fast as she could. - -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 _fiacre_ in which the woman had driven away. - -"Did you notice anything extraordinary about the rescued man?" -questioned Dupuy. - -"Nothing, except that he was very pale. Also that there was an odor of -chloroform on his clothing." - -"Chloroform! Are you sure?" - -The man shrugged. "You may smell for yourself." - -And he extended a hand and arm upon which the odor was unmistakable. - -She heard the officer take the address of the witness and then turn to -her. - -"Mademoiselle is no doubt weary. There is nothing more that can be done -to-night. If you will permit me to conduct you home." - -A woman? Who? - -Moira nodded in a bewildered way. - -"A _fiacre_, Monsieur, if you please," she stammered. "I--I am very -tired." - - - - - *CHAPTER IX* - - *PIQUETTE TAKES A HAND* - - -As Monsieur Valcourt, the sculptor, had said, Piquette Morin was a -_gamine_. 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? - -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 _Rive Gauche_ 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 _grande vie_. - -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 _fiacre_ and put him to bed. According to her own -lights, it was the only natural, the only decent thing for her to do. - -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. - -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 _bel ami_, but ... _enfin_, even in the _Quartier_, one got drunk -like a gentleman. - -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. _Saperlotte_! Of course she was glad to see him. - -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 _triste_, 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 _fiacre_, 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. - -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 _parbleu_! - -She started upright as a thought came to her like a _coup de foudre_. -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. _The little finger was -straight_! - -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. - -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 _café_ which bore his name. - -It was not a beautiful place, and as she knew was frequented by persons -not of the _vrai type_, 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. - -She found Gabriel, wearing a sober air, busy with his bottles and the -café was blue with tobacco smoke. - -"All, _mon vieux_," she said in the argot. "You wear a worried look. -Has Leon Javet been stealing away your customers?" - -"Ah, _c'est toi, petite_! What brings you here alone?" - -"_Ma foi_, my legs, if you would know the truth--and a woman's -curiosity." - -"_Tiens_! That is nothing new. How can I help you?" - -"I want you tell me what you know of 'Arry 'Orton." - -Gabriel frowned and glanced about him cautiously. - -"Sh----," he said warningly. And then, in a whisper, "Who told you that -Monsieur 'Orton was here?" - -She laughed. "Did I not see him myself with my own eyes last night?" - -"Where?" - -"At Javet's." And then, in a meaning tone, as she looked him in the -eyes, "Him--or another." - -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?" - -"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. - -The effect of her words on Gabriel was not lost on her. He looked around -him furtively and caught her by the wrist. - -"Who told you this?" - -"It's true, then?" asked Piquette. - -"Who told you?" - -"My own eyes. The visitor at Javet's had no twisted little finger." - -"And no one else has noticed?" - -"Not so far as I am aware." - -Gabriel Pochard gave a great gasp of relief. - -"_Ma foi_, child, but you have sharp eyes!" - -"If they weren't sharp, _mon vieux_, 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." - -He glanced at her, then frowned at the floor and shook his head. - -"Oh, yes, _mon vieux_, you will tell me that it is none of my business," -she said firmly. "_Eh, bien_, 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." - -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?" - -"The devil himself--I----," she said with a gesture. And then, with a -little shrug and a sober mien, "You may trust me, Gabriel." - -He stopped and sat in his chair again. - -"_Eh, bien_! As you have said. It is your right. But it is no matter -to be breathed outside this room." - -"It will not be the first time I have kept your secrets." - -"I should not tell you." - -"Speak----" - -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." - -"Yes, I understand. Go on." - -"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." - -"Ah--it was what I thought----" - -"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?" - -Piquette nodded. - -"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----" - -Piquette had started to her feet, her fingers grasping the shoulder of -Gabriel. - -"His _wife_!" she broke in. - -"_Parfaitement_, his wife," repeated Pochard. "You did not know?" - -"He never told me," she stammered. "Who----?" - -"The daughter of my ancient friend, Monsieur Barry Quinlevin," said -Pochard with a shrug. - -"You're sure?" - -"As certain as I sit here, _ma petite_." - -Piquette sank into her chair, frowning deeply. - -"Go on," she muttered. - -"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. _Voilà -tout_." - -Piquette had been listening intently, thinking deeply the while. As -Pochard finished, she searched his face keenly--her frown deepening. - -"There's something at the back of this, Pochard. Tell me the rest." - -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----" - -Piquette understood at once. Her fingers closed again over the arm of -Pochard. - -"What have you done with him?" - -Pochard bent forward, whispering. "He lies in the house in the Rue -Charron by the river. A knock on the head--_c'est tout_--and -chloroform." - -Piquette was silent, staring at the wall. Then she fixed her wide gaze -on the conspirator. - -"Bah! You are a fool, Pochard!" she shot at him. "They will catch you -sure. How much?" - -"Two thousand francs." - -"And you get half," contemptuously. "Who did it?" - -"Tricot and _Le Singe Anglais_." - -"Tricot!" - -Piquette got up and paced the length of the room, turning quickly. - -"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----" - -"But Monsieur 'Orton----" - -"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?" - -"L-late last right----" - -"And 'Arry 'Orton?" - -"Was here--this afternoon----" - -"Drunk----?" - -Pochard shrugged. "No--not bad. He was in uniform." - -"Where is he now?" - -"I think he has gone to find his wife." - -"His wife!" - -Piquette sank into her chair, took out a cigarette and smoked rapidly -for a moment. And then, - -"What were you going to do with this--this twin brother?" - -"I?" Pochard gave a gesture of abnegation. "Nothing. I am through. -That is the affair of Monsieur 'Orton." - -"All, _mon ami_, but you can't wriggle out so easily. You've received -money--blood money----" - -Pochard put his hands deep in his pockets and extended his long legs, -frowning at the floor. - -"I am sorry now. It is a bad business----" - -"The man is safe?" - -"So far, yes----" - -"But Tricot?" - -"He waits for orders." - -Piquette ground her cigarette under her heel and rose abruptly with an -air of decision. - -"This American must be liberated at once!" - -Pochard rose and faced her. "It's too late," he growled, - -"No. It's not too late. I know the sort that Tricot is--with the river -just there--at his elbow." - -"I can do nothing. That's what worries me. Tricot and _Le Singe_ will -look after their own skins now." - -"You mean," she paused significantly. "The Seine----" - -He nodded somberly. - -"It is the solution of many problems." - -She caught him by the shoulders and shook him. - -"But not of _this_ problem. You understand. It will not do. I will -not have it." - -"You," he laughed. "What can you do?" - -"You shall go with me now--and liberate him----" - -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?" - -"Yes. You will be through, when the police come to find out what you -know about the matter." - -"They will not find out." - -"Don't be too sure. 'Arry 'Orton is a fool when he drinks. He will -betray you----" - -Pochard scowled. "And betray himself----?" - -"You can't be too sure." - -"I can't. But I must trust to luck." - -Piquette stamped her foot. - -"I've no patience with you." And then, "You will not liberate him?" - -"No. I refuse to have anything more to do with the matter." - -"You will regret it." - -"Perhaps. That will be my own lookout." - -She stared at him in a moment of indecision, and then with a shrug, -turned toward the door into the café. - -"You are an idiot, Gabriel." - -Pochard grunted as he followed her. - -"You will say nothing?" - -"_Naturellement_," scornfully. "I am not an informer. But I should like -to knock you on the head too." - -She put her hand on the knob of the door. - -"Where are you going?" he asked. - -"To the Rue Charron." - -He caught her hand away from the knob and held her. - -"You----! Why should you intrude in this affair?" - -"It amuses me." - -"I warn you that you will run into danger." - -"They will not harm me." - -"You must not go." - -"Yes. I shall save you from the results of your cupidity--since you -will not save yourself." - -"I will not permit it----" - -"You have nothing to say in the matter--since you've washed your hands -of it." - -She threw his hand off and opened the door. - -"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. - -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 _Boule' Miche'_. - -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. - -Tricot was a bad one. So was _Le Singe Anglais_. 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. - -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 _Le Singe_ 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. - -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. - -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. - -"Monsieur!" she whispered quickly, "it is I--Piquette--and I have come -to help you." - -He stirred again and tried to move, but the drug was heavy in his blood. -So she shook him furiously, trying to arouse him. - -"It is Piquette," she whispered again. - -His lips moved and his eyelids fluttered open. "Piquette----!" he -muttered, and then breathed stertorously. - -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. - -"Sh----," she whispered, "Silence!" - -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. - -"Wake up, Monsieur! You mus' get out of dis wit' me----" - -His lips moved again. "Who----" - -"It's Piquette, Monsieur," she repeated, prodding at him and shaking his -shoulders. - -This time his eyelids opened wider, and he looked at her vaguely. But -his lips muttered her name. - -"You mus' rouse yourself--you mus'! We are going out of here--at once." - -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. - -"Quiet--for your life! Dey're upstairs, aren't dey?" - -"Yes--upstairs. I--I'm weak as a cat." - -"Naturally, but you've got to 'elp yourself. I can't carry you." - -"Carry me--no----" He toppled sideways and would have fallen, but she -caught him and held him, shaking and pinching him again. - -"No. You've _got_ to wake up. Do you hear?" she whispered desperately. -"They may come down 'ere at any moment." - -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. - -"You--Piquette--How did you----?" - -"By an old passage from dis cellar to de river. You mus' go out dat -way. Do you on'erstand me?" - -He nodded feebly. "River----" he muttered. - -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. - -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. - -"It is dere--in de corner--the way of escape. You mus' make de effort." - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"We've got to get him away from here--out into the country -somewhere--and lose him." Harry Horton's voice. - -"Why?" growled a voice in English. - -"Moira Quinlevin knows the truth." - -An oath from Tricot as the other translated. - -"Who told her?" - -"No one. She guessed it." - -"Parbleu! We shall take no chances then." - -"You must take him away--a cab--out into the country," said Harry's -voice again. - -"And leave him to recover and set the police on us? Not much. He'll -have to go the long road." - -"My God! No. Not that!" cried Harry. - -"The river!" growled Tricot. - -And then the other voice. - -"You started this thing. And it's got to be finished. Did you bring the -money?" - -"To-morrow. But--I can't----" - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 _fiacre_ and so to the Boulevard Clichy. - - - - - *CHAPTER X* - - *THE SAMARITAN* - - -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. - -She smiled. "Monsieur is awake?" And then, moving toward the door, -"Madame shall come at once." - - -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. - -"Ah, _mon petit, c'est mieux_." And then, in English, "'Ow do you -feel?" - -"Better. But everything doesn't seem--very clear to me yet." - -"_Naturellement_. You mus' 'ave some food and de doctor will be 'ere -soon." - -Jim Horton glanced about the small room. - -"Would you mind telling me where I am?" he asked. - -"Dis room is in de hallway adjoining my apartment----" - -"You brought me here----?" - -"Las' night," she said, with a smile, "an' a beautiful time we had -getting you up de stair----" - -"I--I remember--a man with a lantern--and then a struggle--with you -helping--through a passage--to the river--a boat----" - -"A _voiture_ an' den--here," she added as he paused. - -He put out his hand and fingered the lace of her sleeve. - -"Why--why did you do this for me, Piquette?" - -She caught his hand, pressed it in hers, and then rose abruptly. - -"What does it matter? You s'all talk no more until after de doctor 'as -seen you. Sh----" - -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. - -"_C'est la grande vie, Monsieur l'Americain_," she said with an -expressive gesture. "You remember perhaps what Monsieur Valcourt 'as -said. I am still de _vrai gamine_. I know dat _vilain_ Pochard since I -am so high." - -"But why have you done this for me, Piquette? When you found out that I -was not my brother----" - -"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 -_Le Singe Anglais_--dey would 'ave t'rown you in de river, Monsieur." - -"You saved my life----" - -"Yes. You see, Monsieur--Monsieur," she paused in search of a name. - -"My name is Jim Horton." - -"Jeem! _C'est bon ça_. 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' _he_ 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----?" - -Jim Horton was silent a moment, thinking deeply. - -"You were a friend of my brother's." - -He put it more in the form of a statement than a question. - -"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, _mon -ami_? Pochard tol' me what 'Arry 'Orton said----" And she related it -as nearly as possible in Pochard's own words. - -Jim Horton listened, smiling slightly, until she had finished. And -then, - -"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----" - -"No," she broke in. "I t'ink 'Arry was frighten' at what he 'ad -done----" - -"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." - -She had been watching him intently and now put her hand over his. - -"No--no, Jeem 'Orton," she said carelessly. "But tell me de truth----" - -He looked at her for a long moment. - -"No one has a better right to know it than you." - -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. - -"You 'ave not told me everyt'ing, Jeem 'Orton," And then, significantly, -"About Madame--Madame 'Orton?" - -He frowned and then went on with an assumption of carelessness. - -"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----" - -He paused and clenched a fist. "He has much to answer to me for." - -She was silent for a while, watching him. - -"A coward! I might 'ave known," she murmured after a moment. - -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. _Que ça -m'embête ça_! Why she had not cut loose from him and gone back to live -in the _Quartier_ she did not know, except that it was comfortable in -the Boulevard Clichy and she was tired of working hard. - -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. - -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. - - -"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?" - -He thought for a moment. - -"You have given me my life. I should dislike to do anything that would -give you unhappiness." - -"As to that, _mon petit_," 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?" - -He had forgotten, but the announcement had no effect upon him. - -"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...? - -"You do not care for de honors you have won?" asked Piquette, breaking -on his thought. - -"They weren't my honors----" - -"But you bear de wounds----" - -"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?" - -Piquette laughed. "No. I saw Émile Pochard las' night. 'E does not -dare speak. Tricot, 'Arry, _Le Singe_--I saw dem at Pochard's. Dey -t'ink you are a devil. It is de police worries dem mos'." - -"The police?" - -"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." - -"Who could this have been?" - -"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." - -"If that is your wish, Piquette----" - -"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." - -His eager look inquired her meaning. - -"Émile Pochard would never trus' me again." - -He laughed. "And you value the friendship of Monsieur Tricot?" - -"No. But I know de law of de _apache_. It would not be pleasant to -'ave one's t'roat cut an' be t'rown in de Seine." - -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. - -"How can I ever repay you?" he blurted out. - -Her face flushed gently and she regarded him with eyes almost maternal. - -"What a boy you are!" she laughed. - -"But a stranger to you. To have run such risks--to have made such a -struggle just because you knew I was helpless." - -"It amuse' me, Jeem 'Orton. Sometimes I t'ink it is fear dat is de -_grande passion_--when one has tasted everyt'ing else in life. Fear. -To succeed in an adventure like this--_Et nous voilà_! Quite safe and -comfortable--an' each of us 'as made a friend. Is not dees wort' all de -trouble?" - -"Piquette!" he said, "you're a wonder! I'll never forget----" - -"Ah, yes, you will, _mon petit_," she broke in with a shrug, "you are -different from 'Arry. You are always _le grand serieux_. 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." - -"Never," he said stoutly, "never, Piquette. You're the bravest, -squarest woman in the world." - -She laughed again. "_Allons_! For dat--I shall kees you, _mon ami_." - -And she did, with a friendly frankness, upon the mouth. - -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. - -"You do not mind my keesing you, _mon petit_?" she asked. - -"No. I like it," said Horton with a laugh. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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 _Le Singe_ 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. - -She gave the clothing her approval and then shrugged. - -"An' now, _mon_ Jeem, you will be going away, _n'est ce pas_?" - -"Is it not better, Piquette? I have not the honor of Monsieur de -Vautrin's acquaintance." - -"Oh, _ça_!" she said with a quick gesture. "_Il est bête_. He would -never know." - -Jim Horton put his hands on her shoulders and made her look in his eyes. - -"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 _his_ 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." - -She turned her head away as he paused, and then gently took his hands -from her shoulders. - -"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 _Quartier_ where -you will be happy until you have the home you deserve----" - -"And you----," she faltered. - -"What I do doesn't matter. An outcast----" - -She started. - -"You will leave Paris?" - -"I do not know." - -She released her fingers quickly and went to the window, looking over -the rooftops in a long significant moment of silence. - -"And de oder woman----" - -She spoke the words distinctly, and yet he thought he must have -misunderstood. - -"Piquette, I----" - -"What 'appens between you an' your brother's wife?" she asked quietly. - -He had no reply and while he hesitated she turned slowly and faced him. - -"I know, _mon petit_," she said with a smile. "I 'ave known it from de -firs'. You love 'er. _C'est dommage_. It is a pity. She is ver' -beautiful, dey say." - -"I am a fool, Piquette." - -"You are not de firs' in de worl'----" - -He sank on the edge of the bed, wondering at his own confession. - -"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----" - -He paused and looked up at Piquette, aware that the topic that he had -not dared to broach now suddenly loomed between them. - -Piquette faced him gravely. - -"Yes, _mon ami_," she said, and the rising inflection was very gentle. - -"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?" - -Piquette was silent a moment, regarding him with a smile. - -"Well, _mon ami_, 'as anyt'ing 'appen' to make you change your mind?" - -He looked up at her in wonder. - -"Piquette, I thought----" he began. But she broke in lightly. - -"You s'all do what you wish, but it is a difficult game you play an' -_dangereux_. 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." - -"I've got to beat him, Piquette." - -"Eh, bien! But remember, 'e is not a man to be easily vanquished. 'E -is ver' quiet, ver' cool, _le vrai gentilhomme_, but 'e 'as sharp claws, -Jeem 'Orton." - -"A thief----" - -"And de Vautrin?" she broke in. "Monsieur le Duc is no better dan he. -He did not care 'ow 'e got de money." - -Horton paced the room slowly, in deep abstraction, but in a moment -stopped before her and caught her hands in his. - -"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." - -For a long while she made no reply, but she turned her head away and -looked out of the window. - -"I can't change de way I was born, Jeem 'Orton," she said quietly. - -He was silent, aware of the false situation, and thinking deeply. - -"I've got to tell her the truth, Piquette," he said at last. - -Another moment of silence and then Piquette turned toward him, both arms -outstretched. - -"You are right, _mon petit_ Jeem. You s'all go to 'er and tell 'er----" - -"Piquette----!" - -"_Je ne me fiche pas_. Go. It's nothing to me." - -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. - -"You are too good for him, Piquette." - -She stirred uneasily in his arms and then released herself. - -"Go, Jeem----", she said. "Go." - -"Will you meet me to-night at Javet's?" - -"Yes. _Au revoir, mon brave_." - -She watched him go down the stair and then turned in at the door of her -own apartment. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -"Madame Horton?" he asked. - -"_Oui, Monsieur_. She is in. Do you know the way?" - -Nothing could have been more simple. Madame Toupin had pulled the latch -without even looking up at him. - - - - - *CHAPTER XI* - - *CONFESSIONS* - - -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. - -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. - -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! - -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. - -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.... - -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. - -"It's I, Moira," said Jim Horton gently. - -"You--," she faltered. - -"I said that I would come back, but I--I was detained," he said coolly. - -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. - -"I--I know," she murmured. - -"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----" - -"You look ill," she said, staring at him. "It is all too horrible to -think about----" - -"Horrible, if you like," he said slowly, misinterpreting her meaning, -"but done in a weak moment with a good motive----" - -"Oh, not that. I mean, what they did to you--the danger you passed -through----" - -"You know of that?" - -"Yes. I followed Harry, and got the police----" - -"It was you? Good God!" - -"It was the least that I could do--after I found out--from him--what had -happened." - -He stared at her in incomprehension. - -"You mean that he confessed to you?" - -She nodded and then laughed nervously. - -"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." - -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. - -"You know--the truth?" - -She shrugged. "What Harry--what my husband--has told me, no more--no -less." - -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. - -"I have come to speak the truth," he began, his voice deep, resonant and -trembling with his emotion. "A visit of confession and -renunciation----" - -"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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -He paused a moment to gather his thoughts. - -"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." - -"But sure, after what you'd done," Moira's voice broke in clearly, "they -couldn't be punishing you----" - -"Disgraceful imprisonment--and for Harry--the penalty of desertion in -the face of the enemy. You see there were two of us to consider." - -"Yes, I understand." - -"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." - -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. - -"Something more?" he heard her question. "What do you mean?" - -He paused a moment. - -"It's hard to tell you--but I must." And then, "Have you ever heard of -the Duc de Vautrin?" he asked. - -"Yes," she uttered in bewildered tone, "the name is familiar to me. But -what----?" - -"Mr. Quinlevin--has mentioned him?" - -"Yes, I think so. A man he met many years ago in Ireland. But why do -you ask?" - -"Because his life and yours are bound up in each other----" - -"Mine?" - -He paused painfully. - -"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." - -"I don't understand--you frighten me----" - -"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." - -She sat motionless, her strained white hands gripping the chair arm. - -"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----" - -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. - -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.... - -She glanced over the stair and then entering the studio quietly, slowly -approached him, letters in hand. - -"You wish me to read----?" she asked. - -"Yes, please, Moira." - -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. - -"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?" - -"It means that Barry Quinlevin is--is blackmailing the Duc de -Vautrin--has been doing so for years," he said in a suppressed tone. - -She rose and faced him, her breast heaving. - -"Blackmail! My father----" - -He bowed his head. - -"Unfortunately it's the truth. He spoke to me of it in the -hospital--thinking I was Harry----" - -She raised the letter again and read. - -"I can't believe--I can't----," but her words trailed off into silence -as she read again the damning phrases. - -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 _you_ 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!" - -"Using _me_?" She seemed unaware of her fingers still in his. "How can -they use _me_? I know nothing whatever of this affair." - -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----" - -"I can't believe--Who has told you?" - -"Piquette Morin----" - -"Piquette--?" Her brows drew together---- - -"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." - -"The woman--who--who--helped you to escape?" she gasped, awakening. - -"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." - -"Oh," she faltered. "I--I see. But what reason have you to believe -that she speaks the truth?" - -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----" - -"The Irish rents----?" - -"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----" - -"Holy Virgin--! Then I----?" - -She paused, bewildered by the very terror of her thoughts. - -"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 _dot_, 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." - -"Callonby!" whispered Moira half to herself. "Athlone!" - -"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." - -"I'm trying--to follow you," she murmured painfully. - -"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----" - -"Nora Burke!" Moira had started up suddenly in her chair, her eyes wide -with sudden comprehension. - -"You remember her----" he said. - -"My old nurse----!" - -"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----" - -"But why? Why?" pleaded Moira, a glimmering of the intrigue coming to -her. - -Jim Horton turned away again. - -"Because it was necessary that the Duc de Vautrin should remain in -ignorance of it." - -"Holy Virgin! You mean that Nora----?" - -"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." - -"Oh, it is impossible!" gasped Moira. "I can't--I can't believe it." - -"It is what I'm to help you to prove." - -"But there must be papers--birth certificates--witnesses----" - -"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----" - -"Oh! It is infamous!" - -"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." - -"I--her heiress?" - -He nodded. - -"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." - -Moira had risen and was pacing up and down the length of the studio. - -"It is too horrible--it bewilders me. Who told you all this?" - -"Piquette Morin--Harry told her." - -"And--and Harry--?" - -"His interests and yours were the same." - -She buried her face in her hands for a moment. "Wait," she gasped. "I -must think--think." - -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. - -"And yet this might refer to something--something else--" she pleaded, -catching at any straw that would save her from this disgrace. - -He shook his head. - -"I wish I could reassure you--but I can't. The facts are too clear." - -She was silent a moment, breathing hard. - -"It was terrible for _you_ to have to tell me this." - -"Yes--but you understand that I had to, don't you?" - -She bowed her head and he went on. - -"And now I only want you to tell me how I can help you--how I can make -things easier----" - -"What shall I do? What can I----" She halted again, intimidated at the -thought of her father. And then-- - -"If I were only sure.... Of course the Duc de Vautrin must be told at -once." - -"There's no hurry. You must think it over. Verify my statements, when -you can----" - -"Yes, yes. I must--or refute them. I see that." - -"I want to help you. I'll do anything----" - -"Yes. I know--" she paused again. "Whom can I trust now?" - -He caught her fingers and pressed them softly to his lips. - -"It is a terrible situation for you--but you can't go on as a partner in -this intrigue----" - -"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!" - -He relinquished her fingers and turned away. - -"I deceived you, Moira--cheated you----" - -"That doesn't matter now--nothing matters----" - -"You mean--that you will forgive me?" - -He leaned forward toward her, searching her face eagerly. - -"Yes--yes," she whispered. - -"Moira!" - -"God help me! I've the need of you." - -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! - -"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----" - -"You poor child----" - -"But in spite of myself--in spite of everything--my faith in you is just -the same." - -"Thank God for that. We must find a way out----" - -But she shook her head. - -"No. There's no way out--I'm sure of that--for me--and you. It's -wrong--all wrong----" - -But she did not refuse him her lips now and he held her close in his -arms. - -"Moira," he whispered. "It was meant to be." - -"It's wrong--all wrong," she repeated. And then with a sigh, "Its very -sweetness--is--terrible----" - -He touched her brow tenderly with his lips and then gently released her. - -"Do you want me to go?" - -But her fingers still held him. - -"No--no--not yet--not just yet, Jim. This is our moment--yours and -mine. And I've been wanting you so----" - -"You knew that I'd come back to you, didn't you, dear?" - -"I've been praying that you would--you won't be going, Jim--away--as you -said you would?" - -"No, dear--not--not if you need me--not if you want me. But I'm a -nondescript now--a deserter--an outcast." - -"The cruelty of it! You!" - -"I got what I deserved," he said with a smile. - -"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----" - -"He won't dare--I would have him broken----" - -"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." - -"And you'll let me see you?" - -"Yes. I _must_ 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 _do_ 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." - -"I love you, Moira dear. I needn't tell you how----" - -"Don't you suppose that I know already, Jim? But it's so hopeless----" - -"Your marriage--a joke! It means nothing----" - -"A hideous joke--but a marriage just the same!" - -"You can't be tied to this man always----" - -"I _am_ 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----" - -"I'll have patience. Some day----" - -"No, dear. That's the worst of it. It can't be, ever. I have -sworn----" - -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. - -"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." - -"Yes," said Jim coolly. "I think we'd better have this thing out--here -and now." - -"No--no," she whispered tensely. "It would be the end of all things. -Not yet. I must have time to think----" - -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. - -"In here, quickly," she whispered. "You must. My father will go in the -other rooms." - -"But, Moira----" - -"As you love me--please--," she pleaded, pushing him in, shutting the -door. Then breathless, she turned and faced the door into the hallway. - - - - - *CHAPTER XII* - - *QUINLEVIN SPEAKS* - - -A moment longer she waited, summoning calm and resolution, when the -knocking on the door began again and her name was called. - -"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. - -Barry Quinlevin came in, Harry carrying his bag. With a gay laugh he -caught Moira into his arms. - -"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----" - -"I'm very tired--," she murmured, "I've not been up to the mark----" - -He held her off and looked at her in the dim light from the gas jet. - -"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." - -He moved into the studio and Harry Horton set the bag down. - -"Did you have a successful trip?" asked Moira, putting more color into -her voice than she felt. - -"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." - -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. - -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!" - -"She stays in the studio too much," put in Harry, uneasily. - -"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?" - -"Oh--nothing--I'm just tired." - -He took his glass and held it to the light with a critical air. - -"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." - -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. - -Harry fumbled at his glass nervously. - -"You're going to tell him?" he asked. - -She shrugged. "Of course," she said coolly, "the farce has gone on long -enough." - -"Yes," he muttered. "Perhaps you're right. I'll tell -him--myself--to-night." - -"Thanks," she said quietly, "it would be better." - -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. - -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. - -"Ye'd better be going to yer room, child, and get yer beauty sleep," he -said. "I want to talk to Harry." - -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. - -"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. - -"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." - -"Did you have any trouble getting Nora to come?" - -"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----" - -"But the birth certificate----" - -"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." - -"And the other servant--who knew--?" - -"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." - -Harry Horton frowned. - -"No. And you can't keep Moira there either." - -"What d'ye mean?" - -"Merely that she'll put a spoke in your wheel if you're not careful." - -Quinlevin laughed. - -"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----" - -He broke off abruptly. "What's that? Did Moira call?" - -"I didn't hear anything." - -"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?" - -"Why do you ask?" - -"Because four months ago Monsieur the Duc was in Ireland asking -questions." - -"Who told you this?" - -"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." - -"I see. And you've paid her something?" - -"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." - -But Harry Horton had gotten up and poured himself out a stiff drink of -the whisky, which he drained hurriedly. - -"I don't like it," he muttered uneasily. - -"What?" - -"This de Vautrin business." - -Quinlevin calmly stared at him. - -"Yer feet aren't getting cold now?" - -Harry took a pace or two, trying to find his words. And then, - -"Things haven't been going right, here--since--er--since you left." - -"I see," said Quinlevin with a shrug. "You and Moira haven't been -hitting it off----" - -"No. And it's worse than that." - -Barry Quinlevin leaned forward, his shaggy brows thatched unpleasantly. - -"What the devil are ye talking about?" - -"I--I've got to tell you." - -"Ye'd be obliging me if ye would." - -Harry met the sharp look of the older man and then his gaze flickered -and fell as he sank into his chair again. - -"You--you've heard me speak of my twin brother, Jim?" he asked after a -moment. - -"The railroad man ye quarreled with over the trifling matter of an -estate. Well, what of him?" - -"He's turned up--here--in--Paris." - -"What have you got to do with him?" - -"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!" - -"At least," laughed the Irishman, "he seems to have gained no new place -in yer affection." - -"No--nor will he in yours when you have the facts." - -"Go on. I'm listening." - -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. - -"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." - -He rose and stood at his full height, looking down at the figure in the -opposite chair. "And Moira--?" he asked. - -"He came--here--to this apartment--when he left the hospital----" - -"She did not guess?" - -"Nor you," said Harry with, some spirit, "since you invited him -here----" - -"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?" - -"No. He got away clean through a passage to the river----" - -"You've no idea who helped him?" - -"No. And Tricot's no fool--nor Pochard----" - -"But they lack imagination--like yerself----" - -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." - -"Ye were always lacking in a pinch, Harry----" - -"But my brother--my own brother----" - -Quinlevin shrugged. "I can see yer scruples. A brother's a brother, -even if he does wean away yer wife." - -Harry started up, his face livid at the cool, insulting tones. - -"And ye can't blame Moira," continued Quinlevin coolly, "if he's turned -out a better man than yerself." - -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. - -"A fine mess! And he's no baby--this frolicsome brother of yours! How -much does he know of the de Vautrin affair?" - -"Enough," muttered Harry sullenly, "from the letters and what you told -him in the hospital----" - -"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----" - -"No," said Harry sullenly. "De Vautrin is in Nice." - -"Good. Then we'll have time." - -"For what?" - -"To meet the situation as it should be met. I intend to take a hand in -this affair myself." - -"What can you do?" - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"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----" - -"It's not possible." - -"Why not? How do ye know? Ye were all so frightened of the police that -ye took to yer heels without a look around." - -"But nobody but Pochard's crowd knew about the old passage to the -river----" - -"Then somebody in Pochard's crowd did the helping." - -"It can't be. They're all in on it." - -Quinlevin shrugged. "Perhaps, but I'll be looking into that phase of -the question myself." - -"Go ahead. I wish you luck. But how is that going to help?" - -"It'll find Jim Horton. And that's the only matter I'm concerned -about." - -There was a pause, and another voice broke the silence. - -"And when you find him what will you do about it?" - -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. - -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. - -"So," he said, "the skeleton in the closet!" - -"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." - -"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. - -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. - -"Father!" Moira gasped, her face white as paper. "You might have killed -him." - -"That was the exact intention," said Quinlevin, making a wry face and -nursing his wrist. - -But Jim Horton, frowning at the two men, held the weapon in his hand, in -command of the situation. - -"Why did you come out, Jim--why?" Moira pleaded, wringing her fingers -and staring from one to the other. - -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. - -"We'd better have this thing out--you and I," said Jim, coolly, -eliminating Harry from the discussion. - -"By all means," said Quinlevin. "And I'm glad ye know a real enemy when -ye see one." - -"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?" - -"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----" - -"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." - -"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?" - -"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." - -"And if I refuse----?" - -Jim Horton shrugged carelessly. - -"I'll tell the truth--that's all." - -"Brevity is the soul of wit. Permit me to say that I admire the -succinctness of yer statement. But the alternative is impossible." - -"You mean, that you'll go on with this affair----" - -"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." - -"That's final?" - -Quinlevin laughed and very coolly poured himself out a glass of whisky. - -"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?" - -"No, thanks----" - -"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." - -"You can't--you won't do that." - -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. - -"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----" - -"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." - -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. - -"The daughter--of the Duc de Vautrin?" she stammered. - -"That's not true, Moira," broke in Jim's voice, "but you're not _his_ -daughter either. I'll take my oath on it." - -She glanced at Jim as though the deep tones of his voice had steadied -her for a moment. - -"Not his daughter--then who----?" She paused and sought Quinlevin's -eyes uncertainly. - -"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." - -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. - -"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----" - -"Moira----," whispered Jim. - -"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----" - -"Moira," Jim's voice broke in pleadingly at her ear. "Come away with -me--now. You can't stay here. The situation is impossible." - -She felt Barry Quinlevin's eyes before he spoke. - -"I don't need to remind ye, Moira--of yer vows at the altar----" - -"What vows!" broke in Jim, fiercely facing his brother. "A travesty--a -cruel hoax. There's no law that will keep it binding----" - -"She married me--with her eyes open," muttered Harry. "And unless I -release her----" - -"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----" - -"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." - -"An outcast----," sneered Quinlevin. - -He saw how the game was going, but he went too far. She turned on him -defiantly. - -"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----" - -"Come, then," said Jim. - -"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." - -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. - -"Jim," she cried despairingly. - -He turned in the doorway and their glances met for a moment. - -"Will you come, Moira?" he asked quietly. - -"I can't, Jim. I can't----" - -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. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIII* - - *BEGINNING A JOURNEY* - - -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. - -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.... - -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. - -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. - -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 _midinette_. - - -"Jeem----," she said. "I 'ave been waiting for you--outside----" - -"Oh, Piquette----" - -"You mus' not go in Javet's--come, _mon ami_, to de oder side of de -street----" - -"Why, Piquette?" he asked curiously. - -"Because Tricot and _Le Singe_ are looking for you and dey will watch -Javet's." - -"H-m. Who told you this?" - -But he let her take him by the elbow to the darkness opposite. - -"Pochard. De house in de Rue Charron is watch' by de police. Dey are -afraid you will give de evidence----" - -"They needn't worry just now," he muttered. "I've something else to -do." - -"But you mus' keep away from de _Quartier_----" - -"I expect to. I'm going away, Piquette----" - -"Jeem! Where?" - -"To Nice. I've got to see your friend de Vautrin, at once." - -"Ah--de Vautrin!" - -She walked along with him for a moment in silence. - -"Where is your 'at, _mon ami_?" - -He ran his fingers through his hair, aware for the first time of his -loss. - -"I left it----" - -"In the Rue de Tavennes?" - -"Yes." - -"Ah, you mus' tell me. Come to de Boulevard Clichy. It is safer." - -"I've taken a lodging in the Rue Jean Paul." - -"No," she insisted. "You mus' take no more chances on dis side of de -river jus' now--nor mus' I." - -"You mean that they suspect----?" - -"Not yet--but dey will if dey see us--you and I----" - -"You can't run that chance, Piquette." - -"We are quite safe in de Boulevard Clichy. Come." - -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 _atelier_, 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 _chaise longue_ and lighted her cigarette he smiled at her. - - -"Well, _mon_ Jeem*," she said, "what you t'ink of Monsieur Quinlevin?" -(She pronounced it Canl'van.) - -"He's just about the smoothest proposition that ever happened," he -replied. "He'd have gotten me, if I hadn't moved in close." - -"An' 'Arry----? 'E did not'ing?" - -"No. Just stood there. He's lost his nerve again. He won't bother me, -but the Irishman is in this game for keeps." - -"He is dangerous, _mon ami_. You 'ad better not go on wit' dis affair." - -"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." - -"Who?" - -"Myself. It's a duty I owe----," he paused. - -"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, _mon vieux_." - -"And yet here I am quite comfortable in your best chair, and none the -worse--thanks to you, Piquette." - -"But you cannot always be so lucky. I would be ver' onhappy if you were -kill', _mon_ Jeem." - -"Would you, Piquette?" he said, taking her hand impulsively and kissing -it gently. - -"An' den it is too late to be onhappy----," she sighed and put her other -hand over his. "Oh, _mon_ Jeem, life is so short, so sweet. It is not -right to take a chance of dying before one's time." - -"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?--_difficile_----" 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. - -She was silent for a moment, regarding him soberly. - -"What 'as happen', _mon ami_? She 'as let you go?" - -He paused, frowning at the ash of his cigarette. - -"What else could she do?" he asked quietly. "I asked nothing--expected -nothing of her." - -"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 _vaut rien_, you offer 'er de bes' you 'ave an' she send you -away alone into de darkness. You t'ink she loves you. _Saperlotte_! -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." - -He sat watching her as she spoke--listening to the clear tones of her -voice, watching the changes in her expressive features. - -"I believe you would, Piquette," he muttered. - -"An' you," she went on shrilly, "you who 'ave save' 'er 'usban' from -disgrace, you who win 'im de _Croix de Guerre_ an' den go into de -darkness an outcas'--she let you go--she let you go----!" - -"Sh----," he broke in. "She had to--I understand--she is a -Catholic----" - -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, _mon petit_ 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----" - -"Yes, Piquette. You are that sort. But this----," and he glanced about -the room. - -She shrugged as she caught his meaning. - -"Monsieur 'as much money. Why should I not be content as well as some -one else?" - -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. - -"And you have never loved well enough to marry?" he asked. - -"No, _mon_ Jeem," she said gently. - -Their glances met, his level and friendly. And it was her look that -first turned away. "No, _mon_ 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, _mon ami_. 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." - -"I've got to see him at once, before Quinlevin does." - -"_Eh bien_. He is on the Riviera--Nice. We s'all find 'im." - -"We?" - -"_Parfaitement_! Perhaps I can make it easier for you to see him----" - -"You'll go with me?" - -"Why not? Onless you do not want me----?" - -"Of course I'll be only too happy, only----" - -"What, _mon petit_?" - -"It seems a great deal to ask. You've already done so much." - -"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?" - -"There's no doubt of that, Piquette----" - -"I would like to go wit' you. It will give me pleasure--if you do not -mind." - -"But Monsieur the Duc----" - -"_Je ne me fiche pas_. Besides, shall I not now be doing him a -service?" - -"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?" - -"Perhaps I talk' a little too much dat night----" - -"Has he spoken of it since?" - -"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, _mon_ Jeem. - -"But in befriending me you've made enemies of all that crowd----" - -"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." - -"I gave him his chance. He didn't take it." - -"But he'll make anoder chance. You do not know dat man. Even Tricot is -afraid of 'im." - -"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----" - -"Yes, _mon_ Jeem. An' 'e may 'put it over' still--now dat you go from -'er----" - -"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." - -He rose suddenly as though aware of the passage of time and took a few -paces away from her. - -"Not to-night?" said Piquette. - -"The first train. I've got to go and find out." - -She glanced at the small enameled clock upon the mantel. - -"It is too late. Dere would be no fas' express until de morning." - -"Very well. I'll see." And he strode toward the door. - -"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. - -"Thanks, Piquette--you're my good angel. I do seem to need you, don't -I?" - -"I 'ope you do, _mon vieux_," she said quietly. And then, "Go an' 'urry -back. I will wait for you." - -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 _à -deux_, 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 _Promenade des Anglais_. 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. - -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 _patron_, 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. - -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 _gamine_, the _bonne camarade_. - -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? - -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. - -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 _patron_ and with herself. - -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. - - * * * * * - -Piquette stirred slightly in her sleep and spoke his name. "_Mon_ -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. - -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. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIV* - - *A NIGHT ATTACK* - - -And even as he looked the faces were merged into the obscurity and -vanished. - -Piquette clung to his arm, whispering. - -"I'd such a dreadful dream-- Why, Jeem, what is it?" - -He started to his feet. - -"Barry Quinlevin--there!" he gasped. "With _her_!" - -Her clutch on his arm tightened. - -"Here--impossible!" - -"I saw them." - -"You dreamed, like me. I can't believe----" - -"They were there a moment ago. Let me go, Piquette." - -"No," she gasped in a frightened whisper. "You mus' not follow----" - -"I've got to--to explain," he muttered. - -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. - -"Not now, _mon_ Jeem," she pleaded. "I--I am frighten'----" - -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. - -"It is jus' what 'e want', _mon_ Jeem, for you to go after him." - -"What do you mean?" - -"It would give him de excuse he want' to shoot you----" - -"Nonsense." - -"_Defense personnelle_. He knows de law. He will kill you, _mon_ -Jeem." - -"I'm not afraid. I've got to go, Piquette----" - -"No. You s'all not. An' leave me here alone----?" - -"There's nothing to be frightened about on a train full of people----" - -He managed to reach the door with Piquette clinging to him and peered -out into the corridor. A guard was approaching. - -"_Ou est ce monsieur et cette dame_----" he stammered, - -Ollendorf fashion, and then his French failed him and he floundered -helplessly, pleading with Piquette to finish what he wished to say. - -But the man understood, rattled off a rapid sentence and disappeared. - -"It is dat dey have gone into anoder carriage," she translated. "You -see. It will be impossible to find dem." - -"No," he muttered, but he knew that the delay had cost him his -opportunity. - -"You mus' not leave me, _mon petit_," 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----" - -Jim laid a hand over hers and patted it reassuringly. - -"Don't worry. He can't harm you." - -"I am not afraid when you are 'ere,----" she whispered. - -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. - -"We should 'ave watch' for 'im, _mon_ Jeem--at de Gare de Lyon. I don' -on'erstan'----" - -"Nor I--how he got her to come with him," muttered Jim fiercely. - -"'Ave I not tol' you 'e is a man _extraordinaire_--a man to be -watch'--to be fear'----?" - -"How did he get her to come?" Jim repeated, as though to himself. "How -did he----?" - -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. - -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? - -The answer came in a shrewd guess of Piquette's. - -"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." - -"But how----?" - -"Who knows----?" she shrugged uneasily. - -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. - -"H-m. He arranged things nicely. To show her _me_ with _you_----" - -"_Parfaitement_! It is dat only which made 'er come, _mon petit_." - -"Smooth!" muttered Jim. "And she saw me, all right," he finished -bitterly. - -Piquette was silent for awhile. - -"She is ver' 'andsome," she said at last. And then, "An' she foun' me -asleep wit' my 'ead on your shoulder." - -"Yes," muttered Jim. "She did." - -At the moment he could not think how much his words wounded her. - -"I am sorry, _mon petit_," she said gently. - -His conscience smote him at the tone of contrition. - -"Oh, it doesn't matter, of course," he said. "There was no hope--for -me--none. But it complicates things a little." - -"Yes, I comprehend. Monsieur hopes to keep you from reaching the Duc." - -"He won't succeed--but I'd rather he hadn't seen me in the train." - -"Or Madame." - -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. - -"_Mon pauvre_ Jeem, you love 'er so much as dat?" she asked. - -He started at the sound of her voice and then turned and laid his hand -over hers. - -"I'm a fool, Piquette," he muttered. - -"Who s'all say?" She shrugged. Then she turned her palm up and clasped -his. "I am ver' sorry, _mon ami_." - -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! - -"Piquette! I have gotten you into trouble." - -"No. I got myself into it, _mon_ Jeem." - -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. - -Six shots and then a commotion of voices here, there, everywhere, and -the sound of feet running inside the train and out. - -"Lucky I pulled that blind," said Jim as he straightened, glancing at -the bullet holes. - -"Quinlevin," gasped Piquette as she rose to a sitting posture. - -Jim Horton got up and opened the door just as the guards came running -with excited inquiries, and seeing Piquette upon the floor. - -"Madame has been shot----?" - -But Piquette immediately reassured them by getting up, frightened but -quite unhurt. - -"By the window--the shots came," she explained quickly in French, while -Jim exhibited the damaged paneling. "Some one outside has fired at -us----" - -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. - -"Is it the Boches?" asked an excited _mondaine_ of her _compagnon de -voyage_. - -"Not unlikely," replied the other. - -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. - -"A monsieur with a mustache and _Imperiale_?" echoed the stout official, -taking notes rapidly on a pad. "And mademoiselle had dark hair and blue -eyes----?" - -"They were of the party of four in the second carriage----," broke in -the guard whom Jim had questioned earlier in the day. - -"It is impossible, Monsieur. They left the train at St. Etienne." - -"A party of four?" questioned Piquette, astonished. - -"_Oui, Madame_. The two you mention besides another man and an older -woman." - -"What did the other two look like?" asked Jim, thinking of Harry. - -"The old woman had reddish hair streaked with gray--the man was small, -with a hooked nose." - -"And the man with the hooked nose, did he leave at St. Etienne too?" -asked Jim. - -"_Parbleu_, 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." - -Jim Horton scowled. "Find the man with the hooked nose, Monsieur," he -muttered. - -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. - -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. - -"Was there anything especially noticeable about the small man with the -hooked nose?" asked Jim. - -"I don't comprehend, M'sieu." - -"Did you notice anything curious in the way he walked for instance?" - -"No--yes. Now that you mention it, I think he walked with a slight -limp." - -Piquette and Jim exchanged quick glances. - -"Tricot!" gasped Piquette. - -"You're sure he is nowhere on the train?" - -"Positive, M'sieu. We have searched everywhere." - -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 _apache_ 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. - -"It's very clear why Monsieur Quinlevin left the train at St. Etienne -with Madame." - -"He was afraid she would make trouble." - -"Yes, _mon_ 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." - -"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." - -"At Marseilles?" - -He nodded. "I'm not going to let you run your head any further into -this noose. You see what the danger is----" - -But Piquette only smiled. - -"I knew what de danger was when I offer'd to come, _mon ami_. I'm not -going to stay at Marseilles. I'm going on wit' you, as I promis'." - -"But, Piquette----" - -She put her fingers over his lips. - -"You do not know my great force of mind. Besides," she added, "dey -cannot catch us now." - -"I can't have you running any more risks," he muttered. - -"I s'all run de risk you run, _mon_ Jeem." - -He smiled at her gently. There was something animal-like in her -devotion. - -In the dusk of the soft illumination from above, the shadows at her eyes -and lips seemed more than ever wistful and pathetic. - -"Why do you dare all this for me, Piquette?" - -"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, _mon_ Jeem." - -"Piquette!" - -"It's true, _mon ami_. It 'as never 'appen to me before. Dat's why I -know.... No, _mon_ Jeem. It is not _necessaire_ 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, _mon ami_, -were de man I was to love an' 'Arry----" she paused painfully. "'Arry -was jus' a mistake." - -"I--I'm not what you think I am, Piquette," he broke in awkwardly. - -"Let me finish, _mon ami_," 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 _bon Dieu_ make me--a _gamine_. If 'E wish' me to be -_fille honnête_, 'E would not make a _gamine_. _C'est la destinée_." - -"Don't, Piquette. I know." - -"Mos' men are _si bête_--always de same. Dey talk of love--Pouf! I -know. _Toujours la chair_.... But you--_mon ami_--" 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 _fille -bonnête_. _Mon Dieu_! What would you? Is it not'ing to be care' for by -a man clean like dat?" - -"I do care," he said impulsively. "Yes--and like that. I'd give -anything to make you happy." - -She gently disengaged his arm from about her waist. - -"Den care for me like dat--like you say you care," she said gently. "It -is what I wish--all I wish, _mon petit_ Jeem." - -He touched her hand with his lips but there seemed nothing to say. - -"_C'est bien_," whispered Piquette with a smile. "I t'ink you 'ave -taught me somet'ing, _mon_ Jeem----" - -"As you've taught me," he blurted out, "but I won't lie to you, -Piquette." - -"Dat is as it mus' be. An' now we on'erstan' each oder. I am ver' -content." - -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. - -"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--_her_ life, mine, yours--when you and I might have hit it off -from the beginning." - -"No, _mon_ Jeem, you were not for me." - -"Piquette!" - -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. - -"An' now you will not 'ide me away in Marseilles?" - -He smiled at her earnestness and it wasn't in his heart any longer to -refuse her. - -"No, Piquette. You shall go." - -And impulsively, with the innocence that was a part of her charm, she -kissed him fair upon the lips. - -"Ah, _mon_ Jeem. You are ver' good to me." - -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. - -Piquette was resourceful. And on the train to Nice found the answer to -the problem that neither of them had been able to solve. - -"De ol' woman, wit' de gray hair," she said with an air of conviction -after a long period of silence--"it is Nora Burke." - -"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." - -She nodded. "But we s'all reach Monsieur le Duc firs', _mon_ Jeem----" - -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 -_Promenade des Anglais_, they were informed that Monsieur and Madame -Thibaud had gone upon a motor-journey along the Cornice Road. - -At the information, Piquette laughed outright and the polite Frenchman -frowned. - -"Is there anything so extraordinary in a motor-trip with Madame?" he -asked frigidly. - -"No--nothing, Monsieur," she replied and laughed again. But Jim Horton -understood. Monsieur the Duc was relieving Piquette of a great moral -responsibility. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"It is I, Olivier," she repeated--"Piquette." - -"You--Madame!" he said with a glance at his companion. - -"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. - -"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." - -His attitude was uncompromising, his announcement bewildering, but -Piquette was undismayed. - -"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. - -"Red wins," announced Piquette, echoing the _croupier_. "You see, -Monsieur, it will be wise for you to treat me with more politeness." - -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. - -"It does not do to venture here with strange Goddesses." - -She glanced rather scornfully at the Duc's companion and straightened. - -"Again, Madame," muttered de Vautrin, "the wheel runs for you." - -"I have finished," said Piquette firmly. "It is enough." - -"No," growled the Duc, thrusting his winnings again upon the black. - -"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. - -"_Sacré_----" he began. - -"Sh----," she silenced. "_Allons_. 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." - -"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." - -"Are you mad?" - -"No." - -"Then what do you mean by this? I've come to save you from a great -financial disaster----" - -"You----?" he sputtered. "What are you doing here, with this man? It -is infamous. I want no more of you. Go." - -"No, Olivier. I stay," she said quietly. "You will kindly compose -yourself and tell me who has been sending you lying telegrams." - -"A--a friend in Paris." - -"Ah! What did he say?" - -"What does it matter to you what he said?" gasped de Vautrin. "You are -in love with this monsieur. _Eh bien_! Go to him. I don't care. I'm -through with you." - -"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 -_petit bleu_ was sent by Monsieur Quinlevin. He has the best of reasons -for not wanting you to see us. Will you listen to me now?" - -Quinlevin's name had startled him. - -"What do you mean?" he sputtered. - - - - - *CHAPTER XV* - - *GREEN EYES* - - -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. - -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. - -She felt the touch of Quinlevin's hand upon her shoulder and his voice -whispering at her ear. - -"There, acushla! I'll be explaining it all to you in the morning. Go -to your room now, child, and rest." - -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. - -"Jim," she whispered hopelessly into the darkness. "Jim, forgive me!" - -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. - -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.... - -[Illustration: THE MIRROR SENT HER BACK A HAGGARD REFLECTION, PALE AND -SOMBER] - -There was no sound from the studio. She glanced at her clock. For -hours it seemed she had lain upon her bed of pain. - -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. - -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. - -"Where is----?" she began, and halted. - -"Gone out," he mumbled, struggling into a straighter posture, "back -soon." - -"Where has he gone?" - -He shook his head. "Dunno. Asked me to stay--take care of you, -m'dear." - -She turned away from him, in disgust. - -"Oh--don' worry," he went on--"not goin' bother you. After t'morr'--won' -see me, y'know----" - -She turned quickly and he laughed again. - -"Goin' join m'regimen'. Furlough up t'morr'." - -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. - -"You'd better lie down, Harry, and get some sleep," she said, "or you'll -be in no condition to go on duty." - -"Thanks. Ought to sleep. Haven' slep' f'r weeks, seems to me. Don' -seem to care though." - -"You'd better. There's a room outside. Your baggage is there too." - -"Um--that's nice of you, Moira. R'turnin' good for evil. Baggage. -_He_ brought it--didn' he?" - -"Yes, Harry." - -He paused a moment and then leaned forward in his chair while she -watched him curiously. - -"Rotten mess! What?" he mumbled. - -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----" - -He put his hands to his eyes a moment and swayed, but Moira steadied him -by the shoulder. - -"Harry--come. I'll help you. You must go to bed." - -"Not yet--in a minute. Somethin'--say." - -He groped for her hand on his shoulder, found and clung to it. - -"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----" - -"Come, Harry," she broke in again, "lean on me. I'll help you to bed." - -"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!" - -"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. - -"No. No goo' now. Awf' rotter, ain't I?" - -"Come----" - -He stumbled to his feet and she helped him to support himself. - -"Will you forgive me, Moira?" - -"Of course." - -And as she urged him out of the door toward the vacant room, "Knew -y'would," he mumbled. And then, "Goo' ol' Moira!" - -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. - -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. - - -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. - -"You! Moira," he said in surprise. - -"Yes, I----" - -"Where's Harry?" - -"I put him to bed. He was drunk," she said shortly. - -"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. - -"I thought you'd be in bed, child----" - -"I've something to say to you----" she cut in quickly. - -"Oh, very well,--say on, my dear. You don't mind if I smoke a -cigarette?" - -As she made no reply he lighted one and sank into the most comfortable -chair with a sigh of content. - -"At least you owe me something, Barry Quinlevin," she began tensely, -trying to keep her voice under control, and announcing her _leit motif_, -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 _my_ future you're dealing with just as you've dealt with -my past----" - -"Have ye had any cause to complain of my treatment of ye?" he broke in -calmly. - -"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----" - -"Hardly," he said. "It was yer own money." - -"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." - -"And lost yerself, my dear, to the Duc de Vautrin," he countered -quickly. - -She started slightly. That possibility hadn't occurred to her. But she -went on rapidly. - -"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 _I_ 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 _I_ 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!" - -She caught at her heart and took a step nearer him. - -"My mother--who was my mother?" she gasped. - -He shrugged. "Mary Callonby--the Duchesse de Vautrin," he said easily. -"And you are Patricia Madeline Aulnoy de Vautrin." - -"Impossible. I'm no longer credulous." - -"You'll have to believe the truth!" - -"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----" - -She broke off with a sob, quickly controlled. - -"It was because I loved ye, Moira dear," he said very quietly. - -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. - -"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!" - -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. - -"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----" - -"Stop----!" - -"No. I've heard _you_. Now ye'll be listening to me. If Harry isn't -man enough to be looking out fer what belongs to him, then I _am_. -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." - -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----" - -"Go on," she murmured stanchly, "but if you're going to speak ill of Jim -Horton I won't believe you." - -"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----" - -"Conscience! _You_!" she laughed hysterically. "Go on." - -"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----" - -"I know it. I thank God for it." - -"It was Piquette Morin who took him back to her apartment in the -Boulevard Clichy and kept him there until he recovered." - -"I know that too. Go on----" - -"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----" - -"I care nothing for that," stammered Moira. - -"Ye may not care, since Jim Horton has lied about that too, but ye -_will_ care about the relations that exist between the two of them." - -"I won't listen," said Moira, making for the door. But he barred her -way. - -"Oh, yes, ye'll listen, Moira dear, and I'll be giving ye all the proofs -ye need before I'm through." - -"Proofs! I dare you." - -"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----" - -She waved a hand in protest. - -"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." - -"And what of that?" she stammered. - -"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 _complaisante_ than yerself." - -"I don't believe it." - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -"I don't believe you." - -"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." - -"How you hate him!" she gasped. - -He shrugged and turned half toward her. - -"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?" - -"I--I've heard enough--to-night," she said wearily. - -"I'm sorry. I--I've done what I thought was the best. I'm still yer -guardian--until ye come into yer own----" - -"I can't listen to that," she shuddered. "De Vautrin--my father!" - -He bowed his head with tragic grace. - -"The same--bad cess to him." - -She sank into a chair, bewildered and helpless. - -"I want nothing--only to go away somewhere alone. I've heard enough." - -"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----" - -"To-morrow----?" she raised a despairing face. - -"Ye've got to be facing it. But no more to-night. Come." - -She let him take her by the arm to the door. - -"Forgive me, acushla," he whispered. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Moira, child----!" he cried, rising, with an air of surprise. - -"You must show me the proof----," she stammered, "what you -said--to-morrow." - -"Yes. If ye insist----" - -"I do. It's a test--of the truth--between you and--and him----" - -"I'll provide it. Ye'll leave with me on the twelve o'clock train for -Marseilles?" - -"Yes--anything." - -"Very well," he muttered. "I'll arrange for it. I've some business in -Nice. It's just as well if you come along." - -"Anything----," she whispered, shivering and still protesting, "but I -don't believe--I don't believe----" - -"Go to bed again, child. I'll call ye in the morning." - -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. - -"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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Come," he said to Moira. "It is time I showed you who is the liar." - -And resolutely she followed him, looked--and saw. - - * * * * * - -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. - -"Are ye satisfied, my dear?" he asked. - -"Yes. Quite," she gasped. - -"And you'll be listening to Nora while she tells ye the truth?" - -"I will." - -"Good. I must be leaving ye for a while to talk with my friend. And -don't be distrusting me again, alanah." - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVI* - - *NORA SPEAKS* - - -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. - -"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. - -"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." - -"What do I care? I have the money. Let them take it if they can." - -"Oh, they'll take it all right, if you don't find some way to meet their -evidence." - -"Lies." - -"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----?" - -"I had my suspicions----" - -"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." - -"H--m. And what is _your_ interest in this matter, Monsieur?" - -"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." - -"Surely then you would have told Madame Horton the truth and saved me -this unpleasantness----" - -"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." - -"But if Madame Horton is an honorable woman----" - -"You can count on that," put in Horton quickly. "She doesn't want your -money--she isn't Quinlevin's kind----" - -"Then why doesn't she renounce him?" - -"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...." - -De Vautrin frowned darkly and twitched his jeweled fingers. - -"But she would have something to say about her own desires in the -matter," he said. - -"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." - -"But it doesn't belong to her," cried de Vautrin, gesticulating. "It's -mine since the child is dead. Monsieur Harry Horton----" - -Piquette broke in. "Monsieur 'Arry 'Orton could be call' to the stan' -of course, but 'is testimony is not to be relied upon." - -"Your brother, Monsieur----?" - -"Yes, Monsieur de Vautrin," replied Jim, "my brother--but an intimate of -Barry Quinlevin's----" - -"Ah, I comprehend--an accomplice?" - -"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." - -The Duc eyed him suspiciously again. - -"But you must have some other interest besides this in wishing to help -me. What's the ax you have to grind, Monsieur?" - -Jim Horton grinned and shrugged. - -"For myself--nothing." - -"That is difficult to believe." - -"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." - -"But why----?" - -"Monsieur is in love wit' Madame 'Orton----" Piquette's voice broke in -very calmly. - -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. - -His knowledge of the world had given him no instinct to appraise a -situation such as this. But Piquette met his gaze clearly. - -"It is de trut', Olivier," she repeated. "An' now perhaps you -on'erstan'." - -"It is extraordinary," he gasped. "And you two----?" - -"I brought 'im to you. Your interests are de same--and mine, wit' -both." - -"_Parbleu_! If I could believe it----!" - -Jim Horton rose, aware of a desire to pull the waxed mustaches to see if -they were real. - -"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." - -"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." - -Jim Horton turned with a smile. - -"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." - -"I beg forgiveness. You have been shot at?" - -Piquette explained quickly while de Vautrin's watery eyes grew larger. - -"_Mon Dieu_! And you say they are coming here?" - -"Yes. If their dinky little train ever reaches its destination. I'm -afraid you're in for it, Monsieur de Vautrin." - -De Vautrin threw out his arms wildly. - -"I will not see them. I will go away." - -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?" - -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, - -"I shall fight, Monsieur." - -"With what?" - -"With the evidence you've given me." - -"It's not enough." - -Horton shook his head and laughed. - -"It looks to me as though you were elected President of the Quinlevin -Endowment Association." - -"But there must be some way of getting at the truth," cried the -Frenchman, now really pitiful in his alarm. - -"Ah, that's it," laughed Jim. "_You_ know Madame Horton is not your -daughter and _I_ know it, but that doesn't beat Quinlevin." - -"What then, Monsieur?" - -"You've got to kill his evidence." - -"But how?" - -"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." - -"And that, Monsieur?" asked de Vautrin eagerly. - -"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----" - -"How?" - -"I don't know. But I wouldn't mind trying. Then you've got to get that -birth certificate----" - -"I don't see how you expect to do that." - -"Neither do I--Quinlevin is no fool, but then he's not super-natural -either." - -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. - -"Justice, Monsieur de Vautrin, is on your side. Will you fight for it?" - -"Assuredly, Monsieur--if you will but help." - -Jim Horton laughed. - -"Then you no longer believe I have an ax to grind?" - -"No--no, Monsieur." - -"And you no longer cherish evil thoughts of Piquette?" - -"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." - -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." - -De Vautrin wagged his head foolishly and then shrugged a futile -shoulder. - -"What do you want me to do, Monsieur?" he asked peevishly. - -Horton lighted a cigarette carefully and took Piquette by the hand. - -"First, Monsieur de Vautrin," he said coolly, "you will send Madame -Thibaud about her business----" - -"Monsieur!" said the Duc with a show of dignity. - -"Suit yourself. But she's in the way. This is no time for fooling. -Does she go or doesn't she?" - -De Vautrin's injured dignity trembled in the balance for a moment and -then fell away, merged in his apprehension for the immediate future. - -"That can--can doubtless be arranged," he said with a frown. - -"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." - -"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." - -"I'm listening." - -"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." - -"I--Monsieur?" - -"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." - -"But you, Monsieur?" - -"I shall be in an adjoining room, but they must not know it." - -"But Barry Quinlevin will discover that you have been here." - -"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." - -"But when will you come in to my assistance?" - -"That depends upon what I hear through the keyhole." - -"But would it not be simpler to pay this Nora Burke for telling the -truth?" - -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?" - -"Of course, Monsieur." - -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. - -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 _trente et quarante_ 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Monsieur de Vautrin," Quinlevin began with something of an air, "permit -me to present to ye yer daughter, Patricia Madeleine Aulnoy de Vautrin." - -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. - -"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." - -"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----" - -"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." - -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. - -"I've heard something of Nora Burke's story," said de Vautrin dryly, -"but there are parts of it that I have not heard." - -"Ye're quite at liberty to question, Monsieur," put in Quinlevin, "Nora -too is merely an instrument of truth in the hand of Providence." - -"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. _Allons_! Proceed, Nora -Burke. My poor wife, you say, engaged you some weeks before my daughter -was born?" - -"She did, yer Highness----" And, as the woman hesitated---- - -"Go on, Nora," said Quinlevin. - -"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." - -"And who was there beside yourself," asked the Duc coolly. - -"Dominick Finucane, the doctor from Athlone, and Father Reilly, the -priest who gave her Absolution----" - -"And who has since died," said de Vautrin dryly. - -"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." - -"And Mrs. Boyle is also dead?" put in de Vautrin keenly. - -"She is." - -"It's very unfortunate that all the witnesses have seen fit to die." - -"All but me, yer Highness," said Nora assertively. - -De Vautrin shrugged. "Well. What happened then?" - -"Well, Mrs. Boyle and meself, we didn't know what to be afther doing, so -we just followed the advice of Father Reilly." - -"And what did he tell you to do?" - -Nora glanced at Quinlevin, who nodded. - -"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." - -"That was kind of Mr. Quinlevin." - -"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----" - -"That's true enough. He would," sneered the Duc. "And what happened -then?" - -"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." - -"And you were well paid for this service?" asked de Vautrin. - -"I had me wages. It was enough." - -"And when you heard that Mr. Quinlevin had seen me in Paris, two years -afterward, you received more money?" - -Nora's glance sought Quinlevin, who broke in calmly. - -"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." - -"And the original?" asked the Duc. - -"Will be produced at the proper time," said Quinlevin shrewdly. - -De Vautrin took the paper and read it carefully. - -"And where is Mrs. Boyle at the present moment?" he asked. "Dead also?" - -"Three weeks ago," said Quinlevin calmly. "It's most unfortunate--but -her signature can be verified." - -"H--m. And Father Reilly also. Of course," said the Duc with a quick -glance toward his bedroom door. "And there are other papers?" - -"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." - -"And you think your case is complete?" - -"Oh, yes, quite. An Irish court won't hesitate very long just at this -time in carrying out the provisions of this will." - -Monsieur de Vautrin smiled. "And what do you wish me to do?" he asked -quietly. - -"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." - -"And your terms?" asked de Vautrin quietly. - -Barry Quinlevin pocketed the copy of the birth certificate which -Monsieur de Vautrin had put upon the table. - -"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----" - -Quinlevin paused, for when the terms were mentioned Monsieur de Vautrin -had begun to smile and now burst into an unpleasant laugh. - -"Well, Monsieur de Vautrin," broke off Quinlevin angrily. - -"It's merely," he replied, "that you don't figure enough for -depreciation." - -"What do ye mean?" - -"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." - -Barry Quinlevin rose, trying to keep his temper. - -"There are ways of verifying yer statements, Monsieur." - -"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." - -"I've tould the truth," asserted Nora doggedly, in spite of her -bewilderment. - -"And how much more will you tell when there's no money for the telling?" -said de Vautrin, rising. - -For at this moment the door into the adjoining room opened and Jim -Horton strode quickly into the room. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVII* - - *JIM MAKES A GUESS* - - -Horton did not look at Moira and quickly sought out the tall figure of -the astonished Irishman, who stood by the table, glaring angrily. - -"What's this, Monsieur de Vautrin?" Le asked. - -"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." - -"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. - -"I'm afraid you must," said Horton coolly. - -"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. - -"And yer _compagnon de voyage_? Is she to be with us also?" he said -insultingly, for Moira's benefit. - -Horton met Moira's glance as she took a pace forward toward him. - -"By what right do you keep me here against my will?" she asked in angry -disdain. - -He faced her coolly. - -"By every right you've given me--to act in your interest whether you -wish it or not." - -"I'm quite capable of looking after my own affairs," she cut in quickly. - -He smiled quietly. - -"If I thought so, I shouldn't be here." - -"Will you unlock that door?" she asked icily. - -He did not move and his level gaze met hers calmly. "No, Moira----" he -said gently, "I won't." - -"Oh!" she gasped furiously, then turned her back and went to the window -where she stood silently looking down over the garden. - -Without noticing her further Horton turned toward Quinlevin. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -"And what of the evidence I hold against _you_, Barry Quinlevin?" - -"The evidence of a deserter from the American army," Quinlevin sneered. -"Let it be brief and to the point, Corporal Horton." - -"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." - -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." - -"I've been doing little else these ten minutes, Mr. Horton," said -Quinlevin, yawning politely. - -"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." - -He turned to the old woman with a frown as he caught her off her guard -but Quinlevin broke in quickly. - -"See here, Horton, I've had about enough of this----" - -The Irishman rose furiously, but Horton took a quick pace toward him. - -"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." - -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. - -"Five thousand pounds for a lie," he said distinctly over Quinlevin's -head. "That's true, isn't it, Nora?" - -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. - -"It is not," she replied. "And the man lies who says it." - -"Even if it was Mr. Quinlevin himself?" said Horton. - -"Say nothing, Nora," the Irishman's voice broke in quickly. "No one can -make you speak." - -"But when he says----" - -"Silence!" - -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----" - -"It's a lie----" - -"Silence!" from Quinlevin. - -"It's a mighty small sum, Nora Burke, for so big a lie." - -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. - -Horton smiled at her grimly. - -"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." - -"I want no money from Mr. Quinlevin." - -"Then you're just lying for the fun of it? Do you happen to know what -the penalty for false-swearing is in France?" - -"Don't let him frighten you, Nora," interjected the Irishman. - -"It's Excommunication," said Horton, grinning at his own invention. - -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. - -Quinlevin's laugh reassured her a little. - -"I'm not believin' ye----" she muttered. - -"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." - -"I never did any harm in me life." - -"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----?" - -"I did--she was," blurted Nora, furiously. - -"And before she died--that very night--she gave the child a Christian -name?" - -"She did." - -"You're very sure of this?" - -"Nora----!" warned Quinlevin. - -"I'm sure of it. Why wouldn't I----" cried Nora, "when I was hearin' -the very words of her tongue." - -"And the child was a girl?" - -"Yes--a--a girl----" - -Quinlevin rose, glaring at Horton. - -"Silence, Nora!" - -"Then why," insisted Horton, "if the child was a girl, was it given the -Christian name of a boy?" - -"A boy----!" - -Nora Burke started back a pace, her round foolish face, usually florid, -now the color of putty. - -"Nora!" Quinlevin roared. "Keep silent, d'ye hear?" - -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. - -Jim Horton shrugged and brought quickly from his pocket a small red -book, which he opened at a page carefully dog-cared. - -"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?" - -Nora gasped for breath once or twice, glancing at Quinlevin, who -shrugged and frowned. - -"The name upon the birth certificate is Patricia," he growled. - -"Then who changed it?" asked Horton keenly, glaring at Nora. - -"Not I, sor. I--I can't write," she gasped. - -Jim Horton laughed. - -"It couldn't have been Father Reilly, or Dr. Finucane. Perhaps Mr. -Quinlevin will produce the certificate." - -"When the time comes," gasped Quinlevin, "ye'll see it--in a court of -law." - -"And the death certificate of your own child too, Mr. Quinlevin?" asked -Horton amiably. - -"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." - -"I'll have to run that chance----" - -Moira's voice, tense, shrill with nervousness, broke in as she caught -Quinlevin by the arm. - -"No, never. You will not dare. I forbid it." - -"We'll see to that----" - -The Duc, who at last seemed to have recovered his initiative, came -forward with an air of alacrity. - -"Perhaps, Monsieur Horton, it is just as well if you now unlock the -door." - -Horton looked at his wrist watch. - -"Willingly. Oblige me, Monsieur." And he handed de Vautrin the key. -"Unless there are some further matters Mr. Quinlevin wishes to discuss." - -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. - -But the Duc was in high feather again and fairly danced to the door. - -"Will you give me your Paris address, that I may send you the money, Mr. -Barry Quinlevin?" he shouted after him into the corridor. - -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. - -When Horton returned to the room the Duc closed the door and came -delightedly toward him. - -"Ah, _mon ami_. It was as good as a play. How did you know that my -child was not a girl--but a boy?" - -"I didn't know it," sighed Horton, with a laugh. "I guessed it." - -"But you must have----" - -"I got to thinking--last night. The whole story was a lie--why -shouldn't this be a part of it?" - -"But a suspicion wasn't enough----" - -"Enough for a starter, Monsieur. You'll admit, it _might_ have been a -boy. Just because you always _thought_ 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, '_a little hard to read. Patricia it is_.' Just phrases, but -this meant something. '_Female, me boy. A little illegible_----'" -Horton turned with a quick gesture. - -"Why should the name Patricia be illegible when all the rest was clear?" - -"But you said nothing of this to me," muttered the Duc. - -"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----" - -"A family name----" - -"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." - -"Assuredly, Monsieur," said de Vautrin, "you are a genius." - -"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." - -Outside it was getting dark. Horton went to the window and peered out. - -"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----" - -"But you, Monsieur. What will you do?" - -"I shall stay here awhile. There's something else that I must do." - -"And Piquette----?" - -"I will see that she returns safely." - -"You are very good, Monsieur," said the Duc. "Will you forgive me for -my suspicions?" - -"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." - -"She has saved me from great trouble, bringing you, my savior----" - -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. _Au revoir_. I will see you in Paris in a week. But -don't waste any time getting out of here. _Allez--tout de suite_, you -understand. Paris in a week, Monsieur." - -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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -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 _en suite_, with connecting doors, and with a quick glance along -the empty corridor she entered the nearest one. - -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 _entente_ had been re-established between -Moira Quinlevin and her old nurse. - -At the threshold of this room Piquette paused, glancing with a delicate -frown at the articles of feminine apparel on bed and dressing stand. - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -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.... - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"What are you doing in this room?" asked Moira steadily. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVIII* - - *AT BAY* - - -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. - -"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." - -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." - -"You have no right in this room--unless you are a servant of the hotel. -And that you are not----" - -"No, Madame," said Piquette coolly, "I am no servant of de hotel. But -strange to say, even agains' my will, I am your frien'." - -"My friend! Who are you?" - -Piquette glanced toward the door into the hall rather anxiously. - -"If you will permit me to come into your room I will answer you." - -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. - -"You will please close it, Madame," she urged with a smile. "I am quite -'armless." - -And Moira obeyed, catching the bolt into its place and turning with an -air very little mollified. - -"Who are you?" she demanded shortly. "Answer me." - -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. - -"You are 'andsome, Madame 'Orton," she murmured as though grudgingly. -"Ver' 'andsome." - -Moira flushed a little and returned the other woman's look, a sudden -suspicion flashing across her mind that this woman--this was---- - -"Who are you?" she stammered. - -"I--I am Madame Morin--and I am called Piquette," said the visitor -clearly. - -Moira recoiled a pace, her back as flat as the door behind her. - -"You----! Piquette Morin! You'd dare!" - -"Quietly, Madame 'Orton," said Piquette gently, "I 'ave tol' you I am -your frien'." - -"Go, Madame," said Moira in a choking voice and pointing to the door. -"Go." - -But Piquette did not move. - -"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----" - -"I do not need your help, Madame. Will you go?" - -"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." - -Moira gasped at the impudence. - -"What I am does not matter, but what you and Jim Horton are, does. I -wish to hear no more----" - -"Not even dat Monsieur Quinlevin has got de _vilain_ Tricot, to shoot at -us in de train----" Piquette shrugged. "_Sapristi_! Madame -'Orton,--if we 'ad been kill' you would perhaps t'ink it a proof of -friendship." - -She had caught the girl's attention, but Moira still demurred. - -"I ask no favors of you, Madame Morin," she said haltingly. - -"No, Madame 'Orton," said Piquette quietly, "but I 'ave give' dem -freely, for you--for _heem_. Perhaps you t'ink dat is not'ing for me to -do. _La, la_. I am only human after all." - -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. - -"I don't understand you, Madame," she said coldly. - -"I did not 'ope dat you would. But it is not so _difficile_. 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." - -"Not so blind that I have not seen what you would have hidden." - -"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." - -"Friendship!" gasped Moira. - -"Or love, Madame," said Piquette gently, "call it what you please." - -"And you dare to tell me this--you!" - -Piquette only smiled faintly. - -"Yes, I love 'im." And then, with the simplicity of a child, "Don't -you, Madame?" - -Moira stared at her for a second as though she hadn't heard correctly. - -"No. No. This is too much. You will oblige me----" - -"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." - -"You forget, Madame," said Moira, "that I have seen." - -Piquette smiled. - -"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?" - -Piquette laughed scornfully. - -"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! _Mon Dieu_, 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." - -Moira was leaning against the bed rail, her head bent, her eyes -searching out Piquette's very soul. - -"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 _déshonneur_. 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. -_Juste ciel_! 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----" - -"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." - -"Yes," said Piquette quietly. "I know everyt'ing. But only God could -keep me from de man I love." - -"Yes, God!" whispered Moira tensely. "Only God." - -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. - -"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 _you_ come and tell me these things?" - -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. - -"You may be' sure it 'as cos' me somet'ing," she said slowly. - -"Does he know--does Jim Horton know?" - -"No, Madame. He knows noding." - -"Then why----?" - -"Because," said Piquette, rising with some dignity, "because it pleases -me, Madame. What Jeem 'Orton wish'--is my wish too. 'E love you. _Eh -bien_! What 'e is to me does not matter." - -Moira stared at her dully. She could not believe. - -"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----" - -"How do you know this?" - -"'Arry 'Orton--your 'usband--tol' me de trut'." - -"Harry!" - -"Yes, Madame. I was a frien' to your 'usband." - -"You----?" - -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. - -"An' now," she said quietly, "if you please, I shall go away." - -"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." - -"Thank you." - -She caught Piquette by the hand and held her. - -"I cannot be less noble than you, Madame. Forgive me." - -"It is Jeem 'Orton who should forgive." - -"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 _has_ kept me from Jim Horton. I cannot see him again." - -"But you cannot stay here, Madame," put in Piquette earnestly. - -"No, perhaps not," wearily, "but you have taught me something. If -sacrifice is the test that love exacts, like you, I can bear it----" - -"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." - -"No. I can't." - -"What will you do?" - -"I don't know yet. I must think." - -"You will do what 'e ask of you." - -"No." - -"You mus' see 'im." - -"No. Don't ask me, Madame----" - -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. - -"Monsieur Quinlevin----!" she whispered. - -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. - -"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. - -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 _apache_ cast in -Piquette's direction, when Quinlevin came striding in like a demon of -vengeance. - -"Ah, Madame Morin," he snapped, "it seems as though I were just in time. -What have ye done with the papers?" - -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. - -"What papers, Monsieur? I know nothing of any papers." - -"The papers referring to the de Vautrin case. _Your_ papers, Moira, yer -birth certificate and the letters which went with it." - -Moira stood near the door into Nora's room, pale but composed. And now -she spoke bravely. - -"Madame Morin has not left this room since she came into it. I know -nothing of any papers." - -Piquette smiled inwardly. Her embassy had not been entirely without -success. But Quinlevin glanced quickly at Moira, suspicion becoming a -certainty. - -"Oh, we'll see about this." And striding quickly to Nora Burke's door -locked it securely. And then to Piquette. - -"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." - -Piquette cast an appealing glance at Moira. - -"You will let Madame Morin go," pleaded the girl to the Irishman. - -"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." - -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. - -"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?" - -His voice was soft, but even in the dim light iridescent fires played -forbiddingly in his little eyes. - -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. - -"The papers, Madame," Quinlevin repeated more brusquely. - -Still no reply. - -"You took them from behind the bracket yonder. What did you do with -them?" - -"They are gone," she said quickly. - -"Where?" - -"That I shall not tell you." - -She felt the claws of Tricot close upon her shoulder until she shrank -with the pain, but she made no sound. - -"One moment, Tricot," said the Irishman, "there are first other ways of -making Madame speak. Release her." - -Tricot obeyed. - -"Of course Tricot and I can search you." - -Piquette laughed. - -"Search me, Monsieur. It is your privilege. I am not squeamish." - -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. - -"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." - -Piquette did not dare to look. - -"It seems," the Irishman went on, "that the betrayal of the secrets of -the small society to which you belong is a grave offense." - -"I've betrayed no secrets," said Piquette, finding her voice. "No one -knows of the affair of the Rue Charron----" - -"Except Monsieur Horton, who will tell it when he is less busy----" - -"No. He will tell nothing----" - -"Tricot is not willing to take that chance. Eh, Tricot?" - -"No," snapped the vulture. "Piquette knows the penalty. She'll pay -it." - -"And if I pay it," said Piquette bravely, "you'll know no more about -what has become of your papers than you do now." - -Quinlevin made a sign to Tricot. - -"There's something in that.--but I'm in no mood to be trifled with. -That ought to be pretty clear." - -"It is. I'm not trifling." - -"Then speak. Or----" Quinlevin paused significantly. - -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... - -She tried to gain time. - -"And if I could tell you what has happened to the papers," she asked -uncertainly, "will you let me go?" - -"Yes--speak." - -"And if I cannot tell you----" - -"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." - -The man obeyed, without a sound, vanishing outside the window upon the -small portico. - -"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. - -"Nothing." - -"You are lying." - -Tricot's silhouette appeared at the window. - -"Monsieur," he whispered tensely, "there's a man--below." - -"Horton!" said Quinlevin. "What is he doing?" - -"Crawling in the bushes, Monsieur." - -The clutch on Piquette's arm grew tighter. - -"What did you do with the papers?" - -"I burned them in the fireplace," she said desperately. - -Quinlevin rushed to the hearth and struck a match, examining the ashes -minutely. Then he straightened quickly. - -"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. - -He caught her roughly by the arm and she bit her lip to keep from crying -out with pain. - -"He is down there. What did you do with the papers? Answer me." - -"Let me go." - -"No." - -"What will you do?" - -"Unless you tell me the truth--shoot him from the window." - -"You would not dare----" she whispered, in spite of her pain, "the -people of the hotel--will investigate. The police----" - -"Bah! A burglar comes along the portico, I shoot him. He falls--will -you tell the truth? Are the papers in this room?" - -"I won't tell." - -"Very well." And then turning to his companion at the window, "What is -he doing now, Tricot?" - -"He does not move----" - -The Irishman released Piquette suddenly. - -"A better chance for a shot, then," he snapped. "Here, Tricot." And he -moved toward the window, his weapon eloquent. - -Piquette sprang up despairingly. - -"Monsieur," she cried, "for the love of God. Don't shoot. I will -tell." - -"I thought so. Where are they? Quick." - -"I--I----" - -He had her by the wrists now, one on each side, and Tricot's skinny hand -threatened her throat. - -"Speak----!" - -"I--I threw them out of the window," she gasped. - -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. - -"Jeem!" she shrieked in a last despairing effort. "Go! Go!" And then -the fingers of the _apache_ closed and the sound was stifled as she fell -back in a chair helpless. - -"Shut up, damn you," growled Quinlevin. "Keep her quiet, you. Not -death, you understand. We may need her." - -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. - -"And you, Monsieur?" she heard Tricot ask. - -"I'm going down--into the garden. If she speaks the truth I'll find it -out." - -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. - -"Be quiet," croaked Tricot's voice at her ear--"or I'll----" - -And she obeyed. For death was in his voice and in his hand. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIX* - - *IN THE DARK* - - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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!" - -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. - -The two men came in hurriedly, as though having reached a decision, and -went up the stairs. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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!" - -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! - -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. - -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. - -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. - -He didn't find him, but Piquette was there, prone in the arm chair, and -gasping horribly for her breath. - -"Piquette! It's Jim," he whispered. - -Her swollen tongue refused her, but her fingers clutched his hand. - -"They choked you, Piquette." - -"Tri--cot," she managed to utter painfully. - -"I've attended to him. Where's Quinlevin?" - -She pointed, soundless, toward the door. - -"He went down to look for me?" he questioned. - -She nodded. - -"Good," laughed Jim. "We'll be ready when he comes back." - -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. - -"You're sure Quinlevin went down to look for me?" he asked again. - -"Yes, _m-mon ami_. Tricot,--'e saw you below--in--de--de garden." - -"He knows you threw out the papers?" - -"Yes. Into de garden." - -"Not now," said Horton. "In my pocket." - -"You found dem?" - -"Yes." - -"_Dieu merci_! It's what I--I 'ope'." - -"But we mustn't lose them again now, Piquette, after all this. Is the -door locked?" - -"I--I doan know. I----" - -Horton strode to the door and turned the key. - -"Now let him come," he whispered grimly. And then, "Where's Moira?" he -asked. - -"Lock' in 'er room--yonder." - -"You saw her?" - -"Yes, _mon_ Jeem." - -"But she must have heard all this commotion." - -"I doan know." - -"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. - -"Moira!" he said through the key-hole. "It's I--Jim." - -He seemed to hear sounds within, a gasp, a movement of feet and then -silence. - -"Moira--it's Jim." There was no sound, so he unbolted the door and -turned the knob. It was locked on the inside. - -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. - -"Tricot!" said the Irishman's voice. "Let me in." - -"Quickly!" whispered Horton, into Piquette's ear, "in the chair and gasp -like hell." - -She understood and obeyed him. Horton went to the door, turned the key -and Barry Quinlevin strode in. - -"He's gone, Tricot--the papers too----" - -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. - -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. - -"Well, Horton," he uttered, "ye've won." - -"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." - -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. - -"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!" - -He stopped with a shrug at the sound of Piquette's voice. - -"We mus' not stay too long, Jeem 'Orton. Some one may come." - -"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?" - -A small sound of footsteps moving, but they did not come toward the -door. - -"Moira," he repeated more loudly. "You must let me in. We are going -away from here--at once." - -No reply. - -"It is as I suppose', Jeem 'Orton," whispered Piquette at his ear. "She -does not wish to come." - -"What do you mean?" he asked. - -"I saw her, Jeem," she whispered. "I talk wit' 'er. It is 'opeless. I -do not t'ink she will come. She is afraid." - -"Afraid--of me?" he muttered incredulously. "I----" - -"Not of you, _mon vieux_," returned Piquette. "Of '_erself_!" - -"I don't understand----" - -Piquette shrugged. "Try again den, Jeem 'Orton." - -He did--to no avail. There was now no sound from within in reply to his -more earnest entreaties. - -"Something must have happened to her," he mumbled straightening, with a -glance toward the bed. "If I thought----" - -"But no," Piquette broke in quickly. "Not'ing 'as 'appen' to 'er, _mon_ -Jeem. She is quite safe." - -"I'm not so sure about that----" - -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. - -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. - -Uncertainly, he came back through the rooms to Piquette, who stood in -Moira's room, watching the prisoners through the doorway. - -"It is what I 'ave said, _mon_ Jeem. Madame does not wish to go wit' -you." - -"But why----? After all----" - -"'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, _mon_ 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." - -"What makes you think that?" muttered Horton, bewildered. - -"She tol' me so----" - -"You?" - -"I saw 'er--talk wit' 'er. Dat is why I wait too long ontil Monsieur -Quinlevin came." - -Horton paused, thinking deeply. - -"I must find her, Piquette. She's got to go with us," he murmured, -starting toward the door away from her. - -But Piquette caught him by the hand. - -"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----" - -"Let them. I've got to take her away. She's helpless, Piquette, with -him--penniless, if she deserts him." - -"Not so 'elpless as you t'ink. But she does not want to see you. Is -not dat enough?" - -"No," he said, trying to shake loose her clutch on his arm. "I'll find -her." - -"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, _mon_ 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." - -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. - -"You're right, Piquette. We've got to get away--to draw his claws for -good." - -"_Parfaitement_! You need not worry. 'E will not 'urt 'er now." - -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. - -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. - - - - - *CHAPTER XX* - - *FREEDOM* - - -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 _Croix de -Guerre_, 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. - -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. - -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 _Le Singe_ 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.... - -But arrival at regimental headquarters restored him for awhile. His -Colonel gave him a soldierly welcome, fingered with some envy the _Croix -de Guerre_, 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 _Croix de Guerre_ -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"What the H---- do you mean by staring at me all the time?" he asked. - -Weyl came to attention and saluted in excellent form. - -"I beg pardon, sir. I don't understand," he said. - -"Why the H---- do you stare at me?" - -"I didn't know that I did stare, sir." - -"Yes, you did. Cut it out. It annoys me." - -But Corporal Weyl still stared as the regulations demand, looking his -Captain squarely in the eye. And the Captain's gaze wavered and fell. - -"When I'm about," he ordered, "you look some other way. Understand?" - -"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. - -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. - -"How are you, Captain Horton?" asked the man cordially, extending a hand -across. "Didn't recognize you at first. How's the head?" - -Harry stammered something. - -"I'm Welby--looked after you down at Neuilly, you know." - -"Oh, yes," said Harry. "Of course. Glad to see you again, Major." - -"Things were a bit hazy down there, eh?" - -"Yes, rather," said Harry. - -"Delicate operation that. Touch and go for awhile. But you came through -all O.K. Delusions. Thought you were another man--or something----" - -"Oh yes," said Harry faintly, "but I'm all right." - -"Glad to hear it. How's the head?" - -"Fine." - -"No more pains--no delusions?" - -"No sir." - -"I'd like to have a squint at the wound presently, if you don't mind. -Interesting case. Very." - -Harry rose suddenly, his face the color of ashes. - -"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. - -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. - -"H-m," remarked the Major into his coffee-cup. "Surly chap that. -Considering I saved his life--_Croix de Guerre_, I see?" - -"Yes sir," said a Lieutenant. "Just joined up. Worried, maybe." - -"Not much worried about me, apparently," said the Major. - -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? - -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? - -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.... - -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. - -"Hadn't you better take a run down to the hospital, sir?" he asked. -"You look all in." - -Harry stared at him stupidly for a moment. - -"Oh, I'm all right--just--er--a little stomach upset----" - -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 _was_ "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. - -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! - -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. - -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 _Croix de Guerre_, under a truss of straw. - -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. - -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. - -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 _he_ wasn't to have her, Jim -shouldn't either. He wasn't going to give his brother the pleasure of -reading _his_ 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. - -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. - -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! - -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.... - - - - - *CHAPTER XXI* - - _*THE PETIT BLEU*_ - - -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. - -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. - -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 _Quartier_. 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. - -"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." - -"I'm not sure," said Piquette. - -"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." - -"Where, _mon_ Jeem?" - -He shrugged. "To America. Where else?" - -But she shook her head like a solemn child. - -"No, _mon petit_. 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 _bon Dieu_ will, where I s'all die. As for you, _mon -ami_, all will be well. De _vrai gamine_ is born wit' de what you -call--secon' sight. It is I, Piquette, who say dis to you." - -He glanced at her curiously, aware of an air of fatalism in her words -and manner. - -"How, Piquette?" he laughed. - -She shrugged. "I doan know, but I believe you s'all be 'appy yet." - -"With her, you mean?" he asked. "Not a chance, Piquette. That's done. -But if I can help her----" - -"Yes. You s'all 'elp 'er, _mon ami_. I know." - -He smiled gently, and then thoughtfully lighted a pipe. - -"You've got Cassandra beaten by a mile, my little Piquette." - -"Cassandra?" - -"The greatest little guesser in all history. But she guessed right----" - -"An' I guess right too, _mon ami_. You see." - -He smiled. "Then I wish you'd guess what's happened to your silly -friend de Vautrin." - -"Silly!" she laughed. "Dat's a good word, _mon ami_" and then shrugged. -"'E will come one day----" - -"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 _avocat_." - - -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. - -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 -_Petit Bleu_ 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---- - -He tore the envelope open quickly, Piquette looking over his shoulder. -It was in French, of course, and he read, - -"Shall be alone Rue de Tavennes to-night eight. Forgive and don't fail. -MOIRA." - -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. - -But Piquette was already questioning Celeste rapidly. - -"When did this _Petit Bleu_ arrive?" - -"Not an hour ago, Madame." - -"You are sure?" - -"Yes, Madame, positive. I myself received it from the messenger." - -"Very well, Celeste. You will return to the apartment and if any other -message arrives, be sure to bring it at once." - -"Yes, Madame." - -"And be sure to take the roundabout way and be sure that you are not -followed." - -"Yes, Madame." - -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. - -"I must go, of course, Piquette," said Jim quietly. - -"Yes, _mon ami_, you mus' go. An' yet there are some t'ings I don' -on'erstan'." - -"What, Piquette?" - -"It is strange, dis sudden change of min' of Madame 'Orton," she -replied. - -"She wants me,--needs me," said Jim, unaware of the pain he caused. - -Piquette shrugged. - -"I could 'ave tol' you dat at Monte Carlo," she said dryly, "but to ask -you to come to 'er--it's different, dat." - -"And yet she has done it----" - -"De character of Madame 'as change' a great deal in a few days, _mon_ -Jeem." - -"Something must have happened. Her position! Think of it, Piquette." - -"I do. It is mos' onpleasan'. But I t'ink you would be de very las' -person she would sen' for." - -"Who then----? Piquette, I----" - -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, _mon_ -Jeem----" she added firmly, "I will go wit' you." - -"You, Piquette!" he stammered dubiously. - -But she smiled at him. - -"Ah, _mon vieux_, I s'all not intrude. You know dat, _n'est-ce pas_? -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?" - -Jim Horton stood speechless for a moment and then, slowly, "I hadn't -thought of that," he muttered. - -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. - -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.... - -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. - -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. - -At the corner Piquette suddenly caught him by the elbow and held him. - -"Wait, _mon ami_," she whispered. "Wait!" - -He looked down at her in surprise at the sudden pause in her eager -footsteps. - -"Why, Piquette?" he asked. - -"I--I don' know, _mon_ Jeem," she muttered breathlessly, one hand to her -heart. "I don' know--somet'ing tell me to wait----" - -"Do you want to go back?" he asked. - -"No, no----" - -"What then----?" - -"I can't tell you. Jus' a feeling dat you should not go. I am not -sure----" - -"But I don't understand----" - -"Nor I, _mon_ Jeem," she laughed. "'Ave I not tol' you de _vrai gamine_ -'ave secon' sight? Forgive me. You t'ink I am foolish. But it is 'ere -in my 'eart----" - -"You do not want me to go to her, Piquette?" he asked. - -"Yes. To 'er, _mon_ Jeem. _C'est bien_. Is it not for dat which I -come?" - -She hesitated for another long moment, Jim watching her, and then raised -her head like some wild creature sniffing at the breeze. - -"_Allons_!" she said. "We shall go now." - -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 _loge_ 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. - -"Is dere no light?" asked Piquette in a voice which in spite of itself -seemed no more than a whisper. - -"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. - -"Ah! _Elle est là_," she gasped, falling into her native tongue -unconsciously. - -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. - -"That's curious," muttered Jim. "She may have gone out for a moment." - -"Perhaps," said Piquette. - -Jim went around the studio, glancing at the windows, and then joined his -companion by the door, scrutinizing his watch. - -"We're a few moments early, Piquette," he muttered. - -"I will go down, _mon ami_, and ask when she come back," she ventured. - -And they went out of the studio, closing the door behind them. But Jim -Horton hesitated, glancing back at the door. - -"I wonder if there could have been any mistake," he muttered. "Eight -o'clock. I don't understand----" - -"Jeem," said Piquette, "I do not like de look of dis. I am afraid----" - -She peered down into the obscurity suddenly and put her fingers to her -lips. - -"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." - -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. - -"A man! Who?" he muttered. - -"It is what I fear'. We mus' 'ide--somewhere--quick!" - -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. - -"What is it, Piquette?" - -"Your broder--'Arry," she gasped. - -"Impossible. He's at camp----" - -"I would swear it----" - -"In civilian clothes? He knows better than that." He laughed gently. -"You're nervous, Piquette----" - -"It's 'Arry, I tell you," she insisted. "I am not mistake'----" - -"H-m. It did look like him--but what----?" - -"I doan know. Its strange what I t'ink----" - -"But why should Harry come here when Moira sent me----" - -"An' what if she did not send you de _Petit Bleu_?" - -"You mean----?" - -"I doan know----" - -"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." - -"Sh----," whispered Piquette, calming him. "She mus' go wit' me, _mon -ami_." - -He nodded. - -"But she isn't there. I don't understand." - -"We mus' wait 'ere." - -And so they stood at the door, listening for sounds from below. -Silence. And then a strange commotion close at hand. - -Suddenly Piquette clutched Jim's arm. - -"Jeem!" he heard her whisper in sudden terror. "What is it?" - -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. - - -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. - -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. - - -"_Sainte Vierge_," came from Piquette in an awed tone. "'E 'as kill' -'imself." - -But Jim was bending over the body. - -"Impossible. A knife under the arm--in the heart. It's murder!" - -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, _the key on the -outside_, 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. - -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. - -"Don't touch anything--this is a case for the police. Come." - -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. - -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. - -"You say you tried this door when you first--entered the room?" he -asked. - -"Yes, Monsieur," said Piquette promptly. "We thought that Madame Horton -might be inside. But finding it locked we did not go in." - -The policeman drew back muttering. - -"Most extraordinary!" he said. "There is a door from these other rooms -into the hallway outside?" - -"Yes." - -The policeman pushed a way through the crowd and tried the door from the -outside. It, too, was locked. - -He turned to the crowd. - -"No one came out of this door?" - -"No one, no one, Monsieur." - -"And this other door?" indicating the hall room. - -"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. - -"This is a case for the _Commissaire_," he said to them. "You will -please wait." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXII* - - *MYSTERY* - - -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 _Commissaire de Police_ 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 _Commissaire_, who had been telephoned for. - -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 _froussarde_; 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.... - -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. - -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 _Commissaire_, 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. - -And in a short while the _Commissaire_ entered, followed by his -secretary, several Agents and newspaper men. The _Commissaire_, -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. - -"Let no one enter the room," he said in his sharp staccato, when he had -selected his witnesses. "Let no one leave it." - -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 -_Commissaire_ a complete narration of their experiences from the moment -they had climbed the stairs to the studio of Madame Horton. - -"You say that you and this monsieur came to this room by appointment to -meet Madame Horton at eight o'clock?" questioned the _Commissaire_. - -"Yes, Monsieur." - -"That you came up the stair and as the door was unlocked, you entered -this room, finding it empty?" - -"Yes, Monsieur." - -"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?" - -"Yes, Monsieur." - -"The rooms beyond, then, have not yet been entered?" he asked of the -policeman who had come up at the first alarm. - -"No, _Monsieur le Commissaire_." - -"_Bien_. Then we shall enter at once." - -He nodded significantly to the two _Agents_, 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. - -When he reappeared some moments later his face was puzzled. But he went -to the big studio window and examined the catches. - -"These windows you say were also locked?" he asked of Horton suddenly, -in excellent English. - -"They were--all of them," said Horton. - -"Then you did not know that one of them was open?" - -"Open!" Horton crossed the room eagerly. "I could have sworn----" - -"You observe----?" said the Frenchman, and touching the window, it swung -open noiselessly. - -"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." - -The _Commissaire_ 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. - -"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. - -"It has not been touched?" he questioned of the policeman. - -"No, Monsieur." - -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. - -"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. - -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. - - -"Monsieur!" he gasped to Horton, and then threw the light suddenly into -Jim Horton's face. - -"Monsieur Horton, did you know----?" - -"It is my brother," said Jim quietly. - -"_Nom d'un chien_! I could swear it was yourself." - -"My twin brother, Monsieur," repeated Horton. - -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." - -Horton nodded. - -"We thought of going away and returning when Madame Horton, my -sister-in-law, should return." - -"The wife of the murdered man?" broke in the _Commissaire_. - -"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." - -"The facts are curious, Monsieur Horton," put in the _Commissaire_ with -sudden interest. "Why did you wish to conceal yourself from the other -visitors of Madame Horton?" - -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. - -"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 _Petit Bleu_ which meant to -do you violence?" - -"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." - -"And your relations with your sister-in-law?" asked the _Commissaire_. - -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----" - -"Madame Horton and I were the best of friends----" broke in Jim quietly. - -"Evidently," said M. Matthieu dryly. - -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. - -"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?" - -"Yes, Monsieur." - -"And you both saw the man come up the stairs to the studio door. What -happened then?" - -"He turned the knob and entered." - -"Had you recognized him as your brother at that time?" - -"I hadn't. I thought that my brother had joined his regiment." - -"Ah--a soldier! And do you know why he is here in civilian's clothes?" - -"I do not." - -"Did Madame Morin recognize him?" - -"Yes. But I didn't believe it was he--even then." - -Monsieur Matthieu smiled and shrugged. "And you didn't realize how much -alike you were in your dark overcoats and soft hats?" - -"No." - -"And after your brother went in at the studio door, how long did you and -Madame wait in the hall room?" - -"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." - -"And you rushed out to the studio door and went in?" asked the -_Commissaire_ craftily. - -"The door was locked," said Jim. "I put my shoulder against it and -broke it in." - -"Ah. You broke it in? How long did that take?" - -"Perhaps half a minute." - -"And when you entered the room, Madame was with you?" - -"Yes--just behin' heem," broke in Piquette eagerly. - -M. Matthieu glanced at Piquette with a frown which silenced her. - -"And what did you see, Monsieur?" - -"What you saw, Monsieur--my brother lying there--the chair upset--but no -sign of any one in the room. It was very mystifying." - -"Yes, it must have been," dryly, "miraculous, in fact. And then what did -you do?" - -"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." - -"Most extraordinary! And what is your theory as to the escape of the -murderer?" - -"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." - -"And you, Madame?" he asked at last in French, turning to Piquette. - -"What Monsieur tells is the truth, _Monsieur le Commissaire_. I swear." - -Monsieur Matthieu laughed. - -"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?" - -"I don't ask you to believe anything," said Jim, trying to keep his -nerve. - -"But I must believe the evidence of my observation. There is no way in -which the man could have passed you on the stair?" - -"None," said Jim helplessly, "until I came up with the policeman no one -went down." - -"That is true," added Piquette. "Monsieur 'Orton was armed. No one -could have passed him." - -Here the _Commissaire_ was puzzled, for what had seemed clearer a moment -ago was lost in the frankness of this confession. - -"Where are the other witnesses in the case?" he asked of the policeman. - -"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." - -The secretary took the witness's name, Paul Joubert, his address, and M. -Matthieu questioned him. - -"You have heard the testimony of Monsieur Horton?" - -"Yes, Monsieur." - -"It is true?" - -"In every particular. I and these others," indicating the men beside -him, "came up the stairs to the landing and entered the studio." - -"How many were there in the crowd?" - -"Eight--ten--a dozen," he replied, while the others confirmed him. - -"Did you know them all?" - -"Ah no, Monsieur. I live in the Court at the rear. Some of them were -strangers who ran in from the street." - -"There was no one in the upper hall?" - -"No one." - -"And in the hall-room?" - -"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." - -"Is the man who first went into the hall-room here?" - -"No, _Monsieur le Commissaire_. I do not recognize him, the light from -the doorway was dim and----" - -"All right," said Matthieu. "No matter." - -And then, - -"And the other door from the apartment to the hallway remained locked -all the time?" he asked. - -"Yes, Monsieur. No one came out of there. We tried it many times." - -"H-m. And you have no theory as to how any one could have escaped from -the room under the circumstances?" - -"No, Monsieur. It is nothing less than a miracle." - -The other witnesses shook their heads in confirmation of the testimony. - -"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?" - -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. - -"Think! Why, I couldn't think, Monsieur. I was bewildered, dazed, -stupefied with astonishment and horror." - -"But you must give me credit for some intelligence," protested the -_Commissaire_. "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." - -"There was no one in the room. I searched it." - -"That is true," almost screamed Piquette in her excitement. "I was wit' -'im. There was no one." - -"Quietly, Madame," said M. Matthieu reprovingly. And then, "Monsieur -Horton, when you searched the room, what did you do?" - -"What _you_ 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." - -Monsieur Matthieu tapped his eye-glasses thoughtfully and it was a long -time before he spoke. And then, - -"Where is Madame Horton?" - -"I don't know." - -"And Monsieur Quinlevin?" - -"I don't know." - -"You have no means of helping me to find them?" - -"If I had I would tell you." - -A pause. And then the _Commissaire_ cleared his throat in an important -manner. - -"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." - -"What do you mean, Monsieur?" asked Jim, sure that his position and -Piquette's had now grown desperate. - -"Merely, Monsieur," said the _Commissaire_ 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." - -"You believe that I----" Horton broke in in horror. - -"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 _Petit Bleu_ you received -was a trap intended for you----" - -"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----" - -"You are fortunate, Monsieur," said the _Commissaire_, 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 _Prefet_ 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." - -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 _Commissaire_ as though she could not believe the -evidence of her ears. - -"Why, Monsieur, have we not told you----?" he heard her begin, when the -officer silenced her. - -"You will have every opportunity to testify to-morrow, Madame." - -She sent one glance at him, the _gamine_ 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. - -"Courage, _mon ami_," she gasped. "You 'ave on'y to speak de truth." - -"I'm not frightened," he said, "but you, Piquette--a prison----" - -"It's not'ing----" she said bravely, but he saw that she was on the -point of breaking. - -"And now," broke in the _Commissaire_, who had watched this byplay with -some interest, "I am sorry that we must be off. Come." - -And giving some instructions as to the witnesses to one of the _Agents -de police_ 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. - -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 _loge_, 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 _Prefecture de Police_, -where he was shown without ceremony into a cell alone to await a further -investigation upon the morrow. - -He sank down upon the cot, buried his head in his hands and tried to -think. - -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? - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIII* - - *ESCAPE* - - -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. - -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. - -"What is it ye want, alanah?" - -"I must go--you must go with me," she stammered. - -"For why? Isn't it enough I've been through this day widout----" - -But Moira pushed her way past the woman. - -"Something dreadful has happened--in there," she stammered, her face -white, "I can't stay----" - -"What then----" - -"A fight--Mr. Quinlevin and Tricot----" - -The woman tried to restrain her but Moira flung herself away and -unlocked the door. - -"Ye'll not be lavin' me here alone," gasped Nora. - -"Come then. Quickly." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"W-why didn't you--come before?" was Quinlevin's reply. He was not -pleasant to look at. - -"I was frightened at the sounds. I ran away. What has happened?" - -"Isn't it obvious?" mumbled the Irishman, spitting out a fragment of the -cotton towel from his dry throat. - -"Jim Horton!" gasped Moira. - -"The same--damn him." - -"And Madame?" - -"Need you guess?" he sneered. "They're well on the road to Paris by -now." - -"Thank God," said Moira fervently. - -He glanced at her but said nothing. His feelings were too deep for -words. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 _déjeuner_. 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.... - -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 _Matin_ and in a moment was absorbed in the account of the -projected Peace Conference. - -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: - - "MURDER IN A STUDIO IN THE QUARTIER. - Captain Horton, U.S.A., killed under strange - circumstances." - - -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. - -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. - -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!... - -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 -_her_, 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. - -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. - -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. _And yet some one -must have been there and some one, somehow, must have escaped_. - -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 _Commissaire_, whose name -had been given in the _Matin_, 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. - -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. - -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 _Prefet_. The _Prefet_, 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 _Juge d'Instruction_. 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 _greffier_ -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 _Juge d'Instruction_, who had taken -charge of the investigation, and Monsieur Matthieu, the _Commissaire de -Police_ for the District in which the crime had been committed. - -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. - -"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." - -Monsieur Simon wagged his head sagely and plucked with slender white -fingers at his dark beard. - -"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----" - -"But you must admit, Madame," broke in the practical _Commissaire_, 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." - -"What do you mean, Monsieur?" - -"His love for you--his dislike for your husband----" - -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?" - -"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----" - -"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, _Monsieur le Commissaire_," she repeated, -"all the time. Nothing else is possible." - -Monsieur Matthieu tapped his eyeglasses upon the palm of his hand. - -"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----" - -"Monsieur----!" Moira had drawn back from him in dismay, her face -blanched again. - -"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----" - -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. - -"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----" - -"Or accessory----" put in Monsieur Matthieu sharply. - -"That is absurd----" broke in Moira with some spirit, "and you know it." - -Monsieur Simon nodded approval. - -"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 _Petit Bleu_ to Monsieur -Horton requesting him to come to your studio last night at eight -o'clock?" - -The expression upon Moira's face showed so genuine an astonishment that -there could be no doubting the sincerity of her reply. - -"I? No, Monsieur Simon. I was at Fontainebleau. Why should I ask him -to come to the studio when I was not there?" - -The two men exchanged glances of new interest. - -"Both Monsieur Horton and Madame Morin testify that Monsieur Horton -received such a message." - -Moira started forward in her chair. - -"What did that message say, Messieurs?" - -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. - -"What do you think, Madame?" asked Simon. - -Moira was silent for a moment, struggling for the mastery of her -emotions. And then in a suppressed tone, barely audible, - -"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." - -"By whom, Madame?" asked the Judge quickly. - -Moira made a nervous gesture of recantation. - -"I--I do not know. It is horrible to suspect without further proof. -I--I cannot say." - -"Monsieur Quinlevin?" - -"That's impossible. He was at Fontainebleau." - -"Then who----?" - -"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." - -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. - -"Madame Horton, let us confine ourselves to the physical evidence that -confronts us. _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_. That is the fact. I know. It is -my business to neglect nothing. I _have_ 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 _no human being except -Monsieur Horton could have been present to commit this murder_." - -"And yet," said Moira desperately, "a human being other than Monsieur -Horton killed my husband." - -Monsieur Matthieu shrugged and smiled. - -"You have not investigated as I have done, Madame," he said. - -"No, Monsieur. But I am right," she said firmly. - -"You are persistent." - -"It is my duty to find the truth of this matter." - -"And mine--but not to achieve the impossible----" - -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. - -"It is not safe, _Monsieur le Commissaire_, 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." - -Monsieur Matthieu smiled and shrugged again. - -"_Volontiers_, Monsieur, if you think it worth while." - -"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." - -"As you please." - -"It is that which you desire, Madame?" asked the Judge. - -"Oh, thanks, Monsieur," uttered Moira gratefully. "I could not be -satisfied, even after the skill of _Monsieur le Commissaire_, unless I -had probed this mystery with my own eyes." - -"Come, then, Madame. There is still time. We shall go at once." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIV* - - *THE CLUE* - - -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 _must_ 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. - -The burden of the testimony against Jim Horton would fall if she could -prove it physically possible _for some one to have been in the studio -while Jim Horton and Piquette had waited outside_. This was her -object--nothing else seemed to matter. - -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 _porte -cochère_ 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 _Commissaire_ 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. - -"Does Madame wish to look in the apartment or the kitchenette?" she -heard Monsieur Matthieu's voice asking. - -But she shook her head. The answer to the mystery lay here--in this -very room. She was already satisfied as to that. - -"Is this room in the precise condition in which it was found when the -police first arrived?" she asked coolly. - -"Yes, Madame, except for the removal of the body, nothing has been -disturbed." - -"You are sure of this?" - -"I am, Madame. It is for this reason that a policeman has been always -on guard." - -"And you yourself, Monsieur,--you have moved no object--no drapery--no -chair?" - -"No, Madame. Nothing. I climbed upon the couch to look out of the -window. That is all." - -She nodded and passed around the lay figure which she was regarding with -a new interest. - -"And the gray drapery on the shoulder of the lay figure--you say it has -not been touched?" - -Monsieur Matthieu looked up with a smile. - -"I examined the figure carefully, Madame. I may have raised the -drapery--but I restored it as I found it." - -"Then things are not precisely as they were," she said keenly. - -"No, Madame. Not the gray drapery," said Matthieu amusedly. - -"You did not touch the bolero jacket?" - -"No, Madame." - -"Nor the skirt?" - -"I am quite sure of that," said the _Commissaire_. - -She removed the hat from the head of _papier maché_ 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 _Commissaire_ and Monsieur Simon watched curiously, - -"It is a pity that you moved the draperies, Monsieur Matthieu," she said -slowly. - -"Why, Madame?" - -"Because you have disturbed the dust." - -"I can't understand why----" - -"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." - -"Of course, Madame, I made a thorough investigation----" - -"And what did you learn from it?" she asked quietly. - -Monsieur Matthieu glanced at her once and then shrugged. - -"Nothing, Madame. A lay figure is a lay figure." - -"True," said Moira carelessly, but the _Commissaire_ found himself -regarding her with a new appraising eye. What did she mean by this -question? - -But she moved past him quickly as though with a definite purpose, and -approached the north window. - -"Which of these sashes was unlocked, Monsieur?" - -"The one to the right, Madame." - -"I see. You say it was closed but not fastened?" - -"That is correct." - -"That is strange." - -"Why, Madame?" - -"Because I fastened it with great care before I left for Fontainebleau." - -"You are sure of this?" - -"Positive. It has an awkward catch. You see?" - -And she demonstrated how easily it came unlatched unless pressed firmly -down. - -Monsieur Matthieu came forward smiling. - -"You only indicate, Madame, that it will slip easily out of place." - -Moira met his gaze firmly. - -"Try to make it slip, Monsieur," she said, "since I have fastened it." - -He tried by tapping--by shaking the window, but the catch held. - -"It is a matter of little moment," he muttered, "since it would be -impossible for the murderer to have escaped by this way." - -"Perhaps," said Moira. - -But while she spoke she unlocked the catch, then slipped it insecurely -into place and stood aside, studying it keenly. - -"What is it that interests you, Madame?" asked the _Juge d'Instruction_. - -"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. - -Monsieur Matthieu started back a pace and glanced at Monsieur Simon. - -"You found this window open, _Monsieur le Commissaire_," said the Judge. - -"That is true," replied the _Commissaire_ confidently, "but it is -possible that Monsieur Horton may have disturbed it when he examined it -before the murder." - -Moira turned quickly. - -"The window was securely locked. I left it so. Monsieur Horton found it -so. You make nothing of this, either, _Monsieur le Commissaire_?" - -Monsieur Matthieu shook his head and pointed toward the opening. - -"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 -_Commissaire de Police_." - -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. - -"Be careful, Madame," he warned, "you may fall." - -"Have no fear, _Monsieur le Juge_," 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. - -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 _Commissaire_. - -"Did you discover anything, Madame?" he asked politely enough. - -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. - -She didn't reply and accepting the hand which the gallant _Juge -d'Instruction_ offered her, stepped down to the couch and so to the -floor. - -"You see, Madame," ventured the _Commissaire_ more kindly, "that it -would be quite out of the question for the murderer to have descended -from the window." - -"I have never thought that he did, Monsieur," said Moira dryly. - -The _Commissaire_ 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. - -"You have perhaps happened upon something that has escaped my eye?" he -asked frankly. - -"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." - -"I hope that you will be able to confirm them," said the _Commissaire_. -"If there is anything that I can do----" - -"Yes, Monsieur," broke in Moira with precision. "If _Monsieur le Juge -d'Instruction_ 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." - -She glanced at Monsieur Simon, who bowed his head in agreement. - -"By all means," said the Judge, "if Madame has reason to believe----" - -"I ask it, _Monsieur le Juge_, not as a favor, but as a necessary step -in the administration of justice in this case." - -"It is little enough. Go, Monsieur. Here are the names. Madame Toupin -will direct you." - -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... - -"You will please go at once, Monsieur," the voice of the Judge was -saying. "Madame and I will await your return." - -And so with a backward glance, Monsieur Matthieu went out. - -"You think you have found a clue, Madame?" asked Monsieur Simon with an -air of encouragement. - -"I don't know, Monsieur--a hope--perhaps a vain one. But you are -friendly. You shall see." - -And crossing quickly in front of him she went directly to the lay figure -and examined it minutely. - -"This old skirt, Monsieur, as you will observe, is fastened by buttons -and is somewhat twisted to one side." - -"Yes, Madame." - -"This was the first thing that attracted my attention. But one button -holds it, and it is fastened at the wrong button-hole." - -"And what does that signify?" - -"Merely that it has been tampered with--I did not fasten it in this way, -Monsieur," she said positively. - -"You are sure?" Monsieur Simon was now as eager as she. - -"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." - -"_Sapristi_! Madame--And you think----?" - -He paused as Moira unbuttoned the old skirt and slipped it down while -she moved eagerly around the partially disrobed figure. - -"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. - -"What does it mean?" he asked. - -"The lay figure has been moved from its iron bracket----" - -"And even so, what----?" - -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. - -"I have it," she muttered excitedly, as though half to herself. "I have -it--new--clean on one side, soiled on the other----" - -"What, Madame--what?" asked Simon, catching the fire of her eagerness. - -"The hole in the leg, Monsieur," she cried. "Don't you see? A piece -torn out against some rough surface----" - -"Yes, but----" - -"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." - -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. - -"Where did you find this piece of cotton, Madame?" he asked in a -suppressed tone. - -"Outside the window--hanging below a torn edge of the tin gutter, where -it must have escaped the eyes of _Monsieur le Commissaire_." - -"_Mon Dieu_! Then the lay figure must have been outside on the -ledge----" - -"Exactly. Outside. The stain of dust upon the leg shows how it -lay----" - -"_Magnifique_, Madame----" - -"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." - -"Quick, Madame. The jacket----" - -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. - -"By the armpits, Monsieur Simon. It is there the hands would have -caught." - -Simon obeyed while Moira lifted the arms. - -"There's something," he muttered softly. - -"A stain," broke in Moira quickly. "I can see it with the naked eye." - -It was a faint smudge, of a brownish color like rust. - -"The print of a finger?" she mumbled. - -"It shall be analyzed. It looks like----" - -"The murderer's fingers--stained----" - -"If it is blood, Madame----" - -"Yes, yes----" - -"Then the murderer carried this figure back--_after_ the murder----" - -"Exactly. And he----" - -She paused and then was suddenly silent, for Monsieur Matthieu, the -_Commissaire_, 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 _Commissaire_. - -"You have left nothing to the imagination, I see, Madame." And then, -"You have discovered something?" he asked. - -"Perhaps," said Moira briefly. "You have been able to find some of the -witnesses?" - -"Yes, Madame. The most important. But it would give me pleasure to -know----" - -"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----" - -"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. - -"_Bon jour_, 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. - -"_Bon jour_, Madame 'Orton," said the carpenter politely. - -"Where were you, Monsieur," she began, "when you heard Monsieur Horton's -cry of alarm?" - -"In the court below, Madame. I was standing with Monsieur Lavaud, the -pastry cook, at the angle of the wall just inside the _Loge_ of Madame -Toupin----" - -"And when you heard the cries what did you do?" asked the girl. - -"I waited a moment in fear and then with Monsieur Lavaud went toward the -entrance." - -"Were there some others there?" - -"_Oui, Madame_. A number of persons came running into the court. They -seemed to spring from the earth as if by magic." - -"And were you among the first to rush up the stair?" - -"_Oui, Madame_. There were but two or three before me." - -"And whom did you find on the second landing?" - -"Monsieur 'Orton and a lady who told us that a murder had been -committed." - -"And you went with him up the stair?" - -"Yes, Monsieur. A policeman had come rushing in, and we all mounted to -the third floor." - -"Was it dark out there on the third floor landing?" - -"Not dark, but dim. The studio door was open and threw a light -outside." - -"And what did you do then?" - -"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." - -"It was dark inside the hall room?" - -"_Oui, Madame_--dark." - -"You have testified that one of the crowd went into the small hall room -and came out saying that no one was there." - -"_Non, Madame_. 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." - -Moira clasped and unclasped her hands nervously, and when she spoke -again her throat was dry with uncertainty. - -"Monsieur Joubert, you will please listen very carefully to my question -and try to answer very accurately." - -"_Oui, Madame_." - -"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?" - -"_Oui, Madame_. I saw him come out." - -She paused significantly, and then, with emphasis, - -"Did you see him _go in_, Monsieur Joubert?" - -Joubert stared at her stupidly for a moment, and Monsieur Matthieu and -the Judge leaned forward, aware of the intent of the question. - -As the man did not reply, it was the _Juge d'Instruction_ who broke the -silence impatiently. - -"Yes, yes, Monsieur Joubert," he questioned sharply, "_did you see him -go in?_" - -"The truth--Monsieur Joubert," gasped Moira. - -Joubert scratched his head and snuffled his feet awkwardly. - -"No, Madame. I can't really say that I did." - -"Did any of the others see him go in?" - -Here Monsieur Simon broke in quietly. "Pardon, Madame! But that is a -question the other witnesses must answer." - -Moira glanced at him and then at Monsieur Matthieu. - -"Perhaps you can inform me, _Monsieur le Commissaire_," 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?" - -"Many persons went into the room, Madame----" - -"_Later_, Monsieur," she broke in quickly. "_Later_, after this man who -had come out had mingled with the crowd and gone down the stair." - -Monsieur Matthieu started. - -"Madame!" he gasped. - -"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?" - -"As to that--_oui, Madame_," said Joubert more easily. "Most of them I -knew--they are of the neighborhood. Monsieur Lavaud, Monsieur Picard of -the _Lavoir_, Monsieur Gabriel and others----" - -"But this man who came out of the door of the hall room," she insisted -clearly. "You had never seen him before?" - -Joubert shrugged. - -"Now that you mention it, Madame, I think that is the truth." - -"Are you sure that you never saw him in the neighborhood?" - -"No, Madame. I never saw him in this neighborhood." - -Moira gasped in relief, aware that the _Commissaire_, 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. - -"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?" - -"It was dim, Madame. But I remember him perfectly." - -"You could identify him, if you saw him?" - -"I think so, Madame." - -"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----" - -Joubert had started back in astonishment. - -"It is he, Madame! You have described him----" - -"And when he walked he had a slight limp of the left leg----" - -"A limp, Madame. It is true," cried Joubert, "the very same. He -limped. I saw it as he came forward----" - -"That will be all, Monsieur Joubert," said Moira wearily. - -And when the man had gone out she turned to Monsieur Simon with a smile -of triumph. "Have I made out a case, _Monsieur le Juge_?" - -"_Parfaitement, Madame_. But the murderer----?" he urged. - -She grew grave at once. - -"The man I have described is Monsieur Tricot." - -The two men exchanged glances. - -"We have already taken steps. He will be found, Madame," said the -_Commissaire_. "All the police of Paris are on his trail." - -"I pray God you may find him," said Moira quietly. - -"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 -_Monsieur le Commissaire_ into your confidence." - -Monsieur Matthieu, aware of the position the _Juge d'Instruction_ had -now taken, was silent, but still incredulous. - -"I should like to hear the other facts upon which you base this -testimony," he said slowly. - -Monsieur Simon waved his hand toward the mannikin, its frozen gesture -now almost prophetic. "Tell _Monsieur le Commissaire_ what happened in -this room as you have traced it, Madame." - -Moira glanced at the _Commissaire_, who bowed his head in an attitude of -attention, which had in it not a little of humility. - -"The murderer lay in wait for Monsieur Jim Horton," said Moira. "There -is no doubt in my mind as to that. The _Petit Bleu_ 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 _Monsieur -le Commissaire_ has already guessed where." - -"Go on, Madame," said Matthieu gravely. - -"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." - -"_Saperlotte!_" - -"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." - -She paused, breathing hard, her words scarcely audible. But a word from -Monsieur Simon encouraged her again. - -"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." - -"And then, Madame?" nodded the Commissaire. - -"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." - -"And how did you learn this, Madame?" - -"By a trifle which even your experienced eyes had overlooked. This, -Monsieur----" - -And she produced the small piece of torn cotton cloth from her pocket. - -"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, _Monsieur le Commissaire_." - -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. - -He raised his head and looked at her, but his voice was that of a broken -man. - -"My honor--my reputation, are in your keeping, Madame," he muttered. - -But Moira caught him by the hands in an access of generosity. - -"I render them to you, Monsieur. If _Monsieur le Juge_ keeps silent, -you may be sure that I shall do so." - -"You are very good, Madame----" - -"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." - -"And what can I do to repay you, Madame?" he asked. - -"Find Monsieur Tricot!" she cried with spirit. - -"And Monsieur Quinlevin?" asked the Judge quietly. - -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. - -Monsieur Simon bent over and touched her kindly on the shoulder. - -"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." - -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 _Juge -d'Instruction_ her hand in gratitude. - -"Ah, thanks, Monsieur, you are very kind. If it will not trouble -you----" - -And leaving the theater of her life's drama to the solitary policeman on -guard, she followed the charitable Monsieur Simon down the stair. - -Monsieur Matthieu had already disappeared. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXV* - - *CONCLUSION* - - -Jim Horton passed the night pacing the floor of his prison, and his -interrogation by Monsieur Simon, the _Juge d'Instruction_, with the -assistance of the _Commissaire de Police_ 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. - -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 _Prefet de Police_. 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. - -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 _Prefet de Police_, 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. - -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. - -"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 _your Croix de Guerre_, you see." - -"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?" - -"No," said the Captain, "but sit tight, Corporal. I think you'll find -that things will turn out all right." - -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. - -But he was no sooner seated than the man who had done the most to put -him where he was, Monsieur Matthieu, the _Commissaire de Police_, again -entered the cell. His manner during the examination by the _Juge -d'Instruction_ 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 _Commissaire_ explained. - -"Evidence has been introduced into this case, Monsieur, which somewhat -changes its complexion." - -"Ah! You have found Tricot? Or Quinlevin?" - -"No--not yet, Monsieur. But we have hopes. The evidence came from -another quarter. We believe that the _apache_ committed this crime." - -Horton couldn't restrain a gasp of relief. - -"It is only what I told you, Monsieur." - -Monsieur Matthieu nodded. "But you will not blame us for not accepting, -with some reserve, the testimony of a person in your position." - -"Who has testified, Monsieur?" - -"Madame Horton." - -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. - -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. - -"It is always so, Monsieur. The mysteries which seem most difficult to -solve are always the simplest in conception." - -"But Tricot did not invent this crime, Monsieur. The _apache_ is -shrewd, but the brain that conceived this plan----" - -"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." - -"And Tricot?" - -"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." - -"Émile Pochard should know. Pochard in the Rue Dalmon--under arrest he -may talk----" - -"Good, Monsieur. The help that you give us will make your deliverance -the more speedy." - -"I know nothing more." - -"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." - -"Thanks. And for Madame Morin?" - -"Yes, Monsieur. She is, I think, now quite contented." - -And the _Commissaire_ 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 _Commissaire_ 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----" - -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. - -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 _Juge d'Instruction_, who shook him by the hand and -informed him that word had just been received that the _apache_, 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. - -They were both still technically prisoners, but that did not prevent -Piquette from springing up from beside her guard and rushing to meet -him. - -"Oh, _mon_ Jeem!" she cried joyfully. "I knew it could not be for -long." - -"Piquette! They're going to set us free!" - -"_Oui, mon brave_. 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 _Porte Maillot_. You may know dat I am 'appy. Gr----!" - -And she made a queer little sound of repulsion in her throat. - -"And Quinlevin?" - -"Escape'--gone! Dey cannot find him." - -He sat beside her and they talked while they waited. - -"What are you going to do, Piquette?" he asked, after awhile. - -"Do? Jus' go on living, _mon vieux_. What else?" she replied calmly. - -"I want to help you to get away from _him_, Piquette----" - -"_Sapristi_! I need no 'elp for dat. Don' worry, _mon ami_. I s'all -be 'appy----" - -"Not with Monsieur----" - -She laughed rather harshly. - -"Oh, la la! You are not de on'y man in de worl'----" - -And then, as she saw the look of pain in his eyes, she caught him by the -arm again. "You _are_ de on'y man in de worl'--for 'er--_mon vieux_, -but not for me. You t'ink of me? _Eh bien_. What you say? Forget it. -I s'all be 'appy--and free." - -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. - -The birth certificate and other papers were still in possession of the -_Juge d'Instruction_, 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. - -"And I, Olivier?" she asked in French with a spirit of _diablerie_. -"What is my reward for helping in the great affair?" - -"You, Piquette!" he laughed, "you are as ever my angelic child who can -do no wrong. Come to my arms." - -But Piquette laughed and tossed her chin. - -"And if I refuse?" - -"Then you are still an angelic child," said de Vautrin. "I shall give -you money--much money." - -"And if I refuse that too?" she asked. - -He started a pace back from her in amazement. - -"You would desert me now, _ma petite_?" - -Piquette's face grew suddenly solemn. - -"Yes, _Monsieur le Duc_. We shall make no more pretenses, you and I. I -go back to the _Quartier_ where I am free. Perhaps one day I shall -marry. Then you shall give me a present. But now----" And she -extended a hand, "_Adieu, mon ami_." - -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. - -"_C'est fini, Olivier_," she said quietly. - -De Vautrin pulled at his long mustache and laughing turned away. - -"_À demain_, Piquette----" he said confidently. - -"_Adieu, Olivier_," she repeated. - -The Duc stared at her again and then with a shrug, took up his hat and -stick and swaggered out of the room. - -"Piquette," whispered Horton eagerly. "Do you mean it?" - -"Yes, _mon brave_," 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. - -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 _Juge_, the _Commissaire de Police_, Madame Toupin, Moira, Madame -Simon, the carpenter, Paul Joubert, and the other witnesses whose -testimony had already been taken. - -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 _Juge_ directed her. She was very pale and sat for a while -with eyes downcast during the preliminaries which led to the confession -of the _apache_. - -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. - -"I did it----" he growled. "I've confessed. What's the use?" - -"Silence!" commanded the _Juge_. "You will answer only when questioned. -Are these two persons," indicating Horton and Piquette, "the ones who -first entered the studio?" - -"They are." - -"And when _Monsieur le Capitaine_ entered the studio, you thought he was -his brother--yonder?" indicating Jim. - -"I did. I made a mistake----" - -"And your motive for this crime, Tricot?" - -"I was paid," he muttered. - -"How much?" - -"Five thousand francs." - -"By whom?" - -Tricot paused, and then gasped the name. - -"Monsieur Quinlevin." - -"Do you know where Monsieur Quinlevin is now?" - -"No." - -"Would you tell if you knew?" - -"Yes." - -"Have you anything further to say?" - -"No." - -Monsieur Simon waved his hand in the direction of the door. - -"Take him away. The proof is now complete." And then to the witnesses, -"You will hold yourselves in readiness to attend the trial. _Bonjour, -messieurs_." - -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. - -"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." - -"Thanks, Monsieur," said Horton gravely. - -"Let me add, Monsieur Horton, that before the murderer arrived, I was in -consultation with _Monsieur le Capitaine Waring_ 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 _Croix de Guerre_. 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." - -"Thank God!" muttered Horton, half to himself. - -"And now, _Monsieur le Commissaire_," said the _Juge_, 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----" - -"Piquette----" - -Horton turned around to look for her but she had gone. - -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. - -"Moira," he whispered at last. - -"Thank God," she murmured. - -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. - -"You did this, Moira--you!" he said at last. - -"Something stronger than I, Jim. Faith, Hope----" - -"And Charity," he added. - -"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. - -"You never believed that I could have----" - -"No, never, Jim," she broke in in a hushed voice. "Not for a moment. -It was too horrible!" - -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 _what_ 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." - -"Quinlevin----" he muttered. - -She drew closer into his arms. - -"He has escaped," she said with a shudder. "Perhaps it is best." - -"Did you find out----?" he began, but she broke in quickly, reading his -thought. - -"He was--my uncle--my father's brother. Nora told me everything. -You've blamed me in your thoughts, Jim----" - -"No, Moira----" - -"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." - -"You poor child. You've suffered----" - -"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." - -"Afraid----" - -"Of myself--if I had gone to you then ... our love had been so sweet a -thing, Jim--so pure and beautiful. I _couldn't_ let it be anything else. -I had never known what love was before. I am afraid," she whispered. - -"But not now, dear?" - -"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----" - -"You're released from them now, Moira," he said soberly. - -"Yes, Jim." - -"And you'll marry me, dear?" - -"Yes, Jim. But it would be a sin for us to be too happy too soon." - -"I can be patient----" - -"You won't be needing to be too patient, Jim," she whispered, her warm -lips on his. - -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 _Petit Pont_, 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. - -"Piquette!" said Moira. - -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. - - - - - END - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPLENDID OUTCAST *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47900 - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so -the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and -trademark. 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