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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -<title>THE SPLENDID OUTCAST</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="MARCREL.ill" content="George Gibbs" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="47900" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="The Splendid Outcast" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2015-01-06" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1920" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="The Splendid Outcast" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="George Gibbs" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators/" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.title" content="The Splendid Outcast" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.source" content="/home/ajhaines/outcast/outcast.rst" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.language" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" content="en" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.modified" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2015-01-06T22:59:49.117934+00:00" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.publisher" content="Project Gutenberg" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.rights" content="Public Domain in the USA." /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47900" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.creator" content="George Gibbs" /> -<meta name="MARCREL.ill" content="George Gibbs" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.created" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2015-01-06" /> -<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" /> -<meta name="generator" content="Ebookmaker 0.4.0a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="the-splendid-outcast"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">THE SPLENDID OUTCAST</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no -restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> included with -this ebook or online at </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>. If you -are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws -of the country where you are located before using this ebook.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: The Splendid Outcast -<br /> -<br />Author: George Gibbs -<br /> -<br />Release Date: January 06, 2015 [EBook #47900] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE SPLENDID OUTCAST</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container frontispiece"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 61%" id="figure-41"> -<span id="she-crouched-watching-breathless-and-uncertain"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="SHE CROUCHED, WATCHING, BREATHLESS AND UNCERTAIN. (PAGE 109)" src="images/img-front.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">SHE CROUCHED, WATCHING, BREATHLESS AND UNCERTAIN. (PAGE </span><a class="italics reference internal" href="#id1">109</a><span class="italics">)</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="bold italics xx-large">The</em><span class="bold xx-large"> -<br />SPLENDID OUTCAST</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">GEORGE GIBBS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">AUTHOR OF "THE SECRET WITNESS," "THE GOLDEN BOUGH," -<br />"THE YELLOW DOVE," ETC.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">ILLUSTRATED BY -<br />GEORGE GIBBS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">D. APPLETON AND COMPANY -<br />NEW YORK LONDON -<br />1920</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY -<br />D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">Copyright, 1919, by -<br />THE RED BOOK CORPORATION</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CONTENTS</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></p> -<ol class="upperroman simple"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-convalescent">The Convalescent</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-mystery-deepens">The Mystery Deepens</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-goose">The Goose</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#outcast">Outcast</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#piquette">Piquette</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#youth-triumphant">Youth Triumphant</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#awakening">Awakening</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#threats">Threats</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#piquette-takes-a-hand">Piquette Takes a Hand</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-samaritan">The Samaritan</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#confessions">Confessions</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#quinlevin-speaks">Quinlevin Speaks</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#beginning-a-journey">Beginning a Journey</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-night-attack">A Night Attack</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#green-eyes">Green Eyes</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#nora-speaks">Nora Speaks</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#jim-makes-a-guess">Jim Makes a Guess</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#at-bay">At Bay</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#in-the-dark">In the Dark</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#freedom">Freedom</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-petit-bleu">The Petit Bleu</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#mystery">Mystery</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#escape">Escape</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-clue">The Clue</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-conclusion">The Conclusion</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">ILLUSTRATIONS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#she-crouched-watching-breathless-and-uncertain">She crouched, watching, breathless and uncertain</a><span> . . . </span><em class="italics">Frontispiece</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#moira-talked-gayly">Moira talked gayly</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#through-moira-s-clear-intelligence-the-epic-filtered">Through Moira's clear intelligence the epic filtered</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-mirror-sent-her-back-a-haggard-reflection-pale-and-somber">The mirror sent her back a haggard reflection, pale -and somber</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-convalescent"><span class="bold x-large">THE SPLENDID OUTCAST</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER I</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE CONVALESCENT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton awoke in high fever and great pain -but the operation upon his skull had been successful -and it was believed that he would recover. Something -as to the facts of the exploit of the wounded man -had come to the hospital and he was an object of especial -solicitude by both surgeons and nurses. They had worked -hard to save him that he might be alive for the decoration -that was sure to come and the night had brought a -distinct improvement in his condition. The nurse still -watched his breathing eagerly and wrote down the new -and favorable record upon the chart by his bedside. Miss -Newberry was not in the least sentimental and the war -had blunted her sensibilities, but there was no denying the -fact that when the dressing was removed from his head -the patient was extremely good to look at. He rewarded -her on the morrow with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long have I been here?" he murmured hazily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Six days," she replied; "but you mustn't talk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Six—? Wounded——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh—. In the head, shoulder and leg, but you're -doing nicely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you tell me——?" he began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she soothed him gently. "Not now—later -perhaps. You must sleep again. Drink this—please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton obeyed, for he found himself too weak to oppose -her. It was very restful here; he wriggled his toes -luxuriously against the soft sheets for a moment. If things -would only stop whirling around.... And the pain -... but that seemed to cease again and he slept. -Indeed his awakening was only to half-consciousness. Other -days and nights followed when he lay in a sort of doze, -aware of much suffering and a great confusion of thought. -But slowly, as he grew stronger, the facts of his present -position emerged from the dimness and with them a mild -curiosity, scarcely lucid as yet, as to how he had gotten -there. At last there came a morning when the fog upon -his memory seemed to roll aside and he began to recall -one by one the incidents that had preceded his -unconsciousness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There had been a fight. Some fight that was. Huns -all over the place—in a ring around the rocks, up in the -branches of the trees—everywhere. But he had held on -until the Boches had started to run when the American -line advanced. He remembered that the Engineers could -do other things besides build saps and bridges. Good old -Engineers! Something was wrong—somewhere.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Out of his clouded brain, slowly, the facts came to -him—things that had happened before the fight—just -before. Harry—his twin brother Harry, lying in the ditch -just behind Jim's squad of Engineers, a coward, in a -blue funk—afraid to carry out his Major's orders to go -forward and investigate. A coward, of course! Harry -would be. He had always been a coward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton sighed, his mind, ambling weakly into -vacancy, suddenly arrested by a query.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">What else?</em><span>—What else had happened? Something to -do with the remarkable likeness between himself and -Harry? The likeness,—so strong that only their own -mother had been able to tell them apart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Memory came to him with a rush. He remembered now -what had happened in the darkness, what he had done. -Taken Harry's lieutenant's uniform, giving the coward -his own corporal's outfit. Then he, Jim Horton, had -gone on and carried out the Major's orders, leaving the -coward writhing in the ditch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By George!——the fight—he, Jim Horton, had won -the victory at Boissière Wood for the —th Infantry—</span><em class="italics">for -Harry!—as Harry</em><span>!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps, he was really Harry and not Jim Horton at -all? He glanced around him curiously, as though -somewhat amused at the metempyschosis. And then -thoughtfully shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No. He was Jim Horton, all right—Jim Horton. -There was no mistake about that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Harry! Imagine meeting Harry in a situation like -that after all these years! A coward! Not that that was -a very surprising thing. Harry had always been a quitter. -There was nothing that Harry could do or be that wasn't -utterly despicable in the eyes of his brother Jim, and -after having spent the best part of five years trying to -live the memory of Harry down——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The nurse appeared silently and looked into Jim -Horton's eyes. He closed them a moment and then smiled -at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you feel?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better—lots better," he answered; "you see, I can -really think——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wouldn't try to do that—not yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm all right." And the nurse was ready for the -first time to believe that her patient was to remain this -side of the border line of the dim realm into which she -had seen so many go, for his eyes were clear and he spoke -with definite assurance. But the question that he asked -made her dubious again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say, nurse, would you mind telling me what my -name is?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gazed at him a moment as though a little disappointed -and then replied quietly: "Lieutenant Henry G. Horton, -of the —th Infantry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said the patient, "I see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you'd better sleep a while, then I want the -Major to see you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, don't bother; I'm coming through all right, now. -I'm sure of it. But I want to tell you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The nurse silenced him gently, then felt his pulse and -after another glance at him moved to the next bed. It -had been a wonderful operation, but then they couldn't -expect the impossible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton closed his eyes, but he didn't sleep. With -the shadow of death still hovering over him, he was trying -to think charitably of Harry, of the man who had worked -such havoc in the lives of those nearest him. The five -years that had passed since the death of their mother—poor, -tired soul who until the end believed the whole thing -a mistake—could not have been fruitful in anything but -evil in the life of the reprobate twin-brother who had -robbed the family of what had been left of the estate and -then fled away from the small town where they lived to -the gay lights of New York. And now here he was—an -officer of the United States Army where commissions do -not come without merit. What did it mean? Harry was -always clever enough, too clever by half. Had he quit -drinking? Was he living straight? There seemed but -one answer to these questions, or he could not have held -his job in the army. His job! His commission wouldn't -last long if his commanding officer knew what Jim -Horton did.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They all thought that the patient in the hospital bed -was Harry Horton, a Lieutenant of the —th Infantry, -The corporal had won the lieutenant some glory, it -seemed, instead of the ruin that awaited the discovery -of the cowardice and disobedience of orders. But the -substitution would be discovered unless Jim Horton could -find his brother Harry. And how was he going to manage -that from his hospital bed?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A gentle perspiration exuded from Jim Horton's pores. -Being surrounded by Boches in the wood was distinctly -less hazardous than this. And so when the nurse -returned with the Major, he did his best to straighten out -the tangle. The Major was much pleased at the patient's -progress, made a suggestion or two about a change in -the treatment and was on the point of turning away when -Horton spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you mind, sir—just a word?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course. Something bothering you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You see——" the patient hesitated again, his lip -twisting, "this whole thing is a mistake."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor eyed the sick man narrowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A mistake?" And then kindly, "I don't understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton frowned at the bed-rail. "You see, sir, I'm -not Henry G. Horton. I—I'm somebody else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw the nurse and the doctor exchange glances,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, well," said the medical man with a smile, "I -wouldn't bother about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> bother about it, sir. I've got to tell you. -I'm another man. I changed uniforms with—with -another fellow in the dark," he finished uneasily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The same look passed between nurse and surgeon and -then he saw Miss Newberry's head move slightly from -left to right. The doctor rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, very well. Don't let it bother you, my man. -We'll get you all untangled presently. Just try not to -think; you're doing nicely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the Major moved slowly down the ward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton frowned at the medical officer's broad back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thinks I'm nutty," he muttered to himself, and then -grinned. The story </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> a little wild.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the Major had left the ward, the nurse came -back and smoothed Horton's pillow. "You're to be very -quiet," she said gently, "and sleep all you can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, nurse," he protested, "I don't want to sleep any -more. I told him the truth. I've taken another man's -place."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You did it very well, from all accounts," she said with -a smile; "and you'll take another man's before long, they -say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Promotion," she laughed; "but you won't get it if -you have a relapse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not going to have a relapse. I'm all right. Better -every day, and I'd like you to understand that I know -exactly what I'm saying. I took another man's job. He -was—was sick and I took his place. I'm not Lieutenant -Horton, nurse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You may be whatever you please, if you'll only go to -sleep."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bless your heart! That isn't going to change my -identity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His positiveness rather startled her and made her pause -and stare at him soberly. But in a moment her lips curved -into a smile, rather tender and sympathetic. It wouldn't -do to let this illusion grow, so gently she said: "Your -authenticity is well vouched for. The report of your -company Captain—the Sergeant-Major of your battalion. -You see, you've become rather a famous person in -the —th. I've seen some of your papers, they're all -quite regular. Even your identification disk. It's here -in the drawer with some other things that were in your -pockets, so please relax and sleep again, won't you? I -mustn't talk to you. It's contrary to orders."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But nurse——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She patted him gently on the arm, put a warning finger -to her lips, and silently stole away. His gaze -followed her the length of the room until she disappeared -through the door when he sank back on his pillows with -a groan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nutty!" he muttered to himself; "wonder if I am." He -touched the bandage and realized that his head was -beginning to throb again. "No, I'm Jim Horton all -right, there's no doubt about that, but how I'm going -to make these seraphic idiots believe it is more than I can -see. That Sergeant! And the men.... By George! -And the Sergeant-Major. Probably looked me over at -the dressing station. Oh, Lord, what a mess!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Things began whirling around and Jim Horton closed -his eyes; he wasn't quite as strong as he thought he was, -and after a while he slept again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Downstairs in the Major's office two surgeons and the -nurse in charge were discussing the case.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Queer obsession that. Thinks he's another man. There -may be some pressure there yet. It ought to have cleared -up by this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's shock, sir, I think. He'll come out of it. He's -coming on, Miss Newberry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Splendidly. That's what I can't understand. He -</span><em class="italics">looks</em><span> as though he knew what he was saying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Any chance of there being a mistake?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None at all, sir. Doctor Rawson came down with -him in the ambulance, his own company captain was there -when the patient was given first aid. He would have -known his own lieutenant, sir. There can't be any -mistake, but he has scarcely any fever——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind, keep an extra eye on him. The wound is -healing nicely. He'll come through all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So Nurse Newberry returned to the ward, somewhat -gratified to find her charge again peacefully asleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next day the patient did not revert to his obsession, -but lay very quiet looking out of the window. His -failure to reveal his secret left him moody and thoughtful. -But his temperature was normal and he was without pain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You say there were some things in the pockets of—of -my blouse," he asked of the nurse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, would you like to have them?" The patient -nodded and she gave them to him, the identification disk, -a wrist watch, some money, a note-book and some papers. -He looked them over in an abstracted way, sinking back -on his pillow at last, holding the letters in his hand. Then -at last as though coming to a difficult decision, he took -one of the letters out of its envelope and began reading.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was in a feminine hand and added more heavily to -the burden of his responsibilities.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Dear Harry" (it ran):</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm just back to my room, a wife of three hours with a -honeymoon in a railway station! It all seems such a -mistake—without even an old shoe to bless myself with. If -I've helped you I'm glad of it. But I'm not going to lie just -to square us two with the Almighty for the mockery I've -been through. I don't love you, Harry, and you know that. -I did what Dad asked me to do and I'd do it again if he -asked me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He seems restless to-night, and talks about going back -to Paris. I suppose I could do something over there for I've -lost all impulse for my work. Perhaps we'll come and then -you could run up and see us. I'll try to be nice to you, Harry, -I will really. You know there's always been something lacking -in me. I seem to have given everything to my painting, -so there's very little left for you, which is the Irish in me -saying I'm a heartless hussy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Soon I'll be sending you the pair of gray socks which I -knitted with my own hands. They're bunchy in spots and -there's a knot or two here and there, but I hope you can wear -them—for the Deil's own time I had making them. Good-night. -I suppose that I should be feeling proud at my sacrifice; -I don't, somehow, but I'll be feeling glad if you have -another bar to your shoulder. That might make me proud, -knowing that I'd helped.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>MOIRA."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"P. S. Don't be getting killed or anything; I never wanted -to marry anybody but I don't want you done away with. -Besides, I've a horror of crêpe.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>M."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton read the letter through furtively with a -growing sense of intrusion. It was like listening at a -confessional or peering through a keyhole. And somehow its -ingenuous frankness aroused his interest. Harry had -been married to this girl who didn't love him and she -had consented because her father had wanted her to. He -felt unaccountably indignant on her account against -Harry and the father. Pretty name—Moira! Like -something out of a book. She seemed to breathe both -youth and hope tinged horribly with regret. He liked -her handwriting which had dashed into her thoughts -impulsively, and he also liked the slight scent of sachet -which still clung to the paper. He liked the girl better, -pitied her the more, because her instinct had been so -unerring. If she had thrown herself away she had done -it with her eyes wide open. A girl who could make such -a sacrifice from lofty motives, would hardly condone the -thing that Harry had been guilty of. A coward....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was another letter, of a much later date, in a -masculine hand. Jim Horton hesitated for a moment! -and then took it out of its envelope.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Harry boy," he read, "so far as I can see at this writing -the whole thing has gone to the demnition bow-wows. -Suddenly, without a by-your-leave, the money stopped coming. -I wrote de V. and cabled, but the devil of a reply did he give. -So I'm coming to Paris with Moira at once and it looks as -though we'd have to put the screws on. But I'd be feeling -better if the papers were all ship-shape and Bristol fashion. -You'll have to help. Maybe the uniform will turn the odd -trick. If it don't we'll find some way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel guilty as Hell about Moira. If you ever make her -unhappy I'll have the blood of your heart. But I'm hoping -that the love will come if you play the game straight with her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Meanwhile we'll feather the nest if we can. He's got to -'come across.' There's some agency working against us—and -I've got to be on the scene to ferret—</span><em class="italics">instanter</em><span>. Moira -got some portraits to do or we wouldn't have had the wherewithal -for the passage. As it is, I'll be having to make the -move with considerable skill, leaving some obligations behind. -But it can't be helped, and Moira won't know. The world is -but a poor place for the man who doesn't make it give him -a living. Mine has been wretched enough, God knows, and -the whisky one buys over the bar in New York is an insult -to an Irishman's intelligence, to say nothing of being a plague -upon his vitals.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough of this. Come to the Rue de Tavennes, No. 7, -in your next furlough, and we'll make a move. By that time -I'll have a plan. Moira sends her love.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<dl class="docutils"> -<dt class="noindent"><span>"Yours very faithfully,</span></dt> -<dd><p class="first last noindent pfirst"><span>"BARRY QUINLEVIN.</span></p> -</dd> -</dl> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>P. S. There was a pretty squall brewing over the Stamford -affair, but I reefed sail and weathered it. So you can -sleep in peace.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>B. Q."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton lay for a while thinking and then read the -two letters again. The masculine correspondent was the -girl's father. Barry Quinlevin, it seemed, was a -scoundrel of sorts—and the girl adored him. Many of the -passages in the letter were mystifying. Who was de -V——? And what was Harry's connection with this -affair? It was none of Jim Horton's business, but in spite -of himself he began feeling an intense sympathy for the -girl Moira, who was wrapped in the coils of what seemed -on its face to be an ugly intrigue, if it wasn't something -worse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Strange name, Quinlevin. It was Moira's name too, -Irish. The phrase about having Harry's heart's blood -showed that Barry Quinlevin wasn't beyond compunctions -about the girl. But why had he connived at this loveless -marriage? There must have been a reason for that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Morton put the letters in the drawer and gave the -problem up. It wasn't his business whom Harry had -married or why. The main thing was to get well and out of -the hospital so that he could find his brother and set the -tangle straight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He couldn't imagine just how the substitution was to -be accomplished, but if Harry had played the game there -was a chance that it might yet be done. He didn't want -Harry's job. And he silently cursed himself for the -unfortunate impetuous moment that had brought about all -the trouble. But how had he known that he was going -to be hit? If he had only succeeded in getting back to -the spot where Harry was waiting for him, no one would -ever have been the wiser. No one knew now, but of course -the masquerade couldn't last forever. The situation was -impossible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile what was Harry doing? Had he succeeded -in playing out the game during Jim Horton's sickness, -or had he found himself in a tight place and quit? It -would have been easy enough. Horton shivered slightly. -Desertion, flight, ignominy, disgrace. And it wasn't -Harry Horton's good name that would be in question, -but his own, that of Jim Horton, Corporal of Engineers. -As a name, it didn't stand for much yet, even out in -Kansas City, but he had never done anything to dishonor -it and he didn't want the few friends he had to think of -him as a quitter. Nobody had ever accused him of being -that. What a fool he had been to take such a chance -for a man like Harry!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the midst of these troublesome meditations, he was -aware of Nurse Newberry approaching from the end of -the ward. Following her were two people who stopped -at his bed, a man and a girl. The man was strong, with -grizzled hair, a bobbed Imperial and a waxed mustache. -The girl had black hair and slate-blue eyes. And even -as Jim Horton stared at them, he was aware of the man -confidently approaching and taking his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Harry, don't you know me?" a voice said. -"Rather hazy, eh? I don't wonder...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Who the devil were these people? There must be a -mistake. Jim Horton mumbled something. The visitor's -eyes were very dark brown shot with tiny streaks of -yellow and he looked like an amiable satyr.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've brought Moira—thought ye'd like to see her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The patient started—then recovered himself. He had -forgotten the lapse of time since the letters had been -written.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl advanced slowly as the man made place. Her -expression had been serious, but as she came forward she -smiled softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry," she was whispering, as he stared at her -loveliness, "don't you know me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira!" he muttered weakly. "I'm not——" But his -hands made no movement toward her and a warm flush -spread over the part of his face that was visible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've been very sick, Harry. But we came as soon -as they'd let us. And you're going to get well, thank the -Holy Virgin, and then——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not——" the words stuck in Jim Horton's throat. -And he couldn't utter them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're not what?" she questioned anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another pause of uncertainty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I'm not—very strong yet," he muttered weakly, -turning his head to one side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And as he said it, he knew that in sheer weakness of -fiber, spiritual as well as physical, he had made a decision.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Satyr behind her laughed softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naturally," he said, "but ye're going to be well very -soon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were both looking at him and something seemed -to be required of him. So with an effort,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long—how long have you been in France?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only three weeks," said Quinlevin, "watching the -bulletins daily for news of you. I found out a week ago, but -they wouldn't let us in until to-day. And we can stay only -five minutes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Moira spoke again, with a different note in her voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you glad that I came?" she asked. "It was the -least I could do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Glad!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The word seemed sufficient. Jim Horton seemed glad -to utter it. If she would only recognize the imposture and -relieve him of the terrible moment of confession. But she -didn't. She had accepted him as Quinlevin, as all the -others had done, for his face value, without a sign of -doubt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Barry Quinlevin stood beaming upon them both, -his bright eyes snapping benevolence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If ye get the V.C., Harry boy, she'll sure be -worshiping ye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton's gaze, fixed as though fascinated upon -the quiet slate-blue eyes, saw them close for a moment in -trouble, while a quick little frown puckered the white -forehead. And when she spoke again, her voice uttered -the truth that was in her heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One cannot deny valor," she said coolly. "It is the -greatest thing in the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wanted no misunderstandings. She only wanted -Harry Horton to know that love was not for her or for -him. The fakir under the bed clothes understood. She -preferred to speak of valor. Valor! If she only knew!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton gathered courage. If he wasn't to tell -the truth he would have to play his part.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Everybody is brave—out there," he said, with a gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But not brave enough for mention," said Quinlevin -genially. "It won't do, Harry boy. A hero ye were and -a hero ye'll remain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton felt the girl's calm gaze upon his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm so glad you've made good, Harry. I am. And -I want you to believe it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why did she gaze at him so steadily? It almost seemed -as though she had read his secret. He hoped that she -had. It would have simplified things enormously. But -she turned away with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're to come to us, of course, as soon as they let -you out," she said quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, rather," laughed Quinlevin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The nurse had approached and the girl Moira had -moved to the foot of the bed. Barry Quinlevin paused a -moment, putting a slip of paper in Horton's hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, </span><em class="italics">au revoir</em><span>, old lad. In a few days again——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wounded man's gaze followed the girl. She smiled -back once at him and then followed the nurse down the -ward. Jim Horton sank back into his pillows with a gasp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—now you've done it. Now you </span><em class="italics">have</em><span> gone and -done it," he muttered.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-mystery-deepens"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER II</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE MYSTERY DEEPENS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In a courageous moment, a day or so later, the -patient requested Nurse Newberry to try to get what -information she could as to the whereabouts of his -cousin, Corporal James Horton, B Company, —th -Engineers, and waited with some impatience and anxiety the -result of her inquiries. She discovered that Corporal -James Horton had been last seen in the fight for -Boissière Wood, but was now reported as missing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Missing!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The blank expression on the face of her patient was -rather pitiful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It probably means that he's a prisoner. He may be -all right. H.Q. is pretty cold-blooded with its -information."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the patient knew that Corporal Horton wasn't a -prisoner. If he was missing, it was because he had gone -to the rear—nothing less than a deserter. Nevertheless -the information, even indefinite as it was, brought him -comfort. He clung rather greedily to its very indefiniteness. -In the eyes of the army or of the world "missing" -meant "dead" or "prisoner," and until Harry revealed -himself, the good name of the corporal of Engineers was -safe. That was something.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the information brought the wounded man -abruptly to the point of realizing that he was now -definitely committed to play the role he had unwittingly -chosen. He had done his best to explain, but they hadn't -listened to him. And when confronted with the only -witnesses whose opinions seemed to matter (always excepting -Harry himself), he had miserably failed in carrying -out his first intentions. He tried to think of the whole -thing as a joke, but he found himself confronted with -possibilities which were far from amusing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The slate-blue Irish eyes of Harry's war-bride haunted -him. They were eyes meant to be tender and yet were -not. Her fine lips were meant for the full throated laughter -of happiness, and yet had only wreathed in faint -uncertain smiles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barry Quinlevin was a less agreeable figure to -contemplate. If Jim Horton hadn't read his letter to Harry -he would have found it easier to be beguiled by the man's -genial air of good fellowship and sympathy, but he -couldn't forget the incautious phrases of that -communication, and having first formed an unfavorable -impression, found no desire to correct it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To his surprise it was Moira who came the following -week to the hospital at Neuilly on visitors' day. Jim -Horton had decided on a course of action, but when she -approached his bed, all redolent with the joy of out of -doors, he quite forgot what he meant to say to her. In -Moira, too, he seemed to feel an effort to do her duty to -him with a good grace, which almost if not quite effaced -the impression of her earlier visit. She took his thin -hand in her own for a moment while she examined him -with a kindly interest, which he repaid with a fraternal -smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father sent me in his place," she said. "I've put -him to bed with a cold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm so glad——" said Horton, and then stopped with -a short laugh. "I mean—I'm glad you're here. I'm sorry -he's ill. Nothing serious?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no. He's a bit run down, that's all. And -you—you're feeling better?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He liked the soft way she slithered over the last syllable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes—of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All the while he felt her level gaze upon him, cool and -intensely serious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are out of danger entirely, they tell me. I see -they've taken the bandage off."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yesterday," he said. "I'm coming along very fast."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They promise before long that I can get out into -the air in a wheel-chair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That will do you all the good in the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In spite of himself, he knew that his eyes were regarding -her too intently, noting the well modeled nose, the -short upper lip, firm red mouth and resolute chin, all -tempered with the softness of youth and exquisite -femininity. He saw her chin lowered slightly as her gaze -dropped and turned aside while the slightest possible -compression of her lips indicated a thought in which he could -have no share.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have brought you some roses," she said quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are very beautiful. They will remind me of you -until you come again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sudden raising of her eyes as she looked at him over -the blossoms was something of a revelation, for they -smiled at him with splendid directness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> improving," she laughed, "or you've a -Blarney Stone under the pillow. I can't remember when -you've said anything so nice as that at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was thoughtful for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps I have a new vision," he said at last. "The -bullet in my head may have helped. It has probably -affected my optic nerve."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled with him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You really do seem different, somehow," she broke in. -"I can't exactly explain it. Perhaps it's the pallor that -makes the eyes look dark and your voice—it's -softer—entirely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really——!" he muttered, uncomfortably, his gaze -on the gray blanket. "Well, you see, I suppose it's what -I've been through. My eyes </span><em class="italics">would</em><span> seem darker, wouldn't -they, against white, and then my voice—er—it isn't -very strong yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, that's it," she replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes daunted him from his purpose a little, and he -knew that he would have to use extreme caution, but he -had resolved whatever came to see the game through. -After all, if she discovered his secret, it was only what he -had tried in vain to tell her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure of it," he went on. "When a fellow comes -as near death as I've been, it makes him different. I seem -to think in a new way about a lot of things—you, for -instance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Me——?" He fancied that there was a hard note -in her voice, a little toss, scarcely perceptible, of the -rounded chin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You see, you oughtn't ever to have married me. -You're too good for me. I'm just a plain rotter and -you—oh, what's the use?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused, hoping that she would speak. She did, -after a silence and a shrug.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father wanted it. It was one way of paying what he -owed you. I don't know how much that was, but I'm -still thinking I went pretty cheap." She halted abruptly -and then went on coolly, "I didn't come here to be thinking -unpleasant thoughts—or to be uttering them. So long -as we understand each other——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We do," he put in eagerly, almost appealingly. "I -want you to believe that I have no claim upon you—that -my—my relations with Barry Quinlevin will have nothing -to do with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I fell in love with another man— That never -seems to have occurred to either of you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed her soberness aside. "As far as I'm concerned, -divorce or suicide. I'll leave the choice to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gained his purpose, which was to bring the smile -to her lips again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your wounds have inoculated you with a sense of humor, -at any rate," she said, fingering the roses. "You've -always been lacking in that, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel that I can laugh at them now. But it might -have been better for you if I hadn't come out of the -ether."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I don't like your saying that. I haven't the -slightest intention of falling in love with any man at all. -I shan't be wanting to marry—really marry——" she -added, coloring a little. "I've begun my work. It needed -Paris again. And I'm going to succeed. You'll see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't a doubt of it. You were made for success—and -for happiness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure and I think that I was—now that you mention -it," she put in quaintly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't bother you. You can be certain of that," he -finished positively. And then cautiously, "Things have -not gone well—financially, I mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. And of course father's worried about it. Our -income from Ireland has stopped coming—something -about repairs, he says. But then, I suppose we will get -it again some day. Dad never did tell me anything, you -know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton thought for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He doesn't want to worry you, of course. And you -oughtn't to be worried. Things will come out all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I intend that they shall. Father always gave me the -best when he had it. I'll see that he doesn't suffer now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But that's my job, Moira. We'll get some money -together—some way—when I get out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks. But I'm hoping to do a lot of painting. -I've got one portrait to begin on—and it doesn't cost -much in the Quartier."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton sat up in bed and looked out of the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll get money," he said. "Don't you worry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw her eyes studying him quietly and he sank -back at once in bed out of the glare of the sunlight. He -wondered if he had gone too far. But he had found out -one of the things that he had wanted to know. She knew -nothing of what Barry Quinlevin was doing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her next remark was disquieting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's very strange, the way I'm thinking about you. -You've grown different in the army—or is it the sickness? -There's a sweeter look to your mouth, and a firmer -turn to your jaw. Your gaze is wider and your heart -has grown soft, with the suffering. It's like another -man, I'm seeing somehow, Harry, and I'm glad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Suffering—yes, perhaps," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She leaned forward impulsively and put her hand over -his, smiling brightly at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll be good friends now, alanah. I'm sure of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You like me a little better——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure and I wouldn't be sitting here holding hands if -I didn't," she laughed. Then with a quick glance at her -wrist watch she rose. "And now I must be going back -to father. Here is the nurse. Time is up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will come soon again?" he asked slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—with better news, I hope. </span><em class="italics">Au revoir, mon brave</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she was gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The visit gave him more food for thought. But he -hadn't learned much. What he did know now was that -the girl Moira trusted Barry Quinlevin implicitly and -that he had managed to keep her in ignorance as to the -real sources of his livelihood. The Irish rents had failed -to reach them! Were there any Irish rents? And if so, -what had "de V" to do with them? He took -Quinlevin's letter from under the pillow and re-read it -carefully. Nothing about Irish rents there. Perhaps other -letters had followed, that Harry had destroyed. In -any case he would have to play the game carefully with -the girl's father or Quinlevin would find him out before -Horton discovered what he wanted to know. The quiet -eyes of the girl Moira disturbed him. Her eyes, her -intuitions, were shrewd, yet he had succeeded so far. If he -could pass muster with the daughter, why shouldn't he -succeed with the father? The weakness, the failing -memory of a sick man, could be trusted to bridge -difficulties. If there had only been a few more letters he -would have been better equipped for the interview with -Barry Quinlevin, which must soon follow. He inquired of -Miss Newberry, but she had given him everything that had -been found in his uniform. He scrutinized the notebook -carefully, which contained only an expense account, some -addresses in Paris, and a few military notes, and so he -discarded it. It seemed that until Quinlevin came to the -hospital "de V" must remain one of the unsolved -mysteries of his versatile brother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Moira's innocence, while it failed to enlighten him -as to the mystery, made him more certain that her -loveless marriage with Harry had something to do with the -suspected intrigue. Did Harry love the girl? It seemed -scarcely possible that any man who was half a man could -be much with her without loving her. It wasn't like -Harry to marry any girl unless he had something to -gain by it. The conversation he had just had with Moira -showed exactly the relationship between them, if he had -needed any further evidence than her letter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As to his own personal relations with Moira, he found -it necessary to fortify himself against a more than -strictly fraternal interest in her personality. She was -extremely agreeable to look at and he had to admit that -her very presence had cheered up his particular part of -the hospital ward amazingly. Her quaintness, her quiet -directness and her modest demeanor, were inherent -characteristics, but they could not disguise the overflowing -vitality and humor that struggled against the limitations -she had imposed. Her roses, which Nurse Newberry had -arranged in a bowl by the bedside, were unnecessary -reminders of the giver. Like them, she was fragrant, -pristine and beautiful—altogether a much-to-be-desired -sister-in-law.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The visit of Barry Quinlevin was not long delayed and -Jim Horton received him in his wheel chair by an open -window in the convalescent ward. He came in with a -white silk handkerchief tied about his neck, but barring -a husky voice showed no ill effects of his indisposition. -He was an amiable looking rogue, and if the shade of -Whistler will forgive me, resembled much that illustrious -person in all the physical graces. It would be quite easy -to imagine that Barry Quinlevin could be quite as -dangerous an enemy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Harry boy, here I am," he announced, throwing -open his coat with something of an air, and loosening -his scarf. "No worse than the devil made me. And ye're -well again, they tell me, or so near it that ye're no longer -interesting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stronger every day," replied Horton cautiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then we can have a talk, maybe, without danger of -it breaking the spring in yer belfry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes,—but I'm a bit hazy at times," added Horton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, when the fog comes down, say the word and I'll -be going."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't worry. I want to hear the news."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin frowned at his walking stick. "It's little -enough, God knows." Then glanced toward the invalid -at the next window and lowered his voice a trifle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The spalpeen says not a word—or he's afflicted with -pen-paralysis, for I've written him three times—twice -since I reached Paris, giving him the address. So we'll -have to make a move."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What will you do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go to see him—or you can. At first, ye see, I thought -maybe he'd gone away or died or something. But I -watched the Hôtel de Vautrin in the Rue de Bac until I -saw him with my own eyes. That's how I took this -bronchitis—in the night air with devil a drink within a mile -of me. I saw him, I tell you, as hale and hearty as -ye please, and debonair like a new laid egg, with me, -Barry Quinlevin, in the rain, not four paces from the -carriage way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The visitor paused as though for a comment, and -Horton offered it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He didn't see you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Devil a one of me. For the moment I thought of -bracing him then and there. But I didn't—though I was -reduced to a small matter of a hundred francs or so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Things are as bad as that——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin shrugged. "I bettered myself a bit the next -night and I'll find a way——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He broke off with a shrug.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I'm not going to be wasting my talents on the -little officer-boys in Guillaume's. Besides, 'twould be -most unpatriotic. I'm out for bigger game, me son, that -spells itself in seven figures. Nothing less than a </span><em class="italics">coup -d'état</em><span> will satisfy the ambitions of Barry Quinlevin!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" asked Horton shrewdly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For the present ye're to stay where ye are, till yer -head is as tight as a drum, giving me the benefit of yer -sage advice. We'll worry along. The rent of the -apartment and studio is a meager two hundred francs and the -food—well, we will eat enough. And Moira has some -work to do. But we can't be letting the Duc forget I've -ever existed. A man with a reputation in jeopardy and -twenty millions of francs, you'll admit, is not to be found -growing on every mulberry bush."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton nodded. It </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> blackmail then. The Duc de -Vautrin——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wrote that you had a plan," he said. "What is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barry Quinlevin waved a careless hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fair means, as one gentleman uses to another, if he -explains his negligence and remits the small balance due. -Otherwise, we'll have to squeeze him. A letter from a -good lawyer—if it wasn't for the testimony of Nora -Burke!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was silent in a moment of puzzled retrospection and -his glittering generalities only piqued Jim Horton's -curiosity, so that his eagerness led him into an error that -nearly undid him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nora Burke——" he put in slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wrote ye what happened——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I couldn't have received the letter——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped abruptly, for Quinlevin was staring at -him in astonishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then how the devil could ye have answered it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton covered the awkward moment by closing his -eyes and passing his fingers across his brow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Answered it! Funny I don't remember."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Irishman regarded him a moment soberly, and then -smiled in deprecation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course—ye've slipped a cog——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then suddenly he clapped a hand on Horton's knee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, man alive,—Nora Burke—the Irish nurse who -provides the necessary testimony—Moira's nurse, d'ye -mind, when she was a baby, who saw the Duc's child -die—now do ye remember——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton ran his fingers over his hair thoughtfully and -bent his head again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nora Burke—Moira's nurse—who saw the Duc's -child die," he repeated parrot-like, "and the Duc—de -Vautrin——" he muttered and paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thinks his child by this early marriage is still -alive——" said Quinlevin, regarding him dubiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," said Horton eagerly. "It's coming back -to me now. And de Vautrin's money——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll pay through the nose to keep the thing -quiet—unless——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barry Quinlevin paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unless—what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a moment of silence in which the visitor -frowned out of the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't like the look of things, I tell ye, Harry. -Ye're in no fit shape to help 'til the fog clears up, but -I've a mind that somebody's slipped a finger into the pie. -Nora Burke wants more money—five hundred pounds to -tell a straight story and where I'm going to get it—the -devil himself only knows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nora Burke—five hundred pounds!" muttered Horton -vaguely, for he was thinking deeply, "that's a lot of -money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye're right—when ye haven't got it. And de -Vautrin's shutting down at the same time. It looks -suspicious, I tell ye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He broke off and fixed his iridescent gaze on Horton. -"Ye're sure ye said nothing to any one in Paris before -ye went to the front?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of this at least Jim Horton was sure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing," he replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to Piquette Morin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here was dangerous ground again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing," he repeated slowly, "nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And ye wouldn't be remembering it if ye had," said -Quinlevin peevishly as he rose. "Oh, well—I'll have to -raise this money some way or go to Galway to put the -gag on Nora Burke until we play the trick——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I'm sorry I can't help——" said Horton, "but you -see—I'm not——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, I see," said Quinlevin more affably. "I -shouldn't be bothering ye so soon, but may the devil -take me if I know which way to turn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you see de Vautrin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps. But I may go to Ireland first. I've got to -do some thinking—alone. Good bye. Ye're not up to -the mark. Be careful when Moira comes, or ye may let -the cat out of the bag. D'ye hear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't worry—I won't," said Horton soberly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He watched the tall figure of Quinlevin until it -disappeared into the outer hall and then turned a frowning -gaze out of the window.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-goose"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER III</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE GOOSE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton had had a narrow escape from discovery. -But in spite of his precarious position and -the pitfalls that seemed to lay to right and left, -he had become, if anything, more determined than ever to -follow the fate to which he had committed himself. There -now seemed no doubt that Moira was in all innocence -involved in some way in the blackmailing scheme which had -been the main source of livelihood for the Quinlevin family -for many years. And Moira did not know, for the Duc de -Vautrin, of course, was the source of the Irish rents to -which she had alluded. And now he was refusing to pay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was clear that something unpleasant hung in the -air, an ill wind for the Duc de Vautrin and for the -plotters, Moira's father and Jim Horton's precious brother. -And it seemed quite necessary in the interests of honesty -that he, Jim Horton, should remain for the present in -the game and divert if possible the currents of evil which -encompassed his interesting sister-in-law.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One thing he had learned—that by taking refuge -behind the barriers of his failing memory, it might be -possible to keep up the deception, at least until he was out -of the hospital and a crisis of some sort came to relieve -him of his responsibility. Indeed there was something -most agreeable in the friendly regard of his brother's -loveless wife, and under other circumstances, the calls of -this charming person would have been the source of -unalloyed delight. For as the days passed, more and more -she threw off the restraint of her earlier visits and they -had now reached a relationship of understanding and -good-fellowship, most delightful and unusual in its -informality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton was progressing rapidly and except for -occasional lapses of memory, easily explained and -perfectly understood by his visitors, gained health and -strength until it was no longer a question of weeks but -of days when he should be able to leave the hospital and -accept the invitation of his newly discovered relatives -to visit the studio apartment. He had made further -efforts through the hospital authorities to find some trace -of the missing man but without success, and in default -of any definite plan of action chose to follow the line of -least resistance until something should happen. Barry -Quinlevin visited him twice, but spoke little of the affair -of the Duc de Vautrin which it seemed was being held -in abeyance for the moment, preferring to wait until the -brain and body of the injured man could help him to -plan and to execute. And Jim Horton, finding that -safety lay in silence or fatigue, did little further to -encourage his confidences.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus it was that after several weeks he impatiently -awaited Moira outside the hospital. It was a gorgeous -afternoon of blue and gold with the haze of Indian -Summer hanging lazily over the peaceful autumn landscape. -An aromatic odor of burning leaves was in the air and -about him aged men and women worked in road and -garden as though the alarms of war had never come to -their ears. The signing of the armistice, which had taken -place while Horton was still in his bed, had been the cause -of much quiet joy throughout the hospital. But with -the return of health, Jim Horton had begun wondering -what effect the peace was to have upon his strange -fortunes—and upon Harry's. He knew that for the present -he had been granted a furlough which he was to spend -with the Quinlevins in Paris, but after that, what was to -happen? He was a little dubious too about his relations -with Moira.... But when he saw her coming down the -path to the open air pavilion with Nurse Newberry, all -flushed with the prospect of carrying him off in triumph -in the ancient fiacre from which she had descended, he -could not deny a thrill of pleasure that was not all -fraternal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Behold, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>," she cried in greeting, "I've come -to take you prisoner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed gayly as he took her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And there's a goose in the pantry, bought at a -fabulous price, just waiting for the pan——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be sure you don't kill your prisoner with kindness," -put in Nurse Newberry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll take that risk," said Horton genially.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure and he must," put in Moira. "It isn't every day -one brings a conquering hero home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Especially when he's your husband," said the artless -Miss Newberry wistfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton had a glimpse of the color that ran like -a flame up Moira's throat to her brow but he glanced -quickly away and busied himself with a buckle at his belt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to thank you, Miss Newberry," he said soberly, -"for all that you've done for me. I'll never forget."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor I, Lieutenant Horton. But you're in better hands -than mine now. A week or so and you'll be as strong as -ever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've never felt better in my life," he replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They moved toward the conveyance, shook hands with -the nurse, and with Harry's baggage (which had just been -sent down from regimental headquarters) upon the box -beside the rubicund and rotund cocher, they drove out -of the gates and toward the long finger of the Eiffel Tower -which seemed to be beckoning to them across the blue -haze above the roof tops.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neither of them spoke for a moment. In the ward, in -the convalescent rooms or even in the grounds of the -hospital, Moira had been a visitor with a mission of -charity and cheer. Here in the </span><em class="italics">fiacre</em><span> the basis of their -relationship seemed suddenly and quite mysteriously to -change. Whether Moira felt it or not he did not know, -for she looked out of her window at the passing scene -and her partly averted profile revealed nothing of her -thoughts. But the fact that they were for the first time -really alone and driving to Moira's Paris apartment gave -him a qualm of guilt on account of the impossible -situation that he had created. He had, he thought, shown -her deep gratitude and respect—and had succeeded in -winning the friendship that Harry had perhaps taken -too much for granted. It had given Jim Horton pleasure -to think that Moira now really liked him for himself -alone, and the whole-heartedness of her good fellowship -had given him every token of her spirit of conciliation. -She had had her moods of reserve before, like the one of -her present silence, but the abundance of her vitality and -sense of humor had responded unconsciously to his own -and they had drawn closer with the artless grace of two -children thrown upon their own resources. And now, here -in the ramshackle vehicle, for the first time alone, Jim -Horton would have very much liked to take her by the -hand (which lay most temptingly upon the seat beside -him) and tell her the truth. But that meant Harry's -disgrace—the anguish of her discovering that such a -friendship as this with her own husband could never be; -for in her eyes Jim Horton had seen her own courage -and a contempt for all things that Harry was or could -ever hope to be. And so, with an effort he folded his -arms resolutely and stared out of his window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was then that her voice recalled him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't you smell that goose, Harry dear?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He flashed a quick smile at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just can't I!" he laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you're to help me cook it—and vegetables and -coffee. You know"—she finished, "nothing ever tastes -quite so good as when you cook it yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you do all the cooking——?" he asked thoughtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes—but more often we go to a café. Sometimes -Madame Toupin helps, the </span><em class="italics">concierge</em><span>—but father -thinks my cooking is the best."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't doubt it. I shall, too." And then, "where is -your father to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him, eyes wide as though suddenly reminded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I forgot," she gasped. "He asked me to tell you -that he was obliged to be leaving for Ireland—about the -Irish rents. Isn't it tiresome?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Horton quietly. "I see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned his thoughtful gaze out of the carriage -window into the Avenue de Neuilly. The situation had its -charm, but he had counted on the presence of Barry -Quinlevin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How long will he be gone?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," she replied, "a week or more perhaps. -But I'll try to make you comfortable. I've wanted -so to have everything nice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her warmth. "You forget that—that I've -learned to be a soldier, Moira. A blanket on the floor of -the studio and I'll be as happy as a king——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. You shall have the best that there is—the very -best—</span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't propose to let you work for me, Moira. I -can get some money. I can find a </span><em class="italics">pension</em><span> somewhere near -and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned toward him suddenly, her eyes very close -to tears. "Do you wish to make me unhappy—when I've -tried so hard to—to——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira!" He caught her hand to his lips and kissed -it gently, "I didn't mean——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've wanted so for you to forget how unkind I had -been to you—to make this seem like a real homecoming -after all you've been through. And now to hear you -talking of going to a </span><em class="italics">pension</em><span>——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira—I thought it might be inconvenient—that it -might be more pleasant for you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He broke down miserably. She released her fingers -gently and turned away. "Sure Alanah, and I think -that I should be the judge of that," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll say no more about it," he muttered. "But -I—I'm very grateful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira's lips wreathed into an adorable smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been thinking the war has done something to you, -Harry. And now I'm sure of it. You've been learning to -think of somebody beside yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd be pretty rotten if I hadn't learned to do some -thinking about </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>," he said, as he looked into her eyes -with more hardihood than wisdom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She met his gaze for the fraction of a minute and then -raised her chin and laughed merrily up at the broad -back of the cocher.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you've changed, Harry dear. God knows how -or why—but you've changed. You'll be paying me some -compliments upon my pulchritude and heavenly virtues -by and by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why shouldn't I?" he insisted soberly when her -laughter subsided. "Your loveliness is only the outward -and visible sign of the inward and spiritual grace. I'm -so sure of it that I don't care whether you laugh or not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I lovely? You think so? Well—it's nice to hear -even if it only makes conversation. Also that my nose is -not so bad, even if it does turn piously to Heaven—but -there's a deep dent in my chin which means that I've got -a bit of the devil in me—bad cess to him—so that you'd -better do just what I want you to—or we'll have a falling -out. And that would be a pity—because of the goose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed as gayly as she had done.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've a notion, Moira," he said, "that it's my goose -you're going to cook."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I've a notion," she said poising a slim gloved -finger for a second upon his knee, "I've a notion that -we're both going to cook him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It seemed too much like a prophecy to be quite to his -liking. Her moods were Protean and her rapid transitions -bewildered. And yet, under them all, he realized -how sane she was, how honest with him and with herself -and how free from any guile. She trusted him entirely -as one good friend would trust another and the thought -of any evil coming to her through his strange venture into -Harry's shoes made him most unhappy. But her pretty -dream of a husband with whom she could at least be on -terms of friendship must some day come to an end -... And yet ... suppose the report that Harry was missing -meant that he was dead. A bit of shrapnel—a bullet—he -didn't wish it—but that chance was within the range -of the possible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had passed down the avenue of the Grande Armée, -into the place de l'Étoile, and were now in the magnificent -reaches of the Champs Élysées. Jim Horton had only -been in Paris for five hours between trains, little more -than long enough to open an account at a bank, but -Moira chattered on gayly with the point of view of an -</span><em class="italics">intime</em><span>, showing him the places which they must visit -together, throwing in a word of history here, an incident or -adventure there, giving the places they passed, the -personality of her point of view, highly tinged with the -artist's idealism. From her talk he gathered that she -had lived much in Paris during all her student days -and except for the little corner in Ireland where she had -been born and which she had visited from time to time, -loved it better than any place in the world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I shall teach you to speak French, Harry—the -real </span><em class="italics">argot</em><span> of the </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span>—and you shall love it as I -do——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do speak it a little already," he ventured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really! And who was your instructress?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dropping intonation was sudden and very direct.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton looked out of the window. He was sure -that Harry wouldn't have been able to meet her gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No one," he muttered, "at least no girl. That's the -truth. We had books and things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," she finished dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her attitude in this matter was a revelation. The -incident seemed to clarify their relations and in a new -way, for in a moment she was conversing again in a -manner most unconcerned. Friendly she might be with Harry -for the sake of the things that he had accomplished, -companionable and kind for the sake of the things he had -suffered, but as for any deeper feeling—-that was another -matter. Moira was no fool.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But at least she trusted him now. She dared to trust -him. Otherwise, why did she conduct him with such an -air of unconcern to the apartment in the Rue de -Tavennes? But he couldn't be unaware of the alertness -in her unconcern, an occasional quick and furtive side -glance which showed that, however friendly, she was still -on her guard. Perhaps she wanted to study this -newly-discovered Harry at closer range. But why had she -chosen the venture? He had given her her chance. Why -had she refused to take it?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The answers to these questions were still puzzling him -when they drove up the hill by the Boulevard St. Michel—</span><em class="italics">Boul' -Miché</em><span> she called it—reached the Luxembourg Gardens -and then turning into a smaller street were presently -deposited at their </span><em class="italics">porte cochère</em><span>. Her air of gayety was -infectious and she presented him to the good Madame -Toupin, who came out to meet them with the air of one -greeting an ambassador.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Welcome, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Lieutenant</em><span>. Madame Horton -has promised us this visit since a long time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Merci, Madame.</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Enter, Monsieur—this house is honored. Thank the -</span><em class="italics">bon Dieu</em><span> for the Americans."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton bowed and followed Moira into the small -court and up the stairway, experiencing a new sense of -guilt at having his name coupled so familiarly with -Moira's. Harry's name too—. And yet the circumstances -of the marriage were so strange, the facts as to her actual -relations with her husband so patent, that he found -himself resenting Moira's placid acceptance of the appellation. -There was something back of it all that he did not -know.... But Moira gave him no time to think of -the matter, conducting him into the large studio and -showing him through the bedroom and kitchen, where she -proudly exhibited her goose (and Jim Horton's) that she -was to cook. And after he had deposited his luggage in -a room nearby which he was to occupy, she removed her -gloves in a business-like manner, took off her hat and -coat, and invited him into the kitchen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>, Monsieur," she said gayly in French, as she -rolled up her sleeves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall now cook a goose, in this modern apparatus -so kindly furnished by the </span><em class="italics">Compagnie de Gaz</em><span>. There's a -large knife in the drawer. You will now help me to cut -up the potatoes—Julienne,—and the carrots which we -shall stew. Then some lettuce and a beautiful dessert -from the </span><em class="italics">pâtisserie</em><span>—and a </span><em class="italics">demi-tasse</em><span>. What more can -the soul of man desire?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Rien</em><span>," he replied with a triumphant grin of -understanding from behind the dish pan. "</span><em class="italics">Absolument rien</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you do understand," she cried in English. "Was -she a </span><em class="italics">blonde—cendrée</em><span>? Or dark with sloe-eyes? Or -red-haired? If she was red-haired, Harry, I'll be -scratching her eyes out. No?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head and laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She was black and white and her name was Ollendorff."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll still persist in that deception?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're almost too proficient."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You had better not try me too far."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled brightly at him over the fowl which she was -getting ready for the pan, stuffing it with a dressing -already prepared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder how far I might be trying you, Harry dear," -she said mischievously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," he said quietly "but I think I've learned -something of the meaning of patience in the army."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then God be praised!" she ejaculated with air of -piety, putting the fowl into the pan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here. Cut. Slice to your heart's content, thin—like -jack-straws. But spare your fingers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat him in a chair and saw him begin while she -prepared the salad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Patience is by way of being a virtue," she resumed -quizzically, her pink fingers weaving among the lettuce-leaves. -And then, "so they taught you that in the Army?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And did you never get tired of being patient, Harry -dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He met the issue squarely. "You may try me as far as -you like, Moira," he said quietly, "I owe you that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hadn't bargained for such a counter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," she muttered, and diligently examined a doubtful -lettuce leaf by the fading light of the small window, while -Horton sliced scrupulously at his potato. And when the -goose was safely over the flame she quickly disappeared -into the studio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He couldn't make her out. It seemed that a devil was -in her, a mischievous, beautiful, tantalizing, little Irish -she-devil, bent on psychological investigation. Also he -had never before seen her with her hat off and he -discovered that he liked her hair. It had bluish tints that -precisely matched her eyes. He finished his last potato -with meticulous diligence and then quickly rose and -followed her into the studio where a transformation had -already taken place. A table over which a white cloth -had been thrown, had been drawn out near the big easel -and upon it were plates, glasses, knives and forks and -candles with rose-colored shades, and there was even a -bowl of flowers. In the hearth fagots were crackling -and warmed the cool shadows from the big north light, -already violet with the falling dusk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Voilà</em><span>, Monsieur—we are now </span><em class="italics">chez nous</em><span>. Is it not -pleasant?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was, and he said so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You like my studio?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's great. And the portrait—may I see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—it doesn't go—</span><em class="italics">on sent le souffle</em><span>—a French -dowager who braved the Fokkers when all her family -were </span><em class="italics">froussards</em><span>—fled in terror. She deserves -immortality."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you—were you not afraid of the bombardments?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hardly—not after all the trouble we had getting -here—Horrors!" she broke off suddenly and catching him -by the hand dashed for the kitchen whence came an -appetizing odor—"The goose! we've forgotten the goose," -she cried, and proceeded to baste it skillfully. She -commended his potatoes and bade him stir them in the pan -while she made the salad dressing—much oil, a little -vinegar, paprika, salt in a bowl with a piece of ice at the -end of a fork.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He watched her curiously with the eyes of inexperience -as she brought all the various operations neatly to -a focus.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>! It is done," she said finally—in French. "Go -thou and sit at the table and I will serve."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he wouldn't do that and helped her to dish the -dinner, bringing it in and placing it on the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And at last they were seated </span><em class="italics">vis-à-vis</em><span>, Horton with his -back to the fire, the glow of which played a pretty game -of hide and seek with the shadows of her face. He let her -carve the goose, and she did it skillfully, while he served -the vegetables. They ate and drank to each other in -</span><em class="italics">vin ordinaire</em><span> which was all that Moira could afford—after -the prodigal expenditure for the </span><em class="italics">pièce de résistance</em><span>. -Moira, her face a little flushed, talked gayly, while the -spurious husband opposite sat watching her and grinning -comfortably. He couldn't remember when he had been -quite so happy in his life, or quite so conscience-stricken. -And so he fell silent after a while, every impulse urging -confession and yet not daring it.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 61%" id="figure-42"> -<span id="moira-talked-gayly"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="MOIRA TALKED GAYLY" src="images/img-038.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">MOIRA TALKED GAYLY</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>They took their coffee by the embers of the fire. The -light from the great north window had long since expired -and the mellow glow of the candles flickered softly on -polished surfaces.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly Moira stopped talking and realized that as -she did so silence had fallen. Her companion had sunk -deep into his chair, his gaze on the gallery above, a frown -tangling his forehead. She glanced at him quickly and -then looked away. Something was required of him and so,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why have you done all this for me?" he asked gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled and their glances met.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because—because——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you thought it a duty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No——," easily, "it wasn't really that. Duty is such -a tiresome word. To do one's duty is to do something -one does not want to do. Don't I seem to be having a -good time?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope you are. I'm not likely to forget your -charity—your——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Charity! I don't like that word."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> charity, Moira. I don't deserve it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The words were casual but they seemed to illumine the -path ahead, for she broke out impetuously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't think you did—I pitied you—over there—for -what you had been and almost if not quite loathed you, -for the hold you seemed to have on father. I don't know -what the secret was, or how much he owed you, but I -know that he was miserable. I think I must have been -hating you a great deal, Harry dear—and yet I married -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you?" he muttered. "I had no right to -ask—even a war marriage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God knows," she said with a quick gasp as she bowed -her head, "you had made good at the Camp. I think -it was the regimental band at Yaphank that brought me -around. And then you seemed so pathetic and wishful, -I got to thinking you might be killed. Father wanted it. -And so——" she paused and sighed deeply. "Well—I -did it.... It was the most that I could give—for -Liberty...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She raised her head proudly, and stared into the -glowing embers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For Liberty—you gave your own freedom——" he -murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was mad—Quixotic——" she broke in again, "a -horrible sacrilege. I did not love, could not honor, had -no intention of obeying you...." She stopped suddenly, -and hid her face in her hands. He thought that -she was in tears but he did not dare to touch her, though -he leaned toward her, his fingers groping. Presently she -took her hands down and threw them out in a wild -gesture. "It is merciless—what I am saying to you—but -you let loose the floodgates and I had to speak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned closer and laid his fingers over hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was a mistake——" he said. "I would do anything -to repair it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He meant what he said and the deep tones of his voice -vibrated close to her ear. She did not turn to look at -him and kept her gaze on the fire, but she breathed -uneasily and then closed her eyes a moment as though in -deep thought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you believe me, Moira?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced at him and then leaned forward, -away—toward the fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe that I do," she replied slowly. "I don't -know why it is that I should be thinking so differently -about you, but I do. You see, if I hadn't trusted you -we'd never have been sitting here this night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I gave you your chance to be alone——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You did that. But I couldn't let you be going -to a </span><em class="italics">pension</em><span>, Harry. I think it was the pity for your -pale face against the pillows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing else?" he asked quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His hand had taken the fingers on the chair arm and -she did not withdraw them at once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure and maybe it was the blarney."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've meant what I've said," he whispered in spite of -himself, "you're the loveliest girl in all the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a moment of silence in which her hand -fluttered uneasily in his, while a gentle color came into her -face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then abruptly she withdrew her fingers and sprang -up, her face aflame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go along with you! You'll be making love to me next."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sank back into his chair, silent, perturbed, as he -realized that this was just what was in his heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," she laughed, "we've got all the dishes to wash. -And then you're to be getting to bed, or your head will -be aching in the morning. </span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She brought him to himself with the clear, cool note -of </span><em class="italics">camaraderie</em><span>, and with a short laugh and a shrug which -hid a complexity of feeling, he followed her into the -kitchen with the dishes. But a restraint had fallen between -them. Moira worked with a business-like air, rather -overdoing it. And Jim Horton, sure that he was a -blackguard of sorts, wiped the dishes she handed to him and -then obediently followed her to the room off the hall -where his baggage had been carried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put the candle on the table and gave him her -frankest smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sleep sound, my dear. For to-morrow I'll be showing -you the sights."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-night, Moira," he said gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Dormez bien</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she was gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood staring at the closed door, aware of the -sharp click of the latch and the faint firm tap of her -high heels diminishing along the hall—then the closing -of the studio door. For a long while he stood there, not -moving, and then mechanically took out a cigarette, -tapping it against the back of his hand. Only the urge of -a light for his cigarette from the candle at last made -him turn away. Then he sank upon the edge of the bed -and smoked for awhile, his brows furrowed in thought. -Nothing that Harry had ever done seemed more despicable -than the part that he had chosen to play. He was -winning her friendship, her esteem, something even finer -than these, perhaps—for Harry—</span><em class="italics">as</em><span> Harry, borrowing -from their tragic marriage the right to this strange -intimacy. If her dislike of him had only continued, if she -had tolerated him, even, or if she had been other than -she was, his path would have been smoother. But she was -making it very difficult for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paced the floor again for awhile, until his cigarette -burnt his fingers, then he walked to the window, opened -it and looked out. It was early yet—only eleven o'clock. -The thought of sleep annoyed him. So he took up his -cap, blew out the candle and went quietly out into the hall -and down the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He wanted to be alone with his thoughts away from -the associations of the studio, to assume his true guise -as an alien and an enemy to this girl who had learned to -trust him. The cool air of the court-yard seemed to -clear his thoughts. In all honor—in all decency, he must -discover some way of finding his brother Harry, expose -the ugly intrigue and then take Harry's place and go out -into the darkness of ignominy and disgrace. That would -require some courage, he could see, more than it had -taken to go out against the Boche machine gunners in the -darkness of Boissière Wood, but there didn't seem to be -anything else to do, if he wanted to preserve his own -self-respect....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But of what value was self-respect to a man publicly -disgraced? And unless he could devise some miracle that -would enable him to come back from the dead, a miracle -that would stand the test of a rigid army investigation, -the penalty of his action was death—or at the least a -long term of imprisonment in a Federal prison, from -which he would emerge a broken and ruined man of middle -age. This alternative was not cheering and yet he faced -it bravely. He would have to find Harry.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The feat was not difficult, for as he emerged from the -gate of the </span><em class="italics">porte cochère</em><span> of the </span><em class="italics">concierge</em><span> and turned -thoughtfully down the darkened street outside, a man in -a battered slouch hat and civilian clothes approached -from the angle of a wall and faced him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What the H—— are you doing at No. 7 Rue de -Tavennes?" said a voice gruffly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton started back at the sound, now aware that -Fortune had presented him with his alternative. For -the man in the slouch hat was his brother, Harry!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="outcast"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">OUTCAST</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When Jim Horton, Corporal of Engineers, took -his twin brother's uniform and moved off into -the darkness toward the German lines, Harry -Horton remained as his brother had left him, bewildered, -angry, and still very much afraid. The idea of -taking Jim Horton's place with his squad nearby did not -appeal to him. The danger of discovery was too -obvious—and soon perhaps the squad would have to -advance into the dreadful curtain of black that would -spout fire and death. He was fed up with it. The -baptism of fire in the afternoon had shaken him when they -lay in the field. It was the grinning head of Levinski -of the fourth squad that had done the business. He had -found it staring at him in the wheat as the platoon crawled -forward. It wasn't so much that it was an isolated head, -as that it was the isolated head of Levinski, for he hadn't -liked Levinski and he knew that the man had hated him. -And now Levinski had had his revenge. Harry had been -deathly ill at the stomach, and had not gone forward -with the platoon. He had seen the whites of the eyes of -his men as they had glanced aside at him—and spat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why the H—— he had ever gone into the thing -... And now ... suppose Jim didn't come back! What -should he do? Why had the Major picked him out for -this duty! His thoughts wandered wildly from one -fancied injury to another. And Jim—it was like him -to turn up and plunge into this wild venture that would -probably bring them both to court-martial. And if Jim -was shot, what the devil was he to do? Go on through the -service as Jim Horton, Corporal of Engineers? He -cursed silently while he groveled in the gully waiting for -the shots that were to decide his fate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment he gathered nerve enough to pick up -Jim's rifle and accoutrement with the intention of joining -the squad of engineers. But just at that moment there -were sounds of shots within the wood, followed by others -closer at hand, and then bullets ripped viciously through -the foliage just above him. By a movement just ahead of -him he knew that the line was advancing. He couldn't -... his knees refused him ... so he crawled into -the thicket along the gully and lay upon the ground -among the fallen leaves. More shots. Cries all about -him. A grunt of pain after a shrapnel burst nearby -... the rush of feet as the second wave filtered through -... then the rapid crackle of the engagement in the -wood. Jim was there—in </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> uniform. He'd be taking -long chances too. He had always been a fool....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From his cover he marked the dawn while the fighting -raged—then sunrise. The fire seemed to slacken and then -move farther away. The line was still advancing and only -the wounded were coming in—some of them walking cases, -with bandaged heads and arms. He eyed them through -the bushes furtively—vengefully. Why couldn't he have -gotten a wound like that—in the afternoon in the wheat -field—instead of finding the head of Levinski and the -terror that it had brought? Other wounded were coming -on stretchers now. The gully near him made an easy -path to the plain below and many of them passed near -him ... but he lay very still beneath the leaves. What -if Jim came back on a stretcher...! What should -he do?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then suddenly as though in answer to his question two -men emerged from the hollow above and approached, -carrying something between them. There was a man of -Harry's own platoon and a sergeant of the company. -He heard their voices and at the sound of them he cowered -lower.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some say he showed yellow yesterday in the wheat -field," said the private.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yellow! They'd better not let </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> hear 'em sayin' it——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were talking about </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>—Harry Horton. And -the figure, lying awkwardly, a shapeless mass——?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the risk of discovery, the coward straightened and -peered down into the white face ... Jim!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry Horton didn't remember anything very distinctly -for a while after that, for his thoughts were much -confused. But out of the chaos emerged the persistent -instinct of self preservation. There was no use trying -to find Jim's squad now. He wouldn't know them if he -saw them. And how could he explain his absence with no -wound to show? For a moment the desperate expedient -occurred to him of thrusting himself through the leg -with the bayonet. He even took Jim's weapon out of its -scabbard. But the blue steel gave him a touch of the -nausea that had come over him in the wheat field.... -That wouldn't do. And what was the use? They had -Harry Horton lying near death on the stretcher. What -mattered what happened to the brother? There was no -chance now to exchange identities. Perhaps there was -never to be a chance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sank down again into the thicket, pulling the leaves -about him. He would find a way. It could be managed. -"Missing"—that was the safest way out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That night, limping slightly, he emerged and made his -way to the rear. It was ridiculously easy. Of the men -he met he asked the way to the billets of the —th -Regiment. But he didn't go where they told him. He followed -their instructions until out of sight of them, and then went -in the opposite direction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He managed at last to get some food at a small farm -house and under the pretext of having been sent to borrow -peasant clothing for the Intelligence department, managed -to get a pair of trousers, shirt, coat and hat. He had -buried his rifle the night before and now when the -opportunity came he dropped the bundle of Jim Horton's -corporal's uniform, weighted by a stone, into deep water -from a bridge over a river. With the splash Corporal -James Horton of the Engineers had ceased to exist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the end of two weeks, thanks to some money that -he had found in Jim's uniform—and a great deal of good -luck—he was safe in a quiet pastoral country far from the -battle line. Here he saw no uniforms—only old men and -women in blouses and sabots, occupying themselves with -the harvest, aware only that the Boches were in retreat -and that their own fields were forever safe from invasion. -He represented himself as an American art student of -Paris, driven by poverty from the city, and offered to -work for board and lodging. They took him, and there -he stayed for awhile. There was a girl in the family. -It was very pleasant. The nearest town was St. Florentin, -and Paris was a hundred miles away. But after a few -weeks he wearied of it, and of the girl, and having twenty -francs left in his pockets stole away in the middle of the -night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paris was the place for him. There identities were not -questioned. He knew something of Paris. Piquette Morin! -He could get her help without telling any unnecessary -facts. As to Barry Quinlevin and Moira—that was -different. It wouldn't be pleasant to fall completely in the -power of a man like Barry Quinlevin—even if he was now -his father-in-law. And Moira ... No. Moira mustn't -ever know if he could prevent it. And yet if Jim Horton -in Harry's uniform had been killed Harry would be -officially dead. He was already dead, to Moira, if Jim -Horton had revived enough to tell the truth. It wasn't -a pretty story to be spread around. But if Jim were -alive ... what then?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were ways of getting along in Paris. He would -find a way even if ... Moira! He would have liked -to be able to go to Moira. She was the one creature in -the world whose opinion seemed to matter now. She would -have been his on the next furlough. He knew women. If -you couldn't get them one way you could another. Already -her letters had been gentler—more conciliatory. His -wife—the wife of an outcast! God! Why had he ever -gone into the service? How had he known back there -that he wouldn't have been able to stand up under -fire—that he would have found the grinning head of the hated -Levinski in the wheat field? Waves of goose flesh went -over him and left him cold and weak.... A sullen -mood followed, dull, embittered, and vengeful, against all -the world, with only one hope.... If Jim were -alive—and silent!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That opened possibilities—to substitute with his -brother and come back to his own—with all the honors of -the fool performance! It was </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> name, </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> job that Jim -had taken, and his brother couldn't keep him out of them. -He could make Jim give them up—he'd </span><em class="italics">make</em><span> him. If he -couldn't come back himself, he would drag Jim down with -him—they would be outcast together. In the dark that -night he would have managed in some way to carry out -the Major's orders if Jim hadn't found him just at the -worst moment. What right had Jim to go butting in and -making a fool of them both! D—n him!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He found his way into Paris at the end of a dreary -day of tramping. He had a few francs left but he was -tired and very hungry. With a lie framed he went -straight to the apartment of Piquette Morin. She had -gone out of town for a few days.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That failure baffled him. He had a deposit in a bank, -but he dared not draw it out. So he trudged the weary -way up to Montmartre, saving his sous, and hired a bed -into which he dropped more dead than alive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus it was that two nights later, unable yet to bring -himself to the point of begging from passersby, with scant -hope indeed of success, his weary feet brought him at last -to the Rue de Tavennes. Hiding his face under the -shadow of his hat he inquired of the </span><em class="italics">concierge</em><span> and found -that the apartment of Madame Horton was </span><em class="italics">au troisième</em><span>. -He strolled past the </span><em class="italics">porte cochère</em><span> and walked on, looking -hungrily up at the lighted windows of the studio. Moira -was there—his wife, Barry Quinlevin perhaps. Who else? -He heard sounds of laughter from somewhere upstairs. -Laughter! The bitterness of it! But it didn't sound -like Moira's voice. He walked to and fro watching the -lighted windows and the entrance of the </span><em class="italics">concierge</em><span>, trying -to keep up the circulation of his blood, for the night was -chill and his clothing thin. He had no plan—but he was -very hungry and his resolution to remain unknown was -weakening. A man couldn't let himself slowly starve, and -yet to seek out any one he knew meant discovery and the -horrible publicity that must follow. The lights of the -</span><em class="italics">troisième étage</em><span> held a fascination for him, like that of a -flame for a moth. He saw a figure come to a window and -throw open the sash. He stared, unable to believe his -eyes. It was a man in the uniform of an officer of the -United States Army—his own uniform and the man who -wore it was his brother Jim! Alive—well, covered with -honors perhaps—here—in Moira's apartment? What -had happened to bring his brother here? And Moira ...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His head whirled with weakness and he stood for a -moment leaning against the wall, but his strength came -back to him in a moment, and he peered up at the window -again. The light had gone out. Jim masquerading in -his shoes—with Moira—as her husband—alone, perhaps, -in the apartment! And Moira? The words of conciliation -in her last letters which had seemed to promise so -much for the future, had a different significance here. -Fury shook him like a leaf, the fury of desperation, that -for the moment drove from his craven heart all fear of -an encounter with his brother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a sound of a door shutting and in a moment -he saw the man in uniform emerge by the gate of the -</span><em class="italics">concierge</em><span>. He walked toward the outcast, his head bent -in deep meditation. There was no doubt about its being -Jim. With clenched fists Harry barred his way, the -thought that was uppermost in his mind finding utterance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton stopped, stepped back a pace and then -peered at the man in civilian clothing from beneath his -broad army hat-brim.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry!" he muttered, almost inaudibly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you doing here—in this house?" raged -Harry in a voice thick with passion. And then, as no -reply came, "Answer me! Answer me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One of Harry's fists threatened but his brother caught -him by the wrist and with ridiculous ease twisted his -arm aside. He was surprised as Harry sank back weakly -against the wall with a snarl of pain. "D—n you," he -groaned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This wouldn't do. Any commotion would surely arouse -the curiosity of Madame Toupin, the </span><em class="italics">concierge</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep a civil tongue in your head, Harry," he muttered, -"and I'll talk to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He caught him firmly by the arm, but Harry still leaned -against the wall, muttering vaguely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A civil tongue—</span><em class="italics">me</em><span>? You—you dare ask me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Jim gently, "I've been trying to find you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where?" leered Harry, "in my wife's studio?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton turned suddenly furious, but shocked into -silence and inertia by the terrible significance of the -suspicion. But he pulled himself together with an effort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," he said quietly. "Let's get away from here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He felt Harry yield to the pressure of his fingers and -slowly they moved into the shadows down the street away -from the gas lamps. A moment later Harry was twitching -at his arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"G-get me something to cat. I—I'm hungry," he gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hungry! How long——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since yesterday morning—a crust of bread——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Jim had been eating goose——! The new sense -of his own guilt appalled him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since yesterday——!" he muttered in a quick gush of -compassion. "We'll find something—a </span><em class="italics">café</em><span>——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a place in the Rue Berthe—Javet's," he said -weakly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton caught his brother under an elbow and -helped him down the street, aware for the first time of the -cause of his weakness. He marked, too, the haggard -lines in Harry's face, and the two weeks' growth of beard -that effectually concealed all evidence of respectability. -There seemed little danger of any one's discovering the -likeness between the neatly garbed lieutenant and the -civilian who accompanied him. But it was well to be -careful. They passed a brilliantly lighted restaurant, but -in a nearby street after awhile they came to a small -</span><em class="italics">café</em><span>, not too brightly lighted, and they entered. There -was a polished zinc bar which ran the length of a room -with low, smoke-stained ceilings. At the bar were two -cochers, in shirt sleeves, their yellow-glazed hats on the -backs of their heads, sipping grenadine. There was a -winding stair which led to the living quarters above, but -through a doorway beside it, there was a glimpse of an -inner room with tables unoccupied. They entered and -Jim Horton ordered a substantial meal which was -presently set before the hungry man. The coffee revived him -and he ate greedily in moody silence while Jim Horton -sat, frowning at the opposite wall. For the present each -was deeply engrossed—Jim in the definite problem that -had suddenly presented itself, and the possible courses of -action open to do what was to be required of him; Harry -in his food, beyond which life at present held no other -interest. But after a while, which seemed interminable to -Jim, his brother gave a gasp of satisfaction, and pushed -back his dishes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me a cigarette," he demanded with something of -an air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim obeyed and even furnished a light, not missing the -evidences of Dutch courage Harry had acquired from -the stimulation of food and coffee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was curious what little difference the amenities -seemed to matter. They were purely mechanical—nor -would it matter what Harry was to say to him. The main -thing was to try to think clearly, obliterating his own -animus against his brother and the contempt in which he -held him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry sank back into his chair for a moment, inhaling -luxuriously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he said at last, "maybe you've got a word to -say about how the devil you got here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Jim quickly. "It's very simple. I was hit. -I took your identity in the hospital. There wasn't -anything else to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry glowered at the ash of his cigarette and then -shrugged heavily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see. They think you're me. That was nice of you, -Jim," he sneered, "very decent indeed, very kind and -brotherly——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd better 'can' the irony," Jim broke in briefly. -"They'd have found us out—both of us. And I reckon -you know what that would have meant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H—m. Maybe I do, maybe I don't," he said shrewdly. -"It was you who found me—er—sick. Nobody else did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We needn't speak of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We might as well. I'd have come around all right, -if you hadn't butted in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, would you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Harry sullenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton carefully lighted a cigarette from the butt -of the other, and then said coolly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We're not getting anywhere, Harry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think we are. I'm trying to show you that you're -in wrong on this thing from start to finish. And it looks -as though you might get just what was coming to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Meaning what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That you'll take my place again. This——!" exhibiting -with a grin his worn garments. "You took mine without -a by-your-leave. Now you'll give it back to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An ugly look came into Jim Horton's jaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not so sure about that," he said in a tone -dangerously quiet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What! You mean that——" The bluster trailed off -into silence at the warning fire in his brother's eyes. But -he raised his head in a moment, laughing disagreeably. -"I see. The promotion has got into your head. Some -promotion—Lieutenant right off the reel—from Corporal, -too. Living soft in the hospital and now——" He paused -and swallowed uneasily. "How did you get to the Rue -de Tavennes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They came to the hospital—Mr. Quinlevin and—and -your wife. I—I fooled them. They don't suspect."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How—how did you know Moira was my wife?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some letters. I read them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I see. You read them," he frowned and then, -"Barry Quinlevin's too?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—his too. I had to have facts. I got -them—some I wasn't looking for——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About the Duc de Vautrin," Jim broke in dryly. -"That's one of the reasons why I'm still Harry Horton -and why I'm going to stay Harry Horton—for the -present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If Jim had needed any assurance as to his brother's -share in this intrigue he had it now. For Harry went -red and then pale, refusing to meet his gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," he muttered, "Quinlevin's been talking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Jim craftily, "he has. It's a pretty plan, -but it won't come off. You always were a rotter, Harry. -But you're not going to hurt Moira, if I can prevent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a half-random shot but it hit the mark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira," muttered Harry somberly. "I see. You -haven't been wasting any time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not wasting time when I can keep her—or even -you—from getting mixed up in dirty blackmail. That's -my answer. And that's why I'm not going to quit until -I'm ready."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry Horton frowned at the soiled table cover, his -fingers twitching at his fork, and then reached for the -coffee pot and quickly poured himself another cup.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Clever, Jim," he said with a cynical laugh. "I take -off my hat to you. I never would have thought you had -it in you. But you'll admit that living in my wife's -apartment and impersonating her husband is going a -bit too far."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The laughter didn't serve to conceal either his fear -or his fury. But it stopped short as Jim's fingers -suddenly closed over his wrist and held it in a grip of iron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't bring </span><em class="italics">her</em><span> into this," he whispered tensely. "Do -you hear?" And after a moment of struggle with himself -as he withdrew his hand, "You dared to think yourself -worthy of her. </span><em class="italics">You</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be careful what you say to me," said Harry, trying -bravado. "She's my wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She won't be your wife long, when I tell her what I -know about you," finished Jim angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw Harry's face go pale again as he tried to meet -his gaze, saw the fire flicker out of him, as he groped -pitiably for Jim's hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim! You—you wouldn't do that?" he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim released his hand, shrugged and leaned back in his -chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not if you play straight with me—and with her. You -want me to pay the penalty of what I did for you—to -go out into the world—an outcast in your place. -Perhaps I owe it to you. I don't know. But you owe me -something too—promotion—the </span><em class="italics">Croix de Guerre</em><span>——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The </span><em class="italics">Croix de Guerre</em><span>! Me——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lieutenant Harry G. Horton to be gazetted -captain—me!" put in Jim, with some pride. "Not you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A brief silence in which Harry rubbed his scrawny -beard with his long fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That might be difficult to prove to my Company -captain," he said at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget my wounds," laughed Jim. "Oh, they're -</span><em class="italics">my</em><span> wounds all right." And then, with a shrug, "You -see, Harry, it won't work. You're helpless. If I chose -to keep on the job, you'd be left out in the cold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't dare——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know what I'd dare. It depends on you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" broke in Harry with some spirit. -"I couldn't be any worse off than I am now, even if I told -the truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim laughed. "</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> tried to tell in the hospital and they -thought I was bug-house. Try it if you like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry frowned and reached for another cigarette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then after awhile, "Well—what do you want me to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His brother examined him steadily for a moment, and -then went on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know whether you've learned anything in the -army or not. But it ought to have taught you that -you've got to live straight with your buddy or you can't -get on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Straight!" sneered Harry, "like </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>. You call this -straight—what you're doing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," Jim admitted. "It's not straight. It's crooked -as hell, but if it wasn't, you'd have been drummed out -of the Service by now. I don't want you to think I care -about </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>. I didn't—out there. It was only the honor of -the service I was thinking about. I'd do it again if I had -to. But I do care about this girl you've bamboozled into -marrying you—you and Quinlevin. And whatever the -dirty arrangement between you that made it possible, I -want to make it clear to you here and now that she isn't -going to be mixed up in any of your rotten deals. She -isn't your sort and you couldn't drag her down to your -level if you tried. I'll know more when Quinlevin gets back -and then——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton paused as he realized that he had said -too much, for he saw his brother start and then stare -at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Barry Quinlevin—is away!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim nodded. "Yes," he said, "in Ireland."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry had risen, glowering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you think I'm going to slink off to-night to my -kennel and let you go back to the studio. You in my -uniform—as </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>—to Moira."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton thought deeply for a moment and then rose -and coolly straightened his military blouse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," he said, "we'll go back to her together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took out some money and carelessly walked toward -the bar in the front room. But Harry followed quickly -and caught him by the arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim," he muttered, "you won't do that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll tell her the truth—I guess you're right. She -ought to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait a minute——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His hand was trembling on the officer's sleeve and the -dark beard seemed to make the face look ghastly under -its tan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet, Jim. Not to-night. We—we'll have to let -things be for awhile. Just sit down again for a minute. -We've got to find a way to straighten this thing out—to -get you back into your old job——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How?" dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I don't know just now, but we can work it somehow——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's too late——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You could have been captured by the Boches. We -can find a way, when you let me have my uniform."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton grinned unsympathetically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are two wounds in that too, Harry," he said. -"Where are yours?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he moved toward the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen, Jim. We'll let things be as they are for the -present. Barry Quinlevin mustn't know—you've got to -play the part. I see. Come and sit down a minute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His brother obeyed mechanically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll do what you say—until—until we can think of -something." He tried a smile and failed. "I know it's a -good deal to ask you—to take my place—to go out into -the world and be what I am, but you won't have to do it. -You won't have to. We'll manage something—some way. -You go back to the studio——" he paused uncertainly, -"You're not——?" he paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton read his meaning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Making love to your wife? And if I was, it would -only be what you deserve. She doesn't love you any too -much, as it is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry frowned at the floor, and was silent, but his -brother's answer satisfied him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right. You go back—but I've got to get some -money. I can't starve."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want you to," Jim fumbled in his pockets and -brought out some bills. "Here—take these. They're -yours anyway. We'll arrange for more later. I've an -account at a bank here——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And so have I—but I don't dare——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very good. What's your bank?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Hartjes & Cie.</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right. I'll get some checks to-morrow and you -can make one payable to yourself. I'll cash it and give -you the money. And I'll make one out at my bank for -the same amount, dated back into October, before the -Boissière fight, payable to bearer. You can get it cashed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A woman I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim shrugged. "All right. But be careful. I'll meet -you here to-morrow night. And don't shave."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry nodded and put the bills into his pocket while -Jim rose again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You play the game straight with me," he said, "and -I'll put this thing right, even if——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused suddenly in the doorway, his sentence -unfinished, for just in front of him stood a very -handsome girl, who had abandoned her companion and stood, -both hands outstretched, in greeting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Arry 'Orton," she was saying joyously in broken -English. "You don seem to know me. It is I—Piquette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The name Quinlevin had spoke in the hospital!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim glanced over his shoulder into the shadow where -Harry had been, but his brother had disappeared.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="piquette"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER V</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">PIQUETTE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>She wore a black velvet toque which bore upon its -front two large crimson wings, poised for flight, and -they seemed to typify the girl herself—alert, on -tip-toe, a bird of passage. She had a nose very slightly -</span><em class="italics">retroussé</em><span>, black eyes, rather small but expressive, with -brows and lids skillfully tinted; her figure was graceful, -</span><em class="italics">svelte</em><span>, and extraordinarily well groomed, from her white -gloves to the tips of her slender shiny boots, and seemed -out of place in the shadows of these murky surroundings. -For the rest, she was mischievous, tingling with vitality -and joyous at this unexpected meeting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton glanced past her and saw a figure in a slouch -hat go out of the door, then from the darkness turn and -beckon. But Jim Horton was given no opportunity to -escape and Harry's warning gesture, if anything, served -to increase his curiosity as to this lovely apparition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Valcourt—Monsieur 'Orton," she said, -indicating her companion with a wave of the hand. And then, -as he shook hands with her companion, a handsome man -with a well-trimmed grayish mustache, "Monsieur -Valcourt is one day de greatest sculptor in de -world—Monsieur 'Orton is de 'ero of Boissière wood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know of the fight in Boissière——?" put in Jim.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And who does not? It is all in </span><em class="italics">le Matin</em><span> to-day—an' -'ere I find you trying to 'ide yourself in the obscure </span><em class="italics">café</em><span> -of Monsieur Javet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped suddenly and before he realized what she -was about had thrown her arms over his shoulders and -kissed him squarely upon the lips. He felt a good deal of -a fool with Monsieur Valcourt and the villainous-looking -Javet grinning at them, but the experience was not -unpleasant and he returned her greeting whole heartedly, -wondering what was to come next.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And when laughing gayly she released him, he turned -toward Monsieur Valcourt, who was regarding her with -a dubious smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For all her prosperity, Monsieur 'Orton," Valcourt -was saying, in French, "she is still a </span><em class="italics">gamine</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And who would wonder, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>! To live expensively -is very comfortable, but even comfort is tedious. -Does not one wish to laugh with a full throat, to kick -one's toes or to put one's heels upon a table? </span><em class="italics">La la</em><span>! I -do not intend to grow too respectable, I assure you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton laughed. She had spoken partly in -English, partly in French, translating for both, and then, -"Let me assure you, Madame," said Valcourt with a -stately bow, "that you are not in the slightest danger of -that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she was already turning to Horton again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A 'ero. The world is full of 'eros to-day, but not -one like my 'Arry 'Orton. </span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>! I mus' 'ave a talk -with you alone. Lucien," she said sharply, turning to -Valcourt, "I will come to de studio to-morrow. Monsieur -le Duc t'inks I am gone away, but now I would be a poor -creature not to give my brave soldier a welcome."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If Monsieur will excuse me——" said Valcourt, -offering his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton took it, wondering where the adventure -was to lead. She was a very remarkable person and her -</span><em class="italics">élan</em><span> had already carried him off his feet. Taking his hand -in hers, with a charming simplicity, she led him into the -room at the rear, now occupied by a number of persons of -both sexes, and bade Monsieur Javet himself serve them. -And when they were seated at a table, her hand still in -his, she examined him with a new interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is indeed you," she said gayly, "and yet you seem -different—more calm, more silent. What is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've had two months in the hospital."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you're quite strong again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh yes. And you have been well—Piquette?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—but </span><em class="italics">so</em><span> ennuyée. It is why I come back here to -de </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span> to get a breath of fresh air. I've been posing -for Monsieur Valcourt—</span><em class="italics">La Liberté</em><span>. He says my figure -is better than ever. And Valcourt knows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure you are very lovely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">La, la, mon vieux</em><span>, but you are the </span><em class="italics">grand serieux</em><span>. Of -course I am lovely. It is my business. But you do not -</span><em class="italics">show</em><span> me 'ow lovely I am, for you are so quiet—so cool——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton laughed and caught her fingers to his lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are—Piquette. That is enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">C'est mieux</em><span>. But you are change'. One does not look -deat' in de eyes wit'out feeling its col' touch. Oh, but I -am glad that you are come back to me. You s'all be -'ere long?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know—when I shall get my orders."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But until then—t'ings s'all be as dey were wit' us -two, eh, my little one? An' I s'all 'elp you now in de -great affair? But Monsieur de Vautrin becomes more -onpleasant. He is a very tiresome ol' man...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton started unconsciously. Then remembered -that it was in connection with de Vautrin that Quinlevin -had mentioned this very girl Piquette. He understood -better now the reason for Harry's gesture from the outer -darkness. The meeting had been a stroke of Fate. -Perhaps she held the key to the riddle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tiresome, yes," he said slowly, "all old men are tiresome——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And </span><em class="italics">difficile</em><span>," she mused, sipping at her glass. "While -I am pretty he likes to have me nearby. But I know. He -cares not'ing. He will leave me not'ing. I am not -content. So I say I want to help in de great affair. You -have planned somet'ing in the hospital—you and -Monsieur Quinlevin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Er—nothing definite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur le Duc still pays?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton meditated for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said, "he has stopped paying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette Morin leaned further over the table, frowning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! Since when?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For—er—three months or more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you t'ink he suspects somet'ing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know. It looks so, doesn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, perhaps." She paused a moment and then, "I -make him talk about de past, as you ask' me to. I am -no saint and de </span><em class="italics">bon Dieu</em><span> has taught me to look out for -myself. I shall continue. If he tries to get rid of me de -way he did wit' his wife, he will find me troublesome."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton laughed. "I don't doubt it." And then, carefully, -"You heard how he got rid of her?" he questioned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was 'er riches, of course. 'E spent 'er '</span><em class="italics">dot</em><span>' in a -few month gambling at Monte Carlo, and den when 'e -came to 'er for more 'e abuse and beat 'er." She paused -and her dark eyes snapped viciously. "'E would not have -beaten me," she finished.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then?" he asked, wondering whither the conversation -was leading.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And den, as you know, she ran away to Ireland——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To Ireland——" he muttered eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," she said with a glance at him. "And when -'e got enough money 'e sail 'round de worl' enjoying -himself. Even now sometimes 'e is a beast. It is den I come -back to de </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span> where I am born and bred—to be -merry again." She sighed and then laughed gayly. "But -to-night we mus' not talk of dis tiresome matter. It -is your night, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>, and we s'all make it 'appy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He kissed the rosy palm she thrust to his lips, with -difficulty concealing his curiosity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the child of Monsieur the Duc——" he urged -after the moment of </span><em class="italics">badinage</em><span>. "He said nothing——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused as though in doubt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shrugged carelessly and lighted a cigarette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur is cautious. 'E spoke not'ing of de child, -except to say dat it died wit' de mother. De money came -to 'im. Dat was all 'e cared about, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> 'Arry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To Jim Horton no light seemed to dawn. And how to -question without arousing the girl's suspicions was more -that he could plan. But he remembered Quinlevin's -uncertainty in the hospital—his thought that Harry -might have talked to this girl. So he took a chance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You asked the Duc no questions that might have -aroused his suspicions?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I t'ink not. And yet I remember once 'e ask' -me if I know Monsieur Quinlevin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did you reply?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, dat I never heard of 'im."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He frowned at the cigarette in his fingers as Harry -would have frowned and imitated as nearly as possible the -sullen mood of his brother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The money has stopped coming to Quinlevin. We've -got to do something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parfaitement</em><span>," said Piquette carelessly. "De time -'as come to produce de girl Moira and de papers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her glance was not upon his face or she would have -seen the look of bewilderment and surprise suddenly -distend his eyes. But she heard him gasp and turned again -toward him. But by this time the missing pieces of the -puzzle were at his fingers' ends and he gathered them -quickly. It was Moira who all these years had -unconsciously impersonated the dead child who would have -inherited. And Quinlevin had bled the Duc for years with -promises of silence. Harry had connived at the plot and -now the coup they planned meant a sum of not less than -"seven figures." And Piquette knew all. Blackmail it -was—of the blackest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment he did not dare to speak for fear of -betraying himself. And then only assented safely to her -suggestion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; it is the only thing to be done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It mus' be manage' carefully. You are sure de papers -are all correct?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is as to that Monsieur Quinlevin has gone to Ireland."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I see—we mus' wait until 'e comes back. But I -s'all 'elp you, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>. You will rely upon me, </span><em class="italics">n'est ce -pas</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His mind was so full of this astonishing revelation that -he sat silent and motionless while she changed the subject -and chattered on. The charm of the chance encounter -was gone. </span><em class="italics">Gamine</em><span> she might be, and irresponsible like -others of her kind in Paris or elsewhere, but she was not -for him. He had a standard to measure her by.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are so </span><em class="italics">triste</em><span>, 'Arry," she broke in suddenly. "I -do not t'ink I like you so </span><em class="italics">triste</em><span>. What s'all we care, you -and I, for Monsieur le Duc an' 'is money? To be young -an' in love——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She caught both of his hands across the table and held -them. "You are not yet well, 'Arry. I can see. It is -dat for so long you do not know comfort an' 'appiness. -</span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>! I s'all make you laugh again, until de </span><em class="italics">triste</em><span> look -come no more into your eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was about to give some token of his appreciation -that would satisfy her when he saw her glance past his -shoulder toward the door which led into the bar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your frien' who was wit' you—'e 'as come back again," -she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah——" he turned and saw Harry peering through -the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'E wants you to come? </span><em class="italics">C'est embêtant</em><span>! Sen' 'im away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid I——" He rose uncertainly and turned. -"Wait," he said, "I'll see." And then walked out into -the bar where Harry obstinately awaited him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've had enough of this," growled his brother. "You -come out of here with me or I'll——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be a fool. You could see that I couldn't help it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can help it now——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right. We'll have this thing out, you and -I—to-night. You meet me at the corner toward the Boulevard -in twenty minutes. I'll get rid of her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And without waiting for a reply he returned to -Piquette, his mind made up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry," he said to her, "but I've some urgent business -with this man. It can't be put off. But I must see -you soon——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She pouted and rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't explain—not now. You won't be cross——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not—anodder woman——?" she asked shrewdly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Another——? How can you ask? No. There are -no other women in Paris, Piquette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are cruel," she muttered in a low tone, her dark -eyes flashing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. It is a matter of importance. Will you let me -have your address——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No 82 Boulevard Clichy—de same place."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good. To-morrow I will write you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without a word she gathered up her cloak and led the -way out, looking about curiously for her enemy of the -evening. But Harry had disappeared. She said nothing -and they went out into the street where Jim Horton found -a cab and put her into it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Méchant!" she whispered softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not my fault, Piquette. Soon——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave the address to the </span><em class="italics">cocher</em><span> and she was gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton stood for a moment listening to the sounds -of the retreating </span><em class="italics">fiacre</em><span> as it rattled away over the -cobblestones and then turned slowly back, his anger at his -discoveries, long repressed by the necessities of his -masquerade, suddenly bursting the barriers of his self-control. -Moira—innocent—the catspaw, the stool-pigeon for these -two rascals! How much did she know? How could -Quinlevin have carried the deception out all these years -without de Vautrin suspecting something? And if, as -it seemed, he was suspicious of them now, who had told? -His own duty seemed very clear. Every impulse of -honor and decency urged that he find this Duc de Vautrin -and tell the whole truth. But there was Moira ... his -first duty was to her. But telling her meant revealing -the secret of Harry's disgrace and his own part in it. -That would be a difficult thing to do, but he would have -to do it. He would tell her to-morrow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for Harry—he would make short work of </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>. He -went with long determined strides to the appointed spot -and Harry met him with a threatening air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What the Hell has she been saying?" he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton was angry, but he kept himself well in -hand, aware of his own physical superiority to this -blustering shell of intrigue, deceit and cowardice, built in his -own image. If earlier in the evening he had had his -moments of pity for his brother's misfortunes, if he had -planned to make restitution for the imprudence that had -resulted in their undoing, he had no such gentle feeling -or purpose now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he didn't reply, his brother continued angrily. -"You've gone about your limit, I tell you. What did -she tell you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Everything. I've got the whole story. And I'd like -to tell you before we go any further that you're just -about the crookedest——" He broke off with a shrug.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the use? The worst thing I could say would -be a compliment. But you've come to the end of your -tether. I don't know why I hoped there might be a chance -of getting you to go straight—for her—but I did. The -interesting revelations of this charming lady have -removed the impression. The money you took from the -estate, your questionable deals in America, your habits, -put you outside the pale of decency, but the blackmail of -the Duc with your own wife as stool-pigeon——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry in a sudden blind fury that took no thought -of consequences struck viciously, but Jim, who had been -watching for the blow, warded it, tripped his brother -neatly and sent him spinning against the wall where he -fell and lay motionless. But he was unhurt—only -bewildered by the result of his own incapacity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get up!" Jim ordered. "Somebody will be coming -along in a moment and we'll both be going with the -police."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry saw reason in that and slowly got to his feet, -pale, still trembling with rage, rubbing his hip joint, but -subdued. The place they had chosen was in the shadow -and the hour was late, and no one was about, but Jim -Horton took a glance up and down the deserted street -before he resumed his interrupted remarks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want any man's uniform when it's been defiled. -You ought to have known that. I'm going to take -it off and give it back to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw the eager surprised look that came into Harry's -face and raised his hand in warning—"But not yet. First -I'm going to tell your wife the truth and then I'm going -to warn the Duc de Vautrin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry started back as though to dodge another blow, -the reaction of his venture setting in with the terror of -this information.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim!" he whispered, clutching at his arm. "You -wouldn't do that, Jim. My God! It's ruin to me—and -you too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm prepared for that——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't, for God's sake don't! Wait. I've met you -half way, haven't I? I'll do anything you say. I'll steer -Quinlevin off and drop the thing. It was his idea—not -mine. And he wouldn't have thought of it if the old man -hadn't shut off the allowance——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me the truth," Jim broke in sternly. "How much -money did Quinlevin owe you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Twenty thousand dollars——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And that was Moira's price——" contemptuously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wanted her. I loved her. I swear to God I did. I -love her now. I'd give anything to be able to go to her -to-night——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You——! You forget what I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How much were you to get of this money of the Duc's?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry halted, mumbling, "That wasn't settled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it's settled now," said Jim, with an air of -finality, turning aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you going to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell her—in the morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't, Jim. Why, she'd go right to Quinlevin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I expect her to—and the Duke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry leaned back against the wall, his fingers -working at his trouser legs, but he was speechless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's about all, I think," said Jim dryly. "Good-bye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you won't listen—not if I promise——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything. Why, you've got me, Jim. I can't do a -thing with you ready to tell Moira—even if I wanted to. -What's the use? It only means ruin for you. Wait a -few days and we'll have another talk; just wait until -to-morrow night. Give me a chance to think. I'll even—I'll -even get out of France and go out West somewhere and -make a fresh start. I will. I mean it. I did you a dirty -trick once, but I'll try to square myself. Give me a -chance. Think it over. Meet me to-morrow. I'm all in -to-night. Promise you won't speak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Jim, after a moment of deliberation. "I'll -promise nothing, but I'll meet you to-morrow night at -Javet's—at twelve—with the money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry gasped a sigh of relief and straightened, -offering his hand. "Thanks, Jim. To-morrow. And you -won't tell her, I know. You couldn't. It would be too -cruel. She'll suffer—my God! You know her. Can't you -see how she'd suffer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I didn't start this thing——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you'll finish it, Jim. She believes in </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>, even if -she doesn't believe in me. It will kill her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw that he had made an impression on his brother. -Jim stood silent, his head bowed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't tell her to-morrow, Jim," Harry pleaded. "Promise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim shrugged and turned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," he said at last. "I'll sleep on it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned away and walked slowly out into the dim -light of the street, moving toward the Rue de Tavennes. -He did not even turn his head to see what became of his -brother. Already he had forgotten him. The heat of his -passion had suffered a strange reaction. To resolve to -tell Moira the truth, even to threaten to tell her was one -thing, but to tell was another. And curiously enough -Harry's picture of the consequences, drawn even in the -stress of fear, was true enough—Jim knew it—was true. -He knew her pride, her spirit. The revelation would kill -them—and destroy her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was so dependent on him. She didn't know how -greatly. And he had been until the present moment so -dependent upon her. He realized what her visits had -meant to him, how deep had been the joy of their evening -alone in the studio. He did not dare to think of her now -as he had been thinking of her then—for during the -weeks of his convalescence and the culmination of their -friendship to-night Harry had seemed far off, vague and -impalpable. But their meeting had changed all this and -he was thankful that he had had enough manhood to keep -his wits when he had been alone with her. Moira—the -pity of it—had given him signs (that he might read and -run) that the mockery of the marriage was a mockery no -longer. And it was her very confession of indifference -and pity for Harry as she had known him, that seemed -to give Jim the right to care for and protect her. He -</span><em class="italics">did</em><span> care for her, he was now willing to confess in a way -far from fraternal. He had always been too busy to -think about women, but Moira had crept into his life -when he was ill and unnerved, needing the touch of a -friendly hand, and their peculiar relationship had given -him no chance of escape—nor her. She had captured -his imagination and he had succeeded where Harry had -not in winning her affection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a dangerous situation and yet it fascinated him. -The knowledge that he must cause her suffering had -weakened his resolve for a moment, but as he walked into the -Rue de Tavennes he saw it for the fool's paradise that -it was. He would spend to-morrow with her—just -to-morrow—that could do no harm and then—she should -know everything.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He found his way into the court and up the stairs. -The studio door was closed, implacable as the destiny -that barred him from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went into his room, closed the door and slowly -undressed. Then lay on the bed, staring for a long while -at the reflection of the street-lamp upon the ceiling: -Moira ... happiness ... reputation—and dishonor. -Or ... outcast ... but honorable.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="youth-triumphant"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">YOUTH TRIUMPHANT</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>But weariness and anxiety had to pay tribute at -last and he slept. It was broad daylight when he -awoke to the sound of a loud hammering upon the -door and a high, clear, humorous voice calling his name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lazy bones! Get up! Will you be lying abed all day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A—all right——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He opened his eyes with an effort and glanced at his -wrist watch—— Eight o'clock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Coffee in the studio, Harry dear, in ten minutes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! All right——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hammering stopped, foot-steps retreated and Jim -Horton tumbled out, rubbing his eyes and gazing at the -golden lozenges of light upon the wall. It was a most -inspiriting </span><em class="italics">reveille</em><span>, arresting as the shrill clarion of camp -on a frosty morning; but sweeter far, joyous with -promise of the new day. It was only during the progress of -his hasty toilet that the douche of cold water over his -head and face recalled to him with unpleasant suddenness -and distinctness the events of the night before, and he -emerged from vigorous rubbing exhilarated but sober. -There was a lot of thinking to be done and a difficult -resolution to make, and with Moira at his elbow it wasn't -going to be easy. But by the time he knocked at the -door of the studio, the pleasure of the immediate prospect -made ready his good cheer for the morning greeting. He -heard her voice calling and entered. A new fire blazed -on the hearth, and an odor of coffee filled the air. She -emerged from the door of the small kitchen, a coffee-pot -and a heaping plateful of </span><em class="italics">brioches</em><span> in her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning! I've been waiting for you an hour -or more. You've been developing amazing bad habits in -the hospital."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why didn't you call me before?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure and I believed you might be thinking I was -anxious to see you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And aren't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And do you think I'd be telling—even if I was?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You might."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I won't. Will you have your coffee with cream -and sugar?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was real cream and real sugar—some magic of -Madame Toupin's, she explained, and the </span><em class="italics">brioches</em><span> were -unsurpassed. And so they sat and ate, Moira chattering -gayly of plans for the day, while the ancient dowager -upon the easel who had braved the Fokkers and the -long-range cannon looked down upon them benignly and with -a little touch of pity, too, as though she knew how much -of their courage was to be required of them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton ate silently, putting in a word here and there, -content to listen to her plans, to watch the deft motions -of her fingers and the changing expressions upon her face. -Once or twice he caught her looking at him with a puzzled -line at her brows, but he let his glance pass and spoke of -casual things, the location of the bank where he must get -his money, the excellence of the coffee, the kindness of -Nurse Newberry, aware that these topics were not the -ones uppermost in his mind, or in hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a bit subdued this morning, Harry dear," she -said at last, whimsically. "Maybe that goose was too -much for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Subdued!" he laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have all the air of a man with something on his -conscience. You used to wear that look in America, and -I let you be. But somehow things seemed different with -us two. Would you be willing to tell me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There isn't a thing—except—except your kindness. -I don't deserve that, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him seriously and then broke into laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would it make you feel more comfortable if I laid -you over the shoulders with a mahl stick?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think it would," he grinned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure and that is one of the few pleasant prerogatives -of matrimony—in Ireland."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And elsewhere——" added Horton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I do want to know if anything's troubling you. -Are you still worried——" she took a </span><em class="italics">brioche</em><span> and smiled -at it amiably, "because we're not appropriately chaperoned?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—not so much. I see you're quite able to look out -for yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you derive some comfort from the fact?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her, their eyes met and they both burst -into laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira—you witch! But you'd better not tempt me too far."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure and I'm not afraid of you, alanah," she said, -sedate again and very cool, "or of any man," and then, -mischievously, "But your doubts needn't have kept you -from kissing me a good morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not too late now," said Horton, abruptly rising -and spilling his coffee. He passed the small table toward -her but she held him off with a hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. The essence is gone. You'll please pick up -your coffee-cup and pass the butter. Thanks. It's very -nice butter, isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Excellent," he said gloomily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now you're vexed. Is there no pleasing a man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you'd only stop pleasing—you'd make it easier for -me to see a way——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was all attention at once, listening. But he paused -and set his coffee-cup down with an air of finality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop pleasing! Sure and you must not ask the -impossible," she said, her mouth full.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he wouldn't smile and only glowered into the fire. -"I want you to let me try to pay you what I owe -you—to earn your respect and affection——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'm letting you," she smiled over her coffee-cup.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I've gotten you under false pretenses—under the -spell of a—a temporary emotion—a sense of duty," he -rambled, saying partly what Harry might say and partly -what was in his own heart. "I want to win the right to -you, to show you that—that I'm not as rotten as you -used to think me——" He didn't know how far the -thought was leading and in fear of it, rose and walked -away, suddenly silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he heard her saying, "I don't think you are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Was she laughing at him? He turned toward her again -but the back of her dark head was very demure. He -approached quite close, near enough to touch her, but she -held the coffee-cup to her lips, and then when she had -drunk, sprang up and away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the use of thinking about the past or the -future, alanah, when we have the present—with a -gorgeous morning and happy Paris just at our elbows. -</span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>! You shall wash the coffee-cups and the pot while -I put on my hat, for there's nothing like sticking -something into a man's hands to keep them out of mischief. -And then we'll be wandering forth, you and I, into the -realms of delight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was glad at the thought of going out into the air, -away from the studio, for here within four walls she was -too close to him, their seclusion too intimate. If he only -were Harry! He would have taken her tantalizing moods -as a husband might and conquered her by strength and -tenderness. But as it was, all he could feel beside -tenderness was pity for her innocence and helplessness, and -contempt and not a little pity for himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the air of out-of-doors was to restore him to -sanity. It was one of those late November days of sunshine, -warm and hazy, when outer wraps are superfluous, and -arm in arm, like two good comrades, and as the custom -was in the </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span>, they sauntered forth, in the direction -she indicated. There were to be no vehicles for them, -she insisted, for </span><em class="italics">fiacres</em><span> cost much and money was scarce. -Life seemed to be coursing very strongly through her -veins, and the more he felt the contagion of her youth -and joy, the more trying became the task he had set -himself. But sober though he was, within, he could not resist -the spell of her enthusiasms and he put the evil hour from -him. This day at least should be hers as nearly as he -could make it, without a flaw. They turned down the -Boul' Miche' and into the Boulevard St. Germain, past the -Beaux Arts which she wished to show him, then over the -Pont des Arts to the Right Bank. They stopped on the -quai for a moment to gaze down toward the towers of -Notre Dame, while Moira painted for him the glories that -were France. He had lived a busy life and had had little -time for the romances of great nations, but he -remembered what he had read and, through Moira's clear -intelligence, the epic filtered, tinctured with its color and -idealism.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 59%" id="figure-43"> -<span id="through-moira-s-clear-intelligence-the-epic-filtered"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="THROUGH MOIRA'S CLEAR INTELLIGENCE THE EPIC FILTERED" src="images/img-078.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">THROUGH MOIRA'S CLEAR INTELLIGENCE THE EPIC FILTERED</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then under the arches of the Louvre to the Avenue de -l'Opera, and toward the banking district. All Paris -smiled. The blue and brown mingled fraternally and the -streets were crowded. Except for the uniforms, which -were seen everywhere, it was difficult to believe that hardly -a month ago the most terrible war in history had been -fought, almost at the city's gates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he reached his bank, which was in the -Boulevard des Italiens, near the </span><em class="italics">Opera</em><span>, Jim Horton had to -move with caution. But Moira fortunately had some -shopping to do and in her absence he contrived to get -some checks, and going into the Grand Hotel drew a -check signed with his own name, and payable to Henry -G. Horton, and this he presented for payment. There -was some delay and a few questions, for the amount was -large—three thousand francs—but he showed the letters -from Moira and Quinlevin. It was with a sigh of relief -that he went out and met Moira near the </span><em class="italics">Opera</em><span>. With -a grin he caught her by the arm, exhibiting a large packet -of bank-notes, and led the way down the avenue by which -they had come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And where now, Harry dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm hungry. To the most expensive restaurant in -Paris for </span><em class="italics">déjeuner</em><span>. If I'm not mistaken we passed it just -here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must not—I won't permit——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He only grinned and led her inside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For to-day at least, Moira, we shall live."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But to see Paris, </span><em class="italics">en Anglais</em><span>, that is not to live——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tempting meal that he ordered with her assistance, -did much to mollify her prudence and frugality and they -breakfasted in state on the best that the market provided.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Afternoon found them back in the Boulevard St. Germain -again, after an eventful interim which Jim Horton -had filled, above her protests, in a drive through the </span><em class="italics">Bois</em><span> -and a visit, much less expensive, to a </span><em class="italics">cinema</em><span> show, -during which she held his hand. And now a little weary of -all the world, but happy in each other, they drifted like -the flotsam of all lovers of the </span><em class="italics">Rive Gauche</em><span> toward the -Gardens of the Luxembourg. They sat side by side on -the balustrade overlooking the esplanade and lawn in -front of the Palace, watching the passers-by, always -paired, </span><em class="italics">piou-piou</em><span> and milliner, workman and </span><em class="italics">bonne</em><span>, -</span><em class="italics">flaneur</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">grisette</em><span>, for the warm weather had brought -them out. There was no military band playing, but they -needed no music in their hearts, which were already -beating in time to the most exquisite of interludes. Twilight -was falling, the Paris dusk, full of mystery and elusive -charm; lights beyond the trees flickered into being, and -the roar of the city beyond their breathing-spot -diminished into a low murmur. For a while their conversation -had relapsed into short sentences and monosyllables, -as though the gayety of their talk was no longer sufficient -to conceal their thoughts, which, throwing off subterfuge, -spoke in the silences. At last Moira shivered slightly and -rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," she said gently, "we must be going," and led -the way toward the exit from the Gardens on the Boulevard -St. Michel. Horton followed silently—heavily, for -the end of his perfect day was drawing near and with -it the duty which was to bring disillusionment and distress -to Moira and ostracism and hell to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But when they reached the studio Moira set with -alacrity at putting things to rights and preparing the -evening meal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall be having cold goose and a bit of salad, you -extravagant person," she said. "I feel as though I had no -right to be eating again for a week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so they dined upon the remains of their feast, but -warmed by the cheerful blaze, both conscious of the -imminent hour of seclusion and affinity. Moira had little -to say and in the silences Jim caught her gaze upon him -once or twice as though in inquiry or incomprehension, -and wondered whether in their long day together, he had -said or done anything which might have led her to -suspect the truth. But he had been cautious, following her -leads in conversation, and playing his discreditable role -with rather creditable skill. The end was near. He -would see Harry to-night at Javet's and to-morrow he -would tell her, but it was like the thought of death to -him—after to-day—and he failed to hide from her the -traces of his misery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish that you would tell me what worries you," she -said gently, after a long silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He started forward in his chair by the fire. "Er—nothing," -he stammered, "there's nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, there is," she said, evenly. "I know. I've felt -it all day—even when you seemed most happy." And -then quickly, "Is it me that you're worrying about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About you?" he asked to gain time, and then, -grasping at the straw she threw him, -"about—you—yes—Moira," he said quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the first definite return to the topic of the -morning, which they had both banished as though by an -understanding. But Moira was persistent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because—because I don't deserve—all this—from you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled softly from her chair nearby.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you think I'm the best judge of that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said miserably. "No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't deny a woman the faith of her intuitions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I proved your intuitions false——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure and I'd never speak to you again," she put in -quaintly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It might be better if you didn't," he muttered, half -aloud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She heard him, or seemed to, for she turned quickly and -laid her hand over his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be spoiling our day, dear," she said earnestly. -"God has been good in bringing you back to me. -Whatever happens I won't be regretting it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His fingers caught and pressed hers and then quickly -relinquished them as he rose, struggling for his -composure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> regret it," he said fiercely. "I tell you you -can't thank God for me, because I'm not what you want -to think me. I'm what the Harry you knew in America -was, only worse—a liar, a cheat——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused as she rose, saving himself the revelation on -the tip of his tongue by the sight of her face in the -firelight as she turned. It was transfigured by her new faith -in him, and in her joy in the possession. She came to -him quickly, and put her soft fingers over his lips, while -the other arm went around his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, alanah," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—you mustn't, Moira," he muttered, taking her -hands down and clasping them both in his. "You -mustn't." And then, at the look of disappointment that -came into her eyes, caught both her hands to his lips -and covered them with kisses. Against the sweet allure -of her he struggled, sure that never mortal man had -been so tried before, but surer still that the love he bore -for her was greater than all temptation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him, flushed at the warmth of this -formal caress, which left no doubt of him, but marveling at -his renunciation of her lips, which had been so near.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't be listening when you call yourself such names."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't understand—and I can't tell you—anything -more just now. I haven't—the will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He noted the look of alarm which was a token of the -suffering he must cause her and he led her to his chair -and made her sit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't make you unhappy—not to-night. I—I'm -sorry you read my thoughts. I shouldn't have let you see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had turned to the fire and leaned against the -chimney piece. And after a moment, clear and very -tender, he heard her voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must tell me everything, alanah. I've got the -right to it now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head in silent misery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I can't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You see, things are different with us two. -You've made me know to-day how different. Last night -I called to your mind the mockery we'd been through, -calling it marriage. But it </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> a marriage, and the dear -God has willed that my heart should beat for you as -gently as that of any mother for its babe. It softened -in the hospital, dear, when I saw you lying there so pale -and weak against the pillows, and I knew that if God -spared you for me I would make amends——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You</em><span>—make amends——" he gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By giving you all that I had of faith, hope and -charity. Whatever you were, whatever you are, dear, you're -mine, for better or for worse, and I believe in you. And -your troubles, whatever they are—I'll take my half of -them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't——" he groaned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not if they concern me," she continued simply, "for -they're mine already."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took a pace or two away from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mustn't speak to me like this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why not? You're mine to speak to as I please. -Is it that you don't love me enough, alanah?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He knew that she wouldn't have asked that question, if -she hadn't already seen the answer in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Love you——?" he began, his eyes shining like stars. -And then suddenly, as though their very glow had burned -them out, they turned away, dull and lusterless. She -watched him anxiously for a moment and then rose and -faced him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well——" she said softly, "I'm waiting for your answer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I can't give you an answer," he said in a colorless -voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I'll be giving the answer for you, my dear, for -I'm not without eyes in my head. I know you love me -and I've been knowing it for many days. And it's the kind -of love that a woman wants, the love that gives and asks -nothing." She paused, breathing with difficulty, the -warm color rising to her temples, and then went on -gently, proudly, as though in joy of her confession. -"And I—it is the same with me. I've tried to make you -understand.... It is not for you to give only...." She -halted in her speech a moment and then came close -to him, her clear gaze seeking his. "I love you, not for -what you have suffered, dear——" she whispered, "but -for what you are to me—not because you are my husband, -but because you are </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>—the only one in all the world for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira," he whispered, tensely, as his arms went about -her. "God forgive me—I worship you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God will forgive you that, alanah," he heard her say -happily, "since I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He touched his lips to her brow tenderly ... then -her lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You love me," he muttered. "</span><em class="italics">Me</em><span>? You're sure that -it's </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> that you love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes opened, startled at his tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it isn't you that I love, then I'm sure that I can't -be loving any one at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you'll believe in me—whatever happens?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will——" she repeated proudly. "Whatever -happens—since </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> has happened to us both."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some day—you'll know," he muttered painfully, "that -I—I'm not what I seem to be. And then I want you to -remember this hour, this moment, Moira, as it is to me.... -I want you to remember how you came into my arms -when I hadn't the strength to repel you, remember the -touch of my lips in tenderness—and in reverence—Moira -... that love was too strong for me ... for it has -made me false to myself ... false to you...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew away from him a little, deeply perturbed. -"You frighten me, alanah."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I don't want to. To-morrow——" he paused, -searching for strength to speak. But it did not come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow. What do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The repetition of the word seemed like a confirmation -of his resolution and shocked him into action. Quietly -he took her hands down from his shoulders, kissed them -in farewell, and turned away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" she repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That—that to-morrow—you shall judge me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tense expression of her anxiety relaxed and she -smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You needn't fear what that will be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not reply but stood staring fixedly into the -fire. She came around to him and laid her fingers over -his. "Why should we bother about to-morrow, dear? -To-day was yesterday's to-morrow and see what's -happened to us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it shouldn't have happened," he groaned, "it -shouldn't have happened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why should I thank God for it——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Everything will be right. A woman knows of -these things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her tenderly, but he didn't attempt to -take her in his arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," she said, "let us sit down by the fire near the -blaze, and we will not speak of to-morrow—just of to-day -and yesterday and the day before, when you and I were -learning this wonderful thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he did not dare.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira, I—I've got to go out for awhile—a matter -of duty——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now?" she faltered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must. An engagement. I'm in honor bound——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now really alarmed, she caught him by the elbows and -looked into his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An engagement—to-night! And to-morrow——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His meaning seemed to come to her with a rush.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry——! This engagement to-night has something -to do with us—with me. To-morrow——! What is it, -Harry? Speak!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't. I've promised."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't let you go, Harry. It is something that has -come between us——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It has always been—between us——" he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She clung to him and held him as he moved toward the -door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing—nothing shall come between us. Nothing -can. I don't care what it is. 'Until death us do -part'—Don't you understand what that means, Harry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The repetition of his brother's name, the phrase from -the marriage service, gave him resolution to avert his -face from the piteous pleading in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is because I understand what it means that I -have—the courage to go—now—before you despise me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have said that nothing makes any difference. I -swear it. I love you, dear. There's some mistake. You'll -never be different in my eyes, whatever happens—whatever -has happened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye, Moira," he whispered, his hands clasping -her arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no. Not now—not to-night. I knew that to-day -was too beautiful to last. You—you've frightened me. -Don't go—</span><em class="italics">please</em><span> don't go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said firmly. "I must."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she was strong, and greater than her strength was -her tenderness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look me in the eyes, dear, while I'm pleading with -you. If your love were as great a thing as mine——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To look in her eyes, he knew, was fatal. One brief -struggle and then he caught her in his arms and held -her close for a long moment, while he whispered in broken -sentences.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My love! ... if you hadn't said that! You've </span><em class="italics">got</em><span> -to know what my love means ... sacrifice.... This -moment ... is mine.... Remember it, dear—as it is -... its terrible sweetness—its sanctity—remember that, -too ... because that's the essence of it ... sanctity. -God bless you, Moira—whatever happens——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whatever happens?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As in a daze he straightened and looked around. Then -almost roughly broke away from her and rushed to the -door, taking up his cap and overcoat on the way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry——!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye," he called hoarsely as he opened the door -and went out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rushed after him but he was already running -furiously down the stairs into the dark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry," she called, "Harry—come back!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the name of his brother made him rush on the -more blindly, the echoes following him down into the -court and past the open gate of Madame Toupin. He -hadn't any definite idea of what he was going to do. The -only thing that he was sure of was that he must get -away—anywhere—away from Moira ... from the -reproach of her innocent eyes, of her confessions, of her -tributes of submission and surrender. On he plunged -blindly down the street toward the Luxembourg Gardens, -into the outer darkness where he must lose himself away -from her—to-night, to-morrow,—for all time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had failed. He had trusted himself too far—trusted -her too far. Fool that he was not to have seen -that love, begun by trivial happenings, had been -gathering strength and momentum and like an avalanche had -swept down and engulfed them both. In a moment of -reaction, of guilty triumph, he rejoiced, defiant of the -conscience that drove him forth, that it was him that -she loved—not Harry; his lips that had taken tribute—his -ears that had received her confessions, meant for them -alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But reason returned after awhile ... and with it the -sense of his dishonor. The thing was over, definitely. -There would be scorn enough in her eyes for him to-morrow, -when he told her all the truth. He comforted himself -with that thought and yet it brought him a pang -too, for he knew that it was Moira who was to suffer -most.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seemed to be the only person in the gardens, for -the night was chill and a thin mist of rain was falling. -From time to time there were footsteps here and there, -and the murmur of voices, and through the turmoil of -his thoughts he was conscious of them vaguely. But they -meant nothing to him. He went on into the darkness, his -head bowed, in the conflict of his happiness and his -remorse, reaching a dimly lighted spot near the Rue d'Assas, -when he heard quick footsteps behind him. He turned -just in time to dodge the blow of a stick aimed at his -head, which fell heavily on his shoulder. He struck out -but another man caught him around the waist, bearing -him to the ground. He struggled to one knee, striking -viciously, but they were too many for him. He got a -glimpse of an automatic pistol which flashed before his -eyes and then something heavy struck him on the head. -The last thing he noted before losing consciousness was -the pale face of the man with the automatic. It was his -brother—Harry.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="awakening"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AWAKENING</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Moira moved about in a daze, attempting in the -commonplaces of the daily routine to forget the -thought of the revelation which she knew could -not be long delayed. She had lain all night on the divan -in the studio, listening and waiting for the return of the -soldier, and at last, toward daylight, from sheer -exhaustion of mind and body, had fallen asleep. When -she awoke, her first impulse was to go to the room in -the hallway and knock. She opened the door. The bed -had not been occupied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Slowly, thoughtfully, she went back to the studio and -the business of preparing the coffee—for herself—and -for Harry—when he should arrive. Her mind was filled -with strange doubts,—not of him, because she had learned -to have a complete, a perfect faith in this soldier that -she had married, who had left New York under a cloud -of uncertainties and suspicions and had come back to -her spiritually reborn. The doubts in her mind were -those that he had purposely created in it, and fragments -of phrases that he had uttered in their moments of -tenderness came back to alarm and disturb her, because if -he hadn't thought it necessary to alarm and disturb her, -he would have remained silent and permitted himself to -enjoy with her the hours that had been theirs together. -Yes ... there was something that had come to thrust -itself between them—some impediment to their union. She -smiled softly at the memory of the restraint in his -caresses, the purity of his smile and the gentleness of his -abnegation.... He had underestimated the quality of her -new faith in him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Was this shadow out of the past? Perhaps. But it -wouldn't matter. Together they would exorcise it. Only -the future mattered now—their future together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped for a moment in her work of putting the -studio to rights and listened. She thought that she heard -a step upon the stair. She waited a while and then went -to the door and peered out. No one. It </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> a little -cruel that he had not sent her a message—a note, a -</span><em class="italics">petit bleu</em><span> even, telling when she must expect him, -whatever his appearance might bring. For this, she realized, -was the "to-morrow" of which he had spoken yesterday -... the day of revelations....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She tried to sing at her work but the effort was a -failure. A morbid fear of the thing that was to happen, if -it hadn't already happened, obsessed and held her. -Nine—ten o'clock—eleven.... With a courage born of -desperation she went into her room and put on her hat. It -was insupportable, the suspense. There were some things -to buy. She must order them. And leaving word with -Madame Toupin that she would return within the hour, -she walked briskly forth, breasting the keen air and -trying to smile. But even her walk was a failure, and in a -short while she was back, eagerly questioning Madame -Toupin. No, Monsieur le Lieutenant had not arrived. -No doubt he was busy about the ceremony of the -presentation of the medals. Moira inquired and Madame -Toupin showed her an article in the paper about the -honors to be given both French and American officers next -week in the Place de la Concord. There was his name, -"Henry G. Horton—Croix de Guerre." Madame Toupin -let her have the paper and she ran up to the studio, where -she read it eagerly, thrilling with pride.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of course he had his reasons for not coming to her -and telling her everything. She must be patient—her -faith in him unwavering. He would come to her to-night -again—and whatever he told her was to make no difference -in her love and faith in him—whatever he told -her—she swore it.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Late that night he came. She had built a fire of fagots -against the chill of the night and was sitting in the big -armchair by the hearth when she heard a knock at the -studio door. With a cry of welcome she rose and rushed -to greet him, throwing herself impulsively into his arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry," she gasped happily, "at last!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She couldn't help noting the slight movement of recoil -before her tenderness. Then, bending his head,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Moira," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She helped him off with his overcoat and led him over -to the fire, making him sit in the big arm-chair. He -obeyed awkwardly, as one in a daze, his brows frowning. -The light was uncertain, but what she saw alarmed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry! What has happened to you?" she cried, -catching him by the hands and holding them. "You're -ill—your fingers are cold—you look as though—— What -has happened?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing," he murmured with an attempt at a smile. -"Nothing at all." But even the smile was different, as -though the muscles acted in obedience to an effort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had struck a match to make a light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What—what are you doing?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going to see what's the matter with you. You -look sick. You need medicine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he protested. "I'm just tired. A drink of -whisky if you've got one——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went into Barry Quinlevin's room and brought -forth a bottle, a glass and a pitcher of water. With a hand -that trembled a little, he poured himself a drink and took -it at a draught, and then gave a gasp of relief. She -had sat down near him and was regarding him with an -expression of intentness and eagerness, though the pucker -at her brows indicated a doubt and a fear. The gas light -was at his back and she could not clearly see his face, but -there was something strange about him that she had -missed at his first entrance, a brooding sullenness, -remote, self-centered, that even the smile could not temper -with sweetness. And even while she watched he poured -out another glass of whisky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, Harry?" she asked. "Tell me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's nothing," he said. "I'm all in, I've had some -worries. I'll be all right.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you had something to eat?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I'm not hungry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His voice too ... thin, weary, somber.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now greatly alarmed, she caught his hand in both of hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must tell me everything, Harry. I don't care -what it is—I—I've got to know. You told me that you'd -tell me to-day—to-night, and now you must keep your -promise. I've tried so hard not to worry and—and when -you didn't come back to me last night, I—I was really -frightened——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Were you?" he said, with a frown. "I was all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad. But it was cruel of you not to send me -a message."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I couldn't. But I'm here now, Moira. So there's no -need worrying any more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put his hand over hers and leaned toward her. His -words, which last night would have given her happiness, -seemed somehow to mean nothing to her to-night. For -his very presence in this condition was a threat against -her peace of mind. And his fingers might have been wax -for all that their touch meant to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—you're trying to make things seem better than -they are," she said steadily, wondering at her own words. -"I—I'm not easily deceived. Last night I knew that -something had come between us. I know now that it's -still between us, Harry, whatever you say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned away toward the glass at his elbow,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he murmured, "that difficulty—has been removed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He couldn't repress the smile of triumph as he took his -drink, and she saw it. It wasn't a pleasant smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," he went on more easily, "aren't you glad to -see me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—God knows whether I am or not. Something has -happened to you—to me.... You've been through something -terrible—since yesterday—something that has burnt -the soul of you. What is it? What is it? The touch of -your fingers—your voice, they come from a distance-like, -with nothing of you in them. Am I ill that I should be -thinking of you so? Take me in your arms, Harry, and -shield me from this terror that you're not yourself, but -some one else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He obeyed, putting his arms around her and holding -her close to him. But at the touch of his lips to hers, -she struggled free and faced him by the hearth, pale as -death. The look of bewilderment at her brows had -intensified into a steady gaze, almost of terror at the -thought that had suddenly mastered her. And yet she -did not dare give utterance to it. It was so outlandish, -so mad and incomprehensible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw the frown of anger, quickly masked in a smile -of patience as she broke away from him, and that -confirmed her in her madness. She was reading him keenly -now from top to toe, missing nothing. And the thought -that dominated her was that the man with whom she -had mated during the past weeks, the man who had passed -through the shadow of death, reborn in body and spirit, -the Harry that she had recently learned to love—was -dead; and that this man who had come to take his -place—this man—was what he might have been if God's grace -had not fallen on him. Madness? Perhaps. And yet -how otherwise would the touch of his lips, which last -night she had sought in tenderness, have been so repellent -to her? Harry—her husband—unregenerate—the same -Harry that....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She kept her gaze fixed upon him and she saw his look -flicker and fade.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If this reality was Harry, her husband, then were all -the weeks that had passed since she found him in the -hospital merely a dream, was yesterday a dream—last night?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I don't know—what is the matter," she said at -last, passing a hand across her brows. "I—I am not well, -perhaps. But you—you're not the—not the same. I -know it. The thoughts that I have of you frighten me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He forced a laugh and sank into his chair again, -lighting a cigarette with an assumption of ease.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry," he said quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She only stood staring at him, her deep blue eyes never -wavering from his face, which was still averted from the -light. He met that gaze once—a second time, and then -looked away, but still they stared at him, wide like a -child's, but full of a dawning wisdom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—you are Harry Horton—my—my husband?" -she whispered in a kind of daze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, rather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused another long moment as though on the -verge of a difficult decision and then spoke searchingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you are Harry—my husband—then who—</span><em class="italics">who is -the other</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry Horton started. "The other——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The other—who was here with me yesterday, who was -ill in the hospital at Neuilly, wounded—the hero of -Boissière wood?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira," he said, rising, "this is serious. There has -been no other here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she repeated doggedly, "the other has been -here—your twin——" The word seemed born of her -necessity. "Your twin," she repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He winced at the word and she saw the change in his -expression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me the truth of this thing," she went on quickly, -"</span><em class="italics">he</em><span> said yesterday that something was to come between -us. It was </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>." And then, as he made no reply, "For -God's sake, speak——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned away from the light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm your husband," he muttered hoarsely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Show me your wounds," she gasped suddenly, reasoning -with singular directness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her once, then bent forward. There upon -the left side of his head in a shaved spot was a cross of -adhesive tape. She touched it aimlessly with her fingers -and then suddenly, before he could rise, with a quick deft -movement tore it away from his skull. And quickly as -he straightened she had seen enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no wound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's this deviltry?" he muttered, his face an angry red.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the look that he met in her eyes pierced all subterfuge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have not been wounded," she gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned forward in his fury as though to strike -her, but she stood up to him resolutely until the color -faded from his face and he straightened slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he muttered with a shrug, "I haven't." And -then, folding his arms he found her gaze. "What of it?" -he asked shortly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced down at the slips of adhesive tape and then -let them fall through her fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad," she said coolly, "that you've decided not -to carry on the lie——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed again. "Well, it looks as though it were -hardly worth while."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Already all her thoughts were beyond him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who—who is the other?" she asked at last, with a -cold precision that might have come from a disembodied -spirit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He waited a moment before replying and then his tone -matched her own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can hardly wonder at your interest after the warmth -of your greeting when I came in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shot told and she colored painfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who—who is he?" she repeated with an effort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled. "There's no harm in your knowing, since -you've guessed the rest. He's my twin brother, Jim -Horton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim," she gasped below her breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We met in the confusion on the battlefield," he went -on. "I had been shell-shocked and he put on my uniform -to lead my men——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shell—shock——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. He took my uniform. It was a fool proceeding. -When I came to, everything was in confusion. He -would have been courtmartialed and shot if I had turned -up, so I went back to the lines and came to Paris——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"While he won you the Croix de Guerre. And you're -going to step into his shoes——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They're </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> shoes. It's not my fault——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he—what's to become of him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's his lookout. He merely disappears from the -scene."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She leaned heavily against the mantel shelf, breathing -fast. But she had no reply, and so he went on unpleasantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, perhaps you would like to explain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have nothing to explain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not the joy in your eyes when I came in? The kisses -you gave me that you thought were for him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask no forgiveness," she said in a hollow tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course you thought he was your husband. And -he let you think so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. He let me think so," she repeated, parrot-like.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And all the while her horror of her situation increased—her -anger at "the other" who had dared to place her -in this false position.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw her husband's bony fingers clasp the chair arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were easily deceived," he went on. "It's hardly -flattering to me. I would like to know——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped suddenly, his question in abeyance before -the challenge in her eyes, aroused by the tone of his voice. -She read his thought and answered him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He came here from the hospital night before last. He -wanted to go to a </span><em class="italics">pension</em><span> but I would not permit it——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was kind of you. But I'm not blind. And your -kisses for him were warm on your lips when you greeted me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paled and drooped in her shame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you to say about that?" he went on -tensely. "Do you think that I'm the kind to stand by idly -and see a man take my wife's kisses?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. You're not," she answered slowly. "You've -already answered me." And then, with a painful effort, -"What have you done with him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sank into the armchair with a laugh. "With </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>? -Nothing. He has gone. That's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's your privilege. He has gone. He thought he -had gone about far enough. And I'm almost ready to -believe that you agree with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she stammered, pleading against her own will, -against her outraged pride. "There was a reason for -what he did—an honorable reason. There must have -been."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The marks of it are not very clear to me. If you -can see anything honorable in trying to steal the love -of one's brother's wife——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused, for he saw the danger signals flying in her -eyes, and tried to shrug his anger off. "What's the use? -I'm no fool. Whether he tried to win you or not, it's -clear that neither of you was over-scrupulous about me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She didn't reply at once and when she did speak her -words came slowly and with dignity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know why it is that he should have kept silent -about you. He has done me a hurt—irreparable. When -I visited him in the hospital, it was </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> that I visited, -</span><em class="italics">you</em><span> that I went to cheer, to take my place by your side. -I thanked God when I saw you that you had grown to -be—what you were, what I had wanted you to be. And I -loved you for what you had suffered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He started up from his chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait a moment," she insisted, still struggling to give -her thoughts expression. "I want you to understand. I -thought that it was you who had come back to me—as -I wished you to come back—in honor and pride of your -service of your country. And instead of you I -find—another—with your wounds, your honors—if it was your -brother—in spite of the false position he's placed me -in—I honor him for those wounds as I would have honored -you—and I honor him still more—because he has thought -enough of his honor and of mine—to give up everything -that he has won and gone out into the darkness—alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this, Harry Horton's fury relaxed in a laugh. He -poured himself out another drink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can spare him these new honors."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced at him keenly but he was too angry to -notice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He went—away—because he had to," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I say. It was getting too hot for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The meaning under his words came to her slowly. She -watched him for a moment curiously, leaning toward him, -studying the ugly lines at lip and brow that he no longer -took pains to conceal. And then she guessed at the truth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you done with him?" she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"N—nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You lie." She knew no fear of him now, and leaned -forward, clutching at his shoulder. "You've dealt -unfairly with him—you've——" She halted in terror of -her thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He got what he deserved," he muttered sullenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you done?" she repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put him where he won't mess in </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> affairs again. See -here, Moira," he caught her wrists and held her, "I'm -just about fed up with this. I've been patient about long -enough. You're my wife. And I'm going to keep you. -Do you think after all I've suffered I'm going to stand -for this kind of treatment now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let go my wrists—you're hurting me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No——" Instead, he drew her closer to him. "I -don't care about this foolishness with Jim. I think you -can see that you've made a fool of yourself and of me. -But I'm willing to forget it, if you'll do the square thing. -I'm back here and I'm back to stay—and I'm going to -make you love me whether you want to or not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me go, Harry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Kiss me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No." She struggled in his arms, but he only held her -the more closely. "Moira. I want you. You're mine. -You belong to me by every law——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he mastered her, pressing her throat back and -kissing her upon the lips. She lay quiet in his arms, weak -from the struggle. He took her immobility for acquiescence -and caught her more tightly in his arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me go," she gasped. "Do you hear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A saner man would have caught the warning note. But -Harry Horton was beyond warnings. She fought with -renewed strength and then, all else failing, struck him -full in the face with her clenched fist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His arms relaxed in astonishment and she sprang away, -putting a small table between them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Breathing rapidly, she saw him put his fingers to his -cheek and then look at them in a bewildered way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," she heard him muttering to himself, "so that's -the way of it——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The blow brought him to his senses, and he stared at -her for a moment as though at a person he had never -seen before. Her eyes burned like a blue flame in the -pallor of her face and the hand that clutched the table -trembled violently. And yet it was not the fear of him -that made her tremble, but the fear of herself and of -the sudden dreadful awakening at the edge of the chasm -that yawned between them.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="threats"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THREATS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The silence seemed endless and yet she dared not -trust herself to speak. Her throat closed and it -seemed that the blood from her heart was drowning -her. And yet she watched him tensely, aware of the -crisis, aware too of the revelations that seemed to have -laid her heart bare to all the world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her husband reached the large table and poured out -what remained of the whisky. Then she heard his laugh -again, and saw him leering at her over his glass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lucky dog, I am. Pretty little devil to come home to. -Love tap!" He shrugged and raised his glass. "To our -better acquaintance!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She made no sound, but while her eyes watched, her -mind was working rapidly. His air was braggart, but -she could see that he wasn't any too sure of himself. He -had thought to come here and by the ruse of the adhesive -plaster merge his identity into that of his brother Jim. -The lapse of time since she had seen him and the illness -had deceived her in the hospital. And so he had figured on -the remarkable resemblance to his brother to help him -carry off this situation with a careless hand. But he -hadn't reckoned with the alertness of her woman's -intuitions, or—God help her—the tenderness of yesterday, -which held the image of the brother so close to her heart. -Something of what was passing in her mind seemed to -come to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you've fallen in love with my pretty brother?" he -muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Complaisant husband—</span><em class="italics">mari complaisant</em><span>. You wanted -Jim to take you in his arms—and you only had </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>. You -don't care for my kisses. Why not? We're just alike—as -like as two peas in a pod. What's the difference? -Come now. Tell me. I'll be a good sport."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We—we've got to come to an understanding——" she -gasped at last desperately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly—an understanding. That's what I'm getting -at——" he laughed and sank into a chair by the lay -figure. "Oh, don't be disturbed. I'm not going to try -to kiss you again. It's too dangerous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She watched him intently while he took out a package -of cigarettes and lighted one. And then, with a wave -of the hand, "An understanding—by all means. Fire -away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't necessary to go into the past, except to say -what you know already—that our marriage was a -horrible mistake. But we did have an understanding -then—that you were to wait—that you were to—to make -good—and that I was to try to—to care for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite so. And we've both failed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks. We—we have both failed," she repeated. -"I can't say I ever really believed we should succeed -until——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Until you went to the hospital."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bent her head. "The main thing is," she went on -more evenly as she gathered courage, "that whatever my -hopes were for you, now at least you've forfeited all claim -to consideration."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why? Because I take a fancy to my own uniform—my -own personality?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you——" she paused to catch her breath, -"because you've stooped to something—something -unworthy—something vile and terrible, perhaps—God -knows, to get rid of a man—your own brother,—who did -you a service; and because you'll dare to receive honors -that don't belong to you." And then, as he started up, -"One moment. I don't know what happened on the -battlefield. If you were injured, it was a glorious—foolish -thing Jim Horton did for you. But whatever he did and -whatever his motive, it deserves something of you—something -different from what you've confessed. Tell me what -you have done with him and I'll try to believe you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's quit, I told you," he protested. "There wasn't -anything else for him——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does it matter? He's out of your life—out of mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—not out of your life——" she paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Merely that the truth of this thing must be told."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible. It would ruin us both."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a little gasp of relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me where he is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's safe——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She deliberated a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've got to prove it to me. He said he was coming -back to the studio to-day. Instead, you came—in the -uniform he wore. He didn't give it to you willingly——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he lied sullenly. "He gave it to me. There -wasn't anything else to do when I turned up. He realized -he couldn't stay here—with you." And then, "Oh, he -was square enough about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a long pause. He didn't ring true. She had -almost forgotten, as he had, what he had said in the fury -of his jealousy. She was aware that he had risen -unsteadily from his chair and was approaching her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So here, Moira," he said in an ingratiating tone. "I'm -not a bad sort—really I'm not. I—I was out of my -head awhile ago—the way you came up to me, thinking -I was him. I guess I wanted to hurt you—the way you -had hurt me. I'm sorry. I won't touch your fingers even, -if you don't want me to. I was a rotter to try to kiss -you. I ought to have known you didn't want me to—when -I—I had had one or two too many. I've been -worried too—devilish worried about the whole thing. Let's -forget it and talk the thing over sensibly. There may be -a way out. I don't want any honors that don't belong -to me, but I don't want to be dismissed from the service, -either, or shot—on Jim's account. But we've got to keep -this thing quiet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She understood his drift. The facts in her possession -made her dangerous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It can't be kept quiet, so long as Jim Horton is in -danger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who said he was in danger? I said he'd quit——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you lied. He hasn't quit. He isn't the quitting -kind. He was to have come to me to-day, and told me the -truth—I didn't know what it all meant then. But I do -now. He has got to have his chance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw him glare at her somberly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you want me to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take me to him—to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's impossible. I couldn't find him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You can find him. Or he would have found me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smeared out the ash of his cigarette in a receiver -and rose, his face livid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem very sure of him—and of yourself. And -if I don't find him for you, what are you going to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall tell what I know to the proper authorities."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood for a moment balked and then before she knew -what he was about he stumbled to the studio door and -turning the key in the lock put it in his pocket. She was -frightened by the significance of the action, and ran -quickly toward the door of her own room. He turned and -moved to intercept her but awkwardly and she slammed -the door in his face, catching the bolt on the inside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was frightened now, desperately frightened, but -resolved to escape and tell what she knew. The -brother—Jim—was in danger—a prisoner somewhere—otherwise -he would have come to her. Much as his silence had -injured her, deeply as her pride was hurt at the position -in which he had placed her, she knew now that he had -intended to tell the truth from his own lips and warn her -of Harry's return before he left her and went away alone. -He loved her.... It was his love that had sought to -spare her the humiliation of this very knowledge that had -come to her. Shell-shock! There was another reason for -the substitution. What? But whatever it was, there -seemed little difficulty in choosing between them. The -other—Jim—the man she loved ... she acknowledged -it in every impulse ... would have come to her. She -had to find him. Just what she meant to do she didn't -know, except to get away from Harry. He was -hammering on the door now—pleading with her. But she -didn't answer. Catching up her hat and a heavy coat, -she went quietly to her own door into the hall, and, while -he still hammered and pleaded, fled quickly down the -stairs and into the lodge of the </span><em class="italics">concierge</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Madame Toupin, aroused suddenly from her doze, -started up in amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame Horton, what is it?" she asked in French.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a game we play, Madame Toupin. You shall -hide me in your closet. And when Monsieur le Lieutenant -comes you shall say that I have run out into the -street. You understand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parfaitement, Madame. Ah, les jeux d'amour. -Entrez vite</em><span>." And she opened the door of the closet which -Moira entered quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Madame Toupin with a smile of wisdom -composed herself to read her paper. And in a moment a -clatter of boots upon the stairway and the sound of -footsteps upon the paving of the courtyard announced the -approach of the officer. Through a crack in the door -Moira listened to the conversation which Madame -conducted with her amiable smile, and presently Harry -Horton withdrew frowning and went out hurriedly into the -Rue de Tavennes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But while she stood upright in the closet listening, -Moira had formulated a plan. It was clear from the -tone of Harry's voice and his haste to go that her -escape had frightened him. For his judgment was not -amiss when he decided that Moira was fully capable of -carrying out her threat to tell the whole story to the -military authorities. But instead of clinging to her -original intention, a new idea had come to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If she followed him, she could perhaps get a clue to -the mystery of Jim Horton's disappearance. She -couldn't understand yet—couldn't make herself believe -that this man that she had married could be capable of -a thing so vile. But the evidence—his own words -stammered in his fury, were damning. The familiar formulas -seemed to have no bearing now. The war had made men -demi-gods or devils and Harry.... It did not seem very -difficult to decide to-night what Harry was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She slipped on her heavy coat and the hat she had -brought and with a word of explanation and caution to -Madame Toupin, she went out into the street. Far down -upon the opposite sidewalk she saw a tall figure striding -away into the darkness. She followed, keeping at a -distance, her coat collar turned up and her broad-brimmed -hat pushed well down over her eyes. She hurried along, -keeping in the shadow of the opposite side of the street, -trembling with the excitement of her venture and -wondering what was to be its outcome, but sure from his gait -that the situation she had created had developed in Harry -Horton's hazy brain some definite plan of action. She -noticed too that he no longer swayed or stumbled and -that he glanced furtively to left and right at the street -corners, peering back toward her from time to time. But -she matched her wits to his, crouching into corners as he -turned and then running forward breathlessly in the dark -places, keeping him in sight. He turned into the narrow -reaches of the </span><em class="italics">Rue de Monsieur le Prince</em><span>, past the </span><em class="italics">Lycée</em><span> -and the </span><em class="italics">École de Médicine</em><span>, and crossed the Boulevard -St. Germain into the network of small streets in the -direction of the river, twisting and turning in a way which -confirmed her belief in the dishonesty of his purposes. It -was now long after midnight, and the streets into which -they moved were quiet and almost deserted. From the -direction of the </span><em class="italics">Boule' Miche'</em><span> came a rumble of vehicles, the -glare of lights, the distant grunt of an automobile-horn, -the clatter of a cab horse down an echoing street. The -neighborhood was unfamiliar to her, a part of old Paris -near the </span><em class="italics">Isle de la Cité</em><span>, where the houses, relics of -antiquity, were huddled into ghostly groups, clinging to one -another, illumined fitfully by murky bracket-lamps which -only served to make their grim façades more somber and -fantastic. Dark shapes emerged from darker shadows -and leered at her—evil figures, bent and bedraggled, or -painted and bedizened, the foul night-creatures of the -city, the scavengers, the female birds of prey, the -nighthawks, the lepers. Twice she was accosted, once by a -vile hag that clutched at her arm with skinny talons, -and again by a man who tried to bar her way, but with -a strength born of her desperation she thrust him aside -and ran on, her gaze seeking the tall figure that she -followed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>More than once she lost sight of him as he plunged -deeper and deeper into the maze and she paused trembling -in the shadows, not knowing which way to turn, but -gathering courage again hurried on to catch the glint of a -street light on his brown overcoat in the distance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Above the roofs, almost hanging over her, she caught -a glimpse of the grim towers of Notre Dame, the sentinels -of a thousand years of time, and the sight of them gave -her courage in this region of despair. With an effort -she threw off her terror of the evil that seemed to hang in -every shadow, trying to remember that this was Paris, -her Paris, with familiar places close at hand; and that -this man whom she followed was no creature of the middle -ages, but Harry, her husband; that this was the -Twentieth Century, and that here was the very heart of the -civilization of the world. But the facts that had come to -her were amazing, and Harry's confessions damnable. It -was clear that his position was desperate and his intentions -none less so. Here somewhere, hidden, she believed, -Jim Horton lay, helpless and injured, if not by his -brother's hand by that of some one in his employ. It was -the only answer to the riddle of his failure to come back -to her. She must find him—before they took him -away—before they ... Her thoughts terrified her again. Harry -wouldn't dare. He was a coward at heart. She knew it -now. Besides, there must be some spark of decency and -manhood left to restrain him from so desperate, so -terrible an expedient to save himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She crept cautiously to the corner of a small street -into which Harry Horton had turned. It was scarcely -more than an alley-way—a vestige of the old city, hedged -in by squat stone houses with peaked roofs, deserted it -seemed and unoccupied. Beyond she could see the </span><em class="italics">Quai</em><span>, -the loom of the Hôtel Dieu and Notre Dame. The house -at which he had stopped was but a few yards from the -river front. She stole into the blackness of an angle of -wall and watched. He was knocking upon the door—three -quick taps followed by two slower ones. For awhile -he waited impatiently and then, as no one answered the -summons, he tried the window and then started up a small -passage at the side not twenty feet from where she -crouched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext" id="id1"><span>Her pulses were throbbing violently, but the terror of -her surroundings had passed. And she tried to convince -herself that she did not fear Harry.... And yet she -hesitated to confront him, fascinated by her discovery.... -The brother—Jim—was here—she was as sure of -it as though she had seen him. She knew that she must -intercede in some way, but she was very helpless. How -many were there in this house? And if she revealed -herself, would not the warning give them time to carry out -whatever plan they had in mind? And so she crouched -watching, breathless and uncertain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw him go back to the door and repeat the knock -more loudly, cursing under his breath and, calling a name -at the key-hole.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tricot!" he called. "Tricot! Tricot!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And in a moment she heard a sound at the door, which -was opened a few inches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">C'est moi, Tricot</em><span>," she heard Harry say, and then the -door was opened wide, giving her a glimpse of a short -man with tousled hair and a diabolic face, holding a -lantern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oh, Monsieur</em><span>——" growled the man with the lantern, -stepping aside as Harry Horton entered. And just as -Moira sprang up, her husband's name on her lips, the -door was closed and bolted. She ran to it and then paused -in uncertainty, trying to plan what it was best to do. -She felt very small, very helpless, for the sight of the -villainous looking man with the lantern frightened her -terribly. He seemed to typify all the evil in all the -world—to explain in a glimpse all that was sinister and -terrifying in the disappearance of Jim Horton. An ugly -creature of the world of underground, an </span><em class="italics">apache</em><span>! There -were others like him here. And Harry....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no time to be lost. Her thoughts seemed to -clear, her courage to return as she cautiously returned -by the way that she had come—out into the wider street, -up which she hurried, turning in the direction of the -</span><em class="italics">Boule' Miche'</em><span>. Her one idea now was to find a policeman,—any -one with a vestige of authority. Men she met but -she shrank away from them as she saw what they were and -what they thought she was. Ten—fifteen minutes of -rapid searching without result and she turned toward -the Quai and, failing there, over the </span><em class="italics">Petit Pont</em><span> to the -Island and the Prefecture de Police. It was curious that -she had not thought of it before. The buildings were -dark but she found at last a man in uniform to whom -excitedly she told her story. He listened with maddening -politeness and at last took her to an office where -several other men in uniform were sitting around a stove. -More alarmed than ever at the passage of time, she told -her story again. Here she seemed to make some impression -at last, for an older man, who sat at a desk, finally -aroused himself and gave some orders. And in a few -moments with two of the policemen she was leading the -way back to the </span><em class="italics">Quai St. Michel</em><span>. She was almost -running now in her eagerness so that the men had to take -their longest strides to keep up with her, but more than -ten minutes had already passed, it seemed an eternity to -Moira, and there was still some distance to go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was the name this man spoke at the door?" -asked one of the policemen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She told him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Tricot! </span><em class="italics">Parbleu</em><span>! I think perhaps, Mademoiselle, -that there may be some reason in your anxiety."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An </span><em class="italics">apache</em><span> of the old régime, Mademoiselle. We would -do well to find him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so, explaining her fears, but not yet revealing all -the reasons for them, she led the way down the streets by -which she had come and to the house which Harry Horton -had entered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The older man knocked loudly upon the door. There -was no response. Again. Silence. The other man went -up the alley way on the side and called to them. There -was a shutter and a window open. Without hesitation, -he drew a weapon and crawled over the sill, the other -man following, leaving Moira alone. She listened, as they -moved about inside, saw the glint of an electric torch -and then heard the bolts of the door shot back and the -police officer calling to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Enter, Mademoiselle," he said, when she had come -around. "You are sure that this is the house?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no one here. The house is deserted. It is a -street of deserted houses."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is impossible——" she stammered. "With my -own eyes, less than an hour ago, this Tricot met the other -at the door."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>! We will search a little further, then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She followed them up the rickety stairway and then -they found evidences of recent occupation—two pallets -of straw—some food—a bottle containing absinthe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle, you are right. This bottle is not yet -empty. There's something suspicious here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now moving with more rapidity they explored the -house thoroughly, descending at last into the cellar, -with, weapons drawn, Moira, half-hoping, half-fearing, -following just behind them, her gaze searching the -shadows. The place smelled of the earth and the walls were -damp to the touch, but a quick examination with the torch -showed the marks of many foot-prints in the earthen -floor. The astonishing feature of the cellar was its size, -for it seemed to extend under two houses, and its vaulted -ceiling of rough stone of great antiquity was upheld by -huge piers, that might at one time have supported the -walls of a great edifice. At first they could make out -nothing but a litter of papers, bottles and packing cases, -but as the torch of the police officer searched the shadows -in a distant corner, they heard his exclamation of -astonishment. There was another pallet of straw here -covered with rags and quite distinctly there came to their -nostrils the odor of chloroform. Moira peering over the -shoulders of the man with the light saw him bend over -and pick up a rag and examine it carefully. There were -dark stains upon it. And then with another exclamation -he picked up some pieces of rope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some one lay here but a short while ago," he muttered -positively, "tied hand and foot. The bed is still warm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They can't have gone far then——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the door was bolted on the inside——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The window——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There would hardly have been time, is it not so, -Mademoiselle?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," whispered Moira in dismay. "Is there -no outlet to this place? There must be. The light, -Monsieur—yonder, in the corners beyond the -stone-work——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man with the torch, his professional instincts now -thoroughly alive, obeyed. They sounded the walls, first -one side and then on the other, coming at last, in the -further corner, toward the river, upon a stone arch over -some steps leading into a dark opening. The man who -held the light suddenly extinguished it and a warning -sound came from his lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen," he whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Scarcely able to breathe, Moira obeyed. From the -passage-way at a distance, there came the sounds of -voices.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, follow me, Dupuy! Mademoiselle had better remain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And with that, turning his light into the dark hole, he -descended, the other following. But the thought of -remaining alone in this terrible house frightened her and she -clutched at the hand of the second policeman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I dare not stay here, Monsieur. I must go with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Bien</em><span>. But I warn you it may be dangerous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And yet what could be more dangerous than remaining -in the cellar of the </span><em class="italics">apache</em><span>, Tricot? With shaking limbs -she followed down the passage, stumbling and clinging to -the shoulder of the gallant policeman. The man who led -them disappeared beyond a turn in the passage, but they -reached it and as they turned the corner felt the chill of -the night air beating in their faces. And in a moment -they came out on the shore of the river near a boat -landing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Tonnerre de Dieu!</em><span>" shouted the man with the light, -and started running toward the steps that led to the Quai -above. The other had reached the boat landing and stared -for a moment down into the dark mists above the river. -Then he ran up the steps after his companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Frightened and mystified, Moira followed up the steps -where after a moment the two men joined her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We have missed them. We were too late——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the captive—the prisoner," pleaded Moira, in an -agony of apprehension.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the point—the prisoner," said the younger -man. "Wait a moment, Mademoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he ran down the steps to the boat landing again, -peering eagerly down the stream. Already far away, -merely a blotch in the shadows beyond the Pont Neuf, -there was a boat at the Quai du Louvre.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Vite</em><span>, Dupuy. There may be yet time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the two of them started running toward the distant -bridge, leaving Moira to follow as fast as she could.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Moira reached them on the opposite side of the -river, breathless and almost dead of apprehension, they -were questioning a man on the Quai du Louvre. He -reported that a man had attempted suicide by drowning -and that a woman had saved him just as he was about to -leap into the water. She herself had asked his assistance -and together they had hailed a passing </span><em class="italics">fiacre</em><span> in which -the woman had driven away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you notice anything extraordinary about the -rescued man?" questioned Dupuy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, except that he was very pale. Also that -there was an odor of chloroform on his clothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Chloroform! Are you sure?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man shrugged. "You may smell for yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he extended a hand and arm upon which the odor -was unmistakable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She heard the officer take the address of the witness -and then turn to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle is no doubt weary. There is nothing -more that can be done to-night. If you will permit me to -conduct you home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A woman? Who?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira nodded in a bewildered way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A </span><em class="italics">fiacre</em><span>, Monsieur, if you please," she stammered. -"I—I am very tired."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="piquette-takes-a-hand"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">PIQUETTE TAKES A HAND</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As Monsieur Valcourt, the sculptor, had said, -Piquette Morin was a </span><em class="italics">gamine</em><span>. She liked the warm -nest in the Boulevard Clichy, with which the Duc -de Vautrin had provided her, because it satisfied a -craving for the creature comforts which she had been so long -denied, and because it filled the hearts of other young -women of her acquaintance with envy. But she was not -happy. After all was she not young and had she not her -life to live?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was enough indeed to have grown in a few short -years from a seller of flowers and a model for the figure -into a lady of fashion, but her heart was still in the -</span><em class="italics">Rive Gauche</em><span> and there she went when she pleased, -searching out her old haunts, and the companions of her days -of want, with whom she could throw off the restraint of -her gilded cage and laugh with an open throat at the -ancient jests and dance her way again into happiness. -Life she loved, all shades of it, from the somber in which -she had been born to the brilliant artificial high lights -of café and restaurant. All sorts of people she knew—cochers, -bandits, dancers, poet-singers, satirists, artists, -journalists, and she rejoiced in them for what they taught -her of the </span><em class="italics">grande vie</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quite unhampered by morals of any sort, trusting -entirely to her impulses, which were often good, the -creature of her birth and surroundings, she was a pupil in -the school of the world, speaking, after a fashion, three -languages. She discovered that she had a brain, and -the war had made her think. Without the help of the -Americans, France must fall, and so when they came she -rejoiced in their splendid soldierly appearance and the -promise they gave of rescue and help for France. She -met Harry Horton in the Taverne du Pantheon. He was -quite drunk and didn't seem to have any Hôtel, so she -took him to the Boulevard Clichy in a </span><em class="italics">fiacre</em><span> and put him -to bed. According to her own lights, it was the only -natural, the only decent thing for her to do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus it happened that Harry Horton found himself, to -his surprise, on excellent terms with a friend of the Duc -de Vautrin, about whom Barry Quinlevin had been writing -him, the source of the Irishman's income. In a reckless -moment he confided to Piquette Barry Quinlevin's secret. -And as the Duc de Vautrin had provoked her that -afternoon by refusing her the money for a hat that she -particularly admired, she turned against her patron, entering -with interest into a plan which eventually seemed to -promise much. That she repented of her disloyalty the -next day when Monsieur de Vautrin relented was a -disappointment to Harry Horton, who saw a way in which -she could be useful to him. Also, Harry Horton was sure -that he had talked too much, for it was hardly safe to -make a confidante of a weathervane.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Harry Horton left Paris to join his regiment, -Piquette shrugged her pretty shoulders and in a few days -he was only a memory. He had been her </span><em class="italics">bel ami</em><span>, but -... </span><em class="italics">enfin</em><span>, even in the </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span>, one got drunk like -a gentleman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The meeting in the restaurant of Leon Javet came -at an opportune moment. The Duc had again developed -a habit of meticulous inquiry; also, for reasons of his own, -had reduced her allowance. The familiar figure in brown -was pleasing after the day of labor in the studio of -Monsieur Valcourt. He represented a part of life that -she could not taste—and this very morning she had read -of him in the bulletins as the hero of Boissière wood. And -so she had welcomed him in her joyous way, sure, in spite -of his deficiencies, that their friendship had been no -mistake. A hero. </span><em class="italics">Saperlotte</em><span>! Of course she was glad -to see him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the reserve in his manner had mystified her. He -was like another man. He was quieter, finer, gentler and -yet very brave and strong. A little </span><em class="italics">triste</em><span>, perhaps, but -more deep, more interesting, and touched with the dignity -of one who faces death for a noble purpose. But Piquette -had not lived in the streets of Paris all these years for -nothing. A few months of warfare would not change -a man's soul. What was this strangeness? What had -come over him? He had packed her home in a </span><em class="italics">fiacre</em><span>, just -when she was becoming most interested in this extraordinary -transformation. She had never before suffered -from pique, and it annoyed her that he shouldn't have -been more eager to resume their ancient fellowship. Who -was this unshaven fellow with the slouch hat and worn -clothing who had so great a claim upon his attention? -His figure too had a familiar look. His manner had been -urgent—threatening even, and Harry had obeyed the -summons, banishing her, Piquette, to the outer darkness -of the Boulevard Clichy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he had not written her or telephoned. All day she -waited in, expecting to hear from him, and expectation -increased her interest and her disappointment. Also, -meditation gave her a perspective. They were curious, -these second thoughts, deepening the impression of a -striking difference between this Harry Horton and the one -who had gotten drunk in the Taverne du Pantheon. -Idiosyncrasies that had escaped her during the few -moments they had been together at Javet's, came to her -now with startling clearness, the slow direct gaze, the -deliberate motions of the hands, their touch on -hers—and </span><em class="italics">parbleu</em><span>!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She started upright as a thought came to her like -a </span><em class="italics">coup de foudre</em><span>. The twisted little finger he had broken -that night at the Pantheon. It had bothered him only -a few days and it had never been set. She remembered -now the fingers of the right hand of the visitor on his -wine glass at Javet's, remarking how strong they were. -</span><em class="italics">The little finger was straight</em><span>!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was curious that such a trifle should come to her -with such significance. It was also curious that she hadn't -noticed it at the time. Could she be mistaken? When -night came and she had not heard from Harry she went -out and made her way across the river, leaving word -where she was to be found if the visitor called, and went -straight to the café of Gabriel Pochard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She and Gabriel were friends of long standing. Many -years ago, when she was but a child-model for Fabien, -Gabriel Pochard had posed around the studios with long -hair, for prophets and saints. But he had married some -money and opened the </span><em class="italics">café</em><span> which bore his name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not a beautiful place, and as she knew was -frequented by persons not of the </span><em class="italics">vrai type</em><span>, the gamblers, -the sharpers, the wealthy outcasts of all kinds, who knew -a good omelette when they tasted one and relished a -particular kind of seclusion. For here no questions were -asked. It was at Gabriel Pochard's that Harry Horton -spent much time, for he had come with a letter to Gabriel -from Monsieur Quinlevin, who had known Pochard since -the days of posing for the great Monsieur Gerôme. It -was here that she would find Harry Horton or news of -him, and information which would perhaps answer -the strange sequence of questions that had come rising -to her mind. She had the French passion for the -mysterious, the unexplainable, and with her own pride as the -stake, she meant to leave no stone unturned which would -help her to a solution of the problem.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She found Gabriel, wearing a sober air, busy with his -bottles and the café was blue with tobacco smoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>," she said in the argot. "You wear a -worried look. Has Leon Javet been stealing away your -customers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, </span><em class="italics">c'est toi, petite</em><span>! What brings you here alone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Ma foi</em><span>, my legs, if you would know the truth—and a -woman's curiosity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Tiens</em><span>! That is nothing new. How can I help you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you tell me what you know of 'Arry 'Orton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gabriel frowned and glanced about him cautiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh——," he said warningly. And then, in a whisper, -"Who told you that Monsieur 'Orton was here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed. "Did I not see him myself with my own -eyes last night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At Javet's." And then, in a meaning tone, as she -looked him in the eyes, "Him—or another."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her, his face, which still showed traces -of great beauty, twisted unpleasantly, and then beckoned -her to follow him through a door nearby into his office. -And when they were seated, "What did you mean, -Piquette?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I said," put in Piquette, lighting a cigarette. -"Him—or another." And then, as Gabriel's frown -deepened, she shot straight at her mark. "There are two -'Arry 'Ortons, Gabriel Pochard," she said coolly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The effect of her words on Gabriel was not lost on her. -He looked around him furtively and caught her by the -wrist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who told you this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's true, then?" asked Piquette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who told you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My own eyes. The visitor at Javet's had no twisted -little finger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And no one else has noticed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so far as I am aware."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gabriel Pochard gave a great gasp of relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Ma foi</em><span>, child, but you have sharp eyes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If they weren't sharp, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>, I would still be -selling flowers outside the Café Soufflet. Tell me the -truth of this thing, Gabriel," she said, settling herself in -her chair with the air of one who has come to stay, "it -is what I came here to find out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her, then frowned at the floor and shook -his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>, you will tell me that it is none of -my business," she said firmly. "</span><em class="italics">Eh, bien</em><span>, it is my -business—my right to know." And then, as he remained silent, -"You are aware that I am not one to be refused."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gabriel rose from the chair at the desk and paced up -and down the narrow apartment, but still he did not speak. -And then at last, "What devil put it into your head to -come here inquiring of this matter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The devil himself—I——," she said with a gesture. -And then, with a little shrug and a sober mien, "You -may trust me, Gabriel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped and sat in his chair again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Eh, bien</em><span>! As you have said. It is your right. But -it is no matter to be breathed outside this room."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will not be the first time I have kept your secrets."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should not tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gabriel Pochard shrugged. "Last night, late, a man -came in here to see me, a man wearing old clothing and a -three weeks' growth of beard. It was Monsieur 'Orton. -He was very much excited and told me a remarkable story -that rivals the tales of Monsieur Hugo."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I understand. Go on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He said he was wounded upon the battlefield at night, -when out of the darkness appeared just beside him the -very image of himself. It was his twin brother, whom he -had not seen for five years, a brother with whom he did -not speak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah—it was what I thought——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The brother took from Monsieur 'Orton his uniform -and went on, leading his men to victory. It was the fight -of Boissière Wood. You have heard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This interloper took Monsieur 'Orton's uniform, his -rank and identity, and now comes back to Paris—to -Monsieur 'Orton's own apartment, and Monsieur 'Orton's -wife——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette had started to her feet, her fingers grasping -the shoulder of Gabriel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His </span><em class="italics">wife</em><span>!" she broke in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parfaitement</em><span>, his wife," repeated Pochard. "You did -not know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He never told me," she stammered. "Who——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The daughter of my ancient friend, Monsieur Barry -Quinlevin," said Pochard with a shrug.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're sure?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As certain as I sit here, </span><em class="italics">ma petite</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette sank into her chair, frowning deeply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on," she muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They had met last night on the street in the dark. -Monsieur 'Orton demanded of his brother to relinquish his -identity. He refused. Monsieur 'Orton came to me. It -was an act of injustice. Monsieur 'Orton was outcast. -Something had to be done. I helped him. </span><em class="italics">Voilà tout</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette had been listening intently, thinking deeply the -while. As Pochard finished, she searched his face -keenly—her frown deepening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's something at the back of this, Pochard. Tell -me the rest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pochard hesitated, scratched his head and shrugged a. -shoulder. "I do not like it, you understand. It has -worried me all day—an American—a soldier. One cannot -tell what would happen if the police——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette understood at once. Her fingers closed again -over the arm of Pochard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you done with him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pochard bent forward, whispering. "He lies in the -house in the Rue Charron by the river. A knock on the -head—</span><em class="italics">c'est tout</em><span>—and chloroform."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette was silent, staring at the wall. Then she fixed -her wide gaze on the conspirator.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bah! You are a fool, Pochard!" she shot at him. -"They will catch you sure. How much?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Two thousand francs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you get half," contemptuously. "Who did it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tricot and </span><em class="italics">Le Singe Anglais</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tricot!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette got up and paced the length of the room, -turning quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are an idiot, Pochard," she stormed at him -furiously. "An American! Don't you know what you have -done? It is the hero of Boissière Wood that you have -struck down. An American—who has risked his life for -you and me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Monsieur 'Orton——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has lied to you. I do not believe——" She broke -off, caught Pochard by the arm again and shook him. -"When did this happen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"L-late last right——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And 'Arry 'Orton?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was here—this afternoon——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Drunk——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pochard shrugged. "No—not bad. He was in uniform."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is he now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think he has gone to find his wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His wife!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette sank into her chair, took out a cigarette and -smoked rapidly for a moment. And then,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What were you going to do with this—this twin -brother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I?" Pochard gave a gesture of abnegation. "Nothing. -I am through. That is the affair of Monsieur 'Orton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>, but you can't wriggle out so easily. -You've received money—blood money——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pochard put his hands deep in his pockets and extended -his long legs, frowning at the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sorry now. It is a bad business——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The man is safe?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So far, yes——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Tricot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He waits for orders."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette ground her cigarette under her heel and rose -abruptly with an air of decision.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This American must be liberated at once!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pochard rose and faced her. "It's too late," he growled,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. It's not too late. I know the sort that Tricot -is—with the river just there—at his elbow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can do nothing. That's what worries me. Tricot -and </span><em class="italics">Le Singe</em><span> will look after their own skins now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean," she paused significantly. "The Seine——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded somberly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the solution of many problems."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She caught him by the shoulders and shook him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But not of </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> problem. You understand. It will -not do. I will not have it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You," he laughed. "What can you do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You shall go with me now—and liberate him——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took her hands from his arms roughly and turned -away. "No," he growled, "not I. Have I not told you -that I am through?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You will be through, when the police come to -find out what you know about the matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They will not find out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be too sure. 'Arry 'Orton is a fool when he -drinks. He will betray you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pochard scowled. "And betray himself——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't be too sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't. But I must trust to luck."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette stamped her foot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've no patience with you." And then, "You will not -liberate him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I refuse to have anything more to do with the -matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will regret it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps. That will be my own lookout."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stared at him in a moment of indecision, and then -with a shrug, turned toward the door into the café.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are an idiot, Gabriel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pochard grunted as he followed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will say nothing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Naturellement</em><span>," scornfully. "I am not an informer. -But I should like to knock you on the head too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put her hand on the knob of the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are you going?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To the Rue Charron."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He caught her hand away from the knob and held her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You——! Why should you intrude in this affair?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It amuses me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I warn you that you will run into danger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They will not harm me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must not go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I shall save you from the results of your -cupidity—since you will not save yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will not permit it——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have nothing to say in the matter—since you've -washed your hands of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She threw his hand off and opened the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette!" he called, but she went rapidly into the -other room before he could intercept her, ran quickly out -into the street and disappeared in the darkness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was throbbing now, deep with purpose. It was -only in moments like these that life ran swiftly in her -veins. The excitement of the venture was like a tonic, -and she went on rapidly toward the </span><em class="italics">Boule' Miche'</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she walked she went over in detail the conversation -she had had last night in the Café Javet. It was not -surprising that she had not guessed the truth last night, -for the new Harry Horton's information as to his -brother's affairs had blinded her to the physical -differences such as there were, between them. Perhaps it was -the glamor that his heroism had thrown about him, -perhaps it was his gravity, or perhaps the depth of his voice -or the penetrating quality of his steady gaze, but she had -not been able to deny all day a new and extraordinary -appreciation of the newcomer, whose virtues, half guessed -at, seemed to bring Harry Horton's deficiencies into higher -relief. And the mystery of his sudden appearance and -the strange tale of Gabriel Pochard provided the added -touches to stimulate her interest in him. As she had told -Gabriel, there was something back of this mystery of -dual identity, and she meant to discover the truth. As to -one thing she was resolved, the beautiful young soldier -of the Café Javet should not die, if there was anything -that she could do to prevent it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tricot was a bad one. So was </span><em class="italics">Le Singe Anglais</em><span>. Either -of them was capable of anything. She was acquainted -with them both, but she did not fear them, for she knew -the freemasonry of their evil calling and had even been -in the little room of Gabriel Pochard when they had -discussed their business affairs. But this matter -concerned a human being in whom she was interested. No -harm should come to him. It could not be. She wanted -him for herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so at last, having decided that she must move -with caution and leave the rest to chance and opportunity, -she went toward the house in the Rue Charron. She -had been there before some years ago with Gabriel -Pochard, when the boat-load of champagne from up the -river had been smuggled in. Thus it was that she knew -the secret of the old passage to the river bank, hidden -from the opposite shore by a barricade of old timber. So -instead of approaching the house by way of the Rue -Charron she went down toward the river and turned in to -the Quai des Augustins. There were a few people about -but she watched her opportunity and when she reached -the steps descended to the boat landing, where she found -herself alone and unobserved, hidden from the lights above -by the shadow of the retaining wall. Here she paused a -moment to think and plan. According to all the rules of -the underworld the prisoner would be in the cellar of the -house in the Rue Charron. But if Tricot or </span><em class="italics">Le Singe</em><span> were -taking turns guarding him there, her problem would be -difficult. Because it meant a scene in which her -persuasions and promises of immunity might fail, and Tricot -could be ugly. Money? Yes, perhaps, if everything else -failed. But she had a sense of pride in the belief that with -luck favoring her she could accomplish this rescue alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At any rate she meant to make the attempt—and so, -she found the end of the tunnel and with some difficulty -and damage to her gloves and clothing, wrenched at the -boarding. The timbers were old and rotten, as she knew, -and it was not difficult to make a passage. It was so -easy in fact that she began to believe that Tricot had -more wisely kept his prisoner upstairs, but as she moved -forward cautiously, one hand steadying her progress over -the rough masonry, she caught the first dull glimmer of -yellow light. As she came to a turn in the passage she -paused a moment and then stole forward quietly, to the -foot of the steps, peering up into the cellar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At first she could see nothing but a litter of boxes, -bottles and waste paper, and then coming up one step at -a time, she searched the recesses of the cavern one by one. -A smoke-stained lantern burned dimly near the foot of the -flight of steps, leading to the floor above, but there was -no sign of any one watching. And so she emerged -cautiously from the dark hole and stood up. In a moment -she found what she was looking for. Huddled in the -corner to her right, she made out the contours of a human -figure. With another quick glance toward the steps and -a moment to listen for any sound above, she approached -noiselessly. He was trussed with a rope from head to -foot, his hands tied behind him. But he was the man -she sought. She bent over him, noticing his heavy -breathing and the odor of the drug. At the touch of her hand -he stirred slightly and she saw the blood upon his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur!" she whispered quickly, "it is I—Piquette—and -I have come to help you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stirred again and tried to move, but the drug was -heavy in his blood. So she shook him furiously, trying to -arouse him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Piquette," she whispered again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His lips moved and his eyelids fluttered open. "Piquette——!" -he muttered, and then breathed stertorously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was encouraging. She shook him again and again, -fighting the lethargy. He moved and groaned. It seemed -almost certain that his guardians must hear him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh——," she whispered, "Silence!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile she was struggling with the knots of the -cord that bound his wrists. At last she managed to get -his arms free and moved them backward and forward with -all her strength, trying to restore his circulation. Then -she unfastened the cords at his feet and pulled his knees -up, thumping him from time to time and whispering at -his ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wake up, Monsieur! You mus' get out of dis wit' me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His lips moved again. "Who——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's Piquette, Monsieur," she repeated, prodding at -him and shaking his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This time his eyelids opened wider, and he looked at -her vaguely. But his lips muttered her name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mus' rouse yourself—you mus'! We are going -out of here—at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With an effort he struggled up to a sitting posture -while she supported him, pinching his shoulders and arms. -Then she saw for the first time an earthen pitcher on a -stool nearby. There was still some water in it, and she -threw it in his face. He sputtered and choked, but she -silenced him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quiet—for your life! Dey're upstairs, aren't dey?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—upstairs. I—I'm weak as a cat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naturally, but you've got to 'elp yourself. I can't -carry you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Carry me—no——" He toppled sideways and would -have fallen, but she caught him and held him, shaking -and pinching him again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. You've </span><em class="italics">got</em><span> to wake up. Do you hear?" she -whispered desperately. "They may come down 'ere at -any moment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A dim notion of what she was talking about seemed to -come to him, for with an effort he threw off the heaviness -that was coming over him again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—Piquette—How did you——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By an old passage from dis cellar to de river. You -mus' go out dat way. Do you on'erstand me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded feebly. "River——" he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was another struggle against the drug and -another, but at last she got him to understand. He was -very weak, but managed to support himself with an -effort, sitting upright, while Piquette ran over toward -the foot of the steps and listened intently, for if Tricot -and the Englishman were listening, they must surely have -heard something of the commotion she had made. But -there was no sound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went back to the injured man. Would he be able -to walk? She shook him again and pointed to the way -by which she had come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is dere—in de corner—the way of escape. You -mus' make de effort."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She helped him struggle to his knees, one of his arms -around her shoulders, but when she attempted to get him -to his feet, his knees gave out and he fell, dragging her -down with him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was at this moment of failure, that a sudden clamor -of knocking at the street door upstairs came, with terrifying -clearness, to her ears. And the sound of a masculine -voice calling the name of Tricot. There was no time to -be lost, yet what was she to do? She was strong, but -she could not lift the American bodily and he had collapsed -again upon the floor. For an agonized moment she listened. -A long silence and then the knocking was renewed, -followed by the sound of another voice upstairs and the -tread of heavy feet going toward the door. Desperate -now, and aware that only the American's own efforts could -save him, she lifted him again by sheer strength to his -knees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dey'll be down 'ere in a moment," she stammered in -his ear. "You've got to help yourself. You've got to. -Crawl—on your knees—toward de corner beyond de -pillar. I will 'elp you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seemed to understand and struggled a few feet, -paused in weakness, then struggled on again. And all the -while Piquette was listening to the sounds upstairs, the -voices which now seemed to be near the head of the -stairway, coming to her ears distinctly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We've got to get him away from here—out into the -country somewhere—and lose him." Harry Horton's -voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" growled a voice in English.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira Quinlevin knows the truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An oath from Tricot as the other translated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who told her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No one. She guessed it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Parbleu! We shall take no chances then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must take him away—a cab—out into the -country," said Harry's voice again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And leave him to recover and set the police on us? -Not much. He'll have to go the long road."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My God! No. Not that!" cried Harry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The river!" growled Tricot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then the other voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You started this thing. And it's got to be finished. -Did you bring the money?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow. But—I can't——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was the beginning of a violent discussion in which -Tricot's advice seemed to prevail. Harry's opinions -wouldn't matter much to these precious villains.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Piquette had heard enough. It seemed that they -were about to descend the stairs to the prisoner, and -glancing backward she labored with the injured man until -they reached the shadows of the pillar into which she -pushed and dragged him until they were both hidden from -the light of the lantern. But the steps into the passage -were still ten feet away. Already there were footsteps on -the stair, where one of the men stood, still arguing with -Harry Horton. With a final effort, she urged the drugged -man toward the opening and then tumbled him down into -the darkness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She heard the steps coming down the stairs, heard them -pause and a voice again raised in argument. But she -listened no more. The situation was desperate, for in a -few seconds at the least, the escape of the prisoner would -be discovered, so forgetting caution, she pinched and -shook him, by main strength of her strong young arms, -urging him forward. Something of the imminence of his -danger seemed to come to him, for he crawled to the corner -and then stumbled in some fashion to his feet, clinging to -her. The air beyond the turn in the passage seemed to -revive him and in a moment, swaying and struggling -against his weakness, he stood outside the opening upon -the river-bank, leaning against the wall, while Piquette -thrust the boards across the opening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She heard a cry now from beyond the passage and -with the injured man's arm around her shoulders, led the -way down the bank to the landing. He caught her -intention. There was a boat there and she got him into it -and pushed off from the shore into the stream. She was -almost exhausted by this time, but managed to get out -the oars and make some progress down the river before -the timbers fell from before the opening in the wall and -three men appeared—Tricot, Harry and the Englishman. -She saw their shapes dimly in the shadow of the wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But a strange thing happened then. For the three -figures went flying up the steps to the Quai and then ran -as though for their lives in the direction of the Pont -St. Michel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she managed at last to reach the Quai du Louvre, -where with the help of a belated passer-by, she managed to -get the man she had rescued into a </span><em class="italics">fiacre</em><span> and so to the -Boulevard Clichy.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-samaritan"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER X</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE SAMARITAN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When Jim Horton came to his senses after his -rescue, he found himself in a small room overlooking -a pleasant façade of gray stone, tinted softly -by the pale morning sunlight. It was some moments before -he managed to gather his scattered wits together and out -of the haze and darkness in which he had been groping -for two nights and a day, recall the incidents of his -escape. Piquette! He remembered.... But what was -this room? There had been a cab-drive late in the -night—he had been carried up a flight of stairs ... As he -turned in the bed he was aware of a figure which rose -from the corner of the room and approached him. It was -an oldish woman in the neat uniform of a maid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled. "Monsieur is awake?" And then, moving -toward the door, "Madame shall come at once."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>But when Piquette entered the small room, attired in a -gorgeous pink lounging robe of silk and lace and wearing -a boudoir-cap embroidered with silken flowers and golden -thread, she dazzled him for a moment with her splendor, -and he did not recognize her. She came forward to him -quickly and laid her cool hand on his brow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, </span><em class="italics">mon petit, c'est mieux</em><span>." And then, in English, -"'Ow do you feel?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better. But everything doesn't seem—very clear to -me yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Naturellement</em><span>. You mus' 'ave some food and de -doctor will be 'ere soon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton glanced about the small room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you mind telling me where I am?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dis room is in de hallway adjoining my apartment——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You brought me here——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Las' night," she said, with a smile, "an' a beautiful -time we had getting you up de stair——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I remember—a man with a lantern—and then a -struggle—with you helping—through a passage—to the -river—a boat——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A </span><em class="italics">voiture</em><span> an' den—here," she added as he paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put out his hand and fingered the lace of her sleeve.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why—why did you do this for me, Piquette?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She caught his hand, pressed it in hers, and then rose -abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does it matter? You s'all talk no more until -after de doctor 'as seen you. Sh——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Later in the day after Jim Horton had slept again, -Piquette visited him, dressed for the street. In a few -words she told him how she had guessed at the double -identity—then confirmed it, and then how she had -discovered the means Harry Horton had employed to get -his brother out of the way. She dwelt lightly on his rescue -from the house in the Rue Charron and explained quite -frankly her own relations with the criminals.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">C'est la grande vie, Monsieur l'Americain</em><span>," she said -with an expressive gesture. "You remember perhaps what -Monsieur Valcourt 'as said. I am still de </span><em class="italics">vrai gamine</em><span>. -I know dat </span><em class="italics">vilain</em><span> Pochard since I am so high."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why have you done this for me, Piquette? When -you found out that I was not my brother——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, la, la! Who can tell? Perhaps I like' you a -little de night in Javet's. De thought of de adventure—perhaps, -but more dat Tricot and </span><em class="italics">Le Singe Anglais</em><span>—dey -would 'ave t'rown you in de river, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You saved my life——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You see, Monsieur—Monsieur," she paused in -search of a name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My name is Jim Horton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeem! </span><em class="italics">C'est bon ça</em><span>. Jeem 'Orton, dere wasn' -anyt'ing else for me to do. You were a good Americain—who -'ad fought at La Boissière for France and for me. -An' </span><em class="italics">he</em><span> had not. It could not be dat you should die. But -dere are many t'ings I do not yet on'erstand. If you -would tell me——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton was silent a moment, thinking deeply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were a friend of my brother's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put it more in the form of a statement than a -question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Jeem 'Orton," she said, "before 'e went to de -front. Dat does not matter now, I can assure you. What -'appen' at Boissière Wood, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>? Pochard tol' me -what 'Arry 'Orton said——" And she related it as -nearly as possible in Pochard's own words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton listened, smiling slightly, until she had -finished. And then,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had intended to keep silent about this thing, Piquette. -But I'm not going to keep silent now. I'm going to tell -the truth, whatever happens to Harry or to me. He -would have killed me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she broke in. "I t'ink 'Arry was frighten' at what -he 'ad done——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He wasn't too frightened to get those chaps to knock -me in the head," he put in dryly, then broke off with a -sudden sense of the situation. "I hope, Madame, that -you do not care for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had been watching him intently and now put her -hand over his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no, Jeem 'Orton," she said carelessly. "But tell -me de truth——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her for a long moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No one has a better right to know it than you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then, without ornamentation, he related the facts -from the unfortunate moment that night when he had put -on Harry's uniform and gone into the fight until he had -met his brother in the Rue de Tavennes. She heard him -through to the end.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 'ave not told me everyt'ing, Jeem 'Orton," And -then, significantly, "About Madame—Madame 'Orton?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He frowned and then went on with an assumption of -carelessness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The situation was impossible, as you will see. I -would have gone away——" he shrugged, "if Harry -hadn't saved me the need of it. But now——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused and clenched a fist. "He has much to -answer to me for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent for a while, watching him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A coward! I might 'ave known," she murmured after -a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the conversation that followed many things were -revealed to Jim Horton, many things to Piquette. He -learned from her own lips every detail of the story of -Quinlevin's plot against the Duc and what was to be -Moira's share in it, and he listened in anger and -amazement. As to her relations with de Vautrin, she spoke -with the utmost frankness. He was not a pleasant person, -and to her mind, for all his money and position, possessed -fewer virtues even than the outrageous Pochard and his -crew, who at least were good-natured villains and made -no pretenses. The Duc was stingy—cruel, self-obsessed -and degenerate. </span><em class="italics">Que ça m'embête ça</em><span>! Why she had not -cut loose from him and gone back to live in the </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span> -she did not know, except that it was comfortable in the -Boulevard Clichy and she was tired of working hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He found himself regarding Piquette with interest. -The type was new to him, but he liked her immensely. -She might betray her Duc, but in her own mind she -would have perfectly adequate reasons for doing so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As to Moira, little enough was said. If she suspected -anything of his tenderness in that quarter she gave not -a sign of it. But he could see that the facts as to his -brother's marriage had come as a surprise to her.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"An' now, Jeem 'Orton," said Piquette the next morning, -when he had strength enough to sit in a chair by the -window, "what are you going to do about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He thought for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have given me my life. I should dislike to do -anything that would give you unhappiness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As to that, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>," she said carelessly, "you s'all -do what you t'ink bes'. You know perhaps dat to-morrow -in de Place de la Concorde, your brother 'Arry is to -receive de Croix de Guerre?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had forgotten, but the announcement had no effect -upon him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It does not matter," he muttered. What he had been -thinking in his moments of wakefulness was of Harry -going to the studio in the Rue de Tavennes. Moira was -his wife. Would she, like Piquette, learn at once of the -deception? Or would she accept him...?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not care for de honors you have won?" asked -Piquette, breaking on his thought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They weren't my honors——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you bear de wounds——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and they're proofs my brother will find it hard -to answer. But tell me, Piquette, what you have heard. -Do they suspect you of having carried me off?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette laughed. "No. I saw Émile Pochard las' -night. 'E does not dare speak. Tricot, 'Arry, -</span><em class="italics">Le Singe</em><span>—I saw dem at Pochard's. -Dey t'ink you are a devil. It -is de police worries dem mos'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The police?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some one followed 'Arry 'Orton to de house in de Rue -Charron and tol' de police. Dey came jus' as we escape'. -Your brother was lucky to get away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who could this have been?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don' know. But what does it matter since you are -safe?" And then, after a long pause, "No harm 'as been -done except to your poor head. We mus' let de matter -drop, Jeem 'Orton. It is better so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If that is your wish, Piquette——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. It will be safer for us both, for you because you -mus' keep in hiding—for me—because I 'ave a reputation -at stake."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eager look inquired her meaning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Émile Pochard would never trus' me again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed. "And you value the friendship of -Monsieur Tricot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. But I know de law of de </span><em class="italics">apache</em><span>. It would not -be pleasant to 'ave one's t'roat cut an' be t'rown in de -Seine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The true meaning of the danger that she had run for -him gave Jim Horton a new and lively sense of his obligations -and responsibilities to this strange creature. He -caught her hand to his lips and kissed it warmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can I ever repay you?" he blurted out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her face flushed gently and she regarded him with eyes -almost maternal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a boy you are!" she laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But a stranger to you. To have run such risks—to -have made such a struggle just because you knew I was -helpless."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It amuse' me, Jeem 'Orton. Sometimes I t'ink it is -fear dat is de </span><em class="italics">grande passion</em><span>—when one has tasted -everyt'ing else in life. Fear. To succeed in an adventure like -this—</span><em class="italics">Et nous voilà</em><span>! Quite safe and comfortable—an' -each of us 'as made a friend. Is not dees wort' all de -trouble?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette!" he said, "you're a wonder! I'll never -forget——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes, you will, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>," she broke in with a -shrug, "you are different from 'Arry. You are always -</span><em class="italics">le grand serieux</em><span>. It was what I noticed at Javet's. You -will love much, but you will never lie jus' to make a woman -'appy. And me—you will forget, Jeem 'Orton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never," he said stoutly, "never, Piquette. You're the -bravest, squarest woman in the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed again. "</span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>! For dat—I shall kees -you, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she did, with a friendly frankness, upon the mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a very pleasant sanctuary, this, into which -fortune had thrown him, but deep in his heart Jim Horton -knew that Piquette had read him truly. He was no -panderer to women's caprices, and he could not forget the -tragedy of the woman he loved, which might almost be -laid at his door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not mind my keesing you, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I like it," said Horton with a laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Piquette knew. Life in the streets of Paris had -given her a sense of the fourth dimension. And curiously -enough her prescience only quieted her, made her a little -graver, matching her mind—her mood to his. He provided -a new sensation, this outcast hero who owed her his life -and yet was to pay her only in gratitude.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton was penniless, for with an irony not lost -on him, the money he had gotten from the bank had gone -to pay Tricot and </span><em class="italics">Le Singe</em><span> their price for his knock on -the head. The clothing he found himself in had been -none too good when Harry had worn it, and the incarceration -in the filthy cellar had done nothing to improve it. -Outcast he might be, but he meant while he had money in -bank at least to look presentable. So Piquette got him -a blank check from the bank which he made out and -Piquette cashed, and the next day when he was able to -go out, he bought himself a suit. He came back in the -afternoon and with much pride exhibited his purchase.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave the clothing her approval and then shrugged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' now, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem, you will be going away, </span><em class="italics">n'est ce pas</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it not better, Piquette? I have not the honor of -Monsieur de Vautrin's acquaintance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, </span><em class="italics">ça</em><span>!" she said with a quick gesture. "</span><em class="italics">Il est bête</em><span>. -He would never know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton put his hands on her shoulders and made -her look in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's not the way, Piquette. You are too fine not to -see. I can't be an object of your charity any longer—because -it's </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> charity. I owe you my life. I want to -pay—but not like this. I want you to see my gratitude in -my eyes, the depth of my friendship, I want you to know -that what you've done for me has given a new meaning to -courage and unselfishness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned her head away as he paused, and then gently -took his hands from her shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can pay, Piquette," he insisted quietly. "You do -not love the Duc de Vautrin. Come away from here with -me. I have a little money. I can get more from America. -We will find you a place in the </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span> where you will -be happy until you have the home you deserve——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you——," she faltered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I do doesn't matter. An outcast——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She started.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will leave Paris?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She released her fingers quickly and went to the window, -looking over the rooftops in a long significant moment of -silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And de oder woman——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She spoke the words distinctly, and yet he thought he -must have misunderstood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette, I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What 'appens between you an' your brother's wife?" -she asked quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had no reply and while he hesitated she turned -slowly and faced him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>," she said with a smile. "I 'ave -known it from de firs'. You love 'er. </span><em class="italics">C'est dommage</em><span>. -It is a pity. She is ver' beautiful, dey say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am a fool, Piquette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are not de firs' in de worl'——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sank on the edge of the bed, wondering at his own -confession.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was sorry for her—for her innocence, married to a -man like that. She was kind to me. I played the part -and kept silence. They were going to use her—palm her -off as de Vautrin's child——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused and looked up at Piquette, aware that the -topic that he had not dared to broach now suddenly -loomed between them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette faced him gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>," she said, and the rising inflection -was very gentle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know what you wish to do, Piquette, and -it is not for me to say. But before I was hurt, I had -planned to find out all the facts of this conspiracy and -tell both Harry's wife and the Duc de Vautrin. You -have given me the facts. Do you want me to use them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette was silent a moment, regarding him with a -smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>, 'as anyt'ing 'appen' to make you -change your mind?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked up at her in wonder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette, I thought——" he began. But she broke -in lightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You s'all do what you wish, but it is a difficult game -you play an' </span><em class="italics">dangereux</em><span>. You do not know Monsieur -Quinlevin. If Tricot is de wolf an' Émile Pochard de -fox, it is Barry Quinlevin who is de tiger. 'Arry 'Orton -knows. 'E is afraid—what you call—eat out of his 'and."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to beat him, Piquette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh, bien! But remember, 'e is not a man to be easily -vanquished. 'E is ver' quiet, ver' cool, </span><em class="italics">le vrai gentilhomme</em><span>, -but 'e 'as sharp claws, Jeem 'Orton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A thief——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And de Vautrin?" she broke in. "Monsieur le Duc is -no better dan he. He did not care 'ow 'e got de money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton paced the room slowly, in deep abstraction, -but in a moment stopped before her and caught her hands -in his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette," he said gravely, "you were in this thing—I -don't know why or how, because a woman with a soul as -big as yours oughtn't to be stooping to this kind of -rottenness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a long while she made no reply, but she turned her -head away and looked out of the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't change de way I was born, Jeem 'Orton," she -said quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was silent, aware of the false situation, and thinking -deeply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to tell her the truth, Piquette," he said at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another moment of silence and then Piquette turned -toward him, both arms outstretched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are right, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span> Jeem. You s'all go to 'er and -tell 'er——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette——!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Je ne me fiche pas</em><span>. Go. It's nothing to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton had risen and put his arms around her, -turning her face up to his and kissing her gently. She -made no resistance, but she did not return his caress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are too good for him, Piquette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stirred uneasily in his arms and then released -herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, Jeem——", she said. "Go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you meet me to-night at Javet's?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. </span><em class="italics">Au revoir, mon brave</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She watched him go down the stair and then turned in -at the door of her own apartment.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton was no squire of dames, but he couldn't -be unaware of the attractions of this lovely pagan. Like -her he was an outcast and their ways perhaps lay along -the same paths to oblivion, but before he started down -that road he had a duty still to perform, a wrong to set -right, and he meant to do it without delay. If Harry -had succeeded in ingratiating himself with Moira he knew -that she must despise him for his betrayal of her credulity. -But he meant to seek her out just the same and tell her -the truth about Barry Quinlevin as he knew it. He -wanted to see her again—just this once, in order to try -and justify himself in her eyes for his imposture, and -then he would go—he didn't much care where.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he realized as he crossed the river that it was not -going to be an easy matter to reach her unobserved. He -knew that Harry must be passing some uneasy moments -and it was better that Harry didn't see him just yet. -But there was the watchful Madame Toupin to pass and -it was still half an hour until dusk when he hoped to slip -through the gate and up the stairs. Meanwhile he found -himself a lodging in an obscure street and then with his -hat-brim pulled down walked into the Rue de Tavennes -and boldly approached the familiar gate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame Horton?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oui, Monsieur</em><span>. She is in. Do you know the way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nothing could have been more simple. Madame Toupin -had pulled the latch without even looking up at him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="confessions"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">CONFESSIONS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It all seemed like a horrible dream to Moira—the -revelation of Harry's vileness—the prison by the -river, the police, the escape of Jim Horton with the -unknown woman, the homeward ride with the police officer, -and the night in the studio-apartment with locked doors, -waiting—listening for Harry's return, until at last -through sheer exhaustion of mind and body she had fallen -asleep. And then, the visit the next day of the police -officer, the questions that she had to answer. But he got -nothing from her beyond the mere skeleton of the tale -which she had given the night before. She wouldn't tell -how she got to the Rue Charron, some instinct still sealing -her lips as to her husband's share in the adventure, and -inventing a tale that seemed to satisfy the requirements of -the interview. No crime had been actually committed -though all the circumstances were suspicious. The officer -told her that a search would be made for the man named -Tricot and that Madame Horton should hold herself in -readiness to appear against him, if necessary, at some -future time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The return of Harry Horton, her husband, the next -afternoon, contrite and humility itself, was unpleasant, -but they reached an understanding, pending the return of -Barry Quinlevin from Ireland. She kept the secret of her -visit to the house in the Rue Charron and her knowledge -of the escape of the prisoner. She saw that her husband -was worried and furtive and she had no difficulty in -exacting from him a promise not to molest her. In return she -promised silence, and he departed with every protestation -of friendship and good will, somewhat reassured as to her -intentions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As to Jim Horton, the twin brother who had worked -such havoc in her life, Moira was very much troubled and -disturbed. The hurt to her pride was grievous but the joy -she had in the very thought of him seemed to assuage all -wounds. She knew now that if he had died in the house in -the Rue Charron that night she would have worshiped -him all her life as a martyr to their unfortunate affection. -And the memories of Jim Horton's tenderness on the day -of their parting, the gentleness of his abnegation, his -struggle against the temptation of her nearness—all these -thoughts of him obliterating the horrors that had -followed, returned and engulfed her with pity. Their love -had seemed so perfect a thing! But now—a mockery!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She felt very friendless in the big studio, very much -alone. And yet—could she confess to her father her love -for this brother who had come in and taken Harry's place? -The hurt to her pride burned again angrily. Her father, -like herself, had been deceived by the brother at the -hospital and what sympathy could she expect from him? He -would be furious at the deception that had been practiced -upon them both, and would perhaps take Harry's part -against her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira clenched her hands and stared long into the -gray cinders of the fireplace. If it was to be war, she -would fight. She had married Harry in a moment of pity -because her father had wished it, but the understanding -had been definite. And now she would rather run away—even -from her father—than to fulfill the terrible vows she -had taken. Jim Horton—she wanted to hear his side of -the story. Reviving faith in him made her sure that if -he were alive he would come to her and tell her everything....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A cautious step on the stair outside—a knock. She -went over quickly, turned the key in the lock, opened the -door, then stood staring, unable to speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's I, Moira," said Jim Horton gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—," she faltered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I said that I would come back, but I—I was detained," -he said coolly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If he had expected her to be surprised at his appearance -out of uniform she gave no sign of it. She opened wide -the door and stood aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I know," she murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't stay long, but there were some things I wanted -you to know—some facts in extenuation of my conduct, -that may make you think less bitterly of me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You look ill," she said, staring at him. "It is all too -horrible to think about——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Horrible, if you like," he said slowly, misinterpreting -her meaning, "but done in a weak moment with a good -motive——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, not that. I mean, what they did to you—the -danger you passed through——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know of that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I followed Harry, and got the police——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was you? Good God!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was the least that I could do—after I found -out—from him—what had happened."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stared at her in incomprehension.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean that he confessed to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded and then laughed nervously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know why I should be keeping you standing on -the door-sill—like a model. If you've much to say you'd -better say it sitting, Jim Horton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He started and stared at her, but she had closed the -door behind him and led the way with an assumption of -carelessness to the chairs by the dead fire, as though aware -of its symbolism.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know—the truth?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shrugged. "What Harry—what my husband—has -told me, no more—no less."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He marveled at her ease, at the cruelty of her chosen -phrases. And yet he could not cavil at them. It was -clear that she meant that there were to be no further -misunderstandings, that she was shifting the burden to his -shoulders where it belonged. The sense of his culpability -weighed upon him and he did not look at her, and so he -missed the quick, anxious sensitive glances that searched -his face for the truth in his heart. But he bent his head -forward and stared into the ashes that had glowed so -warmly a few nights ago.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have come to speak the truth," he began, his voice -deep, resonant and trembling with his emotion. "A visit -of confession and renunciation——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's rather late, isn't it?" she said in a hard little -voice that he scarcely recognized as her own. He knew -that he deserved this of her and more, but it cut him -none the less.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will tell you the truth," he went on firmly. "And -then you shall judge for yourself. I owe it to you to tell -the facts, but I owe it to myself, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded and sat. And so, quietly, neglecting no -detail, he told her of Harry, from the moment of their -meeting on the battlefield until they had met outside in the -Rue de Tavennes. He heard Moira gasp at the mention of -Harry's cowardice, but he went on to the end, without -pause.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something of what followed, you know," he went on -quietly. "I tried to tell them the truth in the hospital. -I said I wasn't Harry Horton. They didn't believe me. -They thought I was still out of my head. And so I lay -there for a while, silent. I think I must have been pretty -weak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused a moment to gather his thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There were some letters to Harry. I had no right to -read them. But I did. A letter from you to him—about -your marriage—showing what a farce it was. A letter -from Barry Quinlevin——" He paused and frowned. -"It was an invasion of your privacy—and his—but -you were nothing to me—then. I was sure that I -would never meet you. I thought that I would wait a -few days before I tried to tell the officers of the hospital -who I was. It was a hard thing to do—because it meant -that I would have to pay the penalty of a military crime."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But sure, after what you'd done," Moira's voice broke -in clearly, "they couldn't be punishing you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Disgraceful imprisonment—and for Harry—the -penalty of desertion in the face of the enemy. You see -there were two of us to consider."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you came—suddenly—without warning." His -voice sank to a deep murmur and he bent his head. "It -was a moment for a decision. I hadn't it. I was weak. I -let you believe that I was your husband. It—it seemed -the easiest way just then. God knows I meant you no -harm. And God knows I've suffered for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose and leaned upon the mantel, his face turned -away from her, summoning courage for the harder thing -that he still had to say. "And there's something else, -that made me do what I did——" he began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something more?" he heard her question. "What do -you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's hard to tell you—but I must." And then, "Have -you ever heard of the Duc de Vautrin?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she uttered in bewildered tone, "the name is -familiar to me. But what——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Quinlevin—has mentioned him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I think so. A man he met many years ago in -Ireland. But why do you ask?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because his life and yours are bound up in each -other——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mine?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused painfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira, perhaps I'm breaking all the ties in your life -that you had thought most sacred, but I've got to tell you -what I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't understand—you frighten me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God knows I've given you pain enough already. I'm -a bird of ill-omen. But I'm going to go on, if you'll let me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat motionless, her strained white hands gripping -the chair arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Under the cover of the dressing table, in the room -there, where I slept, are the two letters that I read in -my bed in the hospital—the one from you—the one from -Barry Quinlevin. I left them there when I went away. -Unless some one has removed them, they should be there -now——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In obedience to the suggestion, she rose and went quickly -out into the hall and into the deserted room. Harry had -not entered it nor had she even told him of the valises -containing his impedimenta that had been sent down from -headquarters. The letters were there. Trembling with -uncertainty she found them and glanced at the familiar -handwriting, her own and her father's, and then came -back to the door of the studio. There she stood a -moment, weighing the letters in her hands. Jim Horton -stood as she had left him, leaning upon the mantel-shelf, -his gaze upon the extinguished fire. It seemed that lost -in his own gloomy reverie he had already forgotten her. -Never in all the weeks that she had known him, not even -when he had lain in his hospital bed—had he seemed a -more pitiful figure than now—needing her as she—God -help her—needed him. What did it matter what this -letter contained? In her heart she knew that the only thing -that mattered to her was the love that this man bore her. -She had recognized it in the deep tones of his voice, which -had thrilled her again, and in the attitude of submission -which had anticipated the change in her sentiments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a moment for decisions, like his moment in the -hospital. She had only to tell him to go and she knew -that he would have obeyed her. But like Jim Horton, -she no longer had the strength. Some instinct told her -that here in this outcast soldier—this splendid -outcast—was a rock that she could cling to....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced over the stair and then entering the studio -quietly, slowly approached him, letters in hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wish me to read——?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, please, Moira."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced at him and then sank into the armchair and -opened Barry Quinlevin's letter. For a long while there -was no sound but the rustle of the paper in her fingers. -At last he heard her stir slightly and glanced up at her. -Her face was deathly pale.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My father—de V—'The money has stopped coming'—What -does it all mean?" she asked. "And what are those -papers? What is the agency working against him? And -what does he mean by putting the screws on?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It means that Barry Quinlevin is—is blackmailing the -Duc de Vautrin—has been doing so for years," he said in -a suppressed tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose and faced him, her breast heaving.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blackmail! My father——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He bowed his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unfortunately it's the truth. He spoke to me of it -in the hospital—thinking I was Harry——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She raised the letter again and read.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't believe—I can't——," but her words trailed off -into silence as she read again the damning phrases.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His heart was full of tenderness and pity for her and -he caught her by the hand. "Moira, dear," he murmured, -"I wouldn't have spoken of this—but </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> are involved—I -couldn't understand for a long while. They're using -you as a cat's-paw—a snare—a stool-pigeon. Perhaps -you don't even know the meaning of the words—it's too -hideous!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Using </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>?" She seemed unaware of her fingers still in -his. "How can they use </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>? I know nothing whatever -of this affair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He led her to her chair again and made her sit. -"Listen," he said gently, "and I will tell you all that -I've found out about it——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't believe—Who has told you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette Morin——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette—?" Her brows drew together——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A friend of—of your husband's," he said. "It was -she who first discovered our dual identity in the Café -Javet—a friend of Harry's—who took pity on me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The woman—who—who—helped you to escape?" -she gasped, awakening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. She shared the secrets of this intrigue. And -when they knocked me out, she guessed the truth, found -out where they had put me and went in through the -passage from the river. It was she who took me back to her -apartment and nursed me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," she faltered. "I—I see. But what reason have -you to believe that she speaks the truth?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had taken his place by the mantel again. "Unfortunately—I -had already proved it by the mouth of Harry -himself." He broke off and met her piteous eyes squarely. -"Oh, I wouldn't have cared what they did, if they—if you -hadn't been a part of the plan. I would have told you -who I was the other night and gone—away.... But it -was too cruel. Barry Quinlevin is a strange man. He -loves you—perhaps. He wants to see you rich—happy—but -he became desperate when the source of his income was -cut off——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Irish rents——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There were no Irish rents, Moira. The source of his -income, all these years—and yours—has been—the Duc -de Vautrin—hush money paid to keep a secret——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Virgin—! Then I——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused, bewildered by the very terror of her -thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen, Moira. You must know it all. As nearly as I -can get it, the story is this. Twenty-five years ago the -Duc de Vautrin married an Irish heiress from Athlone in -Galway named Mary Callonby, receiving with her her -immense </span><em class="italics">dot</em><span>, with the provision from her father's will that -if any child was born, the fortune should go to that child -in the event of the mother's death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Callonby!" whispered Moira half to herself. "Athlone!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Duc de Vautrin was a beast and mistreated his -wife, so that she ran away from him into Ireland, where -a daughter was born to her—Mary Callonby dying in -childbirth." And then softly, "Do you follow me, Moira? -It's very important."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm trying—to follow you," she murmured painfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When Mary Callonby left the Duc, de Vautrin went -upon a voyage around the world, enjoying himself with -her money for two years, and unaware of the death of his -wife or of the birth of his little daughter, who was cared -for and nursed by a woman named Nora Burke——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nora Burke!" Moira had started up suddenly in her -chair, her eyes wide with sudden comprehension.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You remember her——" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My old nurse——!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. It's here that the story involves your fortunes -and—and Barry Quinlevin's. The infant daughter of the -Duc de Vautrin died at the end of a few months, without -his being aware of it—without his even being aware that -a daughter had been born. The death of this child was -kept a secret——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why? Why?" pleaded Moira, a glimmering of -the intrigue coming to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton turned away again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because it was necessary that the Duc de Vautrin -should remain in ignorance of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Holy Virgin! You mean that Nora——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nora Burke and Barry Quinlevin. You were of the -same age as the child of the Duc de Vautrin. There were -few neighbors. Your mother had also died in childbirth. -Nora Burke came into Barry Quinlevin's house as nurse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it is impossible!" gasped Moira. "I can't—I -can't believe it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is what I'm to help you to prove."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But there must be papers—birth certificates—witnesses——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps. I don't know, Moira. All of these things -seem uncertain. The idea is that Barry Quinlevin, taking -pity on the fatherless child of the Duc, and mourning his -own child that had died, had brought the little girl into his -own house to keep her until the Duc's return——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! It is infamous!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was the way Nora Burke came into the house of -Barry Quinlevin, and that was the way you became the -daughter and heiress of Mary Callonby."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—her heiress?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know all the facts, but it seems that when the -Duc de Vautrin returned to Paris, he was met by Barry -Quinlevin with proofs of his daughter's existence. It was -to the Duc's interest to keep the matter secret, since the -income from the Callonby fortune which he enjoyed would -of course go to the child. And from that day to this the -matter has been kept a secret and Barry Quinlevin has -been paid for keeping it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira had risen and was pacing up and down the length -of the studio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is too horrible—it bewilders me. Who told you all -this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette Morin—Harry told her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And—and Harry—?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His interests and yours were the same."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She buried her face in her hands for a moment. "Wait," -she gasped. "I must think—think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So Jim Horton was silent, watching her anguish with -pity and anxiety. But at last she grew calmer and sank -into the chair, reading Barry Quinlevin's letter to Harry -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet this might refer to something—something -else—" she pleaded, catching at any straw that would save -her from this disgrace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I could reassure you—but I can't. The facts -are too clear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent a moment, breathing hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was terrible for </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> to have to tell me this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—but you understand that I had to, don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bowed her head and he went on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now I only want you to tell me how I can help -you—how I can make things easier——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What shall I do? What can I——" She halted again, -intimidated at the thought of her father. And then—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I were only sure.... Of course the Duc de -Vautrin must be told at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no hurry. You must think it over. Verify -my statements, when you can——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes. I must—or refute them. I see that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to help you. I'll do anything——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I know—" she paused again. "Whom can I -trust now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He caught her fingers and pressed them softly to his lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a terrible situation for you—but you can't go -on as a partner in this intrigue——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, of course—I must be finding out—speaking -to—to him—to my father—" and then, turning to him, -"Whom can I trust—unless it's you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He relinquished her fingers and turned away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I deceived you, Moira—cheated you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That doesn't matter now—nothing matters——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean—that you will forgive me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned forward toward her, searching her face eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—yes," she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God help me! I've the need of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He fell to his knees beside the chair and took her in his -arms. Her trouble was so great—the crisis in her life so -tragic!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've tried to make myself believe I didn't care—," she -went on, whispering, "that everything should be as it was -before you came. I tried——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You poor child——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But in spite of myself—in spite of everything—my -faith in you is just the same."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God for that. We must find a way out——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. There's no way out—I'm sure of that—for -me—and you. It's wrong—all wrong——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she did not refuse him her lips now and he held -her close in his arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira," he whispered. "It was meant to be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's wrong—all wrong," she repeated. And then with -a sigh, "Its very sweetness—is—terrible——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He touched her brow tenderly with his lips and then -gently released her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you want me to go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But her fingers still held him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no—not yet—not just yet, Jim. This is our -moment—yours and mine. And I've been wanting you -so——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You knew that I'd come back to you, didn't you, dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been praying that you would—you won't be -going, Jim—away—as you said you would?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, dear—not—not if you need me—not if you want -me. But I'm a nondescript now—a deserter—an outcast."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The cruelty of it! You!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I got what I deserved," he said with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Harry? I can't be staying here if he's going -to be here, Jim. The very touch of his fingers ... the -sight of him, knowing what I do——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He won't dare—I would have him broken——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And give yourself up to the Military Police. No. -You can't be thinking of that. I'm not afraid of -him—nor of my father. But—they can't be disgracing you. -You must keep in hiding. I see it all now. But you won't -be going away, Jim. Promise me that you won't go away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you'll let me see you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> see you. I can't let you go—not yet, Jim. -I know it's wrong. I don't care about the wrong to -Harry, but I </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> think of the wrong I do myself and you. -My love for you has been so clean—so beautiful, Jim. -it can't be anything else—for either of us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I love you, Moira dear. I needn't tell you how——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you suppose that I know already, Jim? But it's -so hopeless——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your marriage—a joke! It means nothing——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A hideous joke—but a marriage just the same!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't be tied to this man always——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> tied to him. Oh, Jim—!" she broke off in her -despair. "Don't be making it more difficult—don't be -pleading with me for that—it's impossible. I'd like to -be going with you—away—somewhere just you and I—but -I can't——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll have patience. Some day——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, dear. That's the worst of it. It can't be, ever. -I have sworn——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped and they both listened, Moira started—frightened. -From somewhere down the stairway outside -came the sounds of a laugh and of voices in conversation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry!" she gasped. And with quick presence of -mind ran to the door, turned the key in the lock and then -listened. "My father, too—. They mustn't find you -here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Jim coolly. "I think we'd better have this -thing out—here and now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no," she whispered tensely. "It would be the end -of all things. Not yet. I must have time to think——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Already there was a knock upon the door. Moira had -caught Jim by the arm and was hurrying him toward a -closet in the corner of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In here, quickly," she whispered. "You must. My -father will go in the other rooms."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Moira——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you love me—please—," she pleaded, pushing him -in, shutting the door. Then breathless, she turned and -faced the door into the hallway.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="quinlevin-speaks"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">QUINLEVIN SPEAKS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A moment longer she waited, summoning calm and -resolution, when the knocking on the door began -again and her name was called.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Coming," she replied, looking around the studio -keenly. And then catching sight of Jim Horton's hat, -whisked it under the couch and then opened the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barry Quinlevin came in, Harry carrying his bag. -With a gay laugh he caught Moira into his arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well,—it's joyful I am to be back, dusty and -unwashed, but none the less glad to be here. How are ye, -child? By the amount of time ye took opening the door, -I thought ye might be dead——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm very tired—," she murmured, "I've not been up -to the mark——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He held her off and looked at her in the dim light from -the gas jet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A little peaky—eh—too much moping in the dark. -Let's have some lights—and a drink of the Irish. 'Twill -do none of us harm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He moved into the studio and Harry Horton set the -bag down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you have a successful trip?" asked Moira, putting -more color into her voice than she felt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So, so," said Quinlevin. "A bottle, Moira—and some -glasses and water," and when she had obeyed, "There—the -very sight of it's already making a new man of me. -Harry, boy—yer health."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira sat and listened while he described the incidents -of his trip. Harry could not meet her look, but she saw -that he drank sparingly. As for her father, she watched -him in silence, aware of his flamboyant grace and charm, -again incredulous as to the things she knew of him. But -his letter to Harry in her shirtwaist seemed to be burning -the fair skin of her breast to remind her of his venality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On his way to the bottle he pinched her pale cheeks -between his long fingers. "Where's yer spirit, girl? Ye -look as though ye'd been hearing a banshee. A fine -husband ye've got, and all, to be putting lilies in yer cheeks -instead of roses!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She stays in the studio too much," put in Harry, uneasily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A good jumper and a few stone walls of County -Galway would set ye right in a jiffy. We'll be taking ye -there, one day soon, I'm thinking, if ye don't come to life. -What is it, child?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—nothing—I'm just tired."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took his glass and held it to the light with a critical -air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Maybe it's better if ye go to bed then. I'll just clean -up a bit and then come back and have a talk with you, -Harry boy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And finishing his glass, he took up his bag and went -into his room to cleanse himself, leaving Moira alone with -Harry. She was very uncomfortable, and sat wondering -what ruse she could find to get rid of them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry fumbled at his glass nervously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're going to tell him?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shrugged. "Of course," she said coolly, "the farce -has gone on long enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he muttered. "Perhaps you're right. I'll tell -him—myself—to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks," she said quietly, "it would be better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They seemed to have very little to say. She saw Harry -furtively looking at her, but she was oblivious of him, for -her thoughts were beyond him, over his head, in the paint -closet where Jim Horton sat uncomfortably, awaiting the -moment of release But how could she effect it now? -It seemed almost enough of luck to have hidden Jim -Horton's hat before they had entered. She knew that his -predicament was hardly to his liking and in spite of her -entreaties, feared that any moment he might be opening -the door and facing the situation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And when Barry Quinlevin returned to the room in a -moment, his face shining with his vigorous ablutions, any -immediate hopes she may have had of Jim's release were -dashed to the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye'd better be going to yer room, child, and get yer -beauty sleep," he said. "I want to talk to Harry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That he wanted to be alone with her husband was -evident, and the request was something in the nature of a -command. Still wondering what she had better do, she -got up and moved slowly toward the door into the kitchen. -They would talk—she would watch at the door and listen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," she said languidly, "perhaps I'll feel better -if I lie down for awhile—" and went out of the room, -closing the door behind her. But she did not go into her -room. All alive with uncertainty and apprehension, she -crouched by the door, listening intently. The keyhole was -large. Through it she could see the closet upon the -opposite side of the studio where Jim was concealed, and what -they said she could hear distinctly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Harry boy," said Quinlevin, "here we are again, -and with Nora close at hand, ready for the 'coup.' There -can't be any haggling or boggling now. A clean million -we'll get from it, or my name's not B.Q."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you have any trouble getting Nora to come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A little—but five thousand pounds settles her business. -Nora was always a bit of rogue, but she couldn't deny -real genius. And then, a bit of blarney——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the birth certificate——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here—," producing his pocket case, "a little mildewed -and rumpled from hiding in the mattresses, and the like, -but still quite legible. See, Patrice—a little hard to read, -ye see. Patricia it is. Patricia Madeleine Aulnay de -Vautrin. Female, me boy. Born August 7th, in the year of -Our Lord, 1897—signed by the Doctor—Dominick Finucane—and -attested by the Parish priest—a little illegible -in certain notable places, but all quite straight and -proper. He can't go back of that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the other servant—who knew—?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dead as a herring—a fortnight ago—ye'll admit most -fortuitously—for I can't keep the whole of County -Galway under my hat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry Horton frowned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. And you can't keep Moira there either."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What d'ye mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Merely that she'll put a spoke in your wheel if you're -not careful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't worry about that bridge until I come to it. -She won't object to taking her place in the world as the -Duchesse de Vautrin——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He broke off abruptly. "What's that? Did Moira call?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't hear anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got the fidgets, then. I'd be having to give her -up if Monsieur the Duc should take a fancy to her—but -ye needn't fear. He won't. He's too self-centered, and -well out of it at a million francs. Ah, he'll wriggle and -squirm a bit, on the hook, but he'll pay in the end—or we'll -gaff him for the whole estate." He stopped and carefully -cut the end from a cigar. "D'ye think, by any chance, -that Piquette Morin could have done any talking?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you ask?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because four months ago Monsieur the Duc was in -Ireland asking questions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who told you this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nora Burke. He got nothing from her. She knew -which side her bread was buttered on. But that's what -made her squeamish when my allowance stopped coming to -her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see. And you've paid her something?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. And the devil's own time I had getting it -together. I'm thinking I've squared accounts with you -already in all this business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Harry Horton had gotten up and poured himself -out a stiff drink of the whisky, which he drained -hurriedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't like it," he muttered uneasily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This de Vautrin business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin calmly stared at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yer feet aren't getting cold now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry took a pace or two, trying to find his words. -And then,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Things haven't been going right, here—since—er—since -you left."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," said Quinlevin with a shrug. "You and Moira -haven't been hitting it off——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. And it's worse than that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barry Quinlevin leaned forward, his shaggy brows -thatched unpleasantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What the devil are ye talking about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I've got to tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye'd be obliging me if ye would."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry met the sharp look of the older man and then -his gaze flickered and fell as he sank into his chair again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—you've heard me speak of my twin brother, -Jim?" he asked after a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The railroad man ye quarreled with over the trifling -matter of an estate. Well, what of him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's turned up—here—in—Paris."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you got to do with him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"More than you think. I've got to tell you what has -happened—and it's plenty. It's been H—— and -repeat. D—— him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At least," laughed the Irishman, "he seems to have -gained no new place in yer affection."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—nor will he in yours when you have the facts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on. I'm listening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And slowly, halting here and there for a word or a -phrase that would put a better construction on his own -share in the affair, he told Quinlevin of the substitution of -Jim Horton for himself and of the events that had -followed, including his return to Paris and the desperate -means he had taken to regain his own identity. Of -Moira he spoke nothing, but as the situation was revealed -with all its hazards to the success of their intrigue, from -an attitude of polite attention with which he had listened -at first, Quinlevin became eagerly and anxiously absorbed, -interjecting question after question, while his iridescent -eyes glowed under his frowning brows and his long, bony -fingers clutched his chair arm. By degrees, the full -meaning of the revelation came to him—its relation to Harry's -future, to the matter of the Duc, to Moira. But as he -grew more furious, he grew more pale, more calm, and -listened in a silence punctuated by brief questions, to the -conclusion of the story, a little contemptuous of the -nervousness of his companion, reading below the thin veneer -of braggadocio the meanings that the younger man strove -to conceal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So," he said coolly, "ye've gone and let us all in for a -nice mess of broth! Shell-shock! Humph! And ye'll let -a man be tearing the uniform off yer very back—winning -yer honors for ye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose and stood at his full height, looking down at -the figure in the opposite chair. "And Moira—?" he -asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He came—here—to this apartment—when he left the -hospital——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She did not guess?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor you," said Harry with, some spirit, "since you -invited him here——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True for ye—I did—bad cess to him." He broke off -and took a pace toward the lay figure in the corner and -back. And then, "This is a bad business," he said soberly. -"And ye don't know where he is at the present moment?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. He got away clean through a passage to the -river——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've no idea who helped him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. And Tricot's no fool—nor Pochard——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But they lack imagination—like yerself——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry Horton aroused himself. "He was drugged, I -tell you—to the limit. I saw him before I came here to -see Moira. He was clean out. Tricot was for dropping -him into the river when we 'got' him—but I wouldn't let -them do that—no—not that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye were always lacking in a pinch, Harry——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But my brother—my own brother——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin shrugged. "I can see yer scruples. A -brother's a brother, even if he does wean away yer wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry started up, his face livid at the cool, insulting -tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And ye can't blame Moira," continued Quinlevin -coolly, "if he's turned out a better man than yerself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His fiery eyes burned in his pale face and challenged the -other man—intimidated him until the hot words on -Harry's tongue died unuttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A fine mess! And he's no baby—this frolicsome -brother of yours! How much does he know of the de -Vautrin affair?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough," muttered Harry sullenly, "from the letters -and what you told him in the hospital——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He can't go far—" He broke off and then, with a -quick change into eager inquiry. "He'd hardly have had -time to find the Duc, and if he did——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Harry sullenly. "De Vautrin is in Nice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good. Then we'll have time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To meet the situation as it should be met. I intend -to take a hand in this affair myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What can you do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll find a way. There's one thing sure. I don't -intend to have the ingenious plans of half a lifetime spoiled -by any blundering hay-maker from Kansas City. He's -not my brother. I won't have your scruples. And if -Moira has learned to be fond of him, so much the worse -for her. I asked her to marry you because I didn't want -any strange young man to come poking about my affairs -or hers. She's a good girl—too good for the likes of -either of us. She was never much after the men, being -wedded to her art, and I thought you'd do as well as -another—that ye'd make good over here and turn out the -husband she deserved." He paused to give his words more -weight. "Instead of making good—ye've made a mess of -it—to say nothing of falling short with Moira. I might -have known. But it's too late now for me to be crying -over my spilt milk or yours. And whatever happens I'd -like ye to know, my boy, that this affair means too much—to -be balked for a mere sentiment. If she doesn't love -you that's yer own affair. And as for yer brother, -Jim—all I say is let him look out for himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had sunk into his chair again, his lips compressed, -his eyes closed to narrow slits and his voice, husky a -moment ago with his passion, enunciating his words with icy -precision.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how are you going to find him? Haven't I told -you that he's slipped away—lost in Paris? And you know -what that means."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How could he slip away—drugged—after being -knocked out and unconscious?" He leaned forward in his -chair, his white fist clenched on the table. "Somebody -helped him——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not possible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not? How do ye know? Ye were all so frightened -of the police that ye took to yer heels without a look -around."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But nobody but Pochard's crowd knew about the old -passage to the river——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then somebody in Pochard's crowd did the helping."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It can't be. They're all in on it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin shrugged. "Perhaps, but I'll be looking into -that phase of the question myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go ahead. I wish you luck. But how is that going to -help?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It'll find Jim Horton. And that's the only matter I'm -concerned about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a pause, and another voice broke the silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when you find him what will you do about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In her place of concealment Moira trembled at the -sound. For there was a harsh scraping of chairs as -Harry and Quinlevin rose, startled, and faced Jim -Horton, who had opened the door of the closet and stood -revealed before them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry Horton drew back a pace, leaning on a chair, -his face gray, then purple again. Quinlevin stared, one -eye squinting, his face distorted in surprise and curiosity -at the astonishing apparition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So," he said, "the skeleton in the closet!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll find me far from that," said Jim Horton, striding -forward to within a few paces of them. "You thought -I might be hard to find. I'll save you that trouble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," said the Irishman, finding his composure and a -smile. "So ye're the interloper—the comic tragedian of -the piece, all primed and set for trouble. Well, I can't -say that ye'll be disappointed—" He reached deliberately -for his trousers pocket and drew out a weapon. But Jim -leaped for him at the same time that Moira, rushing into -the room, shrieked Quinlevin's name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sound disconcerted him and the shot went wild and -before he could shoot again Jim Horton had caught his -arm and given his wrist a vicious twist which wrenched -the weapon away and sent him hurling into a chair. Harry -Horton hadn't moved. His feet seemed riveted to the -floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father!" Moira gasped, her face white as paper. -"You might have killed him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was the exact intention," said Quinlevin, making -a wry face and nursing his wrist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Jim Horton, frowning at the two men, held the -weapon in his hand, in command of the situation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you come out, Jim—why?" Moira pleaded, -wringing her fingers and staring from one to the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Jim Horton didn't even hear her. His gaze was -fixed steadily on Barry Quinlevin, who had shrugged -himself back into self-possession and was smiling up at the -intruder as though in appreciation of an admirable joke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'd better have this thing out—you and I," said Jim, -coolly, eliminating Harry from the discussion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By all means," said Quinlevin. "And I'm glad ye -know a real enemy when ye see one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've hardly left any doubt about that. There's not -much to say, except that you're not going to drag Moira -into this dirty business with the Duc. Do I make myself -clear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perfectly—but ye'll hardly be less perspicuous if the -muzzle of the revolver is twisted a bit to one side. It's a -hair trigger—thanks. As you were saying——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't waste words. I gave Harry his warning. -Instead of heeding it, he hired a pair of thugs to put me -out of business. But I'll take no chances for the future. -I'm in no mood to die just yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I like yer nerve, Jim Horton. I may add, it suffers -no disadvantage in comparison to yer twin brother." He -shrugged and folded his arms. "Well. Ye seem to have -turned the odd tricks—the ace of clubs—the ace of hearts. -Now what are ye going to be doing with us all entirely?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I told Harry what I'd do, and I'll repeat it now. -Drop this affair of the Duc de Vautrin—without dragging -Moira through the dirty mess, and I quit—leaving Harry -with his rank and honors."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I refuse——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton shrugged carelessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll tell the truth—that's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Brevity is the soul of wit. Permit me to say that I -admire the succinctness of yer statement. But the -alternative is impossible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean, that you'll go on with this affair——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye've guessed it, me son—as sure as ever ye find it -convenient to remove the imminent and deadly weapon and -yerself from my presence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's final?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin laughed and very coolly poured himself out -a glass of whisky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the use of quarreling? By a bit of mistaken -heroics ye've fired yerself into the midst of my little family -circle and exploded. Maybe ye've done some damage. But -I'm an old bird, and I don't scare so easily. Come now. -Ye wouldn't kill me out of hand. Ye're not that kind. -And so—let's be reasonable. Can I pour ye a drink?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thanks——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As ye please. But ye've got to admit that there are -two sides to this question. If the information in my -possession is correct, d'ye see, ye're a deserter from the -army of the United States. A word to the nearest private -of the Military Police and ye're jugged, to do yer -explaining to a judge advocate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't—you won't do that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira seemed to find her speech with an effort, for the -rapidity of events and their portentous consequences to -her own destiny had robbed her of all initiative. But -her courage came back with a rush as she faced this man -who had deceived her all these years—and charmed her -even now with his reckless grace and magnetism.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't do that," she went on breathlessly. "I -can't permit it. I've heard all you said. I've been -listening—-there——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you heard," said Quinlevin with a quick glance -at her. "Then perhaps it's just as well. I would be -having to tell you some day." And then, with quick -decision. "Ye're not my daughter. Ye're the child of the -Duc de Vautrin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he shot this bolt at her, he watched its effect. Moira -grew even paler and stared at him as though he were a -person she had never seen before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The daughter—of the Duc de Vautrin?" she stammered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's not true, Moira," broke in Jim's voice, "but -you're not </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> daughter either. I'll take my oath on it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced at Jim as though the deep tones of his -voice had steadied her for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not his daughter—then who——?" She paused and -sought Quinlevin's eyes uncertainly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've told ye the truth, my dear. It was my crime -not to have told ye before—but that's all ye can lay -against me—that and the love for ye that has made the -confession difficult."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira faltered. But Barry Quinlevin's eyes were upon -her, alive, it seemed, with the old affection. And across -her brain flitted quick visions of their careless past, their -years of plenty, their years of privation, in which this -man, her father she had thought, had always loomed the -dominant figure, reckless perhaps, aloof at times—but -always kindly—considerate.... But there was Jim -Horton just beside her.... She felt his presence too—the -strength of him—the honesty and the love of her that -gave him the courage to face oblivion for her sake. The -silence was deathly, and seemed to have gone on for hours. -Jim did not speak. There was Harry too, standing like -a pale image, the ghost of her happiness—staring at her. -Were they all dumb? Something seemed to be required of -her and her instinct answered for her. She moved toward -Jim Horton, her fingers seeking his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I love him," she found herself saying. "I—want -you both to know. It has all been a horrible mistake—But -it's too late to cry over. It has just happened—that's -all. I can never love any one else——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira——," whispered Jim.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I know that—that there's nothing to be done. I -only wanted you to know," she finished firmly, "that any -one who harms him, harms me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira," Jim's voice broke in pleadingly at her ear. -"Come away with me—now. You can't stay here. The -situation is impossible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She felt Barry Quinlevin's eyes before he spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't need to remind ye, Moira—of yer vows at -the altar——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What vows!" broke in Jim, fiercely facing his brother. -"A travesty—a cruel hoax. There's no law that will keep -it binding——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She married me—with her eyes open," muttered -Harry. "And unless I release her——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop! For God's sake," Moira's voice found itself -in pity for her own humiliation. "There's no release—no -hope for either of us. There's no divorce—except -death——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask nothing of you, Moira," Jim was pleading again, -"only to go with me—away from here—to-night—for -your own self-respect."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An outcast——," sneered Quinlevin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw how the game was going, but he went too far. -She turned on him defiantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An outcast!" she said. "I would be proud to be -facing the world alone with such an outcast as Jim -Horton—the shame and the glory of following blindly -where my heart was leading me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, then," said Jim.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Don't you see? I can't. What Harry says is -true. I married with my eyes open. I swore to a lie. -And I've got to abide by that lie. I've got to, Jim. For -God's sake, have pity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sank helplessly into a chair, relinquishing his hand. -All hope, all life, it seemed, had gone out of her. -Jim Horton stood regarding her for a moment and then -silently walked to the door, when he heard her voice -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim," she cried despairingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned in the doorway and their glances met for a -moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you come, Moira?" he asked quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't, Jim. I can't——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He waited a moment, and then laying Quinlevin's -weapon on the table in front of him, turned again and -walked out of the door and into the darkness of the corridor.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="beginning-a-journey"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">BEGINNING A JOURNEY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It would have been easy for Quinlevin to have shot -him in the back, and at the moment Jim Horton -wouldn't much have cared if he had. He went down -the stairs slowly, across the court and out into the street, -wandering aimlessly, bare headed, with no sense of any -intention or direction. "There's no divorce—but -death." Moira's words rang again and again in his brain. That -was a part of her creed, her faith, her religion. She had -once spoken of what her Church had always meant to -her—her Mother, she had called it,—and she was true to -her convictions. "There's no divorce—but death." The -revelation of her beliefs was not new to him, yet it came -to him with a sense of shock that she had chosen at the -last to remain with Harry and Quinlevin and all the -degradation that the association meant to her. It had -been a choice between two degradations, and force of -habit had cast the last feather into the balance. In the -bitterness of his own situation—isolated, outcast, with no -hope of regeneration, he tried to find it in his heart to -blame her. But the thought of the pain and bewilderment -he had seen in her eyes made him only pitiful for -her misfortunes. It seemed as though the shock of the -many revelations of the evening had deadened her initiative, -enfeebled her fine impulses and made her like a -dependent child—at the mercy of custom and tradition. -And he could not forget that he had gone to her asking -nothing, expecting nothing, and that in spite of all the -barriers that she recognized between them, in spite of the -deception he had practiced, she had still clung to him -and even acknowledged him in the presence of her husband -and the man she called her father. Love had glowed in -her eyes and in her heart, lifting her for a time above -the tragic mystery of her origin and the broken ideals -of a lifetime. It was almost enough for him to ask of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It didn't seem to matter much now what happened to -him. But almost unconsciously he found himself casting -an occasional glance over his shoulder to see if he was -followed. He had no fear of Harry. His brother had -shown to-night in his true colors, but the picturesque -scoundrel whose name Moira bore was clearly a person -to be reckoned with. Why Quinlevin hadn't taken a -pot-shot at him on the stairs was more than Jim Horton -could understand, unless some consideration for Moira -had held his hand. The impulse of fury that had made -him draw his revolver had faded. But their controversy -was still unsettled and Jim Horton knew that the one duty -left him must be done at once. After he had told what -he knew to de Vautrin, Quinlevin could try to kill him if -he liked—but not before....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Would the memories of the past prevail in Moira's -relations with Quinlevin? Would he be able to convince -her that she was the Duc's daughter? He remembered -that most of what he had heard from his place of -concealment could be susceptible of a double interpretation -under the skillful manipulation of the resourceful Irishman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton knew that Piquette had told him the -straight story, from Harry's own lips, but he could not -violate her confidence by using her name. It meant -danger for Piquette from Quinlevin and perhaps a -revelation of her breech of Pochard's confidence and a -greater danger even from Tricot. He knew that he must -move alone and reach the ear of de Vautrin at once with -his testimony.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He approached the café of Leon Javet when he heard -the light patter of feet behind him and stopped and -turned. It was Piquette, divested of her fine raiment and -dressed in the simple garb of a </span><em class="italics">midinette</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Jeem——," she said. "I 'ave been waiting for -you—outside——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Piquette——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mus' not go in Javet's—come, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>, to de -oder side of de street——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Piquette?" he asked curiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because Tricot and </span><em class="italics">Le Singe</em><span> are looking for you and -dey will watch Javet's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H-m. Who told you this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he let her take him by the elbow to the darkness -opposite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pochard. De house in de Rue Charron is watch' by -de police. Dey are afraid you will give de evidence——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They needn't worry just now," he muttered. "I've -something else to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you mus' keep away from de </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span>——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I expect to. I'm going away, Piquette——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeem! Where?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To Nice. I've got to see your friend de Vautrin, at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah—de Vautrin!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She walked along with him for a moment in silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is your 'at, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He ran his fingers through his hair, aware for the first -time of his loss.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I left it——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the Rue de Tavennes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you mus' tell me. Come to de Boulevard Clichy. -It is safer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've taken a lodging in the Rue Jean Paul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she insisted. "You mus' take no more chances -on dis side of de river jus' now—nor mus' I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean that they suspect——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet—but dey will if dey see us—you and I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't run that chance, Piquette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are quite safe in de Boulevard Clichy. Come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so he yielded to her persuasions and followed her -by a roundabout way across the Pont Carrousel and so -toward their destination, while he told her in general -terms of the events of the evening. She listened, putting -in an exclamation or a brief question here and there, but -made no comments until they reached her apartment, -where she made him comfortable in her best chair, gave -him a cigarette and getting out of her street dress, slipped -into her dressing gown. To the western mind, unused -to the casual ways of the </span><em class="italics">atelier</em><span>, this informality might -have seemed indecorous. But Jim Horton was deeply -absorbed in his own thoughts and for the moment did not -think of her. And when she drew her robe around her -and took up a cigarette, she seemed for the first time to -be aware of his abstraction. To Piquette's mind those -things which were natural to her must be natural to every -one else, and this, after all, is only the simple philosophy -of the child. As she curled herself up on her </span><em class="italics">chaise longue</em><span> -and lighted her cigarette he smiled at her.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Well, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem*," she said, "what you t'ink of -Monsieur Quinlevin?" (She pronounced it Canl'van.)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's just about the smoothest proposition that ever -happened," he replied. "He'd have gotten me, if I hadn't -moved in close."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' 'Arry——? 'E did not'ing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Just stood there. He's lost his nerve again. -He won't bother me, but the Irishman is in this game -for keeps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is dangerous, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>. You 'ad better not go on -wit' dis affair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Piquette, I must," he said quietly. "I got into -this situation by being a moral coward, I'm not going to -get out of it by being a physical one. Besides, I've -promised."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Myself. It's a duty I owe——," he paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To Madame 'Orton? An' what t'anks do you get?" She -shrugged expressively. "A bullet or a knife in de -ribs, perhaps. You 'ave already almos' enough been -shot and beaten, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet here I am quite comfortable in your best -chair, and none the worse—thanks to you, Piquette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you cannot always be so lucky. I would be ver' -onhappy if you were kill', </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you, Piquette?" he said, taking her hand -impulsively and kissing it gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' den it is too late to be onhappy——," she sighed -and put her other hand over his. "Oh, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem, life is -so short, so sweet. It is not right to take a chance of -dying before one's time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want to die just yet, and I don't expect to, -but life doesn't mean a whole lot to me. It's too complex, -you understand?—</span><em class="italics">difficile</em><span>——" He gave a sigh and -sank back in his chair, relinquishing her fingers. "I guess -I was meant for the simple life," he said, with his slow -smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent for a moment, regarding him soberly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What 'as happen', </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>? She 'as let you go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused, frowning at the ash of his cigarette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What else could she do?" he asked quietly. "I asked -nothing—expected nothing of her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you cannot be disappoint'!" said Piquette dryly. -"She is not worth de trouble. You run a risk of being -kill', to save 'er from 'er 'usban' who is a </span><em class="italics">vaut rien</em><span>, you -offer 'er de bes' you 'ave an' she send you away alone into -de darkness. You t'ink she loves you. </span><em class="italics">Saperlotte</em><span>! What -she knows of love! If I love a man I would go wit' 'im -to de end of de worl', no matter what 'e is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sat watching her as she spoke—listening to the -clear tones of her voice, watching the changes in her -expressive features.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe you would, Piquette," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' you," she went on shrilly, "you who 'ave save' -'er 'usban' from disgrace, you who win 'im de </span><em class="italics">Croix de -Guerre</em><span> an' den go into de darkness an outcas'—she let -you go—she let you go——!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh——," he broke in. "She had to—I understand—she -is a Catholic——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused and then went on. "Why 'as she marry -your broder if she does not love 'im? La la!" She -stopped and shrugged her pretty shoulders. "Perhaps -you onderstan' now, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span> Jeem, why I 'ave not -marry. Not onless I love, and den——," her voice sank -to a tense whisper, "and den ontil deat' I would be -true——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Piquette. You are that sort. But this——," -and he glanced about the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shrugged as she caught his meaning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur 'as much money. Why should I not be -content as well as some one else?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Deep in his heart he was sorry for her, but he could -see that she was not in the least sorry for herself. And -the unconventionality of her views, the total lack of -moral sense, seemed somehow less important than the -rugged sincerity of her point of view and the -steadfastness of her friendship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you have never loved well enough to marry?" -he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem," she said gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their glances met, his level and friendly. And it was -her look that first turned away. "No, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem," she -repeated slowly. "One does not meet such a man, ontil -it is too late." She gave a sharp little gasp and sat up -facing him. "An' I speak of my troubles when you 'ave -greater ones of your own. I want to 'elp you, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>. -You 'ave in your mind a duty to do with Monsieur the -Duc de Vautrin. You 'ave make me t'ink. Perhaps it -is my duty too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to see him at once, before Quinlevin does."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Eh bien</em><span>. He is on the Riviera—Nice. We s'all find 'im."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parfaitement</em><span>! Perhaps I can make it easier for you -to see him——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll go with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not? Onless you do not want me——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I'll be only too happy, only——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems a great deal to ask. You've already done so -much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said with a smile. "It will perhaps be safer -for both of us away from Paris. An' you are onhappy. -Will I perhaps not cheer you up a little?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no doubt of that, Piquette——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would like to go wit' you. It will give me -pleasure—if you do not mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Monsieur the Duc——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Je ne me fiche pas</em><span>. Besides, shall I not now be doing -him a service?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, that's true." He stopped as a thought came to -him. "The Duc suspects something. What made him -go to Ireland and question Nora Burke?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps I talk' a little too much dat night——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has he spoken of it since?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. But I tol' 'im not'ing. I did not wish to get -'Arry in trouble. But now——," she shrugged and lighted -a fresh cigarette. "I do not care about what 'appen to -'Arry or Monsieur Quinlevin. It is only what 'appens to -you dat matters, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But in befriending me you've made enemies of all that -crowd——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not onless dey find out. It is you who are in danger. -After what you 'ave 'eard to-night, you are more -dangerous to Quinlevin dan ever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I gave him his chance. He didn't take it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he'll make anoder chance. You do not know dat -man. Even Tricot is afraid of 'im."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'm not. He thinks the world owes him a -living. But he wouldn't last half an hour out in the -country where I come from. He's clever enough, to put -it over Moira all these years——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem. An' 'e may 'put it over' still—now -dat you go from 'er——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps," he muttered, with a frown. "But that -doesn't matter. She's not de Vautrin's daughter—or -his—I'd take an oath on it. I've got to clear her skirts of -this dirty mess. She wouldn't come. They've got her -there now—a prisoner. She can't help herself. I can't -be losing any time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose suddenly as though aware of the passage of -time and took a few paces away from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to-night?" said Piquette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The first train. I've got to go and find out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced at the small enameled clock upon the -mantel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is too late. Dere would be no fas' express until -de morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well. I'll see." And he strode toward the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At de Hotel Gravelotte—at de corner you will find -out, but wait——" She had sprung up and running out -of the apartment, returned in a moment with a soft hat, -which she gave him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks, Piquette—you're my good angel. I do seem -to need you, don't I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'ope you do, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>," she said quietly. And -then, "Go an' 'urry back. I will wait for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus it was that the next day found Jim Horton and -Piquette together in a compartment of the Marseilles -Express on their way to the Riviera. Jim had managed to -get reservations in a train which was now running -regularly, and then, after advising Piquette, had returned -to his lodgings in the Rue Jean Paul, meeting her at the -Gare de Lyon at noon. Piquette seemed to have thought -of everything that he had forgotten, and greeted him -with an air of gayety which did much to restore his -drooping spirits. It was very cozy, very comfortable, in -their compartment </span><em class="italics">à deux</em><span>, and Piquette looked upon the -excursion from the angle of the child ready and willing -to take a new pleasure in anything. Curiously enough, -she had traveled little—only once to the Côte d'Azur, -and looked forward with delight to the southern sunshine, -the blue of the sea, and the glimpse of the world of fashion -which was once more to be seen upon the </span><em class="italics">Promenade des -Anglais</em><span>. The passing landscape she greeted with little -childish cries as she recognized familiar scenes—the upper -reaches of the Seine, Juvisy, then Arpajon, Etampes and -Orleans.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Jim Horton sat watching her, detached by her -magnetism from the gloom of his thoughts, aware of the -quality of her devotion to this newly found friend for -whom with joyous carelessness she was risking the good-will -of her </span><em class="italics">patron</em><span>, the displeasure of her bloodthirsty -friends of earlier days and even perhaps her very life. She -was a new event in his experience, giving him a different -meaning for many things. There had been no new -passages of anything approaching sentiment between them -and he watched her curiously. It seemed that what she -wished him to understand was that she was merely a good -friend that he could tie to and be understood by. Even -when he took her hand in his—a natural impulse on -Jim's part when it lay for a moment beside him—she only -let it rest there a moment and then gave a careless gesture -or made a swift useful motion which dispelled illusions -and exorcised sentiment. And yet of sentiment of another -sort she was full, fairly bubbling over with sympathy and -encouragement, inviting him to share her enjoyment of -the gray and brown pastoral from the car window, -peaceful, beautiful and untouched by the rough hand of war. -It was a kind of friendship he couldn't understand and -wouldn't have understood perhaps even if he had been -skilled in the knowledge of women. And yet, there it was, -very real, very vital to him in all its beauty and -self-effacement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whatever her past, her strange philosophy of life, her -unique code of morals, he had to admit to himself that -she was a fine young animal, feminine to the last glossy -hair of her head, and compact of splendid forces which -had been diverted—of virtues which refused to be stifled -by the mere accident of environment. But most of all was -she that product of the Latin Quarter, which knows and -shares poverty and affluence, friendship and -enmity,—the </span><em class="italics">gamine</em><span>, the </span><em class="italics">bonne camarade</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She thought nothing of her exploit in rescuing him -from the house in the Rue Charron, nor would she permit -a repetition of his admiration and gratitude. The -impulse that had driven her to the rescue was -spontaneous. He was one she knew, an American soldier, -a friend of France, in trouble. Was not that enough?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the day wore on Piquette grew tired looking at -the scenery and after yawning once or twice, laid her -head quite frankly upon his shoulder with all the grace -of a tired child and immediately went to sleep. Jim -Horton smiled down at her with a new sense of pride in -this strange friendship, admiring the fine level brows, the -shadows on her eye-lids, slightly tinted with blue, the -well-turned nose, the scarlet curve of her under lip and -the firm line of her jaw and chin. Two outcasts they -were, he and she, strangely met and more strangely linked -in the common purpose of protecting the destinies of a -decadent French gentleman whom Jim Horton had never -seen and in whom he had no interest. And Piquette——? -What was her motive? Her loyalty to de Vautrin, unlike -that which she had shown for him, was spasmodic, -actuated by no affection but only by the humor of the -moment. She did not love this man. He had never -been to her anything more than a convenience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled. The word suggested a thought to him. -Convenience! Was this relation of Piquette to her patron -any worse than those marriages of the ambitious girls of -his own country, without love, often without hope of love, -to bring themselves up in the world? Piquette at least was -honest—with the </span><em class="italics">patron</em><span> and with herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The vows at the altar were sacred. He knew how -sacred now. He had not dared to think of Moira and he -knew that it was well that Piquette had kept his thoughts -from her. But now as his companion slept, his arm around -her slim figure, he began to think of Moira and the tragic -decision that he had given her to make. She had chosen -to remain there in the Rue de Tavennes because that was -the only home she knew, and in the agony of her mind -she felt that she must find sanctuary in her own room with -her thoughts and her prayers. And the love she bore -him, he knew was not a mere passing fancy, born of their -strange romance, but a living flame of pure passion, which -could only be dimmed by her duty to her conscience—but -not extinguished.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Piquette stirred slightly in her sleep and spoke his -name. "</span><em class="italics">Mon</em><span> Jeem," she muttered, and then settled -herself more comfortably against his shoulder. Jim Horton -did not move for fear of awakening her, but his gaze -passed over her relaxed features and a generous wave -of gratitude swept over him for all that she had done -for him. What a trump she was! What a loyal little -soul to help him with no hope of reward but the same kind -of loyalty she had given him. He must not fail her. If -there were only some way in which he could help her to -happiness. In sleep she was so gentle—so child-like—so -confiding. Thinking of all that he owed her, he bent -over and kissed her gently on the brow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not waken, and Jim Horton raised his head. -Then suddenly, as if in response to an impulse, looked -at the small, uncurtained window that let out upon the -corridor of the carriage. There, two dark eyes stared -at him as though fascinated from a pallid face, the whiter -for its frame of dusky hair—the face of Moira Quinlevin. -He thought for a moment that the vision was a part of -his obsession and for a second did not move—and then -started forward, awakening Piquette, for behind the face, -in the obscurity of the corridor, he made out another -head—and the iridescent eyes of Barry Quinlevin.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-night-attack"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A NIGHT ATTACK</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And even as he looked the faces were merged into -the obscurity and vanished.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette clung to his arm, whispering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd such a dreadful dream— Why, Jeem, what is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He started to his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Barry Quinlevin—there!" he gasped. "With </span><em class="italics">her</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her clutch on his arm tightened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here—impossible!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You dreamed, like me. I can't believe——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They were there a moment ago. Let me go, Piquette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she gasped in a frightened whisper. "You mus' -not follow——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to—to explain," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she only clutched his arm the more firmly and he -could not shake her off, for she held him with the strength -of desperation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not now, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem," she pleaded. "I—I am frighten'——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her quickly and it seemed as if this were -so, for her face had gone so white that the rouge upon -her lips looked like the blood upon an open wound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is jus' what 'e want', </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem, for you to go -after him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would give him de excuse he want' to shoot you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Defense personnelle</em><span>. He knows de law. He will kill -you, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not afraid. I've got to go, Piquette——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. You s'all not. An' leave me here alone——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's nothing to be frightened about on a train -full of people——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He managed to reach the door with Piquette clinging -to him and peered out into the corridor. A guard was -approaching.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Ou est ce monsieur et cette dame</em><span>——" he stammered,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ollendorf fashion, and then his French failed him and -he floundered helplessly, pleading with Piquette to finish -what he wished to say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the man understood, rattled off a rapid sentence -and disappeared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is dat dey have gone into anoder carriage," she -translated. "You see. It will be impossible to find dem."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he muttered, but he knew that the delay had cost -him his opportunity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mus' not leave me, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>," Piquette pleaded -at his ear. "I 'ave fear of him. 'E 'as seen us together. -Now 'e knows that it is I who 'ave tol' about Monsieur -le Duc—I who 'ave 'elp you from de house in de Rue -Charron—everyt'ing. I 'ave fear——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim laid a hand over hers and patted it reassuringly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't worry. He can't harm you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not afraid when you are 'ere,——" she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she won her way. It was the least that he could -do for her; so he sat again thinking of the look in Moira's -eyes and frowning out of the window, wondering how best -to meet this situation, while Piquette clung to his arm -and patted his hand nervously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We should 'ave watch' for 'im, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem—at de Gare -de Lyon. I don' on'erstan'——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor I—how he got her to come with him," muttered -Jim fiercely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ave I not tol' you 'e is a man </span><em class="italics">extraordinaire</em><span>—a man -to be watch'—to be fear'——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did he get her to come?" Jim repeated, as -though to himself. "How did he——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There seemed no necessity to find a reply to that, for -there she was, in the next carriage, perhaps, with this -shrewd rascal, whose power and resource seemed hourly -to grow in importance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was difficult to believe that Moira had listened to -Quinlevin, had believed the story he had chosen to tell -her, directly after the convincing proof of his villainy, -directly after Jim Horton's own plea to save her. What -art—what witchcraft had he employed?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The answer came in a shrewd guess of Piquette's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dis was de firs' fas' express to de Mediterranean," -she said. "'E knew you would go to Monsieur de -Vautrin. Las' night 'e foun' out I would go wit' you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who knows——?" she shrugged uneasily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned with a frown and examined Piquette with -quick suspicion, but her gaze met his frankly. The -thought that had sped through his mind was discreditable -to her and to him for thinking it. There was no -possibility of her collusion with Quinlevin. Her fear of -him was too genuine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H-m. He arranged things nicely. To show her </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> -with </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parfaitement</em><span>! It is dat only which made 'er come, -</span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Smooth!" muttered Jim. "And she saw me, all right," -he finished bitterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette was silent for awhile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is ver' 'andsome," she said at last. And then, -"An' she foun' me asleep wit' my 'ead on your shoulder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," muttered Jim. "She did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the moment he could not think how much his words -wounded her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sorry, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>," she said gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His conscience smote him at the tone of contrition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it doesn't matter, of course," he said. "There -was no hope—for me—none. But it complicates things -a little."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I comprehend. Monsieur hopes to keep you from -reaching the Duc."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He won't succeed—but I'd rather he hadn't seen me -in the train."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or Madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton made no reply and was at once enwrapped -in his thoughts, which as Piquette could see, excluded her. -And after a glance at his face, she too was silent. The -train, stopping here and there, rushed on through the -darkness, for hours it seemed to Piquette, and her -companion still sat, staring at the blank wall before him, -absorbed in his problem. He seemed to have forgotten -her—and at last she could bear the silence no longer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Mon pauvre</em><span> Jeem, you love 'er so much as dat?" she -asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He started at the sound of her voice and then turned -and laid his hand over hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm a fool, Piquette," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who s'all say?" She shrugged. Then she turned -her palm up and clasped his. "I am ver' sorry, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The touch of her hand soothed him. In spite of the -danger that she now ran, only half suggested by what she -had said, she could still find words to comfort him. Selfish -brute that he was, not to think of her!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette! I have gotten you into trouble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I got myself into it, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made no reply—and sat frowning. The train had -stopped again. By contrast with the roar to which their -ears had become accustomed, the silence was eloquent as -though their train had stopped breathless upon the edge -of an abyss. Then small sounds emerged from the silence, -a complaining voice from an adjoining compartment, the -buzzing of an insect, a distant hissing of steam. Then -suddenly, the night was split with a crash of sound and -glass from the window was sprinkled over them. Another -crash. And before Piquette had realized what was -happening Jim had seized her bodily and thrown her -to the floor of their compartment, and was crouching -over her, while the missiles from outside, fired rapidly, -were buried in the woodwork above the place where they -had sat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Six shots and then a commotion of voices here, there, -everywhere, and the sound of feet running inside the train -and out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lucky I pulled that blind," said Jim as he straightened, -glancing at the bullet holes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quinlevin," gasped Piquette as she rose to a sitting -posture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton got up and opened the door just as the -guards came running with excited inquiries, and seeing -Piquette upon the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame has been shot——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Piquette immediately reassured them by getting -up, frightened but quite unhurt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the window—the shots came," she explained -quickly in French, while Jim exhibited the damaged -paneling. "Some one outside has fired at us——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They understood and were off again, out into the -darkness where there was much running about with lanterns -and many cries of excitement, while the other passengers -crowded into the compartment and examined the bullet -holes, mouths agape.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it the Boches?" asked an excited </span><em class="italics">mondaine</em><span> of her -</span><em class="italics">compagnon de voyage</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not unlikely," replied the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Jim Horton knew better. Consideration for Moira's -position had kept him silent and inactive until the present -moment, but he was angry now at Quinlevin's dastardly -attempt at the murder of either or both of them, so -nearly successful. And so, when the officials of the train -led by a fussy, stout, black-bearded individual in buttons, -returned to question him, he answered freely, his replies -quickly translated by Piquette, describing Quinlevin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A monsieur with a mustache and </span><em class="italics">Imperiale</em><span>?" echoed -the stout official, taking notes rapidly on a pad. "And -mademoiselle had dark hair and blue eyes——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They were of the party of four in the second -carriage——," broke in the guard whom Jim had -questioned earlier in the day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is impossible, Monsieur. They left the train at -St. Etienne."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A party of four?" questioned Piquette, astonished.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oui, Madame</em><span>. The two you mention besides another -man and an older woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did the other two look like?" asked Jim, -thinking of Harry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The old woman had reddish hair streaked with -gray—the man was small, with a hooked nose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the man with the hooked nose, did he leave at -St. Etienne too?" asked Jim.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parbleu</em><span>, now that you mention it——," said the -guard, scratching his head, "I think I saw him a while -ago at the rear of the train."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton scowled. "Find the man with the hooked -nose, Monsieur," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the fussy official was now shrugging and gesticulating -wildly. It was impossible to do anything more. It -was like hunting for a needle in a hay-mow. His train -was already an hour late. The search would be taken up -in the village where they had stopped, but nothing could -be done for the present. The train would be thoroughly -searched and then they must go on. In the meanwhile -perhaps it would be better for Monsieur and Madame to -change to a vacant compartment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton protested, but to no avail. And after -another wait, during which there were more waving of -lanterns outside and more shouts, the train went on upon -its way. He had to confess himself astonished at the -desperate measures his enemies had taken to prevent his -revelations. Who was the small man with the hooked -nose? It wasn't Harry, who was tall—and whose nose -was straight. But when they were seated in the new -place provided for them, a thought came to Jim and when -the guard came around again he questioned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was there anything especially noticeable about the -small man with the hooked nose?" asked Jim.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't comprehend, M'sieu."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you notice anything curious in the way he walked -for instance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—yes. Now that you mention it, I think he walked -with a slight limp."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette and Jim exchanged quick glances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tricot!" gasped Piquette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're sure he is nowhere on the train?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Positive, M'sieu. We have searched everywhere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was with a feeling of some security therefore that -Jim settled himself again and tried to make Piquette -comfortable for the remainder of the journey. Neither of -them felt like sleeping now and they talked eagerly of -the extraordinary happening. There seemed no reason -to doubt that their assailant was Tricot and that the -clever brain of Quinlevin had planned the whole affair. -There was no doubt either that Quinlevin had told the -</span><em class="italics">apache</em><span> of Piquette's part in the affair of the Rue Charron -and that the shots were intended as much for Piquette as -for him. This was the danger in the path of those who -betrayed the secrets of the underworld. But Piquette -having recovered from her fright was now again quite -composed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's very clear why Monsieur Quinlevin left the train -at St. Etienne with Madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was afraid she would make trouble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem. Also, 'e t'ought Tricot would have -success." She caught his hand and held it a moment. -"'E would 'ave kill' me if you 'adn' push' me on de floor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pretty clever, sizing us up like that, then letting -Tricot do his dirty work. He didn't think I'd see him. -But we know what we're up against now. And they'll -waste no time in following. I've got to get a 'gun' -somewhere, that's sure, and you've got to stop at -Marseilles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At Marseilles?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded. "I'm not going to let you run your head -any further into this noose. You see what the danger -is——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Piquette only smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew what de danger was when I offer'd to come, -</span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>. I'm not going to stay at Marseilles. I'm going -on wit' you, as I promis'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Piquette——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put her fingers over his lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not know my great force of mind. Besides," -she added, "dey cannot catch us now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't have you running any more risks," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I s'all run de risk you run, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her gently. There was something animal-like -in her devotion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the dusk of the soft illumination from above, the -shadows at her eyes and lips seemed more than ever -wistful and pathetic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you dare all this for me, Piquette?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should I not tell you?" she said gently. "It -makes no difference to you, but I t'ink I should like you -to know. It is because I love you, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's true, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>. It 'as never 'appen to me before. -Dat's why I know.... No, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem. It is not -</span><em class="italics">necessaire</em><span> for you to make believe. Voila! You can 'old -my 'and. So. But I want you to know. It was from -de firs'—at Javet's—'Ow else should I 'ave care' enough -to go find you in de Rue Charron? 'Ow else would I -care enough to fin' out de difference between you an' -'Arry?" She took a long breath before she went on. "It -did not take me long, I assure you—for you, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>, -were de man I was to love an' 'Arry——" she paused -painfully. "'Arry was jus' a mistake."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I'm not what you think I am, Piquette," he broke -in awkwardly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me finish, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>," she said with a wave of the -hand. "Confession is good for de soul, dey say. I want -you to know about me. I am on'y what de </span><em class="italics">bon Dieu</em><span> -make me—a </span><em class="italics">gamine</em><span>. If 'E wish' me to be </span><em class="italics">fille honnête</em><span>, -'E would not make a </span><em class="italics">gamine</em><span>. </span><em class="italics">C'est la destinée</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't, Piquette. I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mos' men are </span><em class="italics">si bête</em><span>—always de same. Dey talk of -love—Pouf! I know. </span><em class="italics">Toujours la chair</em><span>.... But -you—</span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>—" She held her breath and then gasped -gently. "You touch' me gently—wit' respec', like I was a -queen—you kiss me on de brows—like I was a </span><em class="italics">fille bonnête</em><span>. -</span><em class="italics">Mon Dieu</em><span>! What would you? Is it not'ing to be care' -for by a man clean like dat?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do care," he said impulsively. "Yes—and like that. -I'd give anything to make you happy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gently disengaged his arm from about her waist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Den care for me like dat—like you say you care," she -said gently. "It is what I wish—all I wish, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span> -Jeem."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He touched her hand with his lips but there seemed -nothing to say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">C'est bien</em><span>," whispered Piquette with a smile. "I t'ink -you 'ave taught me somet'ing, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you've taught me," he blurted out, "but I won't -lie to you, Piquette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dat is as it mus' be. An' now we on'erstan' each -oder. I am ver' content."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton, from embarrassment at the astonishing -confession, began to understand its motive and sat silent, -Piquette's hand in his, aware of the bond of sympathy -between them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a queer world, Piquette," he said at last, with a -dry laugh. "I care for somebody I can't have—you -care for me—why, God knows. I've made a fine mess of -things and will probably go on making a mess of things—</span><em class="italics">her</em><span> -life, mine, yours—when you and I might have hit it -off from the beginning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem, you were not for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She caught his hand in both of her own and with one -of her swift transitions from the womanly to the -child-like she pleaded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' now you will not 'ide me away in Marseilles?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her earnestness and it wasn't in his heart -any longer to refuse her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Piquette. You shall go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And impulsively, with the innocence that was a part of -her charm, she kissed him fair upon the lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem. You are ver' good to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But at Marseilles he armed himself with a new automatic -and with the weapon in his pocket felt a reasonable -sense of security, at least until they reached their -destination.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette was resourceful. And on the train to Nice -found the answer to the problem that neither of them -had been able to solve.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"De ol' woman, wit' de gray hair," she said with an -air of conviction after a long period of silence—"it is -Nora Burke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By George!" cried Jim, awakening. "I believe you're -right, Piquette. Nora Burke! And he's bringing her -along to clinch the thing—down here—at Nice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded. "But we s'all reach Monsieur le Duc firs', -</span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Delays awaited them when they reached the Hôtel -Negresco. Piquette was provided with the name which -Monsieur the Duc chose to use when traveling. Upon -inquiry of the polite gentleman who presided over the -destinies of the guests of this newest addition to the -luxuries of the </span><em class="italics">Promenade des Anglais</em><span>, they were informed -that Monsieur and Madame Thibaud had gone upon a -motor-journey along the Cornice Road.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the information, Piquette laughed outright and the -polite Frenchman frowned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is there anything so extraordinary in a motor-trip -with Madame?" he asked frigidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—nothing, Monsieur," she replied and laughed -again. But Jim Horton understood. Monsieur the -Duc was relieving Piquette of a great moral -responsibility.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were shown adjoining rooms where they removed -the traces of their journey, and then met for dinner, -when they held a consultation as to their future plans. -If Monsieur the Duc had gone on a motor-trip he might -be back that night, or he might be away for a week. -They found that Monsieur and Madame had taken only a -suitcase and the chances were that they would return to -the Negresco by the morrow. But time was precious—and -it would not be long before Quinlevin and his queerly -assorted company would be arriving in Nice, ready in some -nefarious way to interfere with their plans. And so after -dinner they took the train for Monte Carlo, hoping that -de Vautrin's weakness for gaming would have led him -to that earthly paradise of loveliness and iniquity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was late when they reached there, but Piquette had -made no mistake, for they found their man at the tables, -so deeply engrossed that he did not notice their approach -or even look up when Piquette, ignoring the wonderfully -accoutered lady at his side, addressed him in her most -mellifluous tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton took him in with a quick glance of -appraisal—a man still in his fifties, about the age of -Barry Quinlevin, but smaller, with a thin nose, sharp, -black eyes, a bald head, and a dyed mustache waxed to -long points. And the hands upon the green baize of the -table wore large rings, one set with a ruby, the other with -an emerald. That he was losing some money was indicated -by the pucker of his bushy eyebrows and the nervous -tapping of his jeweled fingers upon the cloth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not until Piquette had spoken his Christian name -several times that he seemed to hear and then looked up, -his face a cloud of impatience and ill-temper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is I, Olivier," she repeated—"Piquette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—Madame!" he said with a glance at his companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur," said Piquette coolly, "and it seems -that I've brought you luck," for at that moment a pile of -gold and bank notes was swept in his direction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah—perhaps," he said confusedly. And then, "But it -isn't possible. I was told that you were coming. I -can't see you or this monsieur who comes with you. Go -away if you please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His attitude was uncompromising, his announcement -bewildering, but Piquette was undismayed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The red, Monsieur," she said calmly, and before he -could prevent, shoved a pile of the gold coins upon the -color. And the Duc, aghast at her impudence, sat for -a moment scowling at his pile of money, the gambler in -him arrested by the fascinating click of the little ball.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Red wins," announced Piquette, echoing the </span><em class="italics">croupier</em><span>. -"You see, Monsieur, it will be wise for you to treat me -with more politeness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And as he still sat as though fascinated by the turn -of his fortune, and made no motion to prevent her, she -put all the money she had won for him on the black. -Black won and Piquette laughed gayly, while the woman -beside de Vautrin sat in silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It does not do to venture here with strange Goddesses."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced rather scornfully at the Duc's companion -and straightened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Again, Madame," muttered de Vautrin, "the wheel -runs for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have finished," said Piquette firmly. "It is enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," growled the Duc, thrusting his winnings again -upon the black.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will lose," said Piquette calmly, watching the -leaping of the little ball. He did—all that she had won -for him. He tried again, lost more, then turned on her -with a frown.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sacré</em><span>——" he began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh——," she silenced. "</span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>. I did not come to -interfere with your games, but if Madame Thibaud will -permit us——" and she smiled with diabolical irony at -de Vautrin's companion—"I would like to have a word -with you at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will not listen to you—or him." He scowled at Jim. -"I know what it's all about. I don't wish to see you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you mad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then what do you mean by this? I've come to save -you from a great financial disaster——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You——?" he sputtered. "What are you doing here, -with this man? It is infamous. I want no more of you. -Go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Olivier. I stay," she said quietly. "You will -kindly compose yourself and tell me who has been sending -you lying telegrams."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A—a friend in Paris."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! What did he say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does it matter to you what he said?" gasped -de Vautrin. "You are in love with this monsieur. </span><em class="italics">Eh -bien</em><span>! Go to him. I don't care. I'm through with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, no, you're not, Olivier," said Piquette, smiling -calmly, "not until I'm through with you." And then, -soberly: "Don't be a fool. Your </span><em class="italics">petit bleu</em><span> was sent by -Monsieur Quinlevin. He has the best of reasons for not -wanting you to see us. Will you listen to me now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin's name had startled him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" he sputtered.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="green-eyes"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">GREEN EYES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>For a moment after Jim Horton's departure Moira -sat in her arm-chair, her head buried in her arms, -more than half stupefied. One horrible revelation -had followed another with such rapidity that she was -aghast at the complete disruption of all the ties that had -made her life. And this last tie—the strongest and the -weakest of all—that too had been broken as relentlessly as -the others.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She straightened slowly, her face haggard with her -suffering, but she did not move from her chair and her -fingers clutched its arms fiercely. Her eyes, staring -blankly past Quinlevin, were following Jim out into the -darkness of the Rue de Tavennes, but her fingers still -clung to the chair-arms and her body did not move. It -seemed that her limbs refused to obey her will to follow. -Then after a moment, she sank down again, crushed, -bruised and nerveless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She felt the touch of Quinlevin's hand upon her shoulder -and his voice whispering at her ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There, acushla! I'll be explaining it all to you in the -morning. Go to your room now, child, and rest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She obeyed him silently, mechanically, not replying or -looking at him or at Harry. Her throat like her eyes was -dry, and parched, as though with fever, but her hands, -like her heart, were ice cold. In the sanctuary of her own -room with the doors closed, she threw herself headlong -upon the bed, racked for a while by shuddering soundless -sobs—and then after a while merciful tears came.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim," she whispered hopelessly into the darkness. -"Jim, forgive me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her fingers groped for her crucifix and clung to it, -seeking strength and courage. And after a long while -the spasm of weeping stopped and she lay motionless -and soundless, scarcely breathing. She knew in her -heart that what she had done was best for Jim's soul's -good and her own, but her heart cried out against the -cruelty of it. And yet she was sure that if she had -followed him beyond the studio door, she would have gone -out with him into the world, glorying in her shame. She -had chosen. Her one brief, gorgeous, pitiful romance -was over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And what was there left for her here at the studio but -the shattered fragments of ruined affections? She had -lived a lie—was living it now—like her father.... She -started up at the horror that she had forgotten and sat -on the edge of the bed, trying to collect her thoughts; -then she rose with an effort, groped for the matches and -lighted her candle. Her father? By his own -admission—her father no longer. Who was she then? A waif? -The daughter of de Vautrin? Her mirror sent her back -a haggard reflection, pale, somber, but with blue-black -eyes that gazed steadily from their swollen lids. Strength -she had prayed for, and courage to do what was right -to do, and she needed them both now....</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 60%" id="figure-44"> -<span id="the-mirror-sent-her-back-a-haggard-reflection-pale-and-somber"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="THE MIRROR SENT HER BACK A HAGGARD REFLECTION, PALE AND SOMBER" src="images/img-202.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">THE MIRROR SENT HER BACK A HAGGARD REFLECTION, PALE AND SOMBER</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no sound from the studio. She glanced at -her clock. For hours it seemed she had lain upon her -bed of pain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a new resolution she bathed her face and wrists -in cold water, then went through the kitchenette into the -studio to find Barry Quinlevin. He was not there, but her -husband was,—crouched in the armchair by the table and -the whisky bottle was empty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shuddered a little but approached him resolutely. -He tried to rise but, with a dull laugh and fumbling the -arm of the chair, fell sideways into a grotesque attitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is——?" she began, and halted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gone out," he mumbled, struggling into a straighter -posture, "back soon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where has he gone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head. "Dunno. Asked me to stay—take -care of you, m'dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned away from him, in disgust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—don' worry," he went on—"not goin' bother you. -After t'morr'—won' see me, y'know——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned quickly and he laughed again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Goin' join m'regimen'. Furlough up t'morr'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She whispered a "Thank God" below her breath as she -stood looking at him. And then aloud, gently, in a new -kind of pity for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd better lie down, Harry, and get some sleep," -she said, "or you'll be in no condition to go on duty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks. Ought to sleep. Haven' slep' f'r weeks, -seems to me. Don' seem to care though."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd better. There's a room outside. Your -baggage is there too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Um—that's nice of you, Moira. R'turnin' good for -evil. Baggage. </span><em class="italics">He</em><span> brought it—didn' he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Harry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused a moment and then leaned forward in his -chair while she watched him curiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rotten mess! What?" he mumbled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She didn't reply. And he went on, concentrating -thought with difficulty. "He told you I tried—kill -him—didn' he?" He wagged his head comically. "I couldn' -do that—not kill 'im—wouldn't do y'know—m'own -brother—no—not that——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put his hands to his eyes a moment and swayed, but -Moira steadied him by the shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry—come. I'll help you. You must go to bed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet—in a minute. Somethin'—say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He groped for her hand on his shoulder, found and -clung to it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shame I'm such rotter, Moira. Beas'ly shame. I'm -not half bad sort if leave me 'lone. I was sick—out there. -Head of Levinski—grinned at me. Gold tooth—grinned -at me—in wheatfield——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, Harry," she broke in again, "lean on me. I'll -help you to bed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I was sick awright——" he shuddered, oblivious -of her. "Makes me sick now—think of it. Jus' a head, -Moira, nothin' else. But God! What a head!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It won't do you any good now to think about that," -she put in quickly, for he was shivering as though with a -chill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. No goo' now. Awf' rotter, ain't I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stumbled to his feet and she helped him to support -himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you forgive me, Moira?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And as she urged him out of the door toward the -vacant room, "Knew y'would," he mumbled. And then, -"Goo' ol' Moira!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the room she helped him off with his coat, puttees -and shoes and then pulling a blanket over him left him to -his own devices and went back to the studio to wait for -Barry Quinlevin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she wasn't weary now. From the same reserve -force from which she drew the strength to stand for -hours and paint even when her sitters were weary, she -gained new courage and resolution for the return of -Quinlevin. But for a moment she was tempted again. -The way was clear. What was to prevent her from going -and finding Jim? For a moment only. Then she sank, -into the chair by the fireplace—to fight her battle with -herself and wait. Her glance restlessly passed from one -familiar object to another, the portrait on the easel, the -lay figure in the corner in its fantastic pose and -heterogeneous costume, the draperies for her backgrounds, -hanging just as they had hung this afternoon, and yet -all so strangely changed. The door of the closet where -Jim had been hidden remained open, exhibiting its untidy -interior. Instinctively she rose and closed it, her sense -of order triumphant even over her mental sufferings. -Then she went back and sat down to think. There was -much that she and her—that she and Barry Quinlevin -would have to say to each other.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He came at last, expecting to find Harry and not the -straight figure of the woman who faced him like a pale -fury. The shadows of pain at her eyes were gone, lost -in deeper shadows of anger and determination.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You! Moira," he said in surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's Harry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I put him to bed. He was drunk," she said shortly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The devil he was!" He frowned darkly and then -seemed as ever, quite the master of himself. If the glance -he cast at her discovered her state of mind, he gave no -sign of uneasiness. He approached her with his easy air -as if nothing unusual had happened, but when he spoke -again his voice was pitched low and his eyes were soft.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you'd be in bed, child——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've something to say to you——" she cut in quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, very well,—say on, my dear. You don't mind -if I smoke a cigarette?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she made no reply he lighted one and sank into the -most comfortable chair with a sigh of content.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At least you owe me something, Barry Quinlevin," she -began tensely, trying to keep her voice under control, and -announcing her </span><em class="italics">leit motif</em><span>, so to speak, in her first phrase. -"I'm no chattel of yours, no infant any longer, to be -bandied about as a dupe in your wild plans for the future. -It's </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> future you're dealing with just as you've dealt -with my past——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have ye had any cause to complain of my treatment -of ye?" he broke in calmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've cheated me—lied to me all my life—isn't that -enough? Kept me in ignorance of the source of our -livelihood—God knows what else—made me a partner in a -crime—without my knowledge—made me help you to get -dishonest money——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hardly," he said. "It was yer own money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe you," she said icily, "if it was my -money you would have gotten it for me—all of it—long -ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And lost yerself, my dear, to the Duc de Vautrin," he -countered quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She started slightly. That possibility hadn't occurred -to her. But she went on rapidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget that I heard what you said to Harry—That -I know what has been in your heart all these years. -I was your decoy and you used me as you pleased, glad -of my working, which kept me busy so that I couldn't be -inquiring what was going on. You forget that I heard -why you wanted me to marry Harry, but </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> can't forget -it—would to God I could—and you'd dare to ask me if -I have anything to complain of, knowing all that and -knowing that </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> know it. Do you think I'm a mere piece -of furniture without a soul, not to care what my heritage -is, not to cherish my traditions——? You've built my -life on a lie, destroyed my very identity in a breath, torn -down all the sacred idols of my girlhood and young -womanhood and ground them under your feet. You!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She caught at her heart and took a step nearer him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My mother—who was my mother?" she gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shrugged. "Mary Callonby—the Duchesse de -Vautrin," he said easily. "And you are Patricia Madeline -Aulnoy de Vautrin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible. I'm no longer credulous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll have to believe the truth!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And who are you to ask me to believe? You who -dared to speak to me of the sanctity of motherhood, who -taught me that I was your own daughter—and that my -mother, your wife——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She broke off with a sob, quickly controlled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was because I loved ye, Moira dear," he said very -quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She halted, aghast at this tenderness, the familiar tones -of which made her wonder for a moment whether she -weren't dreaming all the dreadful accusations on her -tongue's end. But a pain shot through her heart to -remind her of her sufferings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And was it because you loved me that you dared -obliterate me, sneered at my pitiful love affair—the only -passion I've had in my life or will have—and even tried -to murder in cold blood—the—the object—of it? Answer -me that—Barry Quinlevin!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Irishman's manner now changed. His brows drew -together in a tight knot and the long fingers upon the -chair-arm clenched until the knuckles were white.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll answer ye that," he said abruptly. "And more. -I've heard what ye had to say with patience and chagrin. -I'll take the blame for me sins of omission where blame -is due, trusting to yer conscience to be forgiving me -presently for yer harsh tones to one who sinned for the -very love of ye. But when ye speak of this other man -who by a trick forces his way into yer lodgings and yer -affections, learns yer family secrets and mine, reads yer -letters and mine, makes love to his own brother's wife -behind his back,—yer own brother-in-law, mind ye—and -then tells one lie after another to make his story good, -its time there was a man about the place to protect ye, -if ye can't protect yerself——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop——!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I've heard </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>. Now ye'll be listening to me. -If Harry isn't man enough to be looking out fer what -belongs to him, then I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span>. Ye've given this man yer -heart, acknowledged yer affections before us all. God -be praised that's all it amounts to! But when ye hear -me out, ye'll be wishing yer tongue had rotted before -ye'd made such an admission."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw her shrink and he rose from his chair, following -up his advantage quickly. "There—there my dear, -Ye've almost had enough of trouble for one night——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on," she murmured stanchly, "but if you're going -to speak ill of Jim Horton I won't believe you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye can do as ye please about that, but I'll be telling -ye what I know of him just the same. And when I tell -ye I wish I'd shot him dead before yer eyes, I'd only be -satisfying the conscience of yer life-long guardian and -protector——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Conscience! </span><em class="italics">You</em><span>!" she laughed hysterically. "Go on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will, little as ye'll like it. When I went from here -where d'ye suppose I went? To Pochard. And I wrung -from him the truth about yer friend Jim Horton. It -was Piquette Morin who helped him from the house in -the Rue Charron——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know it. I thank God for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was Piquette Morin who took him back to her -apartment in the Boulevard Clichy and kept him there -until he recovered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know that too. Go on——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But ye didn't know that Piquette Morin was a woman -without a shred of conscience or morals, a woman of the -streets, who glories in her infidelities to the Duc de -Vautrin, whose mistress she is——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I care nothing for that," stammered Moira.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye may not care, since Jim Horton has lied about -that too, but ye </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> care about the relations that exist -between the two of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't listen," said Moira, making for the door. But -he barred her way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, ye'll listen, Moira dear, and I'll be giving ye -all the proofs ye need before I'm through."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Proofs! I dare you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All in good time. If ye'll be patient. Where do ye -think I went from Pochard's? To the Boulevard Clichy, -where yer precious friend had returned to the arms of -Madame Morin——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She waved a hand in protest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I watched the door of the apartment. He came out. -I followed, and where do you suppose he went? To the -ticket office where he booked a compartment for two—on -the twelve o'clock train to-morrow for Marseilles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what of that?" she stammered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Merely that yer friend Jim Horton, failing of success -with his brother's wife, has decided upon a honeymoon to -the Riviera with a lady who is more </span><em class="italics">complaisante</em><span> than -yerself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye'd find it less difficult to believe if ye guessed how -mad she was for him, how handsome she is and how skilled -in the wily arts of her sex and trade," he said keenly. -"Oh," he said, with a shrug, "it could only have been a -great passion that would have dared the rescue from the -house in the Rue Charron. And no man remains long -ungrateful for such an act of unselfishness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira leaned against the mantel-shelf, staring at him -wide-eyed, but he met her look with one more steady than -hers, hardy, indignant, but injured and grieved too at -her attitude. Skillfully he had baited his hook with a -truth that she knew. He saw the fleeting question in -her eyes and answered it quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If ye want the proofs——go to the Boulevard Clichy -now." He paused to give the suggestion weight, "Or if -ye've no heart to-night for such a brutal -encounter—to-morrow—on the train to Marseilles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had caught her ear. He knew it by the sudden -shutting of her teeth over her words, the proud lift of her -chin, the hard look that came into her eyes. And though -she answered him still defiantly, her tone had no body in -it and trembled with the new uncertainty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't ask ye to. But ye will believe in the evidence of -yer eyes, and I'll be providing ye with that, my dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How you hate him!" she gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shrugged and turned half toward her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hate? Hardly. I merely despise him. I would have -killed him to-night with a clean conscience, knowing what -I do." He dropped the cigarette he had taken up and -approached her a pace or two. "Oh, Moira, alanah, -won't ye see? Is it blind ye are to the truth that lies -before yer very eyes——? Can't ye see that it's the love -of ye that drives me to protect yer happiness? Have I -ever failed ye, all these years? Haven't I given ye yer -share of all I had? Answer me that—aye—even when -there was not too much for the both of us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I've heard enough—to-night," she said wearily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry. I—I've done what I thought was the best. -I'm still yer guardian—until ye come into yer own——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't listen to that," she shuddered. "De -Vautrin—my father!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He bowed his head with tragic grace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The same—bad cess to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sank into a chair, bewildered and helpless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want nothing—only to go away somewhere alone. -I've heard enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That you shall do presently, alanah," he said, touching -her gently, the familiar voice close at her ear. "But -now you must be going to bed and trying to sleep. 'Tis -a cruel day ye've had—cruel! But to-morrow when ye've -had some rest——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow——?" she raised a despairing face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye've got to be facing it. But no more to-night. -Come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She let him take her by the arm to the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forgive me, acushla," he whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she made no reply and left him standing there. -And Quinlevin watched her merge into the darkness within, -then turned and picked up the cigarette he had dropped, -lighted it with great care, and sat and smoked, ruminating -over the ashes in the fireplace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he had played his cards with the true gambler's -knowledge, of the psychology of his victim. Jealousy! -Such a weapon at his very hand. It was almost a pity -to use it. Poor child. As if she hadn't already suffered -enough! But there was no choice. And she would get -over it. Love never killed—only hate ... only hate. -He finished one cigarette and then glanced toward the -door through which Moira had passed. Then lighted -another and composed himself for awhile longer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not until he was near the end of this cigarette -that a slight sound caused him to look up over his -shoulder. Framed against the black opening Moira stood, -pale, dark eyed, her black hair streaming over her flimsy -dressing-gown, and then came forward noiselessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira, child——!" he cried, rising, with an air of -surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must show me the proof——," she stammered, -"what you said—to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. If ye insist——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do. It's a test—of the truth—between you -and—and him——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll provide it. Ye'll leave with me on the twelve -o'clock train for Marseilles?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," he muttered. "I'll arrange for it. I've -some business in Nice. It's just as well if you come -along."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything——," she whispered, shivering and still -protesting, "but I don't believe—I don't believe——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go to bed again, child. I'll call ye in the morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she disappeared he turned toward the mantel, hiding -the smile of triumph that crossed his lips. Then he -leaned for a long while looking into the hearth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor child!" he whispered. "'Tis a cruel pity, -but—" He paused and then turned toward the bottle upon the -table, which he raised and examined carefully, then set -down with an air of disgust. "The drunken scut!" he -muttered, then swore softly below his breath.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>What remained of Quinlevin's task was not difficult, for -he had already anticipated his success with Moira by -making arrangements with Nora Burke and Tricot, Nora -to face de Vautrin with her confession and her evidence, -Tricot to help him in keeping Jim Horton from reaching -the Duke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By the expression of Moira's face when they met in the -studio in the morning, he discovered that his poison had -worked its slow course through her veins. Irish she -was—all Irish now—slow to love and quick to -jealousy—proud to the quick, and capable of a fine hatred when -the proofs were brought as Barry Quinlevin intended -to bring them. She listened with an abstracted air as he -told her that her old nurse, Nora Burke, and a man, a -friend of his, were to be the other members of their party. -She showed some surprise and then a mild interest, but -he could see that to Moira her companions meant very -little. She was thinking, brooding somberly over what -he had told her, and his air of confidence in his -undertaking did nothing to give her courage for her decision. -And yet he knew that she would abide by it—a choice -between Jim Horton and himself. And he knew already -what that choice was to be. For reasons of his own it -was important that Jim Horton and Piquette should not -see him on the train; nor that Moira should be presented -merely with the evidence of the two of them entering the -train. The evidence must be condemnatory. He would -wait and trust to circumstances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The thing was simplicity itself. The window into the -corridor was like a dispensation. He passed the -compartment once or twice to make sure that the shade of -the little window had not been drawn and then when it -grew dark saw that Piquette had gone fast asleep with -her head on Horton's shoulder. Then he acted quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," he said to Moira. "It is time I showed you -who is the liar."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And resolutely she followed him, looked—and saw.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Nothing seemed to matter to her after that. Incredulity, -surprise and then guilt, all expressed so clearly -in Jim Horton's face in the brief moment when their -glances had met. The pretty painted face upon his -shoulder, the arm that he withdrew from around the -woman's waist, her sudden awakening as he started—all -these brief impressions so vivid, so terrible in their -significance, armed her with new strength and courage to -hide her pain from Nora Burke and Barry Quinlevin. He -watched her with admiration. Her heart might be -breaking but she'd never whimper now. He knew her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are ye satisfied, my dear?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Quite," she gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you'll be listening to Nora while she tells ye the -truth?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good. I must be leaving ye for a while to talk with -my friend. And don't be distrusting me again, alanah."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira was silent and gazed out of the window into the -darkness until Nora came. And she listened to the tale -that Nora Burke told, or seemed to listen, and thus Quinlevin -found them later, the girl's hand in that of her old -nurse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The announcement that they were to get out of the -train at St. Etienne created no astonishment. Moira -moved as in a dream, obeying blindly as she had always -been accustomed to obey the suggestions of her protector, -caring nothing for their significance and reassured as to -the integrity of his intentions with regard to herself. -There was no doubting that he loved her in his strange -way. And the fury he had expended upon Jim Horton -seemed scarcely less than that she now felt for him. A -man could kill—but a woman could only despise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was at least thankful when she saw the train -bearing the couple pass out of her sight into the -darkness, and followed Quinlevin where he led—to a hotel -for the night—to another train in the morning, to -Marseilles, to Nice, and the Hôtel Ruhl, where in the privacy -of a room of her own, she threw herself upon the bed and -gazed dry-eyed at the ceiling.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="nora-speaks"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">NORA SPEAKS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The attention of Monsieur de Vautrin having been -attracted by Piquette's news of the immediate -threat against his fortune, it was no longer -difficult to persuade him to listen to what Jim Horton had -to say. Madame Thibaud was therefore conducted with -scant ceremony to an apartment in the Hôtel de Paris, -after which the Duc rejoined Piquette and Jim in the -Casino. The unflattering opinion Jim Horton had formed -of this French nobleman was, upon closer acquaintance, in -no way modified. The peevish and supercilious air with -which he had greeted Piquette had changed to one scarcely -less unpleasant,—a fidgety anxiety and apprehension -which revealed weaknesses of fiber one would not have -expected to discover between the points of so long and so -imposing a mustache. He gave Jim the impression of -being very weary in the pursuit of a will-o'-the-wisp. -And in repose, his face bore the scars worn by those who -live for pleasure alone. Altogether he seemed a person -scarcely worth borrowing so much trouble about. His -attitude of suspicion toward Jim Horton was illy -concealed, but he listened, frowning and questioning, until -at last convinced of the reality of his danger at the hands -of the renegade Irish adventurer to whose venial cleverness -he had so long paid handsome tribute.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But they can do nothing," he said at last in excellent -English, with an air of bravado which was meant to -be effective, and which was only pitiful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not so sure about that," said Jim, "the mere fact -of your having paid for the support of the child for so -many years makes it seem as though you believed in the -thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do I care? I have the money. Let them take -it if they can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, they'll take it all right, if you don't find some -way to meet their evidence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, of course. But you've got to prove that they -are. Where's your defense? You didn't even know you -had a daughter until Barry Quinlevin told you you had. -What proof have you that your own child died? And if -you believed Quinlevin then, why shouldn't you believe -him now——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had my suspicions——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon me. Suspicions won't satisfy an Irish court -or a French one. What proof have you that Madame -Horton isn't your own child? None? Exactly! But -everybody who could have known anything about the -matter is dead except Nora Burke, and you've already -heard what she has to say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H—m. And what is </span><em class="italics">your</em><span> interest in this matter, -Monsieur?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a fair question," said Jim slowly. "I'll give -you a fair answer. Madame Horton is my brother's -wife. The story I've given you is straight—as Piquette -will tell you since she heard much of it from my brother. -Your daughter died shortly after her mother, your wife. -My interest in this affair is personal to this extent. I -don't intend to have Madame Horton used any longer -by an unprincipled blackmailer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely then you would have told Madame Horton -the truth and saved me this unpleasantness——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—I've told her," said Jim slowly, "but she's -helpless. Can't you see, Monsieur? It has all been very -sudden—for her. She doesn't know what to believe. -Besides, Monsieur Quinlevin has the birth certificate and the -testimony of the nurse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But if Madame Horton is an honorable woman——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can count on that," put in Horton quickly. -"She doesn't want your money—she isn't Quinlevin's -kind——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why doesn't she renounce him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She might—but what difference would that make? -She might permit herself to think she was Joan of Arc, -but that wouldn't make her any one but Patricia Madeleine -Aulnoy de Vautrin, if Barry Quinlevin has evidence -enough to prove that she is...."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>De Vautrin frowned darkly and twitched his jeweled -fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But she would have something to say about her own -desires in the matter," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Her own desires haven't anything to do with it. See -here, Monsieur de Vautrin—Barry Quinlevin proves her -birth by a certificate; he also proves by the nurse that -she was the child brought into his house, and the child he -has brought up as his ward, bearing his name and -accepting your money for twenty-one years—hush money, -monsieur, that you paid to keep her out of a fortune you -thought belonged to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it doesn't belong to her," cried de Vautrin, -gesticulating. "It's mine since the child is dead. Monsieur -Harry Horton——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette broke in. "Monsieur 'Arry 'Orton could be -call' to the stan' of course, but 'is testimony is not to be -relied upon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your brother, Monsieur——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur de Vautrin," replied Jim, "my -brother—but an intimate of Barry Quinlevin's——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I comprehend—an accomplice?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You might call him that—if you like." He shrugged -and turned aside. "We don't get along, my brother and -I, but I don't think you'll find much to gain by putting -him on the witness stand. Besides, it won't look very -pretty in the papers. It's as much to my interest as -yours to keep it out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Duc eyed him suspiciously again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must have some other interest besides this -in wishing to help me. What's the ax you have to grind, -Monsieur?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton grinned and shrugged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For myself—nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is difficult to believe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I would advise you to tax your imagination to -the utmost. I don't want Madame Horton to figure in -an affair that she will regret the rest of her life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur is in love wit' Madame 'Orton——" Piquette's -voice broke in very calmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a silence for a moment in which Jim Horton -looked at Piquette, Piquette gazed at de Vautrin and de -Vautrin stared from one to the other in astonishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His knowledge of the world had given him no instinct -to appraise a situation such as this. But Piquette met -his gaze clearly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is de trut', Olivier," she repeated. "An' now -perhaps you on'erstan'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is extraordinary," he gasped. "And you two——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I brought 'im to you. Your interests are de -same—and mine, wit' both."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parbleu</em><span>! If I could believe it——!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton rose, aware of a desire to pull the waxed -mustaches to see if they were real.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You needn't believe it, if you don't want to," he said -carelessly. "And you don't have to believe my story. -But I've given you your warning. Barry Quinlevin may -be in Nice now, with his birth certificate and his Nora -Burke." He buttoned his overcoat and turned toward -the door. "I think I'll be going back to Nice, Piquette," -he said coolly, and then to the bewildered Frenchman, -"Good-night, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One moment," gasped the Duc, toddling after him -and catching him by the hand, "I believe you, Monsieur. -Why should I not believe you since what you say is what -I wish to believe? It is all very bewildering. I should -have thanked you long ago for your kindness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton turned with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's about time. And it ought to be fairly clear that -I have little interest in your fortune or even in you, -Monsieur. I don't mind being shot at for my interference in -Mr. Quinlevin's affairs, but I might have been hit—or -Piquette might—which would have been worse, and I -don't relish having my word doubted—or hers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg forgiveness. You have been shot at?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette explained quickly while de Vautrin's watery -eyes grew larger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Mon Dieu</em><span>! And you say they are coming here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. If their dinky little train ever reaches its -destination. I'm afraid you're in for it, Monsieur de -Vautrin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>De Vautrin threw out his arms wildly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will not see them. I will go away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton nodded. "That's all right—but it's only -putting off the evil moment. When they get their -evidence working you'll have to meet it, someway. And then -what will you do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>De Vautrin had caught Jim by the coatsleeve and -pulled him down into the seat beside him. And then with -a pseudo-dramatic air which failed of conviction,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall fight, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With the evidence you've given me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton shook his head and laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It looks to me as though you were elected President of -the Quinlevin Endowment Association."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But there must be some way of getting at the truth," -cried the Frenchman, now really pitiful in his alarm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, that's it," laughed Jim. "</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> know Madame -Horton is not your daughter and </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> know it, but that -doesn't beat Quinlevin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What then, Monsieur?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've got to kill his evidence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With stronger evidence of your own. You haven't it, -or any prospect of getting it that I can see. So there's -only one course open."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And that, Monsieur?" asked de Vautrin eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To break down Quinlevin's. I'm no lawyer, but that's -only common sense. Nora Burke is a liar bribed with five -thousand pounds. And there never was a lie that didn't -have its weak points. You've got to make her speak the -truth——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know. But I wouldn't mind trying. Then -you've got to get that birth certificate——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't see how you expect to do that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neither do I—Quinlevin is no fool, but then he's not -super-natural either."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Duc was silent, appalled by the undertaking which -had presented itself. And the calm way in which his -visitor discussed his projects filled him with wonder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Justice, Monsieur de Vautrin, is on your side. Will -you fight for it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Assuredly, Monsieur—if you will but help."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you no longer believe I have an ax to grind?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you no longer cherish evil thoughts of Piquette?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Upon my honor," said the Duc, a jeweled hand at -his heart. "And yet, Monsieur, you can hardly blame -me for some irritation at meeting her here with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton glanced toward the door significantly. -And then dryly, "You hardly deserve her, Monsieur de -Vautrin. I am proud of her friendship. It's the finest -thing in my life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>De Vautrin wagged his head foolishly and then -shrugged a futile shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you want me to do, Monsieur?" he asked -peevishly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton lighted a cigarette carefully and took Piquette -by the hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"First, Monsieur de Vautrin," he said coolly, "you will -send Madame Thibaud about her business——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur!" said the Duc with a show of dignity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Suit yourself. But she's in the way. This is no time -for fooling. Does she go or doesn't she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>De Vautrin's injured dignity trembled in the balance -for a moment and then fell away, merged in his -apprehension for the immediate future.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That can—can doubtless be arranged," he said with -a frown.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good," said Horton jovially. "And the sooner the -better. It will clear the atmosphere amazingly. Then -we will prepare to fight Monsieur Quinlevin with his own -weapons."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You—I—Piquette. That's what we came here -for. You've made the mistake of under-rating Barry -Quinlevin. He's desperate. He is playing a big game and if -you don't want to be the goat you'll do what I advise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm listening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I'm not mistaken he will reach here to-morrow -afternoon with Madame Horton and Nora Burke. And -you've got to see them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—Monsieur?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—you—here in your rooms in the Hôtel de Paris. -You will give it out that you are here for a week. They -must take rooms in Monte Carlo. Then you will listen -politely to everything Quinlevin has to say—to -everything Nora Burke has to say, but you yourself will say -nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you, Monsieur?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall be in an adjoining room, but they must not -know it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Barry Quinlevin will discover that you have been -here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course. You will tell him that. They will tell you -that I have lied. But you won't believe them. And then -you will tell them that I have gone away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But when will you come in to my assistance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That depends upon what I hear through the keyhole."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But would it not be simpler to pay this Nora Burke -for telling the truth?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton laughed. "It does seem simple, doesn't it? -I don't know much about French law, but I wouldn't -want to be caught at it out where I come from. Let's -play this game straight and trust to luck. If Quinlevin -is too sharp for us we'll try something else. Do you -agree?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so it was settled. On the following morning -Madame Thibaud was sent back to Paris. And Piquette -and Jim Horton ostentatiously took the train for Nice, -returning subsequently by automobile to Monte Carlo, -where they were hidden in rooms in the Hôtel de Paris. -In this they were aided by an official of the Hotel who -proved to be an old acquaintance of Piquette's in Paris. -And so when Barry Quinlevin arrived from Nice in the -afternoon, with Moira and Nora Burke, inquiring for -the Duc, the information was conveyed directly to -Horton, who was happy to learn that Tricot had not yet -caught up with the party.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur de Vautrin, who had been carefully rehearsed -in the part he was to play, seemed to enter into the game -with some spirit, and was sent over to the Casino to -play </span><em class="italics">trente et quarante</em><span> where after awhile Barry -Quinlevin found him, deeply absorbed in his game of chance. -The Duc manifested polite surprise, Quinlevin polite -insistence, and then they talked for awhile, the Duc -indifferently, Quinlevin impressively,—to the end that an -appointment was made for an hour later the following -afternoon in the Duc's apartment, where he would listen -in all good nature and tolerance to what his visitors -would have to say. He hoped his "daughter" was -handsome. It would be a pity if all this money was to go to -one who could not use it with dignity. All this in an -ironic and jocular mood which only brought a dour smile -upon Quinlevin's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the main object of the preliminary encounter was -achieved, for Barry Quinlevin accepted without -reservation the Duc's assertion that Jim Horton, having -performed his mission, had returned to Paris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the hour of the appointment arrived, Jim -Horton sat behind the door into the bedroom of Monsieur -de Vautrin, carefully studying the pages of an -English-French dictionary. The Duc sat over his paper with an -air of unconcern he was far from feeling. Piquette, -at the American's instructions, was elsewhere.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin, shown to the door of the room by a servant -of the hotel, met the Duc with his most amiable smile and -introduced the women of his party. Moira was pale, -Nora Burke uncomfortable but arrogant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur de Vautrin," Quinlevin began with -something of an air, "permit me to present to ye yer -daughter, Patricia Madeleine Aulnoy de Vautrin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Duc smiled politely, bowed—and stared. Moira, -who, as though in duty, had taken a step toward him, -paused. And then as she saw the look that Monsieur de -Vautrin swept over her, the color flamed into her cheeks. -The Duc's rebuff gave for the first time a true perception -of the position in which she had voluntarily placed -herself. If she were a mere adventuress he could not have -accused her more eloquently and the admiration in his -impudent stare was even more insulting. This man—this -effete boulevardier—her father——? Impossible! And -the repulsion she felt at the sight of him made her wish -only to go anywhere away from the sight of him. What -else she had expected, she didn't know, for even Barry -Quinlevin had not been too explicit as to what would be -likely to happen. But there was her mentor at her side, -a gentle hand upon her elbow urging her forward into -the arm-chair by the window, which Monsieur de Vautrin -was indicating with a rather exaggerated gesture of -formality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks, Monsieur," said Quinlevin with an easy laugh, -sinking into another chair. "Ye're not to be blamed for -not flying to each other's arms after all these years, when -yer acquaintance in the beginning was to say the least a -most trivial affair. But in a while, perhaps, ye'll be -knowing each other better and I'm sure, Monsieur, ye'll -be finding my ward as I have done, a fine creature capable -of a most filial devotion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said de Vautrin. "I don't doubt that. It would -truly be a great pleasure to me to discover so beautiful -a creature to be a daughter of mine, but the facts of the -matter unfortunately——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One moment, Monsieur," broke in Quinlevin, "before -we arrive at the facts in the matter. Ye must be aware -that this situation is none of my ward's choosing. She -came because she knew that it was a sacred duty which -she owed to the memory of her mother. Many years have -passed since yer affairs—er—called ye away from -Ireland and she lays no fault to yerself for yer desertion, -for which I have taken all the blame. She knows that -ye've provided for her comfortably, and that I have made -it my pleasure to act as yer substitute, as well as I -could. But the time has come when she must take her -place in the world to which she belongs, and it's my duty -to be putting her there. To this end, as ye'll see, I've -brought with me her old nurse, Nora Burke, with whom -ye're already acquainted, and who will be answering any -questions that ye would like to put to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur de Vautrin frowned and moved his gaze from -Moira to the servant who stood, her large hands, badly -gloved, folded upon her stomach, her feet shifting -uneasily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've heard something of Nora Burke's story," said -de Vautrin dryly, "but there are parts of it that I have -not heard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye're quite at liberty to question, Monsieur," put in -Quinlevin, "Nora too is merely an instrument of truth -in the hand of Providence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since Providence has ceased providing," said the Duc -dryly, "I comprehend. But I will listen to this -extraordinary tale again, since I have promised to do so. It -can do no harm. </span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>! Proceed, Nora Burke. My -poor wife, you say, engaged you some weeks before my -daughter was born?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She did, yer Highness——" And, as the woman hesitated——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on, Nora," said Quinlevin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The choild was born, this very girl they call Moira -Quinlevin, who sits before ye, a beautiful choild she was, -fine and healthy that the poor Duchesse never lived to see, -for she died that night, God rest her soul, faded away -before our very eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And who was there beside yourself," asked the Duc -coolly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dominick Finucane, the doctor from Athlone, and -Father Reilly, the priest who gave her Absolution——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And who has since died," said de Vautrin dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yer Highness—but the birth certificate I was -afther kapin' since no father came near us, nor any -relation. Mary Callonby was a lonely kind and when she -came back to Galway took to living solitary-like on the -small farm with only the one servant, Mrs. Boyle, to look -afther her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Mrs. Boyle is also dead?" put in de Vautrin -keenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's very unfortunate that all the witnesses have seen -fit to die."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All but me, yer Highness," said Nora assertively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>De Vautrin shrugged. "Well. What happened then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Mrs. Boyle and meself, we didn't know what to -be afther doing, so we just followed the advice of Father -Reilly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did he tell you to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nora glanced at Quinlevin, who nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In a whoile he brought Mr. Barry Quinlevin—this -gentleman here—who lived on the only place nearby, and -tould us to be going to his home. Mr. Quinlevin was -afther bein' very lonely, he said, his own wife and colleen -havin' died a few months before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was kind of Mr. Quinlevin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We thought so—yer Highness—but it was kind of -Father Reilly too—for nobody was afther coming to see -about the poor choild and Mr. Quinlevin was that -grateful—he watched the babby like it was his own——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true enough. He would," sneered the Duc. -"And what happened then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Boyle and I we lived in the house of Mr. Quinlevin, -her as cook and me as nurse, bringin' up the choild -as Miss Moira Quinlevin,—alone in the house for wakes -at a toime, when Mr. Quinlevin was afther bein' away to -London or Paris on business. But all the whoile I was -kapin' the birth certificate an' all the whoile tryin' me -best to take the place of poor Mary Callonby."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you were well paid for this service?" asked de -Vautrin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had me wages. It was enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when you heard that Mr. Quinlevin had seen me -in Paris, two years afterward, you received more money?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nora's glance sought Quinlevin, who broke in calmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I gave Nora as well as Mrs. Boyle a bit more, ye -understand—a proper share of the sum for the support of -the child. And they agreed to say nothing." He fingered -in his pocket and brought forth a paper. "This, as ye -can plainly see, is a copy of the birth certificate of yer -child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the original?" asked the Duc.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will be produced at the proper time," said Quinlevin -shrewdly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>De Vautrin took the paper and read it carefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And where is Mrs. Boyle at the present moment?" he -asked. "Dead also?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Three weeks ago," said Quinlevin calmly. "It's most -unfortunate—but her signature can be verified."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H—m. And Father Reilly also. Of course," said -the Duc with a quick glance toward his bedroom door. -"And there are other papers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Quinlevin. "Letters from you—accompanying -yer checks—which guarantee yer verbal agreement -in Paris. The will of Patrick Callonby and a few -other trifles which are important to ye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you think your case is complete?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, quite. An Irish court won't hesitate very -long just at this time in carrying out the provisions of -this will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur de Vautrin smiled. "And what do you wish -me to do?" he asked quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To perform merely an act of restitution, an act of -justice to yer own. Ye know the terms of the will. In -the event of the mother dying, her fortune was to revert -unconditionally to the child. But she's to be considerate -of yer age and the relation that exists between ye, which -however strange it may seem to ye both at this time, is -that of father and only daughter. Ye've both formed the -habits of yer lives—yerself living bachelor-fashion in -Paris and London. Yer daughter is disposed to be -generous and does not wish to interfere with yer plans for -the future. She will, if you please, still keep the matter -secret, and go on living with me—yerself to continue in -the comfortable life of yer bachelorhood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And your terms?" asked de Vautrin quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barry Quinlevin pocketed the copy of the birth -certificate which Monsieur de Vautrin had put upon the -table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As to terms, that won't be made difficult. The estate -of Patrick Callonby was reckoned at a million pounds -sterling—we'll say twenty millions of francs or -thereabouts—since ye're not a man of business and allowing -for depreciation. Give yer daughter proper securities to -the amount of one third of her fortune and she will -assign the other two thirds to you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin paused, for when the terms were mentioned -Monsieur de Vautrin had begun to smile and now burst -into an unpleasant laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Monsieur de Vautrin," broke off Quinlevin angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's merely," he replied, "that you don't figure enough -for depreciation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do ye mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Twenty-one years is a long while. And you are right -when you say that I am no man of business. My fortune -has diminished year by year and since the war—pouf! it -has vanished into thin air. The estate of Patrick -Callonby, Monsieur, is now a myth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barry Quinlevin rose, trying to keep his temper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are ways of verifying yer statements, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course. I commend you to them. And Nora Burke, -who might have told me the truth last summer in -Ireland, when I was disposed to be generous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've tould the truth," asserted Nora doggedly, in -spite of her bewilderment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And how much more will you tell when there's no -money for the telling?" said de Vautrin, rising.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For at this moment the door into the adjoining room -opened and Jim Horton strode quickly into the room.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="jim-makes-a-guess"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">JIM MAKES A GUESS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Horton did not look at Moira and quickly sought -out the tall figure of the astonished Irishman, -who stood by the table, glaring angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's this, Monsieur de Vautrin?" Le asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg pardon," said Horton quickly, "but my departure -has been delayed by the necessity for presenting -some evidence which had been overlooked by Mr. Quinlevin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A trick—Monsieur de Vautrin," stormed the Irishman. -"I'll have none of him," and moved toward the -door into the corridor. But Jim Horton had reached it -ahead of him, and quickly locking the door, put the key -into his pocket, turned quickly, his height topping -Quinlevin's, his bulk dominating him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid you must," said Horton coolly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Must——!" Quinlevin struggled for his temper and -then, realizing that he was doing his cause no good, -shrugged a careless shoulder and glanced toward the door -into the adjoining room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yer </span><em class="italics">compagnon de voyage</em><span>? Is she to be with us -also?" he said insultingly, for Moira's benefit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton met Moira's glance as she took a pace forward -toward him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By what right do you keep me here against my will?" -she asked in angry disdain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He faced her coolly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By every right you've given me—to act in your -interest whether you wish it or not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm quite capable of looking after my own affairs," -she cut in quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I thought so, I shouldn't be here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you unlock that door?" she asked icily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not move and his level gaze met hers calmly. -"No, Moira——" he said gently, "I won't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" she gasped furiously, then turned her back and -went to the window where she stood silently looking down -over the garden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without noticing her further Horton turned toward -Quinlevin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem to have forgotten your conversation with -me in the hospital at Neuilly, Mr. Quinlevin, and the -intimate blood-ties that bind me to your fellow-conspirator, -Harry Horton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin had sunk into a chair in an attitude of -careless grace and playing this old gambler's game smiled -grimly up into the face of the enemy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yer talents for the dramatic will be getting ye into -trouble, Mr. Horton. I've only to be asking Moira to -shout for help from the window to land ye in a jail. But -I confess to some idle curiosity as to yer reasons for this -behavior. And I warn ye that when ye unlock the door -I'll see ye into the prison at Monaco. In the meanwhile -I'll tell ye that what ye say will be held against ye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what of the evidence I hold against </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>, Barry -Quinlevin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The evidence of a deserter from the American army," -Quinlevin sneered. "Let it be brief and to the point, -Corporal Horton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't alarm me," said Horton calmly. "I've -discounted that. Give me up to the Provost Guard and my -brother will go on the witness stand, against me, but -against you too, Mr. Quinlevin, in Monsieur de Vautrin's -interests." Horton laughed easily as the Irishman -refused a reply. "Come. Perhaps it won't be necessary to -go so far as that. If your friend Tricot had done his -shooting at Marboeuf a little lower neither Piquette nor -I would be here to oppose you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton saw Moira turn from the window with -startled eyes at Tricot's name, but he went on carelessly. -"But here I am, and I'm not easy to kill, Mr. Quinlevin. -If I came through at Boissière Wood I'm not likely to get -hit now. So you'd better listen to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been doing little else these ten minutes, Mr. Horton," -said Quinlevin, yawning politely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't waste any more time than I can help, but -when you promise Nora Burke five thousand pounds for -telling a lie I want to give her her money's worth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned to the old woman with a frown as he caught -her off her guard but Quinlevin broke in quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See here, Horton, I've had about enough of this——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Irishman rose furiously, but Horton took a quick -pace toward him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep your hands out of your pockets, Quinlevin," he -shouted warningly. "I'm younger than you—and -quicker. That's better. And Monsieur de Vautrin, you -will please close the window. The interview is apt to -be noisy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Irishman knew that he was no match in physical -strength for the American, and so he sank into his chair -again, Horton near him in a commanding position where -he could watch Nora Burke. He was conscious of Moira's -gaze from the corner by de Vautrin. She had not spoken -but he knew that he had her attention again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Five thousand pounds for a lie," he said distinctly -over Quinlevin's head. "That's true, isn't it, Nora?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the woman had had time to regain some of her -composure after the sudden shock of his first accusation -and turned on him defiantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not," she replied. "And the man lies who says it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Even if it was Mr. Quinlevin himself?" said Horton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say nothing, Nora," the Irishman's voice broke in -quickly. "No one can make you speak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But when he says——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton shrugged. "As you please. But she'll have to -answer later, and it won't be so easy then. Five thousand -pounds is a lot of money——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a lie——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence!" from Quinlevin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a mighty small sum, Nora Burke, for so big a lie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the woman opened her mouth to speak again -Quinlevin silenced her with a gesture. But her face was -flushed and she shifted from one foot to the other, -glaring at her tormentor, who, it seemed, had just begun his -inquisition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton smiled at her grimly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a mighty small sum, Nora—especially as you're -not going to get any of it—unless Mr. Quinlevin has other -means at his disposal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want no money from Mr. Quinlevin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you're just lying for the fun of it? Do you -happen to know what the penalty for false-swearing is in -France?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't let him frighten you, Nora," interjected the -Irishman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's Excommunication," said Horton, grinning at his -own invention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nora was silent but her face was a study in her -varying emotions. She had not bargained for this, and her -knees were shaking under her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin's laugh reassured her a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not believin' ye——" she muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't have to believe me—but you'll wish you'd -never left Galway when Monsieur de Vautrin's lawyer gets -through with you—and nothing at the end of it all but a -French jail."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never did any harm in me life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Except to forget to speak the truth. You're getting -old, Nora. Maybe that's what's the matter with your -memory. Because Monsieur de Vautrin is certain that -the facts about the birth of his child are quite different -from those you've related. You've said that Mary -Callonby's child was this very girl called Moira Quinlevin——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did—she was," blurted Nora, furiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And before she died—that very night—she gave the -child a Christian name?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're very sure of this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nora——!" warned Quinlevin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sure of it. Why wouldn't I——" cried Nora, -"when I was hearin' the very words of her tongue."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the child was a girl?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—a—a girl——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin rose, glaring at Horton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence, Nora!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why," insisted Horton, "if the child was a girl, -was it given the Christian name of a boy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A boy——!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nora Burke started back a pace, her round foolish -face, usually florid, now the color of putty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nora!" Quinlevin roared. "Keep silent, d'ye hear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But it was too late to repair the damage done. Horton -had not taken his gaze from Nora Burke's face, and he -knew that he had struck his mark. He was aware of -Moira, who had come forward and was leaning on the -table near him, watching as eagerly as he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton shrugged and brought quickly from his -pocket a small red book, which he opened at a page -carefully dog-cared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This little book is a dictionary of French and English, -Nora. It's a very good dictionary. Here's a page of -Christian names in French and in English. Here you -are: Patrice—Patrick. Can you tell me in the name of -all that's sensible why Mary Callonby named the child -Patrick unless it was a boy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nora gasped for breath once or twice, glancing at -Quinlevin, who shrugged and frowned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The name upon the birth certificate is Patricia," he -growled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then who changed it?" asked Horton keenly, glaring -at Nora.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I, sor. I—I can't write," she gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It couldn't have been Father Reilly, or Dr. Finucane. -Perhaps Mr. Quinlevin will produce the certificate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When the time comes," gasped Quinlevin, "ye'll see -it—in a court of law."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the death certificate of your own child too, -Mr. Quinlevin?" asked Horton amiably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay—that too," he stammered in his rage as he faced -the American, "but you won't be there to see. For on -my evidence you'll be shot, my friend the masquerader."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll have to run that chance——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira's voice, tense, shrill with nervousness, broke in -as she caught Quinlevin by the arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, never. You will not dare. I forbid it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll see to that——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Duc, who at last seemed to have recovered his -initiative, came forward with an air of alacrity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps, Monsieur Horton, it is just as well if you -now unlock the door."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton looked at his wrist watch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Willingly. Oblige me, Monsieur." And he handed -de Vautrin the key. "Unless there are some further -matters Mr. Quinlevin wishes to discuss."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim's gaze met Moira's for the fraction of a second and -brief as it was, he seemed to find a glimpse of that fool's -paradise in which he had lived for a while. And then her -glance turned from him to Quinlevin as she moved past -Horton toward the door. Nora Burke, her stolidity -shaken, her arrogant mien fallen amid the wreck of her -probity, sent a fleeting glance over her shoulder toward -the long mustaches of de Vautrin and stumbled after -Moira.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the Duc was in high feather again and fairly -danced to the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you give me your Paris address, that I may send -you the money, Mr. Barry Quinlevin?" he shouted after -him into the corridor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no reply. Quinlevin's clever house of cards -had toppled and fallen. But Horton followed down the -corridor when they turned the corner and watched what -happened. At the landing, the Irishman made a gesture -and the two women went in the direction of their rooms, -while Quinlevin passed down the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Horton returned to the room the Duc closed -the door and came delightedly toward him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>. It was as good as a play. How did you -know that my child was not a girl—but a boy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't know it," sighed Horton, with a laugh. "I -guessed it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must have——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I got to thinking—last night. The whole story was -a lie—why shouldn't this be a part of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But a suspicion wasn't enough——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Enough for a starter, Monsieur. You'll admit, it -</span><em class="italics">might</em><span> have been a boy. Just because you always </span><em class="italics">thought</em><span> -the child was a girl, that didn't make it one. I lay -awake. Phrases in Quinlevin's talk in the studio came -back to me and I began to think about the name 'Patrice'—he -said, '</span><em class="italics">a little hard to read. Patricia it is</em><span>.' Just -phrases, but this meant something. '</span><em class="italics">Female, me boy. A -little illegible</em><span>——'" Horton turned with a quick gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should the name Patricia be illegible when all the -rest was clear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you said nothing of this to me," muttered the Duc.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wasn't sure. I sent out for the dictionary. It had the -Christian names in the back. Patrice was Patrick. -There wasn't any Patricia. You French have a way of -giving males and females the same names anyway. -Madeleine—I knew a Frenchman in America with Madeleine -for a middle name. Aulnoy might be anything——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A family name——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Your wife wanted your family name in it—but -she wanted her father's name too—Patrick—so she called -the boy Patrice—we can prove this now, I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Assuredly, Monsieur," said de Vautrin, "you are a -genius."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I'm only a good guesser. But it worked. I -got the poor thing rattled. And when I saw Nora's face -I knew I'd hit with the second barrel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Outside it was getting dark. Horton went to the -window and peered out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur de Vautrin, there's nothing to keep you -here now," he said. "It may be even dangerous to remain. -You must go away incognito and by the first train. -You've been very careless with your affairs. Lay your -entire case in the hands of your lawyer—telling him all -that has happened here and sending to Ireland for a -careful search of the birth records of the parish of -Athlone——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you, Monsieur. What will you do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall stay here awhile. There's something else that -I must do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Piquette——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will see that she returns safely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are very good, Monsieur," said the Duc. "Will -you forgive me for my suspicions?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. If you will promise to give Piquette the affection -she deserves. She is a child, Monsieur, with great -impulses—both good and bad—what she becomes will -depend upon your treatment of her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She has saved me from great trouble, bringing you, -my savior——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton moved into the bed room and picked up his -hat. "Don't let that trouble you," he said, and then -offered his hand. "Glad to have met you, Monsieur. </span><em class="italics">Au -revoir</em><span>. I will see you in Paris in a week. But don't waste -any time getting out of here. </span><em class="italics">Allez—tout de suite</em><span>, you -understand. Paris in a week, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And with a quick wave of his hand Horton went out -and walked rapidly down the corridor. The interview -with Quinlevin had served a double purpose. He had -succeeded beyond all hope in finding out what he had -wanted to know; and he had so occupied the Irishman's -time that Piquette could proceed unmolested in making -an investigation of her own. He hurried up to her room -to meet her, as agreed. Watching the corridor, he -knocked by a preconcerted signal. There was no reply. -After a moment he opened the door and entered. The -room was empty.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Piquette was fearless but she was also clever. It was -her thought that Barry Quinlevin would take no chances -with the original birth certificate and other papers in the -apartment of Monsieur de Vautrin. It was her -suggestion that she be permitted to take advantage of the -absence of Quinlevin and his party to make a thorough -search of the rooms for any private papers. And in this -she was aided and abetted by Monsieur Jacquot, in the -office of the hotel, to whom she explained as much as was -necessary, and who provided the keys and wished her luck -in her undertaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim had allowed her an hour for the investigation, -during which period he had promised to keep Quinlevin -prisoner. Here then, Piquette reached new heights of -self-abnegation, for in helping Jim in the cause of Moira, she -worked against her own interests, which had nothing to -do with Moira Quinlevin. Jim had opened her eyes to -her obligations to Monsieur de Vautrin but she had done -her duty merely because Jim had asked it of her. He -had kissed her as though she were a queen. She could -never forget that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But in spite of any mental reservations she may have -had in doing something in the interest of the girl Jim -Horton loved, she was conscious of a thrill of keen -interest in the task that she had set herself. And Piquette -went about her investigation methodically, waiting on the -steps from the upper landing until Quinlevin and the two -women had entered the room of the Duc, when, keys in -hand, she made her way quickly to the rooms Quinlevin -had engaged. There were three of them </span><em class="italics">en suite</em><span>, with -connecting doors, and with a quick glance along the empty -corridor she entered the nearest one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An ancient valise, and a flannel wrapper, proclaimed -its occupant—Nora. There might be something of -interest here—but it was doubtful, for Barry Quinlevin was -hardly a man to leave Nora in possession of any -documents that were better kept in his own hands. But -Piquette nevertheless searched carefully and for her trouble, -found nothing. The door into the adjoining room, that -of Madame Horton, was open, showing how quickly and -easily an </span><em class="italics">entente</em><span> had been re-established between Moira -Quinlevin and her old nurse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the threshold of this room Piquette paused, glancing -with a delicate frown at the articles of feminine -apparel on bed and dressing stand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H—m," she sniffed, scenting the air delicately, her -chin raised. "Violette!" Then she approached the bed -and took a white garment and rubbed it critically -between thumb and forefinger. "H-mph!" said Piquette -again. A pair of stockings next—a small slipper which -she measured with her own, shrugged, and then searched -the suit case and dressing table thoroughly. Of paper -there was nothing—not even a post-card.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door into Barry Quinlevin's room was bolted on -the side where Piquette stood. She went back through -the rooms that she had passed, to be sure that nothing -had been disarranged, locked the outside door of Nora -Burke's room as she had found it, and then went back to -Quinlevin's door which she opened quickly and peered -around. Here there was a field for more careful investigation, -a suit-case, a dressing-stand, a bed, some chairs, a -closet—all of them she took in in a quick inspection. The -suit-case first—and if locked she meant to take it bodily -away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It wasn't locked. She had a slight sense of disappointment. -It contained a change of under-linen, some collars, -socks, a box of cigars, and a bottle of Irish whisky. All -of these she scrutinized with care, as well as the cloth -lining and the receptacles in the lid, and then arranging -the contents as she had found them, straightened with a -short breath, and looked elsewhere. No. Monsieur -Quinlevin would have hidden such important papers more -cleverly than that. Where then? In a place so obvious -that no one would think of looking there for them? That -was an ancient trick well known to the police. But after -she had looked around the room, she examined the bed -minutely, running her nimble fingers along the ticking -of the mattress, the pillows, dismantling the bed -completely, and then satisfied that she had exhausted this -possibility, remade it skillfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Next, the dressing-stand, inch by inch inside and out, -then the upholstery of the chairs, straightening at last, -puzzled. And yet she knew that the birth certificate must -be in these rooms somewhere. She moved the rugs, -examined the ashes in the fireplace, the base board and -molding, took down the pictures from the walls and then, -baffled, sank into the arm chair for a moment to think. -Could Quinlevin have taken the precaution to leave the -documents in the safe at the Hôtel Ruhl in Nice, or -would he perhaps have deposited them downstairs in the -strong-box of the Hôtel de Paris? In that event -Monsieur her friend would help....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But her hour had not yet expired. There were a few -moments left. Where else was she to look? She -glanced at the picture molding, the walls, the electric -light brackets by the bed and dressing-stand, then rose -for a last and possibly futile and despairing effort. She -ran her sensitive fingers over the bracket by the bed. It -was affixed to the wall by a hexagonal brass plate held -by a small screw. She tried to move the screw with her -fingers but it resisted, so she ran to the dressing-stand -for a nail file and in a moment had moved the brass plate -from the wall. A patch of broken wall-paper and wires in -a small hole—but no papers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She screwed the plate carefully into place and turned to -the other fixture over the dressing-stand. This was her -last venture, but she had determined to make it, and felt -a slight thrill of expectation when the screw of the first -bracket moved easily in her fingers. She loosened the -plate and as it came out from the surface of the wall, -there was a sibilant rustle and something slipped down -behind the dressing-stand to the floor. Eager now with -excitement, she thrust her fingers behind the plate and -brought forth some papers. These she examined quickly -in amazement, then carefully screwed the bracket into its -place, recovering the other paper that had fallen to the -floor—success! The papers that she had taken from -behind the bracket she could not understand, but the paper -that she had recovered from the floor was the much -desired birth certificate of the dead child. The light was -failing, but in the shadow of the hangings of the French -window she stood and read the name Patricia Madeleine -Aulnoy de Vautrin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was filled with the joy of her success and so -absorbed in the perusal of the paper that she did not hear -the small sounds that came from the adjoining room, nor -was she aware of the tall dark figure of the girl with the -pale face who for a long moment had stood in the -doorway watching her in silent amazement. And it was not -until Moira spoke that Piquette turned, the papers -hidden behind her, and met the steady gaze of the woman -Jim Horton loved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you doing in this room?" asked Moira steadily.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="at-bay"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AT BAY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Piquette sent one fleeting glance at her, then -stepped out upon the sill of the French window -which extended to the floor. When she turned -toward Moira, a little pale and breathing rapidly, her -hands were empty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did you throw out of the window? What are -you doing here?" Moira asked again, moving quickly to -the push-button by the door. "Answer me or I'll ring."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette by this time had recovered some of her -composure. "Oh, Madame, it is not necessaire to ring," she -said easily. "I can explain myself if you will but listen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have no right in this room—unless you are a -servant of the hotel. And that you are not——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Madame," said Piquette coolly, "I am no servant -of de hotel. But strange to say, even agains' my will, -I am your frien'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My friend! Who are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette glanced toward the door into the hall rather -anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you will permit me to come into your room I will -answer you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira hesitated for a moment, and then indicated the -door by which she had entered. Piquette preceded her into -the room, as Moira stood by the door, still uncertain but -curious as to this stranger who claimed friendship. -Piquette indicated the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will please close it, Madame," she urged with a -smile. "I am quite 'armless."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Moira obeyed, catching the bolt into its place -and turning with an air very little mollified.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who are you?" she demanded shortly. "Answer me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>instead of replying at once Piquette sank into a chair, -crossed one knee over the other and leaned forward, her -chin on her fingers, staring frankly at her companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are 'andsome, Madame 'Orton," she murmured -as though grudgingly. "Ver' 'andsome."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira flushed a little and returned the other woman's -look, a sudden suspicion flashing across her mind that -this woman—this was——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who are you?" she stammered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I am Madame Morin—and I am called Piquette," -said the visitor clearly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira recoiled a pace, her back as flat as the door -behind her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You——! Piquette Morin! You'd dare!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quietly, Madame 'Orton," said Piquette gently, "I -'ave tol' you I am your frien'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go, Madame," said Moira in a choking voice and -pointing to the door. "Go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Piquette did not move.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! You do not believe me. It is de trut'. I am -your frien'. I am proving it by coming in here—by -trying to 'elp you in dis——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not need your help, Madame. Will you go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame 'Orton. I will go in a minute—when I -tell you de risk Jeem 'Orton an' I 'ave run to keep you -from making of yourself a fool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira gasped at the impudence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I am does not matter, but what you and Jim -Horton are, does. I wish to hear no more——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not even dat Monsieur Quinlevin has got de </span><em class="italics">vilain</em><span> -Tricot, to shoot at us in de train——" Piquette -shrugged. "</span><em class="italics">Sapristi</em><span>! Madame 'Orton,—if we 'ad been -kill' you would perhaps t'ink it a proof of friendship."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had caught the girl's attention, but Moira still -demurred.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask no favors of you, Madame Morin," she said haltingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Madame 'Orton," said Piquette quietly, "but I -'ave give' dem freely, for you—for </span><em class="italics">heem</em><span>. Perhaps you -t'ink dat is not'ing for me to do. </span><em class="italics">La, la</em><span>. I am only -human after all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So was Moira. Piquette's purposeful ambiguity -aroused her curiosity and she turned toward the French -girl, her glance passing over her with a new interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't understand you, Madame," she said coldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not 'ope dat you would. But it is not so </span><em class="italics">difficile</em><span>. -I try to 'elp Monsieur Jeem 'Orton, because 'e 'as taught -me what it means to be brave an' fait'ful an' honorable to -de one 'e love', an' because you are blind, an' will not see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so blind that I have not seen what you would -have hidden."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'ave not'ing to hide from you, Madame 'Orton. I -am proud of de frien'ship of Jeem 'Orton. I would go to -de en' of de worl' to make 'im 'appy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Friendship!" gasped Moira.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or love, Madame," said Piquette gently, "call it what -you please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you dare to tell me this—you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette only smiled faintly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I love 'im." And then, with the simplicity of a -child, "Don't you, Madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira stared at her for a second as though she hadn't -heard correctly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. No. This is too much. You will oblige me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wish me to go?" said Piquette with a shrug. "In -a moment. But firs' let me tell you dat what Monsieur -Quinlevin 'as tol' you about us is a lie—all lies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget, Madame," said Moira, "that I have seen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I go to sleep wit' my 'ead on 'is shoulder. An' -what is dat? For shame, Madame. Jeem 'Orton care' -not'ing for me. I bring 'im out of de 'ouse in de Rue -Charron—I nurse 'im in my apartment. You t'ink 'e -make love to me when 'e t'ink of you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette laughed scornfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What kind of woman are you to see de love in de eyes -of an hones' man an' not remember it, for de greates' -t'ing dat come' in a woman's life? 'Is eyes! </span><em class="italics">Mon Dieu</em><span>, -Madame. I know de eyes of men. 'E on'y love once, -Jeem 'Orton—an' you t'ink 'e make love to me. I would -give myself to 'im, but what Jeem 'Orton give' to me is -much more sweet, more beautiful. 'E kees me on de -brow, Madame, like I was a chil', when I would give 'im -my body." Piquette stopped, and then, gently, "A -woman like me, Madame, can on'y worship a man like dat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira was leaning against the bed rail, her head bent, -her eyes searching out Piquette's very soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you, Madame," said Piquette, her voice gathering -scorn in its very suppression. "You, Madame, who -love 'im too, you listen to everyt'ing 'is enemies say -agains' 'im—you believe dese lies, you let dem try to keel -'im, you 'elp dem bring you to </span><em class="italics">déshonneur</em><span>. You try to -keep 'im from saving you from disgrace! What kind of -a woman are you, Madame, to 'ave a love like dat t'rown -at your feet an' walk away an' leave it like a dead flower -upon de groun'? Mus' it take a woman like me to show -you what is fine and noble in de worl'? You sen' 'im away -into de night. </span><em class="italics">Juste ciel</em><span>! Is dere no blood in your heart, -Madame, no tenderness, no pity, for de love of a man -like Jeem 'Orton? Love! You do not know what love -is, you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop, Madame!" gasped Moira, her lips gray and -trembling under the wrist that masked her eyes. "You -dare not tell me what love is. You don't know—everything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Piquette quietly. "I know everyt'ing. But -only God could keep me from de man I love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, God!" whispered Moira tensely. "Only God."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The pallor of her face, the agonized clutch of her white -fingers on the table and the tone of her voice silenced -Piquette, and she glanced up at Moira partly in pity, -partly in scorn. Piquette's education had not fitted her -to understand the motives of women different from -herself, but she saw in Moira's face the scars of a great -passion and the marks of suffering not to be denied. And so -after a painful moment for Moira, she turned her glance -aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot speak of this to you, Madame," she heard -the girl stammer. "You have no right to judge me or -to question my motives. And if I've misjudged you—or -Jim Horton, God knows I'm sorry for it. But -you—Madame—why should </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> come and tell me these things?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira's breath seemed suspended while she waited for -the woman's answer. Piquette traced for a moment with -her finger on the arm of the chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You may be' sure it 'as cos' me somet'ing," she said -slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does he know—does Jim Horton know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Madame. He knows noding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because," said Piquette, rising with some dignity, -"because it pleases me, Madame. What Jeem 'Orton wish'—is -my wish too. 'E love you. </span><em class="italics">Eh bien</em><span>! What 'e is to -me does not matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira stared at her dully. She could not believe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you do not on'erstan' me, Madame," Piquette -continued, "it is because you do not wish to on'erstan', -because all de sacrifice 'e make for you is in vain. You -listen to deir lies, become a partner in a crime to get -money which does not belong to you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you know this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Arry 'Orton—your 'usband—tol' me de trut'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Harry!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame. I was a frien' to your 'usband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The glances of the two women met, held each other—read -each other, omitting nothing. It was Piquette who -looked away. If self-abasement was to be the measure -of her sacrifice, she had neglected nothing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' now," she said quietly, "if you please, I shall go -away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet, Madame," said Moira gently. "Not until I -tell you that I know what you have done—that I believe -what you have said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She caught Piquette by the hand and held her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot be less noble than you, Madame. Forgive me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Jeem 'Orton who should forgive."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have done him a great wrong—and you. And I must -do him another great wrong. You have said that only -God could keep you from the man you love. God </span><em class="italics">has</em><span> kept -me from Jim Horton. I cannot see him again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you cannot stay here, Madame," put in Piquette -earnestly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, perhaps not," wearily, "but you have taught me -something. If sacrifice is the test that love exacts, like -you, I can bear it——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' make Jeem 'Orton suffer too——!" cried Piquette -wildly. "What for you t'ink I tell you dese t'ings, -Madame? You mus' go wit' 'im to Paris."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. I can't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What will you do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know yet. I must think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will do what 'e ask of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mus' see 'im."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Don't ask me, Madame——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a knock upon the door into the corridor—repeated -quickly. The two women exchanged glances, -Moira bewildered, Piquette dismayed. She had remained -too long.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Quinlevin——!" she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira, a finger to her lips, beckoned her toward the -door into Nora Burke's room, when there was another -quick knock and Quinlevin entered quickly, followed by -another figure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira, why didn't ye——" the Irishman began, and -then his glance passed to Piquette. "Ah—you here, -Madame," he frowned with quick suspicion, glancing -toward the door into his own room. And then suddenly -beckoned his follower in. It was Monsieur Tricot, bent, -hobbling, but full of every potentiality for evil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin closed and locked the door behind him, -putting the key into his pocket, and then with a muttered -injunction to his companion, unbolted and opened the -door into his own room and disappeared. Moira had -scarcely time to note the villainous look the </span><em class="italics">apache</em><span> cast -in Piquette's direction, when Quinlevin came striding in -like a demon of vengeance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Madame Morin," he snapped, "it seems as though -I were just in time. What have ye done with the papers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little patches of color upon Piquette's lips and -eyes seemed suddenly to grow darker in the pallor of -her face; for Tricot's evil face nearby was leering at -her, Tricot whose secrets she knew and whose secrets she -had betrayed. She was horribly frightened, but she -managed to control her voice as she replied steadily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What papers, Monsieur? I know nothing of any papers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The papers referring to the de Vautrin case. </span><em class="italics">Your</em><span> -papers, Moira, yer birth certificate and the letters -which went with it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira stood near the door into Nora's room, pale but -composed. And now she spoke bravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame Morin has not left this room since she came -into it. I know nothing of any papers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette smiled inwardly. Her embassy had not been -entirely without success. But Quinlevin glanced quickly -at Moira, suspicion becoming a certainty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, we'll see about this." And striding quickly to -Nora Burke's door locked it securely. And then to -Piquette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye'll please accompany me into my room, Madame -Morin," he said dryly. "Perhaps Monsieur Tricot and I -can find a way to unlock yer lips."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette cast an appealing glance at Moira.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will let Madame Morin go," pleaded the girl to -the Irishman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No!" he thundered. "There will be no more trickery -here. And ye'll stay here too—under lock and key, -until yer new friend speaks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two women were helpless and they knew it. -Already Tricot's sharp talons had closed on Piquette's -shoulder, but with an effort at composure she shrugged -him off and entered the door beside which Barry Quinlevin -stood, bowing with ironical politeness. Piquette -caught just one glimpse of Moira's white face before the -door closed between them. Then the key was turned in -the lock, the other key also and she sank rather -helplessly into a chair, a prisoner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This locking of doors is a game that two persons may -play at, Madame," said Quinlevin easily, in French. "Our -friend, the deserter, locks me in with Monsieur de -Vautrin while you rifle my papers, and now I keep you -prisoner until they are found. Where are they, Madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His voice was soft, but even in the dim light iridescent -fires played forbiddingly in his little eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette was silent, her glance passing about the -obscurity as though in search of a resting place. She -feared Quinlevin, but more than him she feared the evil -shape just beside her shoulder. She could not see Tricot, -but she felt his presence, the evil leer at his lips, the bent -shoulders, the vulture-like poise of his head and the -vengeance lust burning in his little red eyes. For whatever -Monsieur Quinlevin owed her, here she knew was her real -enemy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The papers, Madame," Quinlevin repeated more brusquely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still no reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You took them from behind the bracket yonder. -What did you do with them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are gone," she said quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That I shall not tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She felt the claws of Tricot close upon her shoulder -until she shrank with the pain, but she made no sound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One moment, Tricot," said the Irishman, "there are -first other ways of making Madame speak. Release her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tricot obeyed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course Tricot and I can search you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Search me, Monsieur. It is your privilege. I am not -squeamish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Irishman frowned. There was no doubt that what -he had proposed had no terrors for a life model. But -there were other means at his disposal, to find out what -he wished to know.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should have remembered your métier, Madame," he -sneered. And then, "Our friend Tricot has a long -memory. He is not a man who forgets. If you will look at -him you will see that this chance meeting is much to his -liking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette did not dare to look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems," the Irishman went on, "that the betrayal -of the secrets of the small society to which you belong is -a grave offense."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've betrayed no secrets," said Piquette, finding her -voice. "No one knows of the affair of the Rue Charron——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Except Monsieur Horton, who will tell it when he is -less busy——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. He will tell nothing——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tricot is not willing to take that chance. Eh, Tricot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," snapped the vulture. "Piquette knows the -penalty. She'll pay it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I pay it," said Piquette bravely, "you'll know -no more about what has become of your papers than you -do now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin made a sign to Tricot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's something in that.—but I'm in no mood to be -trifled with. That ought to be pretty clear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is. I'm not trifling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then speak. Or——" Quinlevin paused significantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette continued to glance around the room as -though in a hope that something might happen to release -her from her predicament. It had now grown dark outside, -but her captors showed no disposition to make a -light. And yet it seemed impossible that they would -dare...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She tried to gain time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I could tell you what has happened to the -papers," she asked uncertainly, "will you let me go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—speak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I cannot tell you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will tell you, Madame. You will be left here alone -in this room with the good Tricot." And as Piquette -shrank down into her chair, "He is a very ingenious -rascal, Tricot. Never yet has he been caught by the -police." Quinlevin stopped suddenly, his gaze on the rectangle of -the open window, as though listening. "An open window," -he mumbled. "I left it so—perhaps. But do you -go, Tricot, and look out. Perhaps there is some one below."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man obeyed, without a sound, vanishing outside -the window upon the small portico.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No one can help you, Madame," Quinlevin said in a -threatening whisper, "for at my word Tricot shall be -quick and silent." He caught Piquette furiously by the -wrist and twisted it. "What have you done with my -property?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are lying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tricot's silhouette appeared at the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur," he whispered tensely, "there's a man—below."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Horton!" said Quinlevin. "What is he doing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Crawling in the bushes, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The clutch on Piquette's arm grew tighter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did you do with the papers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I burned them in the fireplace," she said desperately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin rushed to the hearth and struck a match, -examining the ashes minutely. Then he straightened -quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You lie, Madame. I burned some letters here this -morning. The ashes are just as I left them." In one -stride he was at her side again, a pistol in his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He caught her roughly by the arm and she bit her lip -to keep from crying out with pain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is down there. What did you do with the papers? -Answer me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What will you do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unless you tell me the truth—shoot him from the -window."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would not dare——" she whispered, in spite of -her pain, "the people of the hotel—will investigate. The -police——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bah! A burglar comes along the portico, I shoot him. -He falls—will you tell the truth? Are the papers in this -room?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't tell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well." And then turning to his companion at -the window, "What is he doing now, Tricot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He does not move——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Irishman released Piquette suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A better chance for a shot, then," he snapped. "Here, -Tricot." And he moved toward the window, his weapon -eloquent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette sprang up despairingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur," she cried, "for the love of God. Don't -shoot. I will tell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought so. Where are they? Quick."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had her by the wrists now, one on each side, and -Tricot's skinny hand threatened her throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak——!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I threw them out of the window," she gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was evident that at last in her terror she had spoken -the truth. With an oath Quinlevin threw her aside and -ran to the window while Tricot twisted her arm back of -her, his other hand at her throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeem!" she shrieked in a last despairing effort. "Go! -Go!" And then the fingers of the </span><em class="italics">apache</em><span> closed and the -sound was stifled as she fell back in a chair helpless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shut up, damn you," growled Quinlevin. "Keep her -quiet, you. Not death, you understand. We may need her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette heard these things dimly. A torrent was roaring -at her ears and her eyeballs seemed to be starting -from her head as she fought for her breath, but the -relentless fingers pressed at her windpipe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you, Monsieur?" she heard Tricot ask.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going down—into the garden. If she speaks the -truth I'll find it out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dimly she heard the door open and shut and the key -turned in the lock, while she fought Tricot. But strong -as she was, she knew, that she was no match for him. His -arms were like steel springs, his fingers like iron. But -still she fought, trying to make a commotion that would -arouse the hotel. But Tricot had pinioned her in her -chair and even the dim light that came in at the open, -window grew black before her eyes. She struggled again -at the very verge of the gate of oblivion it seemed, -choking—choking, when a pain sharper than that at her -throat came at her side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be quiet," croaked Tricot's voice at her ear—"or -I'll——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she obeyed. For death was in his voice and in -his hand.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="in-the-dark"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">IN THE DARK</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton looked at his watch again. He had -kept the visitors in the apartment of Monsieur de -Vautrin more than an hour. He hurried cautiously -down the stairs toward the doors of the rooms occupied -by Quinlevin's party. There was no one in sight and so -he stole along the corridor, listening. Moira and Nora -Burke had entered their rooms. But Piquette would of -course be in the room of Quinlevin. No sound. And so -he waited for a moment in the shadow of a doorway, -hoping at any moment to see Piquette emerge, reassured at -the thought that the Irishman at least had probably not -yet come up. But the suspense and inaction weighed -upon him, and at last, moving quickly, he went down the -back stair and so to the office, where he sought out the -friend of Piquette, Monsieur Jacquot. But to his -disappointment he found that the man had gone off duty -for the night and was probably in Nice. Quinlevin, he -discovered, had been seen leaving the hotel, so any -immediate danger from him was not to be expected.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton was plagued with uncertainty. If Piquette -had already succeeded in her mission, he couldn't -understand why she hadn't returned to her room. Perhaps he -had missed her on the way. She might have used the main -stair-way, though under the circumstances this would not -have been probable. During the day he had managed to -take a surreptitious survey of the rear of the hotel where -the Quinlevin suite was situated, and it was only -Piquette's suggestion to keep the Irishman busy while she -searched his room that had dissuaded Horton from an -attempt to reach Quinlevin's room from the outside. -There was a small portico at the Irishman's windows -which, it seemed, possibly could be reached by climbing -a wooden trellis and a small projecting roof of an -out-building where a rain spout rose alongside a shutter which -offered a good hand hold—something of a venture at -night, but a chance if everything else failed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was sure now that he had missed Piquette on the -way and if she had been successful she was by this time -safe in her room with the doors securely bolted and a -push-button at hand by means of which, if molested, she -could summon the servants of the hotel. And Quinlevin -would hardly dare to try that, because an investigation -meant the police, and the police meant publicity—a thing -to be dreaded at this time with the battle going against -him. Nor did Horton wish to make a row, for Piquette -was a burglar—nothing less—and discovery meant -placing her in an awkward position which would take some -explaining. Monsieur Jacquot would have been a help, -but there was no hope of trying to use him to intimidate -Quinlevin even had the Frenchman been willing to take a -share in so grave a responsibility.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So Jim Horton waited for awhile, lurking in the -shadows of a small corridor near the office, watching the -entrance of the hotel for the Irishman's return, and was -just about to go out of the rear door into the garden -for a little investigation of his own when he heard the -sounds of voices near the office and saw Monsieur de -Vautrin dressed for travel, talking to the major-domo. -Horton paused behind a column to watch and listen, the -Duc's flushed face and gay mien proclaiming the triumph -he had experienced and, while he had packed his clothing, -no doubt a short session with the brandy-bottle. This -was Monsieur de Vautrin's incognito, this his silent -departure from the shades of his beloved Monte Carlo. -The man was a fatuous dotard, not worth the pains that -had been wasted upon him. His account paid, Monsieur -de Vautrin walked toward the door, where an automobile -awaited him, but as he was about to get into the machine -a tall figure emerged from the darkness and stood beside -him. A passage of words between the two men and the -Duc laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A great game, Monsieur the Irishman," Horton heard -him say, "but you have lost. In a week I shall be again -in Paris in the hands of my avocat. And then—beware!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin shrugged and de Vautrin got into the machine -which dashed off into the darkness, leaving the Irishman -standing uncertainly upon the step. It was not until -then that Horton noticed that he had a companion, for -at that moment two figures emerged into the light and -Horton knew that Quinlevin's forces had been augmented -by one. For Monsieur Tricot had arrived.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two men came in hurriedly, as though having -reached a decision, and went up the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There'll be the devil to pay if Piquette has -succeeded," muttered Horton to himself. And then in a -quick afterthought, "And maybe a worse devil—if she -hasn't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He waited until they had gone beyond the landing and -then hurried to the rear stairway and up the two flights -to the door of Piquette's room—aghast at his discovery. -She was not there, nor had she been there, for he struck a -match and found its condition precisely that in which he -had left it half an hour before. He waited for a few -moments, then turned the corner of the corridor and -went quickly toward Quinlevin's door, waiting for a -moment and listening intently. He made out the murmur -of voices, a man's and a woman's, but he could not hear -it distinctly. But that the man's voice was the Irishman's -he did not doubt, nor that the woman's was Piquette's. -Cautiously he turned the knob of the door. It was locked. -Quinlevin evidently expected him. There was no chance -of ingress here unless Quinlevin permitted it. The -Irishman had the law on his side. If Horton persisted, -Quinlevin could shoot him (which was what he wished to do), -with every prospect of acquittal in any trouble that -might follow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton waited here only a moment and then ran -quickly down the stairs, past some guests on their way -to the Casino, and out into the garden. At this hour -of the night it was dark, for the dining rooms were upon -the other side and the smoking and billiard rooms were -deserted. Glancing toward the well-lighted promenade -just beyond the hedge, he stole along the walls of the -hotel beneath the windows of the first floor, using the -deeper shadows, until he reached a palm tree, from the -shelter of which he carefully scrutinized the façade of the -building, identifying the windows and portico of the room -of Quinlevin. Then went nearer, to a clump of bushes, -beneath the portico, where he crouched to listen for any -sounds that might come from above. Silence, except for -the distant murmuring of the surf among the rocks below -the Casino.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He tried to believe that the voice he had heard through -the door upstairs was not Piquette's—that it might have -been Moira's or Nora Burke's. But if it was not -Piquette's voice, then where was she? And why had she -stayed so long, venturing Quinlevin's wrath at her -intrusion? There seemed to be no doubt that she had -overstayed the allotted time and that now they had come -in upon her—-the Irishman and the rascal Tricot. She -was in for a bad half hour—perhaps something worse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Horton reassured himself with the thought that -Quinlevin desired to keep the tale of his hazard of new -fortune a secret. They would not dare to do physical -harm to Piquette in a hotel, which had its name for -respectability. They would not dare to risk her outcries, -which, if damaging to herself, would be doubly damaging -to Barry Quinlevin. So Horton crouched in the center -of his hiding place and uncertainly waited, sure that if -she was in danger his place was now beside Piquette, who -had played a game with death for him in the house in the -Rue Charron. He glanced up at the trellis just beside -him, planning the ascent. And as he did so he noticed a -small object hanging among the twigs just above his -head. It was within reach of his hand and he took -it—a letter or a slip of paper somewhat rumpled. He -fingered and then looked at it, but it was too dark to see. -Near him upon the turf was another square of paper—and -a letter further off, another, and another hanging in -the opposite side of the bush.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In his hands idly he fingered the letter. The paper -was fine and it bore an embossed heading or crest. He was -about to throw it aside when he looked up the wall of -the building at the portico outside Barry Quinlevin's -windows—realizing with a sudden sense of his discovery -that these papers had fallen from the windows of the -second floor or those of the third—Quinlevin's. Of course -they were unimportant—and yet.... He started to -his feet and looked around. Elsewhere, so far as he could -see, the garden was scrupulously neat, the pride of a -gardener who was well paid to keep up the traditions of -this fairyland. Horton bent over searching and found -another paper, even more rumpled than the others. He -glanced up at the windows on the third floor. There was -no sign of occupancy, for though one of the windows was -open, both were still dark, but he waited a moment -listening and fancied that he heard the low murmur of voices, -then a dull glow as though some one had made a light for -a cigarette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the papers in his fingers! He realized with a -growing excitement that they were quite dry to the touch -and had not therefore been long exposed to the damp sea -air. Had Piquette...? Not daring to strike a -light he turned and crept quickly back to the light of -the hall way. And here, behind the door, he read the -papers quickly. Their meaning flashed through his -consciousness with a shock—a letter from Monsieur de -Vautrin, a receipt for money, and the crumpled paper a -square printed document bearing the now familiar name of -Patricia Madeleine Aulnoy de Vautrin—the birth certificate -upon which all Barry Quinlevin's fortunes hung—and Moira's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He could not take time to investigate the characters of -the handwriting, for the light was dim. And the real -significance of his discovery was not to be denied. No one -but Piquette would have thrown such papers out of the -window into the garden, nor would she have done so -desperate a thing unless she had found herself at bay with -no other means of disposing of them. He reasoned this -out for himself while he thrust the documents safely into -an inner pocket and crept quickly back to his place -beneath the windows, searching as he went upon the -ground for any other papers that might have escaped him. -There was no time to spare. Piquette was up there. He -was sure of it now. Otherwise why hadn't she escaped and -run down to recover the documents before Quinlevin's -return with Tricot? But why had she thrown them from -the window unless their presence threatened? These and -other speculations were to remain unanswered, for if -Piquette were in that room alone with the two men her -danger was great.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a slight sound from above. He peered -upward. In silhouette against the sky was the figure of a -man—he couldn't tell whether Tricot or the Irishman. -It was to be a desperate game then. They had just -guessed what Piquette had done with the birth certificate -and there seemed not the slightest hope that the man on -the portico could have failed to see his figure below the -thin screen of winter foliage. Desperate! Yes, but worth -it—for Piquette. He owed it to her. And, as in moments -of great danger, he found himself suddenly cold with -purpose and thinking with extraordinary lucidity. -Quinlevin would not dare to shoot him out of hand without a -cause, but to catch a man climbing the wall of his hotel -into the window of his room,—that would be a sufficient -reason for an obvious act of self-defense. And yet had -Quinlevin considered the possibility of Horton's attempting -so dangerous a climb? If not, the element of surprise -might be in Jim Horton's favor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But there was to be no choice for Horton—for as he -stood, measuring the height of the trellis, from the window -above he heard a stifled voice crying his name. "Jeem!" -it called, "Go! Go!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He ran to the trellis and climbed it easily, putting his -revolver in an outer pocket as he reached the friendly roof -of the little outbuilding, crouching behind a projection -of the wing and gazing upward for a further sight of -Monsieur Tricot. He thought he heard sounds now, the -creaking of furniture and the growl of a masculine voice. -Other sounds, more terrible, more significant.... -They were choking her.... D—— them! Cowards!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Scorning further secrecy, he measured with his eye the -distance he would have to spring for a hand hold on the -window-sill of the window above him, the water-pipe, his -main hope, upon investigation proving unreliable. The -window sill which was his objective was at least two feet -above his outstretched arms and to the left, beyond the -edge of the projection on which he stood. It was not -above him and he would have to leap sideways from the -roof, risking a drop of at least twenty feet to the -menacing stone flagging of a path which led to the kitchen -entrance. But he leaped upward and out into the dark, -his fingers clutching, swinging for a second above vacancy, -and then hauled himself up until he got a hand hold on -the hinge of the open shutter; then a knee on the sill, -pushing the French window which yielded to his touch. -He hoped the room was unoccupied, but had no time to -consider that possibility; straightening and climbing the -shutter. Quinlevin's portico was within his reach now. -He waited cautiously for a second, listening and peering -upward. No sign of any one outside, but the sounds -within.... He heard them again now—fainter, horribly -suppressed. He caught the edge of the portico and -swung himself up, close to the wall of the building, and -in a moment had gained a safe foot-hold within the railing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no light within the room and now no sound. -Had they ... In the brief moment he paused, gasping -for his breath, he was aware of a figure below moving -cautiously along the outskirts of the garden. He crouched -below the balustrade instinctively. It was just at this -moment that the cautious head and shoulders of a man -emerged from the French window to peer over. It was -Tricot. Like a cat, Horton sprang for him, and the -impact of the shock sent them both sprawling, half in, -half out of the room. Neither made a sound, each aware -of the hazard of his situation. Horton struck and struck -again, felt the sharp scratch of Monsieur Tricot's knife -upon his shoulder, and caught the wrist of the hand that -held it, twisting, twisting until the weapon dropped, -clattering, just within the door of the room. But the -Frenchman was strong and struggled upward, kicking, biting, -until Horton with his right arm free struck him under -the jaw. That took some of the fight out of him, but he -still fought gamely, while Horton, whose blood was hot -now, wondered why Quinlevin hadn't joined in the -entertainment. Tricot in desperation tried to reach for -another weapon with the arm Horton hadn't pinioned, and -it was about time to end the matter. A memory of the -night in the Rue Charron was behind Horton's blow which -struck Monsieur Tricot neatly behind the ear and sent -him sprawling out on the portico, where his head came -into contact with the cement balustrade, and he fell and -lay silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton took no chances, kicking the knife, a cruel, -two-edged affair, into the fireplace and appropriating -Monsieur Tricot's revolver, which he put into the other pocket -of his coat, then turned to look for Quinlevin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He didn't find him, but Piquette was there, prone in -the arm chair, and gasping horribly for her breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette! It's Jim," he whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her swollen tongue refused her, but her fingers clutched -his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They choked you, Piquette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tri—cot," she managed to utter painfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've attended to him. Where's Quinlevin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She pointed, soundless, toward the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He went down to look for me?" he questioned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good," laughed Jim. "We'll be ready when he comes back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went out and had another look at Tricot. The -man was out of it and there was a dark shadow on the -stone work where he had fallen. So Horton came back -into the room, found a pitcher of water, with which he -bathed Piquette's forehead and throat and then gave -her to drink. And in a moment she was able to enunciate -more clearly. But she was very weak and it seemed that -her nerve was gone, for her shoulders shook with hysteria -and she clung to Horton still in terror of her frightful -experience. But Horton was taking no chances now and -did the thinking and talking for them both.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're sure Quinlevin went down to look for me?" -he asked again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">m-mon ami</em><span>. Tricot,—'e saw you below—in—de—de -garden."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He knows you threw out the papers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Into de garden."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not now," said Horton. "In my pocket."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You found dem?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Dieu merci</em><span>! It's what I—I 'ope'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But we mustn't lose them again now, Piquette, after -all this. Is the door locked?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I doan know. I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton strode to the door and turned the key.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now let him come," he whispered grimly. And then, -"Where's Moira?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lock' in 'er room—yonder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You saw her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But she must have heard all this commotion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I doan know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Um." He paused a moment, glanced at the door into -the corridor, and then crossed quickly to the door -Piquette indicated, knocking softly. There was no reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira!" he said through the key-hole. "It's I—Jim."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seemed to hear sounds within, a gasp, a movement -of feet and then silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira—it's Jim." There was no sound, so he unbolted -the door and turned the knob. It was locked on the -inside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A gasp from Piquette, who had been listening for -sounds at the other door, now warned him to be quiet -and he straightened. There were footsteps outside and -then a knock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tricot!" said the Irishman's voice. "Let me in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quickly!" whispered Horton, into Piquette's ear, "in -the chair and gasp like hell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She understood and obeyed him. Horton went to the -door, turned the key and Barry Quinlevin strode in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's gone, Tricot—the papers too——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So was Quinlevin: the door closed behind him and a -wiry arm went around his throat from behind, a knee in -the middle of his back, and he crumpled backward in -Horton's strong arms, down to the floor, where in spite of -his struggles Horton held him powerless, quickly disarming -him, his weight on the astonished Irishman's chest, -his fingers at the man's throat, gently pressing with a -threat of greater power at the slightest sound. The -achievement was ridiculously easy as all important things -are, given some intelligence and a will to do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Quinlevin at this point had come to realize that the -purely psychological stage of his venture had passed into -the realm of the physical, in which he was no match for -this young Hercules who had so easily mastered him. -And Tricot...? Outside upon the balcony was a -shadow that had not been there before. The game was -up. And so he resorted to diplomacy, which was indeed -the only thing left to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Horton," he uttered, "ye've won."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet, Quinlevin," said Horton grimly. And then -to Piquette, who had stopped gasping and already showed -a lively interest in the proceedings, "The sheets from the -bed, Piquette, if you please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She obeyed and helped him while they swathed their -prisoner from head to foot, binding and gagging him with -his own cravats and other articles of apparel which they -found adaptable to the purpose and then between them -lifted him to the bed where he lay a helpless clod of -outraged dignity. Then they turned their attention to -Monsieur Tricot, who, as they dragged him by the heels -into the room, already showed signs of returning -consciousness, binding him first, reviving him afterward. Of -the two Tricot was now the least quiescent, but he -understood the touch of Horton's revolver at his temple, and -in a moment lay like Quinlevin, writhing in his bonds but -quite as helpless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now, Quinlevin," said Horton coolly, "it must be -fairly obvious to you that the fraud you've practiced at -the expense of Madame Horton is now at an end. The -documents upon which you rely are in my pocket, where -they will remain until they are turned over to Monsieur de -Vautrin. In the morning you and your brave companion -will doubtless be released by the servants of the hotel, by -which time I hope to be in another part of France!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped with a shrug at the sound of Piquette's voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We mus' not stay too long, Jeem 'Orton. Some one -may come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame Horton?" he muttered, and went over to the -door of Moira's room and listened. There was no sound. -"Moira," he said again distinctly through the keyhole. -"Will you unbolt the door?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A small sound of footsteps moving, but they did not -come toward the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira," he repeated more loudly. "You must let me -in. We are going away from here—at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is as I suppose', Jeem 'Orton," whispered Piquette -at his ear. "She does not wish to come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw her, Jeem," she whispered. "I talk wit' 'er. It -is 'opeless. I do not t'ink she will come. She is afraid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Afraid—of me?" he muttered incredulously. "I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not of you, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>," returned Piquette. "Of '</span><em class="italics">erself</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't understand——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette shrugged. "Try again den, Jeem 'Orton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did—to no avail. There was now no sound from -within in reply to his more earnest entreaties.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something must have happened to her," he mumbled -straightening, with a glance toward the bed. "If I -thought——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But no," Piquette broke in quickly. "Not'ing 'as -'appen' to 'er, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem. She is quite safe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not so sure about that——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And putting his weight against the door, he tried to -force it in. It yielded a trifle, but the slender bolt held. -He waited a moment, listening again, silencing Piquette's -whispered protestations at the commotion he was creating, -but heard nothing. Then moving away a few paces he -pushed the door with his full weight and it flew open with -a crash, almost throwing him to the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The room was empty, but the unlocked door leading -into Nora Burke's room showed which way she had gone. -He went in and looked around. Then out into the corridor -by Nora's door. There were some people at the other -end of the corridor but Moira and her Irish nurse had -disappeared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Uncertainly, he came back through the rooms to -Piquette, who stood in Moira's room, watching the -prisoners through the doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is what I 'ave said, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem. Madame does not -wish to go wit' you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why——? After all——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ave I not tol' you? She is afraid of 'erself. She -knows as I know—she is a woman who loves—but not as -I love, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem. It is 'er God dat stan' between you, -'er God—stronger dan you and what you are to 'er. She -is afraid. She knows—if she touch your 'and—she will -go wit' you—whatever 'appens."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What makes you think that?" muttered Horton, bewildered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She tol' me so——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw 'er—talk wit' 'er. Dat is why I wait too long -ontil Monsieur Quinlevin came."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton paused, thinking deeply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must find her, Piquette. She's got to go with us," -he murmured, starting toward the door away from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Piquette caught him by the hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Jeem. You mus'n't. Do you t'ink you can fin' -'er? Where? An' if you do, your friend Monsieur -Quinlevin will be discover' and dey will put you in de -jail——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let them. I've got to take her away. She's helpless, -Piquette, with him—penniless, if she deserts him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so 'elpless as you t'ink. But she does not want -to see you. Is not dat enough?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said, trying to shake loose her clutch on his -arm. "I'll find her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeem," Piquette pleaded desperately. "You will -spoil all de good you do. What does it matter if you -fin' 'er or not if you lose de paper to Quinlevin again? -You mus' go away now before it is too late an' make -Quinlevin powerless to 'urt 'er again.. Den, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem, -when 'er future is safe, you s'all fin' 'er. What does it -matter now? In time she will come to you. I know. You -s'all fin' 'er. An' I, Piquette, will 'elp you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She felt his arm relax and knew that she had won. -He stared for a long moment toward the open door into -Nora's room, then turned with a quick gasp of decision.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're right, Piquette. We've got to get away—to -draw his claws for good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parfaitement</em><span>! You need not worry. 'E will not 'urt -'er now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so they returned to the Irishman's room and looked -carefully to the bonds of the prisoners. Nothing was -disarranged. They had done their work well, and -continued it by methodically making all arrangements for -departure; shutting the French window, putting an extra -turn on the bindings of the prostrate men, who glared at -them sullenly in the obscurity. Then they went out, -locking all three rooms from the outside and leaving the keys -in the doors. Unobserved, they went up to their rooms—packed -their belongings, descended to the office where Jim -coolly paid their bills, and went out into the night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a garage nearby, where they hired a car, -paying for it in advance, and in less than twenty minutes, -Jim Horton driving, were on their way to Vingtimille, on -the border line between France and Italy. There they -left the machine in the care of a hotel and wrote a -postcard to the owner of the garage at Monte Carlo, telling -him where he would find his machine. This message they -knew would not reach him until some time the next day, -by which time they would be lost in Italy.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="freedom"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">FREEDOM</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Meanwhile, Destiny was at her loom, weaving -with careless hand. The American and French -armies were moving closer to the Rhine, but the -Infantry regiment to which Harry Horton belonged lay -at Château Dix awaiting orders. There Harry went -upon the morning following the return of Barry -Quinlevin from Ireland. Upon his breast he wore the </span><em class="italics">Croix -de Guerre</em><span>, but in his soul was a deathly sickness, the -inward reflection of the physical discomfort with which -he had awakened. The prospect that lay before him was -not to his liking. The period during which he had been -out of uniform, the weeks of secrecy, of self-indulgence -and abasement, had marked him for their own, and -unfitted him for the rigorous routine of discipline that -awaited him. And so he faced the ordeal with a positive -distaste for his old associations, aware of a sinking feeling -in his breast that was not entirely the result of his heavy -potations while in Paris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He felt the burden of his failure and a terror that he -would not be able to live up to the record Jim Horton had -made for him. There would be no more fighting perhaps, -but always beside him there would stalk the specter of -his military sin, of which the medal at his breast was to -be the perpetual reminder. On the train down from -Paris, the medal and its colorful bit of green and red -seemed to fill the whole range of his vision. D—— the -thing! He tore it off and put it in his pocket, and then, -somewhat relieved, sank back into his seat and tried to -doze. But his nerves were most uncertain. Every sound, -even the smallest, seemed to beat with an unpleasant -staccato, upon his ear drums. And he started up and -gazed out of the window, trying to soothe himself with -tobacco. That helped. But he knew that what he wanted -was stronger drugging—whisky or brandy—needed it -indeed to exorcise the demons that inhabited him. And -the thought of the difficulties that would lie in the way -of getting what he craved, to-day, to-morrow, and the -long days and nights that were to follow still further -unmanned him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before Moira had left for Nice, he had given her his -promise to report for duty fit and sober, and he had put -his will to the task, aware that the first impression he -created with his Colonel was to be important. It -was for this reason that he did not dare to open his valise -and touch the bottles hidden there because he knew that -one drink would not be enough to sooth either his nerves -or the dull pangs of his weary conscience. That he had -a conscience, he had discovered in the house in the Rue -Charron when the desire of Monsieur Tricot and </span><em class="italics">Le Singe</em><span> -to put Jim Horton out of the way for good had brought -him face to face with the evil image of himself. He hated -his brother Jim as much as ever, because he was all the -things that Harry was not, but the plans of Quinlevin -which seemed to stop at nothing, not even Moira herself, -now filled him with dread and repugnance. His nerve was -gone—that was it. His nerve—his nerve....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But arrival at regimental headquarters restored him -for awhile. His Colonel gave him a soldierly welcome, -fingered with some envy the </span><em class="italics">Croix de Guerre</em><span>, which Harry -had pinned on his breast again before leaving the railroad, -and summoned Harry's Major, whose greeting left -nothing to be desired. And for the moment it almost -seemed to Harry as though he might be able to "put it -over." But the next day was difficult. He managed a -drink early and that kept him going for awhile; but they -gave him his company in the morning, and from that -moment the intimate contact with those who had known -him began—a lieutenant he had never liked, a sergeant -who was a psychologist, and a familiar face here and -there associated unpleasantly with the long weary days -of training and preparation until the regiment had been -worked up into the advanced position. But his long -sickness in the hospital and his unfamiliarity with recent -orders served him well for excuse, and the </span><em class="italics">Croix de Guerre</em><span> -upon his breast served him better. A corporal and a -sergeant with whom in the old days he had had nothing -in common, each of whom wore decorations, came up to -him, saluting, and reported that it was they who had -carried him back to the dressing station from the rocks at -Boissière Wood. He shook them by the hands with a -cordiality which did not disguise from himself the new -terror, and when they attempted a recital of the events -of the great fight in which they had shared, he blundered -helplessly for a while and then cut the interview short, -pleading urgent affairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, too, there was the nasty business of the wounds. -He hadn't any. He was scathless. He had tried the ruse -of the adhesive tape on Moira with disastrous effect. -Here the result of the discovery of his unblemished skin -would prove still more disastrous. And so at once he -discouraged familiarity, kept to his billet and attempted -with all the courage left to him to put through his daily -round with all credit to his new office. But it irked him -horribly. His supply of strong drink did not last long, -and the thin red wines, the only substitute procurable, -were merely a source of irritation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And there were others in his company of whose approbation -he was not at all certain. There was the sergeant, -who had had the platoon that had been caught with his -own in the wheat-field. There were four or five men of -one of his own squads who had been close beside him in -the same wheat-field when he had been taken ill and they -had left him face to face with the grinning head of the -hated Levinski. And there was the late Levinski's own -"buddy," Weyl, who had sometimes shared in Harry's -reprobation. Weyl annoyed him most perhaps, with his -staring, fishy eye and his Hebraic nose, so similar to that -of his lamented tent-mate. Weyl had been in the wheatfield -and his heavy face seemed to conceal a malevolent -omniscience. The large staring eyes followed the new -Captain of infantry, inquisitive, accusing and contemptuous. -Whenever Corporal Weyl came within the range of -Harry's vision, their glances seemed at once to meet and -hold each other and it was the Captain who always looked -away. Weyl's fishy eye fascinated and haunted him. He -saw it by day, dreamed of it by night, and he cursed the -man in his heart with a fury that did nothing for his -composure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One day as Harry was making his way to mess, he -came upon Corporal Weyl standing at ease just outside -his billet. The man's eye seemed more round, more fishy, -and his demeanor more contemptuous than ever. The last -of the whisky was gone. Harry Horton's heart was -behaving queerly within him, and muscles with which he -was unfamiliar announced their existence in strange -twitchings. The breakfast coffee would help. In the -meanwhile—he glared at Corporal Weyl, his fists clenched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What the H—— do you mean by staring at me all -the time?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Weyl came to attention and saluted in excellent form.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg pardon, sir. I don't understand," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why the H—— do you stare at me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't know that I did stare, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you did. Cut it out. It annoys me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Corporal Weyl still stared as the regulations -demand, looking his Captain squarely in the eye. And the -Captain's gaze wavered and fell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I'm about," he ordered, "you look some other -way. Understand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes sir. I understand," said Weyl, saluting again as -Harry turned away, but still staring at him. And Harry -felt the fishy stare, more than ever omniscient, more than -ever contemptuous, in the middle of his back, all the way -down the road to mess. But he had just enough of self -control to refrain from looking around at the object of -his fury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And at mess a disagreeable surprise awaited him, in the -person of a medico who had just joined the outfit. The -new Captain had barely finished his coffee when he found -himself addressed by the officer, a Major, who sat just -opposite him at table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How are you, Captain Horton?" asked the man -cordially, extending a hand across. "Didn't recognize -you at first. How's the head?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry stammered something.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm Welby—looked after you down at Neuilly, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," said Harry. "Of course. Glad to see you -again, Major."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Things were a bit hazy down there, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, rather," said Harry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Delicate operation that. Touch and go for awhile. -But you came through all O.K. Delusions. Thought you -were another man—or something——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh yes," said Harry faintly, "but I'm all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Glad to hear it. How's the head?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No more pains—no delusions?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd like to have a squint at the wound presently, if -you don't mind. Interesting case. Very."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry rose suddenly, his face the color of ashes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sorry, sir," he muttered, "I've got a lot to do now. -Later perhaps," and then without a word took up his -cap and fled incontinently from the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were but two other officers present, but they -stared at him as he went out, for the conversation across -the table had drawn attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H-m," remarked the Major into his coffee-cup. "Surly -chap that. Considering I saved his life—</span><em class="italics">Croix de Guerre</em><span>, -I see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes sir," said a Lieutenant. "Just joined up. -Worried, maybe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not much worried about me, apparently," said the -Major.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry went straight out to his billet, locked the door -of his soom and sank on the edge of his bed. The situation -was horrible. This man of all men who had seen Jim -Horton through the hospital! Suppose out of professional -curiosity the fool came nosing around! Was Welby -now with the regiment? Harry cursed himself for the -hurry of his departure. Would the man suspect -anything? Hardly. But Harry couldn't take a chance like -that again. A second refusal of the Major's request -would surely make him an object of suspicion. And the -wound in the shoulder—there was none! D—n them all! -Why couldn't they leave him alone?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He couldn't face the thing out. It was too dangerous. -Already he had had enough of it. And yet what was -he to do? Yesterday he had thought he read suspicion of -him in other men's eyes. They seemed to strip him naked, -those hundreds of eyes, to be gazing at the white uninjured -flesh where his wounds should have been. All this in a -week only—and what was to happen in the many weeks -to follow? If this fool Welby had come why wouldn't -there be other men of the regiment, of the battalion, who -had been at the hospital at Neuilly also? They would -catch him in a false statement, force him into a position -from which he could not extricate himself, and then what? -The Major,—the Colonel,—what answer could he give -them if they asked to see his wounds?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To Harry's overwrought imagination the whole army -seemed joined in a conspiracy to bring about his ruin. To -go about his work seemed impossible, but to feign illness -meant the visit of a doctor, perhaps Welby himself. He -would have to go on, at least for the day, and then -perhaps he would think up something—resignation, a -transfer to some other unit....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He managed to put through the day, still wondering -why men looked at him so strangely. Was there anything -the matter with his appearance? In the afternoon, the -youngest of his Lieutenants approached him kindly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hadn't you better take a run down to the hospital, -sir?" he asked. "You look all in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry stared at him stupidly for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm all right—just—er—a little stomach upset——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The youngster saluted and disappeared and Harry -went back to his quarters. There was no wonder that -he looked "all in." He hadn't dared to go to the mess -table since morning and he hadn't had a drink since -yesterday. Tobacco had ceased to have the desired effect -upon his nerves. He felt like jumping out of his skin. -The thing couldn't go on. He </span><em class="italics">was</em><span> "all in." A short leave -of absence which might give him time to pull himself -together meant being gone over by a doctor—it meant -showing his scarless shoulder—impossible! There was -only one thing to do—to quit while there was -time—before the truth came out. The more he thought of his -situation, the more clearly this course seemed indicated. -To disappear silently—in the night. It could be managed—and -when he didn't come back, perhaps they would think -that the wound in his head was troubling him again, and -that he was not responsible for what he did. Or that he -had met with foul play. They could think anything they -chose so long as they didn't guess the truth. And they -could never learn the truth, unless they examined his body -for the wounds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But they would never find him to do that if he ever got -safely back of the lines. He had managed it before. He -could do it again now; because he wouldn't have to trust -to blind luck as he had done back of Boissière Wood. The -more he thought of his plan, the more he became obsessed -with it. At any rate it was an obsession which would -banish the other obsession of the watching eyes. It was -the dark he craved, the security and blessed immunity of -darkness—darkness and solitude. He wouldn't wait for -the ordeal of the morrow ... to-night!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so, driven by all the enemies of his tortured mind, -and planning with all the craft of a guilty conscience, he -arranged all things to suit his purpose, passing beyond -the village with the avowed purpose of visiting a friend in -another unit and then losing himself in the thicket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He traveled afoot all night, using his map and making -for the railroad at St. Couvreur, and in the early morning -breakfasted at a farmhouse, telling a story of having lost -his way and craving a bed for a few hours' sleep. He -was well provided with money and his host was hospitable. -He slept a while, awoke and no one being about, searched -the house for what he sought. He found it in a wardrobe -upstairs—a suit of clothing which would serve—and -leaving some money on a table, made off without ceremony into -the thicket, covering a mile or so in a hurry, across -country, when he found a disused building in which he -tore off his uniform and donned the borrowed clothing, -leaving his own, including its </span><em class="italics">Croix de Guerre</em><span>, under a -truss of straw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It grew dark again. But he did not care. In a village -he managed by paying well to find a bottle of cognac. -His cares slipped from him. Nothing mattered—not -even the rain. His soul was set free. He paid for a good -lodging and slept, warm inside and out; purchased the -next day a better suit of clothing and then boldly boarded -a train for Paris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was extraordinary how easily his liberty had been -accomplished. They would look for him, of course. The -M.P. would bustle about but he had given them the slip -all right and they would never find him in Paris. Paris -for awhile and then a new land where no questions would -be asked. Curiously enough the only human being he -seemed to think about, to regret, in what he had done, -was Moira. His thoughts continually reverted to the -expression on her face the night that Jim had surprised -them in the studio. Its agony, its apprehension, so -nearly depicted the very terrors that had been in his own -soul. He remembered hazily too, that she had been kind -to him when Quinlevin had left him there to watch her -and he had finished the bottle of Irish whisky. Then, -too, again in the morning she had awakened him and -started him upon his way back to his post, while the -expression of her face had shown that she was trying to -do her duty to him even when her own heart was breaking. -She had had a thought that even at this last moment he -still had an opportunity to "make good." He felt that -Moira, his wife in name only, would know the pain of -his failure. Quinlevin would sneer, Jim would shrug, but -Moira would weep and pray—in vain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had cared for Moira in his strange selfish way, -permitted Quinlevin to use him for his own purposes, -hoping for the fortune that would bring ease and luxury -for them all, and with it a glamour that he might turn -to his own account and win the girl to a fulfillment of their -marriage vows. But Jim had dashed the cup from his lips, -Jim—his hero brother—now like himself an outcast! So -there were to be two of them then after all. "It served -him right—D—n him!" Harry Horton found a malicious -pleasure in the situation. If </span><em class="italics">he</em><span> wasn't to have her, Jim -shouldn't either. He wasn't going to give his brother -the pleasure of reading </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> death notice in the morning -paper. He, Harry Horton, would just go on living -whatever happened, and he knew that without the evidence -of his death, Moira would never marry again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had gathered in a cloudy way the general meaning -of the visit to the Duc de Vautrin at Nice and had -wondered at Moira's consent to go with Quinlevin on such a -mission after what she must have heard that night. But -he had been in no humor to ask questions the next -morning, and knew nothing whatever as to the prospects of -success for the undertaking. It looked very much as -though with Jim Horton in on the game, the mission was -dubious. And yet Quinlevin might succeed. If he did -there would be enough money to stake Harry in a new -life in some distant part of the world. This was the -price that they would pay for immunity—and Harry -would go. He knew now that Moira was not for him. -She had settled that matter definitely the night when he -had come in drunk from the Rue Charron.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He reached Paris and lost himself in Montmartre, -avoiding the old haunts. There he found new acquaintances -and many bottles to soothe the awakening pangs. -Many bottles ... moments of lucidity ... how long -would it be before Moira and Quinlevin returned to -the Rue de Tavennes? He would have to sober up. -Things weren't bad at all now. What difference did it -make to any one but himself what he did or what he -became? It was his own life to do what he pleased with. -And it pleased him to do what he was doing with it. He -laughed at the amusing inversion. Good joke, that!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he would have to go down to the studio in the -Rue de Tavennes and talk things over. No use quarreling -with Quinlevin. Everything amiable and friendly. -No. 7 Rue de Tavennes. If Moira wasn't there, he'd go -in and wait. Her studio ... his too. Perhaps a little -of the Irish whisky and a doze....</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-petit-bleu"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics medium">THE PETIT BLEU</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The road to Paris was long by the way Jim Horton -and Piquette had chosen, but without mishap they -came through Geneva and Lyons, reaching their -destination at the end of the second day. Of the -further adventures of Monsieur Barry Quinlevin and his -apostle Tricot they had learned nothing, though they -had scanned all the newspapers upon their way for any -echoes of the adventure at the Hôtel de Paris. Jim -Horton had spoken little of Moira, but as they neared -their journey's end, the birth certificate and other papers -still secure in Jim's inner pocket, he was sure that however -difficult and painful his decision to desert Moira at the -critical moment, Piquette's counsel had been wise. Moira -had fled from him and he knew now that her convictions -had laid a barrier between them which no further effort -that he could make would ever pass. Pity he felt for her, -deep and abiding, for she was so helpless and now more -than ever alone. But he had done his duty as he had -seen it, drawn Quinlevin's sting and opened Moira's eyes -to his perfidy, throwing a light along the path into which -that perfidy was leading her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He and Piquette had tried to picture events in the hotel -at Monte Carlo after their flight: The helpless men -lying in the dark, awaiting the morning, Moira's probable -return with Nora Burke and their liberation. As to what -Moira would do after that, they could not decide. Her -flight to Paris without money seemed impossible, and yet -for her to remain with her spurious father after this -awakening seemed also impossible. Piquette had related -to him parts of her conversation with the girl and Horton -had listened, aware of Piquette's motives and the hopeless -impediments to the success of her efforts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette spoke no more of love, nor did Jim Horton -revive the topic which had given him a more awkward -half an hour than he had ever spent in his life, but he -showed her by every act a consideration that touched her -deeply and made the friendship that she asked of him a -sacred thing to them both. What the future held for -him was yet to be fully revealed, but as yet he could not -see it clearly. With the collapse of Quinlevin's scheme -it was probable that all the vials of his wrath would be -turned upon Horton, who would be denounced to the -military authorities, no matter what happened to his -unfortunate brother Harry. It was necessary therefore, -until the birth certificate and the evidence of Horton -and Piquette was all placed with Monsieur de Vautrin's -legal representative, that Horton remain hidden and that -Piquette avoid all contact with her friends of the </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span>. -It seemed also the part of prudence for Piquette to remain -for awhile away from her apartment, keeping in touch -with her maid who would bring her clothing and letters to -a designated place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would have been much more sensible to have killed -Tricot," laughed Horton when they were established in -rooms in his obscure lodging in the Rue Jean Paul. "He'll -come poking about with a brand new knife and revolver, -and then we'll have the devil to pay all over again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not sure," said Piquette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll take no chances. And when this business is -finished, if Monsieur de Vautrin doesn't do his duty by -you I'd like to take you away from Paris, Piquette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shrugged. "To America. Where else?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she shook her head like a solemn child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, </span><em class="italics">mon petit</em><span>. You will not wish to be taking me to -America. One cannot change one's destiny like dat. You -s'all not 'ang me like a millstone aroun' your neck. My -place is 'ere, in Paris, where I am born, an' if de </span><em class="italics">bon Dieu</em><span> -will, where I s'all die. As for you, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>, all will be -well. De </span><em class="italics">vrai gamine</em><span> is born wit' de what you call—secon' -sight. It is I, Piquette, who say dis to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her curiously, aware of an air of fatalism -in her words and manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How, Piquette?" he laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shrugged. "I doan know, but I believe you s'all be -'appy yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With her, you mean?" he asked. "Not a chance, -Piquette. That's done. But if I can help her——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You s'all 'elp 'er, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>. I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled gently, and then thoughtfully lighted a pipe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've got Cassandra beaten by a mile, my little -Piquette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cassandra?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The greatest little guesser in all history. But she -guessed right——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' I guess right too, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>. You see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled. "Then I wish you'd guess what's happened -to your silly friend de Vautrin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Silly!" she laughed. "Dat's a good word, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>" -and then shrugged. "'E will come one day——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In a week—and here we sit cooling our heels with our -evidence all O.K., burning in our fingers. If he doesn't -arrive to-morrow I'm going to find his </span><em class="italics">avocat</em><span>."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>They had examined the birth certificate with a magnifying -glass and there was not a doubt that the final "a" of -"Patricia" had been added to "Patrice," also that the -word "male" had been changed to "female" by the -addition of the prefix. With Nora Burke as Quinlevin's only -witness and Horton and Piquette to oppose her, there -would not be the slightest difficulty in disposing of Barry -Quinlevin's pretensions. But Horton still worried much -about the fate of Moira, for it was difficult for him to -conceive of her resumption of the old relations with the -Irishman. And yet it could not be long before Quinlevin -returned to Paris, and what would be Moira's fate unless -she accompanied him to the Rue de Tavennes? Perhaps -she was there now. Already four days had elapsed since -the flight from the Riviera and of course there had been -ample time for Quinlevin and his illy-assorted company -to return. Horton wanted to go to the Rue de Tavennes -and try to learn what had happened, but Piquette advised -against it. Until the responsibility for the papers was -shifted to de Vautrin, she did not think it wise for him to -take any risk of danger. Jim Horton demurred, but when -he saw how much in earnest she was, he consented to -remain in hiding a few days longer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And late the following afternoon, Monsieur de Vautrin -not yet having returned, and while they still waited, an -astonishing thing happened, for Piquette's maid, under -cover of nightfall (as was the arrangement) brought -the letters from the Boulevard Clichy, and among them -was a </span><em class="italics">Petit Bleu</em><span> addressed to Jim Horton. He picked it -up gingerly in his fingers as though it had been dynamite -and curiously scrutinized the envelope. It augured badly -for his security in Paris if many people knew so readily -where he was to be found. De Vautrin perhaps——? -Or——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He tore the envelope open quickly, Piquette looking -over his shoulder. It was in French, of course, and he -read,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall be alone Rue de Tavennes to-night eight. Forgive -and don't fail. MOIRA."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He read the lines over and over, Piquette helping him -to translate, and stood a moment as though transfixed -by its significance. "Forgive." That was the word that -stood out in black letters. What had come over her? -Did this mean that driven to desperation by the situation -in which she had found herself she had been forced -against her will to plead with him for sanctuary? Or was -it help that she needed? Whatever the real meaning of -the message, there was no doubt in Jim Horton's mind as -to where his duty lay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Piquette was already questioning Celeste rapidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When did this </span><em class="italics">Petit Bleu</em><span> arrive?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not an hour ago, Madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are sure?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame, positive. I myself received it from the -messenger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, Celeste. You will return to the apartment -and if any other message arrives, be sure to bring it at -once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And be sure to take the roundabout way and be sure -that you are not followed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the woman departed, Piquette took the blue slip -from Jim Horton's fingers and sat by the gas-light, -rereading it slowly and thoughtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must go, of course, Piquette," said Jim quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>, you mus' go. An' yet there are some -t'ings I don' on'erstan'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, Piquette?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is strange, dis sudden change of min' of Madame -'Orton," she replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She wants me,—needs me," said Jim, unaware of the -pain he caused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette shrugged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could 'ave tol' you dat at Monte Carlo," she said -dryly, "but to ask you to come to 'er—it's different, dat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet she has done it——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"De character of Madame 'as change' a great deal in -a few days, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something must have happened. Her position! -Think of it, Piquette."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do. It is mos' onpleasan'. But I t'ink you would -be de very las' person she would sen' for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who then——? Piquette, I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose, and handed him his message. "You mus' go," -she said with a shrug, "an' dere is not much time. But -wit' your permission, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem——" she added firmly, -"I will go wit' you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You, Piquette!" he stammered dubiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she smiled at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>, I s'all not intrude. You know dat, -</span><em class="italics">n'est-ce pas</em><span>? But Madame 'Orton and I, we on'erstan' -each oder. Per'aps I can 'elp 'er too. An' where could -she go onless to de Boulevard Clichy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim Horton stood speechless for a moment and then, -slowly, "I hadn't thought of that," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They dined and then Piquette went to her room to put -on her hat, while Jim Horton sat watching the clock -which ticked off the minutes before their departure. Of -course Moira's appeal for forgiveness was only the weary -cry of a heart sick with disappointment—a cry for -sanctuary from the dreaded evils that encompassed her. -But he would not permit himself to believe that it meant -any new happiness for him, except the mere joy that he -would find in doing her a service. What he hoped was that -at last she had decided to permit him to take her away -from Quinlevin. With that he would be content—must -be content—for the thing that separated them was -stronger than her will or his. "There's no divorce but -death." Her words came to him again, the weary tones -with which she had uttered them, and he realized again -that there was no hope for her or for him. Even if his -will were stronger than hers, he must not use it to coerce -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Piquette joined him they went forth by a -circuitous way toward the Rue de Tavennes. To be certain -that they were not recognized they avoided the populous -streets and chose narrow by-ways, shadowed and -unfamiliar, their coat collars turned up, their hats pulled -well down over their eyes, while Horton strode beside -her, saying nothing. To see Moira, to speak to her, to -take her away from the rogue who had for so long held -her in his thrall....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they turned into the Rue de Tavennes Horton -glanced at his watch. It was some moments before the -appointed hour. Under a gas lamp, he glanced at -Piquette. He thought that she seemed pale, that her -dark eyes burned with a deeper intensity, that she was -compact of suppressed emotions, as though she were -driven forward upon her feet by a power beyond her to -control. And something of her tenseness seemed curiously -communicated to him. Was it that Piquette knew that the -spell that bound her to him was to be broken to-night, -that the strange and wonderful friendship that she had -found was to be dissipated by a new element. Why had -she chosen to come with him—insisted on it even? And -the rapt, eager, absorbed look he had seen upon her -face made him almost ready to believe that she had in -her something of the seer and prophetess at which he had -been pleased to jest. He knew that she was "game," -physically, spiritually, and that she could walk into the -face of danger and suffering to do him a service. It -almost seemed as though she had chosen to come with him -to-night because it was her final act of self-abnegation, to -bring Jim and Moira together—to help the woman he -loved to security if not to happiness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they neared the familiar gate of Madame Toupin, -Horton was conscious of a sense of grave responsibility. -It was the same feeling that had come to him there in -the trench before the advance upon Boissière Wood, the -imminence of great events, the splendid possibilities of -success, the dire consequences of failure, a hazard of some -kind, with happiness or misery for many as the stake.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the corner Piquette suddenly caught him by the -elbow and held him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>," she whispered. "Wait!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked down at her in surprise at the sudden pause -in her eager footsteps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Piquette?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I don' know, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem," she muttered breathlessly, -one hand to her heart. "I don' know—somet'ing -tell me to wait——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you want to go back?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What then——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't tell you. Jus' a feeling dat you should not -go. I am not sure——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I don't understand——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor I, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem," she laughed. "'Ave I not tol' -you de </span><em class="italics">vrai gamine</em><span> 'ave secon' sight? Forgive me. You -t'ink I am foolish. But it is 'ere in my 'eart——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not want me to go to her, Piquette?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. To 'er, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem. </span><em class="italics">C'est bien</em><span>. Is it not for dat -which I come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated for another long moment, Jim watching -her, and then raised her head like some wild creature -sniffing at the breeze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Allons</em><span>!" she said. "We shall go now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her mood and they went on, Piquette -making no further protest, and reached the gate of -Madame Toupin, where they paused for a moment. The -</span><em class="italics">loge</em><span> was dark and the gate was open. This was unusual, -but Horton remembered that sometimes Madame Toupin -and her pretty daughter went together for visits in the -neighborhood. Two men were chatting under the lamp -in the court-yard, but so absorbed in their own affair that -they gave no attention to the visitors who entered the -building and slowly climbed the stairs, so familiar to -Jim, and so suggestive of the greatest joy and the greatest -misfortune he had ever known. Piquette followed him one -step behind, clinging to the tail of his overcoat. They -met no one. A light showed beyond a transom on the -second floor, the odor of a cigarette was wafted to them, -and the sound of a voice softly singing. There was no -other studio-apartment on the third floor but Moira's, -and they mounted the steps softly on tiptoe, peering -upward into the obscurity for signs of illumination that -would proclaim occupancy. But they could see no -light but the reflection of the cold starlit sky which came -through a window on the stair and outlined the rail and -baluster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is dere no light?" asked Piquette in a voice which in -spite of itself seemed no more than a whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't see any yet," muttered Jim. And then, as his -head came in line with the floor, he pointed upward. -Above the door the transom showed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! </span><em class="italics">Elle est là</em><span>," she gasped, falling into her native -tongue unconsciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silently they mounted and Jim knocked upon the door. -There was no reply. He knocked more loudly. Silence -again. Then he put his hand on the knob and turned -it. The door yielded and they entered, Piquette peering -curiously over his shoulder, and around the room. The -gas-light, turned low, cast a dim light over the room. The -corners ware bathed in shadow, and Horton's gaze swept -them eagerly, while he moved here and there. The familiar -chairs, the couch by the big window, the easel with its -canvas, the draperies, the lay figure, seemed to be all as -when he had seen them last, but there was no one there. -The studio was empty. With Piquette close at his side -he went to the door of the kitchenette. It was locked and -the key was in the door. It had been fastened from the -studio side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's curious," muttered Jim. "She may have gone -out for a moment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps," said Piquette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim went around the studio, glancing at the windows, -and then joined his companion by the door, scrutinizing -his watch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We're a few moments early, Piquette," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will go down, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>, and ask when she come back," -she ventured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And they went out of the studio, closing the door behind -them. But Jim Horton hesitated, glancing back at the -door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder if there could have been any mistake," he -muttered. "Eight o'clock. I don't understand——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeem," said Piquette, "I do not like de look of dis. I -am afraid——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She peered down into the obscurity suddenly and put -her fingers to her lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some one is coming," she murmured. "It is——" she -paused, listened, and then caught him by the arm. "It is -not a woman,—it is a man. Listen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He obeyed, catching her meaning and its significance -quickly. The footsteps were surely not those of a woman, -and the stairs to the floor below creaked heavily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A man! Who?" he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is what I fear'. We mus' 'ide—somewhere—quick!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door of the hall-room Jim had slept in was near -them. Tiptoeing over to it quickly, the girl behind him, -he tried the knob. It yielded and they entered its -darkness, leaving the door wide enough open so that they -could look out. The man was now climbing up the stair -and reached the landing. If either of them had expected -to see Barry Quinlevin they were disappointed, for the -figure was heavier, strangely similar to Jim Horton's, and -like him wore a dark overcoat and slouch hat. And while -they peered out at him, the man hesitated, looked up at -the transom and then turned the knob and entered the -studio, closing the door carefully behind him. Jim Horton -had felt Piquette's fingers clutch his arm and questioned -in a whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, Piquette?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your broder—'Arry," she gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible. He's at camp——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would swear it——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In civilian clothes? He knows better than that." He -laughed gently. "You're nervous, Piquette——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's 'Arry, I tell you," she insisted. "I am not -mistake'——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H-m. It did look like him—but what——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I doan know. Its strange what I t'ink——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why should Harry come here when Moira sent me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' what if she did not send you de </span><em class="italics">Petit Bleu</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I doan know——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That Harry sent it? Why would he want to meet -me?" he shrugged. "But it's queer, Piquette. If he's -here to worry her again I'll break his head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sh——," whispered Piquette, calming him. "She mus' -go wit' me, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But she isn't there. I don't understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We mus' wait 'ere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so they stood at the door, listening for sounds -from below. Silence. And then a strange commotion -close at hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly Piquette clutched Jim's arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jeem!" he heard her whisper in sudden terror. "What -is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had heard the same thing too, a faint sound, like a -cough, followed by a groan as though some one were -struggling for breath. Another pause while they listened -again. There was no mistaking it now. Jim Horton -had heard the same sounds before from the throat of one -of the Engineers who had been horribly gassed. Another -groan, then the impact of a heavy body falling.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton sprang out into the hallway, drawing his -automatic, and threw himself against the studio door. -It was locked. He assaulted it again, again, and at last -the door-jamb tore away and he was precipitated into the -middle of the room, revolver in hand, glaring about him, -Piquette close beside him, her eyes distended with horror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the middle of the floor near the fireplace lay the -figure of a man, quite motionless, a dark blotch growing -on the rug beneath his body. And the distorted face -turned toward the feeble light of the flickering gas-jet -was that of his brother—Harry.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sainte Vierge</em><span>," came from Piquette in an awed tone. -"'E 'as kill' 'imself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Jim was bending over the body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible. A knife under the arm—in the heart. -It's murder!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He straightened, keenly alert, and searched the room -quickly, weapon in hand, thoroughly, aware of its -possibilities for concealment. A chair was overturned but -the lay figure, the draperies, the easel were undisturbed, -and the door into the kitchen was locked, </span><em class="italics">the key on the -outside</em><span>, as before. The thing was unbelievable, and the -mystery deepened as he searched. Moira was not here—had -not been here—he was sure of it now. This trap, -super-natural it seemed, had been set to catch Jim Horton -and Harry—God knows how or why—Harry had walked -into it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Piquette bent over to examine the dead man, Horton -hauled her away quickly. He had just wits enough left -to know how dangerous was his own position.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't touch anything—this is a case for the police. -Come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he led the way down the stairs to the second floor, -shouting incoherently for help, while Piquette, her tongue -loosened, now ably seconded him. And in a moment, it -seemed, the entire household appeared in the hallway, -while people from the court and from the street came -crowding up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton, who knew that there was no possibility of the -murderer's escape by the window, stood at the stair on -the second floor, guarding it, still bewildered by the -mystery, trying to explain while the crowd surged up and -a police officer who had been passing, forced his -way through. To him Piquette, gathering her courage, -explained, telling him briefly what had happened while -they had watched from the room upstairs. The police -officer went up with Horton and Piquette, and entered -the studio, the crowd following to the door, where the -policeman commanded them to stop. Then while he -questioned Piquette he lighted all the burners and -examined the body, then the closet, the windows and with -drawn weapon approached the door to the kitchenette. -It was still locked, the key still in the door. He turned -the key—then locked it again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You say you tried this door when you first—entered -the room?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur," said Piquette promptly. "We thought -that Madame Horton might be inside. But finding it -locked we did not go in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The policeman drew back muttering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Most extraordinary!" he said. "There is a door from -these other rooms into the hallway outside?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The policeman pushed a way through the crowd and -tried the door from the outside. It, too, was locked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned to the crowd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No one came out of this door?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No one, no one, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And this other door?" indicating the hall room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There was no one there," said a man who seemed much -at home. "One of us went in when we came up the stair -and came out saying it was empty. Look! You may see -for yourself." And he threw the door open while the -officer investigated. He came out more puzzled than -ever, rejoining Horton and Piquette at the door of the -studio, summoning the man and one or two of the others, -with Horton and Piquette, as witnesses, taking the names -and addresses carefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is a case for the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>," he said to them. -"You will please wait."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="mystery"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">MYSTERY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The sudden extraordinary turn of events and the -inexplicable horror of his brother's death had so -bewildered Jim Horton that he stood awaiting the -arrival of the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire de Police</em><span> in a kind of -stupefaction, looking down at the huddled form of the man -upon the floor, unable to think with any clearness. The -officer requested him not to move or touch anything, and -Piquette stood beside Jim as though to give him courage. -But the policeman kept an eye on Horton and remained -by the door, watching outside and in as though guarding -it against his possible escape. Horton noticed this but -remained immovable, aware that the fellow was only doing -his duty, and that further explanations must await the -arrival of the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, who had been telephoned for.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The furniture of the studio, each object of which -possessed for Jim some poignant association, seemed -strangely familiar, yet unreal. The chairs, the rugs, the -hangings, had suddenly become merely a background for -the body lying among them, a part of it, linked in a -horrible conspiracy of silence, Moira's plain furniture, -her easel, which still bore the placid portrait of the -indomitable Parisienne who had refused to be a </span><em class="italics">froussarde</em><span>; -the arm chair by the fireplace in which Moira had -sat, the table from which they had supped; the lay figure -in its old costume, felt hat and draperies; the couch by -the window; the brass bowl on the mantel, full of Moira's -brushes—all of them spoke so eloquently of her. And -Moira....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He frowned as he tried to put the pieces of the puzzle -together. The knife in his brother's side had been intended -for him. There was no doubt of that, and the motive for -the crime was obvious.... Quinlevin.... Tricot? -Yes. But how? His glance passed over the room again -and again, seeking in vain the answer. His guardian had -preferred to await the arrival of his superior before -examining the kitchenette and bed-rooms, but with the -door locked upon the outside there was no hope that the -solution of the mystery would be found there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, Jim Horton's mind became slowly impregnated -with the realization of his own position which must -become more dubious when he answered the questions of -the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, for answer them he must, telling the -whole of his story if it were necessary, without thought -of consequences to himself or others. The future became -at each moment more ominous. Horrible as the thought -was, they might even suspect him of this crime and even -if he escaped that disaster, with the publicity which must -follow, the Provost Guard awaited him. But at his side -was Piquette, who had seen what he had seen and who -knew what he knew and he felt her fingers clasp his with -a valiant touch that gave him courage and assurance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And in a short while the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> entered, followed -by his secretary, several Agents and newspaper men. The -</span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, Monsieur Matthieu, was a man of medium -height strongly built, with small sharp eyes, and reddish -hair. He went about the affair with a business-like mien, -exchanging a few words with the policeman who had first -come, glancing quickly at Horton, Piquette, and the other -witnesses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let no one enter the room," he said in his sharp -staccato, when he had selected his witnesses. "Let no one -leave it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then quickly he questioned Horton and Piquette as to -their visit and the exact circumstances of their discovery -of the body. Horton was at a loss, but Piquette spoke -rapidly and in a few moments had given the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> -a complete narration of their experiences from the moment -they had climbed the stairs to the studio of Madame -Horton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You say that you and this monsieur came to this -room by appointment to meet Madame Horton at eight -o'clock?" questioned the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That you came up the stair and as the door was -unlocked, you entered this room, finding it empty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the door to the apartment yonder was locked -from this side and the key was in the lock as it is at this -moment?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The rooms beyond, then, have not yet been entered?" -he asked of the policeman who had come up at the first -alarm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Bien</em><span>. Then we shall enter at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded significantly to the two </span><em class="italics">Agents</em><span>, who took -their places by Jim and Piquette, and with his secretary -and the policeman following him, M. Matthieu unlocked -the door into the kitchenette and investigated the kitchen -and bedrooms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he reappeared some moments later his face was -puzzled. But he went to the big studio window and -examined the catches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"These windows you say were also locked?" he asked of -Horton suddenly, in excellent English.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They were—all of them," said Horton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you did not know that one of them was open?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Open!" Horton crossed the room eagerly. "I could -have sworn——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You observe——?" said the Frenchman, and touching -the window, it swung open noiselessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's strange," muttered Horton, "I thought the -catch was on. But even so," he added, "there was no -chance for the murderer to have escaped there. As you -will see, Monsieur, it is a blank wall of full three stories -in height."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> peered out. There was a broad -wooden ledge or sill just outside, but the ledge led nowhere -and he could see that what Horton had stated was true. -It was sixty feet to the flagging of the court below and -a drop meant death or injury to any one who dared -attempt it. Nor was there any sign of a rope or ladder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H-m. We shall wait for daylight for that. In the -meanwhile——" he relapsed into silence, gazing about -the room with great care, examining each object and -coming at last to the body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It has not been touched?" he questioned of the policeman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked around the corpse dictating quickly to the -man with the note-book and then drew the knife from the -wound. It was a two-edged affair at least six inches in -length, a weapon evidently intended for just such a deadly -business.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was struck below the left arm and from behind," -Piquette heard him dictate, "the direction of the weapon -in the body indicating without the possibility of a doubt -that the wound was not self-inflicted. A case of murder," -he finished, looking up at Horton, who had followed his -motions with intense interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he moved the body so that it lay flat upon the -floor, throwing a pocket light full upon the face, starting -back in amazement.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Monsieur!" he gasped to Horton, and then threw the -light suddenly into Jim Horton's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Horton, did you know——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is my brother," said Jim quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Nom d'un chien</em><span>! I could swear it was yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My twin brother, Monsieur," repeated Horton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu's eyes narrowed as he gazed at Jim. -"The case becomes more interesting. H-m. You will now -tell me, please, what happened when you went out of the -studio into the hallway."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We thought of going away and returning when -Madame Horton, my sister-in-law, should return."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The wife of the murdered man?" broke in the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur," said Jim. "As we were about to go -down to the court below we heard the footsteps of some -one coming up. But it was not Madame Horton. We -knew that by the sounds. It was a man's step—so we -withdrew into the little hall room and watched."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The facts are curious, Monsieur Horton," put in the -</span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> with sudden interest. "Why did you wish to -conceal yourself from the other visitors of Madame -Horton?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The question was pertinent and there could be no -evading a reply. So Jim told briefly of Quinlevin, Moira -and Harry and his unfriendly relationship with his -brother. As he did so he heard the gasps and whisperings -among the listeners which gave him an unpleasant realization -of their conception of the affair. And the testimony -of Piquette, who grew angry at the sounds from the -auditors, did nothing to improve his situation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see, Monsieur," said M. Matthieu sagely. "It is wise -that you see fit to tell us the truth now since it must all -come out later. There was bad blood between you and -your brother and between you and Monsieur Quinlevin—so -that you feared a plot in the </span><em class="italics">Petit Bleu</em><span> which meant -to do you violence?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not when I received the message, Monsieur. I came -here with Madame Morin in good faith to try and help -Madame Horton—to take her away from a situation in -which she was most unhappy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And your relations with your sister-in-law?" asked the -</span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton flushed angrily, but he realized that the man -was within his rights. As Piquette cried excitedly, -"Madame 'Orton was on'appy wit' 'er 'usband, Monsieur——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame Horton and I were the best of friends——" -broke in Jim quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Evidently," said M. Matthieu dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The changed manner of Monsieur Matthieu, his sudden -air of intense interest in Jim himself, and the keen -appraisal in his eyes did not augur well for the result of -the investigation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will please go on with the rest of the story, -Monsieur," he added, and then with a glance at Piquette, -"And you, Madame, will be pleased to remain silent until -I question you. You say that you realized that the visitor -coming up the stair was a man and that you and Madame -withdrew in the darkness into the little hall-room and -waited?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you both saw the man come up the stairs to the -studio door. What happened then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He turned the knob and entered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Had you recognized him as your brother at that time?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hadn't. I thought that my brother had joined his -regiment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah—a soldier! And do you know why he is here in -civilian's clothes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did Madame Morin recognize him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. But I didn't believe it was he—even then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu smiled and shrugged. "And you -didn't realize how much alike you were in your dark -overcoats and soft hats?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And after your brother went in at the studio door, -how long did you and Madame wait in the hall room?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know exactly—a matter of four or five -minutes, when we heard sounds in the studio and the -falling of a body."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you rushed out to the studio door and went in?" -asked the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> craftily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The door was locked," said Jim. "I put my shoulder -against it and broke it in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah. You broke it in? How long did that take?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps half a minute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when you entered the room, Madame was with you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—just behin' heem," broke in Piquette eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>M. Matthieu glanced at Piquette with a frown which -silenced her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did you see, Monsieur?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What you saw, Monsieur—my brother lying there—the -chair upset—but no sign of any one in the room. It -was very mystifying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it must have been," dryly, "miraculous, in fact. -And then what did you do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I examined the room thoroughly—I was bewildered, -Monsieur. I couldn't understand any more than you can, -because the only door by which the murderer could have -escaped I found to be locked—as you found it, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Most extraordinary! And what is your theory as to -the escape of the murderer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't any. The more I think, the more astounding -it seems. I couldn't believe, unless I had seen all these -things with my own eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you, Madame?" he asked at last in French, turning -to Piquette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What Monsieur tells is the truth, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le -Commissaire</em><span>. I swear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come now. What you two ask me to think is beyond -belief. I come to this room and find a man murdered by -a dastardly blow dealt by a man of great muscular force." Here -he ran a careless glance up and down Jim Horton's -long figure. "The only door by which he could have -escaped is locked, exit by the window is impossible, and -you and Madame guard the stairs until the crowd gathers. -Do you think you will get me to believe that the murderer -flew up the chimney?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't ask you to believe anything," said Jim, trying -to keep his nerve.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I must believe the evidence of my observation. -There is no way in which the man could have passed you -on the stair?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None," said Jim helplessly, "until I came up with the -policeman no one went down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is true," added Piquette. "Monsieur 'Orton was -armed. No one could have passed him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> was puzzled, for what had -seemed clearer a moment ago was lost in the frankness of -this confession.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are the other witnesses in the case?" he asked -of the policeman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here, Monsieur," indicating one of the men he had -detained. "This man was in the hall with the crowd. -These others too are willing to testify."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The secretary took the witness's name, Paul Joubert, -his address, and M. Matthieu questioned him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have heard the testimony of Monsieur Horton?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In every particular. I and these others," indicating -the men beside him, "came up the stairs to the landing -and entered the studio."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How many were there in the crowd?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eight—ten—a dozen," he replied, while the others -confirmed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you know them all?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah no, Monsieur. I live in the Court at the rear. -Some of them were strangers who ran in from the street."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There was no one in the upper hall?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And in the hall-room?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One of the men who had rushed up examined the room -and said it was empty. I went in myself also and saw -that this was so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is the man who first went into the hall-room here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>. I do not recognize him, -the light from the doorway was dim and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," said Matthieu. "No matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the other door from the apartment to the -hallway remained locked all the time?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur. No one came out of there. We tried -it many times."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H-m. And you have no theory as to how any one -could have escaped from the room under the circumstances?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Monsieur. It is nothing less than a miracle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other witnesses shook their heads in confirmation -of the testimony.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That will do, Monsieur Joubert." And then turning -to Horton. "Now, Monsieur Horton, what did you think -when you found the body of your brother, when you had -positive proof that unless the murderer had jumped from -the window to death, he must at that moment have been -in the room?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton had courage but he couldn't deceive himself -as to the intent of the question. The cord was tightening. -He felt it in the looks of those around him, in the -frightened breathing of Piquette and in the steady gaze of his -questioner, which he met with more and more difficulty. -But he managed to answer calmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think! Why, I couldn't think, Monsieur. I was -bewildered, dazed, stupefied with astonishment and horror."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must give me credit for some intelligence," -protested the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>. "Since the murderer couldn't -have gone out of the door while you say you were -breaking in, he must have been in the room all the while."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There was no one in the room. I searched it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is true," almost screamed Piquette in her -excitement. "I was wit' 'im. There was no one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quietly, Madame," said M. Matthieu reprovingly. -And then, "Monsieur Horton, when you searched the -room, what did you do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> would have done, Monsieur—I rushed -down the stair and gave the alarm, watching the stair and -waiting for the police. I am as mystified as you. If I -could tell you any more I would do so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu tapped his eye-glasses thoughtfully -and it was a long time before he spoke. And then,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is Madame Horton?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Monsieur Quinlevin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have no means of helping me to find them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I had I would tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A pause. And then the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> cleared his throat -in an important manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a feeling that you are keeping something back, -Monsieur Horton. I warn you that you will not make -things easy for yourself in making them difficult for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean, Monsieur?" asked Jim, sure that -his position and Piquette's had now grown desperate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Merely, Monsieur," said the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> with a -glance at the dead man, "that blows such as this are not -struck by spiritual agencies, that when there is a -murdered man there must also be a murderer. Your -testimony and that of Madame Morin agree, but then I cannot -neglect the possibility that you may have some object -in agreeing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You believe that I——" Horton broke in in horror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe nothing until it is definitely proved. I admit -that there are many phases of this case which seem -favorable to a belief in your story. But there are also some -points which from your testimony seem to be—er—incredible. -We do not live in an age of miracles. Murders -are not committed by spirits who vanish. There was bad -blood between you and your brother. You yourself have -admitted it. Madame Morin had a suspicion when he -came up the stair that the </span><em class="italics">Petit Bleu</em><span> you received was a -trap intended for you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which my brother fell into," said Horton, in a last -desperate effort to clear himself. "Why, Monsieur, you -yourself can see how like we are. The blow was intended -for me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are fortunate, Monsieur," said the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, -with a shrug. "And you will have every chance to prove -your innocence. But I cannot take the grave responsibility -of liberating you. The case must go to the </span><em class="italics">Prefet</em><span> -and will be heard in its entirety, including the many -details which have been suggested as to Madame Horton and -Monsieur Quinlevin. I am only sent here to investigate -the case in its physical aspects. And the result of the -investigation is to place you and Madame Morin under -arrest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton straightened and glanced around at the others -in the room. They had ceased to have personalities. -They looked like wax images—staring at him in wonder, -in curiosity, as though he were already condemned. From -them his glance found Piquette. Her face was white and -she was staring at the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> as though she could -not believe the evidence of her ears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Monsieur, have we not told you——?" he heard -her begin, when the officer silenced her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will have every opportunity to testify to-morrow, -Madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sent one glance at him, the </span><em class="italics">gamine</em><span> in her terrified -at the Law as represented in the man before her, and then -bewildered, rushed to Jim and caught him by the hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courage, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>," she gasped. "You 'ave on'y to -speak de truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not frightened," he said, "but you, Piquette—a -prison——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not'ing——" she said bravely, but he saw that -she was on the point of breaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now," broke in the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, who had watched -this byplay with some interest, "I am sorry that we must -be off. Come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And giving some instructions as to the witnesses to one -of the </span><em class="italics">Agents de police</em><span> who had accompanied him, and -taking the revolver which Horton silently offered him, he -led the way down the stair, with Piquette and Horton -following, policemen at their elbows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A great crowd had assembled in the street and -courtyard below. Horton caught a glimpse of the white cap -and whiter face of Madame Toupin at the door of her -</span><em class="italics">loge</em><span>, and then was hurried by a policeman into a -carriage which was awaiting them. He saw poor Piquette -put into another one and they drove off in the direction -of the </span><em class="italics">Prefecture de Police</em><span>, where he was shown without -ceremony into a cell alone to await a further -investigation upon the morrow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sank down upon the cot, buried his head in his -hands and tried to think.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quinlevin was at the bottom of this—Quinlevin—Tricot. -One of them had done this dastardly thing, believing -to save their skins and thinking that they were killing -him. But how had the murderer gotten away? How? How?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="escape"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">ESCAPE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The events in the Hôtel de Paris at Nice, the -revelation in Monsieur de Vautrin's rooms, the -confession of Piquette Morin and the startling events -that immediately followed it were all bewildering. From -affection for Quinlevin, Moira had passed through the -stages of incredulity, doubt, and reassurance, and then at -Nora's downfall, dismay at her own position, and after -Quinlevin's brutal treatment of her, aversion and terror. -When he turned the key of her door and went with -Piquette into his own room, she threw herself into her chair, -aware of her dependence upon him, and yet ready to -run away and throw herself upon the mercy of the first -stranger that she could find. But the sounds that came -from behind the closed door fascinated her, the murmur -of conversation rising and falling, and then the strange -noises, heard indistinctly yet frightful in their -significance. The silence that followed, still more suggestive. -She shrank upon her bed in terror, shutting her ears -with her fingers. Then the renewal of the commotion, as -she raised her hands, her terror inquisitive for the -worst—the sound of blows, the grunts of men in struggle, and -then the falling of a body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tricot and Quinlevin—they were killing each other.... -That was the chief thought in her mind—that and -the imperative need of escape. She got up, trembling, -and went to the door, shooting the brass bolt, then turned, -catching up her coat and gloves. The door into the -corridor was locked but she could still go out through -Nora's room. She tried the other door, but found it -locked on the outside. She called Nora softly, then more -loudly, and heard the woman answer. Presently, by dint -of wild persuasion, she prevailed upon her old nurse to -open the door. Nora was red of face, disheveled, and -bewildered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it ye want, alanah?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must go—you must go with me," she stammered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For why? Isn't it enough I've been through this day -widout——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Moira pushed her way past the woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something dreadful has happened—in there," she -stammered, her face white, "I can't stay——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What then——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A fight—Mr. Quinlevin and Tricot——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman tried to restrain her but Moira flung -herself away and unlocked the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye'll not be lavin' me here alone," gasped Nora.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come then. Quickly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she fled out into the corridor, the woman following, -down the stairway and into the night.... The memory -of those dreadful hours of wandering with Nora along -the roads was like a dream in a fever, but after awhile -the physical exercise made her more calm and she was -able to explain to the frightened Irish woman what had -happened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her first impulse had been to flee from it all—to escape -anywhere—but without money where should she go? With -the return of reason came courage. And with courage -a resolve to go back and do what she could for Piquette -Morin. They would not have dared to kill her. It was -impossible. An impulse to tell the people of the hotel -what had happened came to her again, but as she turned -toward the gardens, followed heavily by the frightened -Nora, she resolved to go upstairs and face whatever was -in store for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What she found was rather terrifying at first, but when -she summoned nerve enough to turn on the light, she saw -two swaddled figures squirming to be free. Madame -Morin had vanished. With the help of Nora, who came -out of her state of coma when the facts were made -obvious, she liberated the two men and questioned eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"W-why didn't you—come before?" was Quinlevin's -reply. He was not pleasant to look at.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was frightened at the sounds. I ran away. What -has happened?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Isn't it obvious?" mumbled the Irishman, spitting out -a fragment of the cotton towel from his dry throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jim Horton!" gasped Moira.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The same—damn him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Need you guess?" he sneered. "They're well on the -road to Paris by now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God," said Moira fervently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her but said nothing. His feelings were -too deep for words.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>But the day following, Moira was to learn her -dependence upon him. He took little pains to conceal the -change of his feelings towards her, the suddenness of -which proclaimed only too insistently the fact that his -years of kindness were only the device Jim Horton had -proved them to be. On the way back to Paris he was for -the most part silent and morose, remaining much of the -time with the abominable Tricot, leaving Moira to the -tender mercies of her old nurse, who now shared with her -the Irishman's displeasure. It was indeed a sisterhood -of consolation and she saw that with the failure of the -great plan, Nora was much chastened by her experience, -for she sat and wailed in a most discomfiting manner, -confessing at last her share in the conspiracy and throwing -herself upon Moira's mercy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira was sorry for the woman who had brought her -safely through her baby diseases and acted as guide, -counselor and friend until it was time for her to go away -to boarding school. And so, mingled with the contempt -that Moira felt for her, there was a little pity too, and -a leaven of the old affection. In those moments of -rapprochement and confession, Moira learned in astonishment -the secret of her birth. Jim Horton had not been -mistaken. She was not the daughter of Barry Quinlevin, -but his niece, posthumous daughter of his younger -brother, whose widow had died in childbirth. Barry -Quinlevin's own wife, an invalid and bedridden, had acquiesced -in the plan of adopting the daughter of her sister-in-law, -but had not known in the few years before her own death -of the deception that was to be practiced upon Monsieur -de Vautrin. The community in which the families lived -was sparsely settled, the neighbors ignorant and -illiterate. If Monsieur de Vautrin had taken pains to make -inquiries at this time he must surely have discovered the -ruse, but he had apparently taken all things told him -for granted, or was too enwrapped in his own selfish -pursuits to give the case attention. So long as he was left to -the enjoyment of his fortune by the paying of the tribute -Quinlevin demanded, he was satisfied. And so Quinlevin -managed things in his own way, paying Nora for her -silence and keeping Moira in ignorance as to the source -of their income.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If Quinlevin guessed the nature of the conversation that -passed between the two women upon the train he gave no -sign of it, but when they reached Paris and returned to -the studio, he seemed to experience a change of heart -toward Moira, did what he could to restore the breach in -their old relations, admitting the truth of Nora's -confession and shrugging off his failure as a matter that was -ended. Apparently taking Moira's forgiveness for -granted, he treated her, in their new relation of uncle -and niece, with marked consideration, and planned in his -grandiose way for the future. He seemed to have plenty -of money and spent it upon her generously, but he did -not leave her for a moment. And when he proposed a -trip to Fontainebleau, a spot which in former years she -had loved to visit, he asked her to accompany him. Her -reasons for acquiescence were logical enough. Until she -decided upon a definite plan of separation from him, she -thought it wisest to assume an attitude of forbearance. -She wanted to go away somewhere where she could think -and she wanted to hide herself where Jim Horton couldn't -find her. For she was sure that he would not be content -to let their affair remain as she had desired it. He would -come pleading with her and then—God knows what she -would do. Alone, helpless—she was afraid—of herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little inn in the Forest where they stopped was not -far from the house of some friends of Moira's, and thither -if the opportunity offered, she could go for sanctuary. -But here again she felt the constant supervision of her -indomitable foster-father and uncle. He recovered some -of his old spirits and his old affection as he seemed to be -trying to obliterate from her memory the last few weeks -which had been so disastrous to them both. But she -accepted these marks of his regeneration with reserve, -enjoying the rest and recuperation and trying her best to -forget the man she loved, praying for strength and -guidance and planning the struggle for existence which must -begin when this brief interlude came to an end. And so -in a few days she lulled him into a sense of security and -convinced him of her spirit of resignation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wandered off alone into the forest, and sometimes -did not see him for hours at a time, but she did not -attempt escape. She was thinking deeply. She was still -afraid that an escape from Quinlevin meant the -other—the greater danger to her soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was upon her return from one of her solitary -pilgrimages through the dripping woods (for the early morn -had been foggy), that she learned that Barry Quinlevin -was still in bed. She smiled as she thought how easily -her acquiescence had disarmed him. But when she sent -up a message that she had returned he sent down word -that he would join her at </span><em class="italics">déjeuner</em><span>. Something of the -old attraction toward him still remained in spite of her -knowledge of his villainy. She had not yet been able to -obliterate from her mind the many years of his -encouragement in her work, his gentleness and the many marks -of affection. In his strange way he loved her, and the -fact that she now felt contempt for him did not disguise -the fact that she felt a little pity too. But she knew -that she must decide very soon what she would do. There -were so many years to set in the balance against the -present. Rogue? Yes. But full of consideration and -a lively appreciation of the creature that he had made -her. To cut him out of her life—root and branch—much -as she had learned to despise him, was not easy. But -she must do it—for her own self-respect—to-morrow—the -next day....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she thought of her problems she sank into an arm -chair by the fire and picked up a copy of a morning paper, -which a new visitor had just brought in from the city. It -was part of Moira's purpose in hiding herself from the -world to hide also the world from herself. But she picked -up the </span><em class="italics">Matin</em><span> and in a moment was absorbed in the -account of the projected Peace Conference.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But as she turned the page, her glance fell upon a -familiar name—many familiar names, and in a moment, her -eyes starting from her head, she read the dreadful -headlines:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>"MURDER IN A STUDIO IN THE QUARTIER. -<br />Captain Horton, U.S.A., killed under strange -<br />circumstances."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Then the news which followed, describing briefly (for -space was valuable) the known facts regarding the -mystery, the arrest of an American, James Horton, and a -French woman, Piquette Morin, pending a further -investigation of the mysterious crime. Apparently all the -facts in the possession of the police were given, which, -unless some other details of the mystery were discovered, -pointed the finger of suspicion at the American, who was -the twin brother of the dead man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira read with growing horror the familiar address, -the names of Madame Toupin and the other tenants, her -own name and Barry Quinlevin's, whose absence had added -to the mystery. The type danced before her eyes like the -shifting colors in a kaleidoscope and then became merged -and incomprehensible. Was she dreaming? With an -effort, she focused again upon the damnable page, aware -of this new crisis that had sought her out from the depths -of her retreat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Harry—dead——! murdered——! What had he been -doing at the studio? There must be some mistake. Harry -was at camp a hundred miles away—And Jim—Jim -Horton—his murderer. The thing was impossible!...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She got up, paper in hand, and scarcely aware of what -she was doing, went to her room and quickly put on her -hat and coat, coming down stairs a few moments later -and taking the road in the direction of the Railroad -Station. She had no definite plan except to escape her uncle -and get to Paris as quickly as possible. But she was -aware that some instinct was guiding her. She inquired -of the Station Agent when the Paris train was due. She -was lucky. There would be a train in half an hour. She -bought a ticket out of the slender means in her possession -and waited, going over and over in her mind the terrible -phrases which seemed already to have burned themselves -indelibly upon her memory. The motive for the crime? -There seemed to be none—"except that the two brothers -had not been friendly." Motive! Harry—her husband—and -Jim——! Holy Virgin! She leaned against a tree -by the roadside and wordlessly prayed. Not that -motive—not that! And Jim Horton—whatever the things -he had suffered through Harry, his own misplaced -gallantry, and through </span><em class="italics">her</em><span>, he was not the man who could -have done this thing. When she raised her head, listening -for the sounds of the train, a smile was on her lips, a -new smile of confidence and faith. She had tried him. -She knew the kind of man he was. He could fight, in the -open, as a brave man should, but not in the dark, not -with a dastardly blow for his own brother in the dark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the train came in she was calm again and resolved. -Whatever skill, whatever intelligence she had, was -to be dedicated to solving this mystery, and clearing Jim -Horton of all complicity in the murder. Her name was -mentioned. The police required her presence. She would -go to them and tell her whole story, neglecting nothing, -whatever it cost her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stared at the passing scenery with eyes that saw -nothing. But there was a frown at her brows and her -lips were drawn together in a firm line. She was beginning -to see with an inner vision, to turn over one by one -the events of the last few weeks and the motives of all -those concerned in them. The police did not know who -had committed this crime if Jim Horton were innocent. -The circumstances were such as to preclude the -possibility of any one escaping from the room. </span><em class="italics">And yet some -one must have been there and some one, somehow, must -have escaped</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Out of her own knowledge emerged a motive for a -murder—not of Harry, but of his brother—a motive that -had already been the cause of two abortive attempts upon -his life. Somehow this thought emerged with -photographic distinctness from the others, becoming at each -moment more definite and more full of sinister suggestion. -But a life, perhaps two lives, one of them Jim Horton's, -hung upon the keenness of her vision and intelligence. If -Monsieur Matthieu, the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, whose name had -been given in the </span><em class="italics">Matin</em><span>, was balked in getting at the -truth, she would help him. There were many things he -did not know, many things that she could tell him, such -as would perhaps open new vistas for investigation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Quite calmly now she took out the paper and re-read -the details, her imagination catching at neglected clues, -her instinct groping, and her horror grew—not at the -thought of Jim in his prison, but of other suspicions that -rose from every known fact and confronted her—pointing -accusing fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She passed between the white columns of the entrance -to the Palais de Justice, through the iron and gilt barrier -and then paused, but not in any fear, for her mind was -made up and her courage had come back to her with a -rush that put to shame her days of uncertainty. So she -approached one of the palace guards and asked to be -shown to the office of the </span><em class="italics">Prefet</em><span>. The </span><em class="italics">Prefet</em><span>, she was -informed, was not in the building. Would any one else do? -Was it upon a matter connected with the administration -of justice? She replied promptly that she came upon a -matter in connection with the murder mystery in the -studio at No. 7 Rue de Tavennes and the man pricked up -his ears, conducting her promptly up a long flight of -stone steps to the left, where he told her she would find -the </span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span>. And when in reply to his -question as to what name he should announce, she told him -that she was Madame Horton, his interest and activity -were intense. With a word to the </span><em class="italics">greffier</em><span> who stood near, -he disappeared through a door and in a moment returned -with two gentlemen who hurried forward to meet her, -introducing themselves as Monsieur Simon, the </span><em class="italics">Juge -d'Instruction</em><span>, who had taken charge of the investigation, and -Monsieur Matthieu, the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire de Police</em><span> for the -District in which the crime had been committed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She followed them through the door from which they -had emerged and answering their questions told her story -without hesitation, from the moment of her visit to Jim -Horton at the hospital at Neuilly until she had read in -the morning paper of the crime.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I came, Messieurs, because it was my duty to aid you -in clearing up this mystery, and because I know that -whatever the evidence you hold against him, Monsieur Horton -could never have been guilty of this crime."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Simon wagged his head sagely and plucked -with slender white fingers at his dark beard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are greatly indebted to you, Madame. Our agents -have been looking for you. No doubt they would have -found you in time, but it was wiser for you to come—much -wiser. Your story is interesting and may do much to -help Monsieur Matthieu in his investigation, but——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must admit, Madame," broke in the practical -</span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, who had a reputation at stake, "that -instead of tending to clear Monsieur Horton of suspicion, -you have only added one more thread to the net that -already enmeshes him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean, Monsieur?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His love for you—his dislike for your husband——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira flushed painfully. "I have told you the truth -of this matter because I believe that only by knowing the -whole truth will you be able to solve this mystery. If -Monsieur Horton tells you that the studio was empty, he -tells you what he believes to be the truth. Why, -otherwise, would he lie about a situation which must surely -condemn him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We have thought of all that, Madame," said Monsieur -Simon, "and I am willing to admit that there are several -points in his testimony which are very puzzling. We -have only finished his examination and that of -Madame Morin, which have lasted the greater part of the -morning. Both he and Madame Morin have repeated -without the slightest divergence the testimony taken in the -preliminary examination at the scene of the crime. I am -glad to say also that their statements confirm in a -general way your own in regard to what has happened in the -affair of the Duc de Vautrin. The entire department of -Police is now upon a search for Monsieur Barry -Quinlevin and the man named Tricot, who will, of course, be -given the opportunity to explain where they were last -night at eight o'clock. An agent goes at once to -Fontainebleau. But that does not exonerate Monsieur -Horton or Madame Morin. A man has been killed in a room -from which the murderer could not have emerged without -detection. The door to the sleeping apartments was -locked, the key on the outside, the window was sixty feet -from the stone flagging below. The window and wall were -carefully studied this morning after daybreak. The -murderer could not have climbed down. It is impossible. -Monsieur Horton admits that he did not escape by the -stair. How then did he escape? The doors have been -guarded. He is not there now nor did Monsieur Horton -discover him either before or after the murder——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet he was there, Monsieur Simon——" said -Moira, her voice gathering strength and clearness from -the depth of her faith and conviction. "He was there, -</span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>," she repeated, "all the time. -Nothing else is possible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu tapped his eyeglasses upon the -palm of his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should be very willing to believe you, Madame," he -said, with polite scepticism, "had I not ocular -demonstration that there could have been no one in the room at -any moment between the arrival of Monsieur Horton and -Madame Morin and the alarm given by Monsieur Horton -himself. I have not yet exhausted every avenue of -investigation, but I need not conceal from you the extreme -danger of the position in which Monsieur Horton finds -himself. We have a motive for the crime. Even you, -Madame, have only added testimony as to that. With -his brother dead, there was no obstacle to your -unfortunate affection——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur——!" Moira had drawn back from him in -dismay, her face blanched again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I seem cruel, I only speak with the cold logic of the -professional analyst of human motives. The fact that -you are a Catholic and opposed to divorce only provides -another reason why your husband should be removed from -the path of Monsieur Horton——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Everything that Moira had said seemed to be weaving -more tightly the skein of evidence around the man she -loved. And this thinking machine in the eyeglasses, -grasped only at the threads that seemed to incriminate -him. And what of the other evidence that she had -presented—would they disregard that? She was trying to -think clearly, connectedly, and presently managed to put -her thoughts into words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you discovered how or why Monsieur Jim Horton -happened to be at the studio and why if he was bent -upon the murder of his own brother he took Madame -Morin as a witness——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or accessory——" put in Monsieur Matthieu sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is absurd——" broke in Moira with some spirit, -"and you know it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Simon nodded approval.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am glad you have made that point, Madame. It is -our trade to make our witnesses uncomfortable that -they may controvert themselves. But you have probed -quite straight. And instead of answering your question, -permit me to ask you another. Did you send a </span><em class="italics">Petit -Bleu</em><span> to Monsieur Horton requesting him to come to your -studio last night at eight o'clock?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The expression upon Moira's face showed so genuine -an astonishment that there could be no doubting the -sincerity of her reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I? No, Monsieur Simon. I was at Fontainebleau. -Why should I ask him to come to the studio when I was -not there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two men exchanged glances of new interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Both Monsieur Horton and Madame Morin testify -that Monsieur Horton received such a message."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira started forward in her chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did that message say, Messieurs?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Simon took the blue slip from a packet of -papers and laid it before her. With eyes dilated, she read -the message that was signed with her name. Then for a -moment frowned deeply, staring at this confirmation of -her suspicion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think, Madame?" asked Simon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira was silent for a moment, struggling for the -mastery of her emotions. And then in a suppressed tone, -barely audible,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is as I supposed, Messieurs. Monsieur Jim Horton -was lured to the studio by this message and—my -husband—was killed by mistake in his stead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By whom, Madame?" asked the Judge quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira made a nervous gesture of recantation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I do not know. It is horrible to suspect without -further proof. I—I cannot say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Quinlevin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's impossible. He was at Fontainebleau."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then who——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's for you to find out. I did not come to accuse—but -to liberate. Search! Find! Let their own words -convict them," she said wildly. "I cannot. I only know -that Monsieur Horton did not kill my husband. That is -impossible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu, who had listened for most of the -while in silence, now rose and took a pace or two before -her, tapping his glasses quickly against his palm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame Horton, let us confine ourselves to the physical -evidence that confronts us. </span><em class="italics">No one could have been -in that studio between the moment when Monsieur Jim -Horton and Madame Morin say they left it until they -say they returned some moments later</em><span>. That is the fact. -I know. It is my business to neglect nothing. I </span><em class="italics">have</em><span> -neglected nothing. Therefore I tell you that no matter -whom you suspect to have committed this murder, no -matter whom Monsieur Simon or I might believe to have -had a motive in committing it, the fact remains that he -could not have entered the studio or departed from it -during the short period in which this crime was -committed. And I say to you now that </span><em class="italics">no human being -except Monsieur Horton could have been present to -commit this murder</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet," said Moira desperately, "a human being -other than Monsieur Horton killed my husband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu shrugged and smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have not investigated as I have done, Madame," -he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Monsieur. But I am right," she said firmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are persistent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is my duty to find the truth of this matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And mine—but not to achieve the impossible——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Simon, whose nervous fingers had been caressing -his dark beard, while his small deep-set eyes followed -the changing emotions in Moira's troubled face, now broke -into the discussion with some spirit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not safe, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>, to disregard -the intuitions of a woman. In this case, since we have -weighed all immediate evidence, perhaps it would be wise -to give Madame Horton the opportunity of confirming to -her own satisfaction the results of your investigation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu smiled and shrugged again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Volontiers</em><span>, Monsieur, if you think it worth while."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At least it can do no harm. Madame Horton is -familiar with her own studio. Perhaps she may notice -something that has escaped your eye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is that which you desire, Madame?" asked the Judge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, thanks, Monsieur," uttered Moira gratefully. "I -could not be satisfied, even after the skill of </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le -Commissaire</em><span>, unless I had probed this mystery with my -own eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, then, Madame. There is still time. We shall -go at once."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-clue"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE CLUE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The body of Harry Horton had been removed from -the studio and this it seemed made Moira's task -less painful. But she was now armed with a -desperate courage which even the sight of Harry's mangled -body would not have dismayed. And the thought that -her keenness of perception, her intelligence, her woman's -instinct were the only weapons she had with which to -combat the scepticism of this skillful detective and save Jim -Horton from the perils of impending indictment for -murder, gave her a sense of responsibility which keyed her -faculties to their utmost and drove from her heart all -terrors of her situation. She </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> succeed where Monsieur -Matthieu had failed. Instinct would guide her, instinct -and faith. Monsieur Matthieu, if not her enemy, was -prejudiced in favor of a pre-conceived idea which every -bit of evidence justified, and yet there must be other -evidence—clues neglected, trifles overlooked—and she must -find them out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The burden of the testimony against Jim Horton would -fall if she could prove it physically possible </span><em class="italics">for some one -to have been in the studio while Jim Horton and Piquette -had waited outside</em><span>. This was her object—nothing else -seemed to matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the way to the Rue de Tavennes in a cab Monsieur -Simon replied politely to her questions, giving her all the -information she desired, while Monsieur Matthieu sat -opposite. How she hated the man! His smile patronized, -his reddish hair inflamed her. She could see that in his -mind Jim Horton was already convicted. But when they -reached the </span><em class="italics">porte cochère</em><span> of Madame Toupin, Monsieur -Simon handed her gravely down and Monsieur Matthieu -led the way up the stair to the studio where a policeman -was still on guard. Moira followed the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> -closely and stood for a moment on the threshold of the -room while Monsieur Matthieu unbent enough to show -her where the body lay and to indicate the locked door -and the chair which had been overturned. To Moira -these matters were already unimportant, since she saw -no reason to deny the testimony of the many witnesses -on these points. She entered the room slowly, with a -feeling of some awe, and for a moment stood by the -fireplace, glancing from one object to the other, thinking -deeply. A dark stain on the rug, just before her, gave -her a tremor, but she recovered herself immediately and -walked slowly around the room, examining each object -as though she had never seen it before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does Madame wish to look in the apartment or the -kitchenette?" she heard Monsieur Matthieu's voice asking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she shook her head. The answer to the mystery -lay here—in this very room. She was already satisfied -as to that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this room in the precise condition in which it was -found when the police first arrived?" she asked coolly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame, except for the removal of the body, -nothing has been disturbed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are sure of this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am, Madame. It is for this reason that a -policeman has been always on guard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you yourself, Monsieur,—you have moved no -object—no drapery—no chair?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Madame. Nothing. I climbed upon the couch -to look out of the window. That is all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded and passed around the lay figure which -she was regarding with a new interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the gray drapery on the shoulder of the lay -figure—you say it has not been touched?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu looked up with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I examined the figure carefully, Madame. I may have -raised the drapery—but I restored it as I found it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then things are not precisely as they were," she said -keenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Madame. Not the gray drapery," said Matthieu -amusedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You did not touch the bolero jacket?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor the skirt?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am quite sure of that," said the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She removed the hat from the head of </span><em class="italics">papier maché</em><span> -and examined it minutely, then took off the head itself -and stared into the painted eyes as though asking the -mute familiar lips a question. And then suddenly, as the -</span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> and Monsieur Simon watched curiously,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a pity that you moved the draperies, Monsieur -Matthieu," she said slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you have disturbed the dust."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't understand why——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was away for a week. Some dust would have -accumulated, upon the draperies—the figure has been -touched. It is not as I left it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, Madame, I made a thorough investigation——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did you learn from it?" she asked quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu glanced at her once and then -shrugged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing, Madame. A lay figure is a lay figure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True," said Moira carelessly, but the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> -found himself regarding her with a new appraising eye. -What did she mean by this question?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she moved past him quickly as though with a -definite purpose, and approached the north window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which of these sashes was unlocked, Monsieur?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The one to the right, Madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see. You say it was closed but not fastened?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is correct."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is strange."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I fastened it with great care before I left -for Fontainebleau."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are sure of this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Positive. It has an awkward catch. You see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she demonstrated how easily it came unlatched -unless pressed firmly down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu came forward smiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You only indicate, Madame, that it will slip easily out -of place."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira met his gaze firmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Try to make it slip, Monsieur," she said, "since I -have fastened it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He tried by tapping—by shaking the window, but the -catch held.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a matter of little moment," he muttered, "since -it would be impossible for the murderer to have escaped -by this way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps," said Moira.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But while she spoke she unlocked the catch, then slipped -it insecurely into place and stood aside, studying it keenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it that interests you, Madame?" asked the -</span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The catch, Monsieur," she replied quietly. "It is an -old one. The edges are worn quite smooth." And just -then as a breeze came from without, the French window -swung gently open.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu started back a pace and glanced at -Monsieur Simon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You found this window open, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>," -said the Judge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is true," replied the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> confidently, -"but it is possible that Monsieur Horton may have -disturbed it when he examined it before the murder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira turned quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The window was securely locked. I left it so. -Monsieur Horton found it so. You make nothing of this, -either, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu shook his head and pointed toward -the opening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My answer to your questions, Madame, is yonder," -he said with a grin. "Explain to me how any living man -could have descended from that window and I will -surrender to you my position and my reputation as -</span><em class="italics">Commissaire de Police</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira made no reply. She had climbed upon the couch -and was already half out of the window, examining the -broad ledge outside, while Monsieur Simon, somewhat -alarmed lest she should lose her balance, had caught her -by the skirt of her dress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be careful, Madame," he warned, "you may fall."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have no fear, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Juge</em><span>," she said with a -smile. But she had lowered herself to her knees upon the -ledge outside and clinging to the jamb of the window was -carefully examining every inch of the sill and tin gutter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu, inside the room, had lighted a -cigarette and was puffing at it contentedly, looking on -with an amused tolerance at the solicitude of Monsieur -Simon, who as he knew was more easily swayed than -himself from the paths of his duty by a pretty face or a -well-turned ankle. Through the panes of glass he saw -that the girl had bent forward at the edge, her eyes near -the tin gutter, the fingers of one hand touching the edge, -while Monsieur Simon held her other arm and besought -her to return. This she did presently, standing for a -moment upright in the open window and looking down at -them intently, a challenge in her eyes for the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you discover anything, Madame?" he asked -politely enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Though his professional manner may not have indicated -it, Monsieur Matthieu was sorry for her. She had -attempted the impossible. Her lover was doomed. But -she was handsome—with the fine color that had come into -her face from her exertions, and the new gleam of hope -that had come into her eyes—handsome, but her effort -was futile, so futile to hope to find clues where he, -Matthieu, had failed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She didn't reply and accepting the hand which the gallant -</span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span> offered her, stepped down to the -couch and so to the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, Madame," ventured the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> more -kindly, "that it would be quite out of the question for -the murderer to have descended from the window."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have never thought that he did, Monsieur," said -Moira dryly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> stared at her for a moment in -astonishment. What was the meaning of this sudden -assurance in her tone? Could it be possible that this girl had -noted something that he had overlooked? That she had -evolved a theory out of some intangible bit of evidence -that had escaped him? Impossible. And yet curiously -enough, he experienced a slight feeling of uneasiness which -might have been discomfort had he not been so sure of -himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have perhaps happened upon something that has -escaped my eye?" he asked frankly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know what your eye saw or what it did not -see, Monsieur," she said quietly, "but I have learned -nothing to make me change my opinions as to this crime."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope that you will be able to confirm them," said the -</span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>. "If there is anything that I can do——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur," broke in Moira with precision. "If -</span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Juge d'Instruction</em><span> will grant permission," -with a flash of her eyes at Monsieur Simon, "I would be -obliged if you will summon for me Monsieur Joubert or -any others in the building who followed Monsieur Horton -up the stair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced at Monsieur Simon, who bowed his head -in agreement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By all means," said the Judge, "if Madame has reason -to believe——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask it, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Juge</em><span>, not as a favor, but as a -necessary step in the administration of justice in this -case."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is little enough. Go, Monsieur. Here are the -names. Madame Toupin will direct you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu hesitated. He did not wish to leave -the room. Something had happened to change the manner -of this woman. Her eyes glowed—she was -authoritative—inspired. He was beginning to believe -that after all...</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will please go at once, Monsieur," the voice of -the Judge was saying. "Madame and I will await your -return."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so with a backward glance, Monsieur Matthieu -went out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think you have found a clue, Madame?" asked -Monsieur Simon with an air of encouragement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know, Monsieur—a hope—perhaps a vain one. -But you are friendly. You shall see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And crossing quickly in front of him she went directly -to the lay figure and examined it minutely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This old skirt, Monsieur, as you will observe, is -fastened by buttons and is somewhat twisted to one side."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This was the first thing that attracted my attention. -But one button holds it, and it is fastened at the wrong -button-hole."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what does that signify?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Merely that it has been tampered with—I did not -fasten it in this way, Monsieur," she said positively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are sure?" Monsieur Simon was now as eager -as she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Absolutely. I am a leisurely person. I have done all -the cleaning in this studio myself. I am careful in small -matters. It would have been impossible for me to have -fastened these buttons as you see them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sapristi</em><span>! Madame—And you think——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused as Moira unbuttoned the old skirt and -slipped it down while she moved eagerly around the -partially disrobed figure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur!" she gasped in sudden excitement as she -pointed to the cotton covering of the mannikin. He -looked where she pointed and saw a stain of dirt and -dust which extended the full length of the thigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does it mean?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The lay figure has been moved from its iron bracket——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And even so, what——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she had fallen on her knees before it and didn't even -hear him, for she suddenly bent forward with a little -cry and put her finger into a small tear in the cotton -cloth on the outside of the right calf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have it," she muttered excitedly, as though half to -herself. "I have it—new—clean on one side, soiled on the -other——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, Madame—what?" asked Simon, catching the -fire of her eagerness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The hole in the leg, Monsieur," she cried. "Don't you -see? A piece torn out against some rough surface——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And here is the cloth that was torn from it," she -gasped, exhibiting a small piece of cotton cloth. "You -see? It fits the tear exactly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Simon took it from her hands and scrutinized it through -his glasses. The torn piece was of the same material -as the cotton skin of the lay figure, soiled upon one side -and clean upon the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did you find this piece of cotton, Madame?" -he asked in a suppressed tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Outside the window—hanging below a torn edge of the -tin gutter, where it must have escaped the eyes of -</span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Mon Dieu</em><span>! Then the lay figure must have been -outside on the ledge——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly. Outside. The stain of dust upon the leg -shows how it lay——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Magnifique</em><span>, Madame——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the skirt and the jacket were first removed," she -went on breathlessly. "Isn't it obvious? Otherwise there -would have been no stain of dirt upon the leg. There is -no mark of dirt upon them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quick, Madame. The jacket——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And with his own hands the Judge helped her remove -the Spanish jacket, taking from his pocket a small -magnifying glass with which he examined the figure intently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the armpits, Monsieur Simon. It is there the -hands would have caught."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Simon obeyed while Moira lifted the arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's something," he muttered softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A stain," broke in Moira quickly. "I can see it with -the naked eye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a faint smudge, of a brownish color like rust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The print of a finger?" she mumbled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It shall be analyzed. It looks like——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The murderer's fingers—stained——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it is blood, Madame——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then the murderer carried this figure back—</span><em class="italics">after</em><span> -the murder——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly. And he——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused and then was suddenly silent, for Monsieur -Matthieu, the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, appeared at the door of the -studio. He came quickly forward, glancing at the -denuded mannikin in the absurd pose of gesticulation into -which they had put it. It seemed to be making a ribald -gesture at the astonished </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have left nothing to the imagination, I see, -Madame." And then, "You have discovered something?" -he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps," said Moira briefly. "You have been able -to find some of the witnesses?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Madame. The most important. But it would -give me pleasure to know——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In a moment, Monsieur. I am intent upon this problem. -Perhaps we shall learn something. It is Monsieur -Joubert that I wished to see particularly. He is a -carpenter and lives in the court at the rear——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is he I have found, Madame." And turning aside, -Matthieu beckoned toward the corridor, and Monsieur -Joubert entered. He was well known to Moira and saluted -her, his brow troubled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Bon jour</em><span>, Monsieur Joubert," she said, trying to control -the beating of her heart and the labor of her -breathing, for here she knew was to be the test of the worth -of her discoveries. Everything that she believed, would -stand or fall by the testimony of the people who had -followed Jim Horton up the stair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Bon jour</em><span>, Madame 'Orton," said the carpenter politely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where were you, Monsieur," she began, "when you -heard Monsieur Horton's cry of alarm?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the court below, Madame. I was standing with -Monsieur Lavaud, the pastry cook, at the angle of the -wall just inside the </span><em class="italics">Loge</em><span> of Madame Toupin——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when you heard the cries what did you do?" asked -the girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I waited a moment in fear and then with Monsieur -Lavaud went toward the entrance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Were there some others there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oui, Madame</em><span>. A number of persons came running -into the court. They seemed to spring from the earth as -if by magic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And were you among the first to rush up the stair?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oui, Madame</em><span>. There were but two or three before me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And whom did you find on the second landing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur 'Orton and a lady who told us that a murder -had been committed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you went with him up the stair?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur. A policeman had come rushing in, and -we all mounted to the third floor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was it dark out there on the third floor landing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not dark, but dim. The studio door was open and -threw a light outside."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did you do then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some rushed into the studio. We were all greatly -excited. I stood in the hallway. Some went to the small -hall room, the door of which was partly open."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was dark inside the hall room?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oui, Madame</em><span>—dark."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have testified that one of the crowd went into -the small hall room and came out saying that no one was -there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Non, Madame</em><span>. No one was there. I and Monsieur -Lavaud went into the room, made a light and verified the -statement of the man who had come out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira clasped and unclasped her hands nervously, and -when she spoke again her throat was dry with uncertainty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Joubert, you will please listen very carefully -to my question and try to answer very accurately."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oui, Madame</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You say that one of the crowd who had come up the -stair with you examined the room. Did you see him -come out of the door?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oui, Madame</em><span>. I saw him come out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused significantly, and then, with emphasis,</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you see him </span><em class="italics">go in</em><span>, Monsieur Joubert?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Joubert stared at her stupidly for a moment, and -Monsieur Matthieu and the Judge leaned forward, aware of -the intent of the question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the man did not reply, it was the </span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span> -who broke the silence impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes, Monsieur Joubert," he questioned sharply, -"</span><em class="italics">did you see him go in?</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The truth—Monsieur Joubert," gasped Moira.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Joubert scratched his head and snuffled his feet awkwardly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Madame. I can't really say that I did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did any of the others see him go in?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here Monsieur Simon broke in quietly. "Pardon, Madame! -But that is a question the other witnesses must -answer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira glanced at him and then at Monsieur Matthieu.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you can inform me, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>," -she said. "Have any of the witnesses who testified to -seeing this man come out of the door also testified to seeing -him go in?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Many persons went into the room, Madame——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Later</em><span>, Monsieur," she broke in quickly. "</span><em class="italics">Later</em><span>, after -this man who had come out had mingled with the crowd -and gone down the stair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu started.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame!" he gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen, Monsieur Joubert," she went on earnestly, -"and answer me truthfully, for the life of a human being -hangs on your replies. Did you know some of the people -in the crowd who rushed up the stair?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As to that—</span><em class="italics">oui, Madame</em><span>," said Joubert more easily. -"Most of them I knew—they are of the neighborhood. -Monsieur Lavaud, Monsieur Picard of the </span><em class="italics">Lavoir</em><span>, -Monsieur Gabriel and others——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But this man who came out of the door of the hall -room," she insisted clearly. "You had never seen him -before?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Joubert shrugged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now that you mention it, Madame, I think that is the -truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you sure that you never saw him in the neighborhood?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Madame. I never saw him in this neighborhood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira gasped in relief, aware that the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, -from contempt, from indifference, had been reduced to the -silence of consternation. She saw it in his face and in the -eyes of Monsieur Simon, who stood beside her, listening -in admiration and ready to aid her with advice or question. -He was on her side now. But she was reserving her -strongest stroke for the last and she delivered it with -growing assurance, for in her heart all along she had -known through whom and by whom the murder must have -been committed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Joubert," she asked coolly, "you say the -light was dim in the corridor. Was it too dark for you -to see what the man who came out of the door looked -like?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was dim, Madame. But I remember him perfectly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You could identify him, if you saw him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think so, Madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good. Perhaps I can describe him to you, Monsieur -Joubert. He was not a large man, he was smaller than -you, with broad but bent shoulders, long arms like an -ape's, which reached nearly to his knees, a thin face, small -black eyes, a nose like the beak of an eagle——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Joubert had started back in astonishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is he, Madame! You have described him——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when he walked he had a slight limp of the left -leg——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A limp, Madame. It is true," cried Joubert, "the -very same. He limped. I saw it as he came forward——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That will be all, Monsieur Joubert," said Moira wearily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And when the man had gone out she turned to Monsieur -Simon with a smile of triumph. "Have I made out a -case, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Juge</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Parfaitement, Madame</em><span>. But the murderer——?" he urged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She grew grave at once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The man I have described is Monsieur Tricot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two men exchanged glances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We have already taken steps. He will be found, -Madame," said the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>. "All the police of Paris -are on his trail."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I pray God you may find him," said Moira quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And even if we do not, Madame," said Monsieur -Simon, "you have created already a reasonable doubt." And -then, with a mischievous look toward Monsieur Matthieu, -"But I think perhaps it would be as well if you took -</span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span> into your confidence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu, aware of the position the </span><em class="italics">Juge -d'Instruction</em><span> had now taken, was silent, but still -incredulous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should like to hear the other facts upon which you -base this testimony," he said slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Simon waved his hand toward the mannikin, -its frozen gesture now almost prophetic. "Tell </span><em class="italics">Monsieur -le Commissaire</em><span> what happened in this room as you have -traced it, Madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira glanced at the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span>, who bowed his head -in an attitude of attention, which had in it not a little -of humility.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The murderer lay in wait for Monsieur Jim Horton," -said Moira. "There is no doubt in my mind as to that. -The </span><em class="italics">Petit Bleu</em><span> was the lure, this studio the trap. The -affair had been planned with skill. The motive was -vengeance, and a desire to prevent certain papers from -reaching the hands of Monsieur le Duc de Vautrin. This -man Tricot was already in the studio when Monsieur -Horton and Madame Morin arrived. Perhaps </span><em class="italics">Monsieur -le Commissaire</em><span> has already guessed where."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on, Madame," said Matthieu gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He had taken the clothing from the mannikin and -put the lay figure out in the darkness on the ledge outside -the north window. Then he went and stood in the place -of the lay figure. He had put on the old skirt and bolero -jacket, and slouch hat, and about his shoulders was the -gray drapery. He had only to remain silent and motionless. -He was prepared to spring upon and stab Monsieur -Jim Horton when his back was turned, but the appearance -of Madame Morin disconcerted him. He had counted on -a quick death without an outcry. Madame Morin knew -him. He did not dare to attempt to kill them both. And -so he waited."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Saperlotte!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Horton and Madame Morin examined the -studio in curiosity and then went out into the hall, now -suspicious that all was not as it should be. Monsieur -Tricot did not dare to go until he was sure that they had -gone. He was about to take his leave when he heard a -man's footsteps upon the stair and went back to his -position on the model stand. The man entered. He thought -that it was Monsieur Jim Horton come back alone. But -it was not Jim Horton. It was my husband, Harry -Horton, his twin brother. The testimony shows that their -clothing was much alike. Their faces were the same. -Tricot saw my husband's face for a moment under the -low gas light as he came in the door, locking it behind -him. God knows why my—my husband was here. I -don't. He came to spend the night perhaps—to wait for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused, breathing hard, her words scarcely audible. -But a word from Monsieur Simon encouraged her again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This Tricot is desperate and very strong. He sprang -upon my husband and killed him. But there was a sound -of struggle and the noise of a falling body which -Monsieur Jim Horton and his companion heard from the door -of the room in the hall. They came out. And weapon in -hand, Jim Horton, after several minutes, broke in the -door. But by this time the murderer had taken his place -again as the lay figure, just as he stood when they had -first entered the room. In their horror at their discovery -they passed him by and rushed down the stair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then, Madame?" nodded the Commissaire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He ran quickly to the window, outside which he had -put my lay figure, dragged it in hurriedly, dressed it in -its clothing and restored it to its place, then ran out and -hid in the darkness of the hall room, intending to leap out -to the roof below. But he did not dare it with his injured -leg, resorting to the clever device which I have indicated -to you, of going out when the crowd swarmed excitedly -up to the studio door, and announcing that no one was -there. Then, Messieurs, in a moment he had mingled with -the crowd and was gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And how did you learn this, Madame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By a trifle which even your experienced eyes had -overlooked. This, Monsieur——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she produced the small piece of torn cotton cloth -from her pocket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was torn from the mannikin upon a projecting -piece of tin and hung from the gutter outside. You have -only to apply it to the leg of the mannikin, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le -Commissaire</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bewildered police officer took the small object and -turned it over in his fingers, then went to the lay figure -while Monsieur Simon showed him the stains at the arm -pits and upon the thigh, explaining the line of reasoning -the girl had employed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He raised his head and looked at her, but his voice was -that of a broken man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My honor—my reputation, are in your keeping, -Madame," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Moira caught him by the hands in an access of -generosity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I render them to you, Monsieur. If </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Juge</em><span> -keeps silent, you may be sure that I shall do so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are very good, Madame——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not your fault. You were not familiar with the -studio as I was. And besides—you were doing your duty, -while I—it was my life, my whole happiness, that was -involved."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what can I do to repay you, Madame?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Find Monsieur Tricot!" she cried with spirit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Monsieur Quinlevin?" asked the Judge quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira glanced at them, then sank upon the couch and -buried her head in her arms, but she did not reply. She -could not. She had reached the end of her resources.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Simon bent over and touched her kindly on -the shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You had better be going and getting some rest, -Madame. If you will permit me. I am sure that Madame -Simon will be glad if you will let me bring you to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira looked up at the dark stain upon the floor, the -terrible mannikin, and then rose. There were tears in -her voice as she gave the </span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span> her hand in -gratitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, thanks, Monsieur, you are very kind. If it will -not trouble you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And leaving the theater of her life's drama to the -solitary policeman on guard, she followed the charitable -Monsieur Simon down the stair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu had already disappeared.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-conclusion"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">CONCLUSION</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Jim Horton passed the night pacing the floor of -his prison, and his interrogation by Monsieur -Simon, the </span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span>, with the assistance of -the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire de Police</em><span> in the morning gave him little -hope of release. The examination was severe, but his -inquisitors had not been able, of course, to shake his -testimony and had left his cell more puzzled than when they -had entered it. But he had sense enough to see that -unless it were proven possible for some one to have been -in the studio to commit the murder all the evidence must -point to him. And yet he could not help them, nor could -he suggest a line of investigation. He was still -completely in the dark about the whole tragic affair and could -scarcely blame them for their uncompromising attitude -toward himself—and poor Piquette—toward her also. He -sat upon the edge of his cot for hours after the examination, -his head in his hands, trying to evolve some possible -explanation of the mystery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A more encouraging affair was the visit in the late -afternoon of a captain of the regular army of the United -States, representing the Judge Advocate General's -office, who interviewed him in the presence of an officer of -the </span><em class="italics">Prefet de Police</em><span>. And in the course of this investigation -Jim Horton learned of Harry's second defection from -the army which had resulted in his horrible death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Captain Waring questioned shrewdly, but Jim Horton -now needed no encouragement or threat to reveal the -whole truth, for, whatever happened to him at the hands -of the </span><em class="italics">Prefet de Police</em><span>, he knew that there was nothing -left for him but to throw himself upon the mercy of the -Army officials. And so he told the whole story, from the -moment when as Corporal of Engineers, he had heard the -Infantry Major's instructions to his brother, of his -meeting with Harry, of his effort to save his brother's name -and position by attempting to carry out the Major's -orders, the changing of uniforms, the fight at Boissière -Wood, the hospital, and the events that had followed in -Paris, leaving out what references he could to Harry's -wife, and palliating where he could his brother's offenses -against the military law.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From sternness, he saw Captain Waring's expression -change to interest, from interest to sympathy, and to -Horton's surprise, when the officer finished taking the -testimony, he extended his hand frankly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have committed a military offense, Corporal -Horton. But your story has impressed me. It can be easily -verified. I will do what I can for you at Headquarters. -It was </span><em class="italics">your Croix de Guerre</em><span>, you see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, sir," said Jim, "but it looks as though -I'm in a bad position here. Do you think I could have -done this horrible thing, sir? Do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said the Captain, "but sit tight, Corporal. I -think you'll find that things will turn out all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What did the man mean? Jim Horton followed his -neatly fitting uniform out of the cell with his gaze and -then, more mystified than ever at this mingling of good -fortune and bad, sank again upon his cot to try and think -it out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he was no sooner seated than the man who had done -the most to put him where he was, Monsieur Matthieu, the -</span><em class="italics">Commissaire de Police</em><span>, again entered the cell. His -manner during the examination by the </span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span> in -the morning had been aggressive—Horton's ordeal had -been most unpleasant, the French counterpart of what -he had heard of in his own country as the "Third -Degree." But Monsieur Matthieu's ugly face was now -almost kindly, its expression quite calm. And while Horton -wondered what was the meaning of the visit the -</span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> explained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Evidence has been introduced into this case, -Monsieur, which somewhat changes its complexion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! You have found Tricot? Or Quinlevin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—not yet, Monsieur. But we have hopes. The -evidence came from another quarter. We believe that the -</span><em class="italics">apache</em><span> committed this crime."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton couldn't restrain a gasp of relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is only what I told you, Monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Matthieu nodded. "But you will not blame -us for not accepting, with some reserve, the testimony of -a person in your position."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who has testified, Monsieur?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madame Horton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And in a few words he described the line of procedure -which had resulted in the discovery of the part the lay -figure had played in the tragedy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira had come to the rescue! Moira—whose eyes, it -seemed, had been keener than his own, keener even than -those of this veteran detective. And amazement at the -simplicity of the device, and the ease with which it had been -put into practice, made him dumb.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is always so, Monsieur. The mysteries which seem -most difficult to solve are always the simplest in -conception."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Tricot did not invent this crime, Monsieur. The -</span><em class="italics">apache</em><span> is shrewd, but the brain that conceived this -plan——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe you now, Monsieur. But I'm afraid that he -will not be easy to catch. He was at Fontainebleau last -night and this morning. It was his alibi. When my men -reached there, he had gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Tricot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is as to Tricot that I wished to see you. We have -watched the house in the Rue Charron. Every haunt of -men of his type is under observation. I thought perhaps -that you might give us a further clue."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Émile Pochard should know. Pochard in the Rue -Dalmon—under arrest he may talk——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good, Monsieur. The help that you give us will make -your deliverance the more speedy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know nothing more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You understand, it is not possible to release you until -the evidence is more definitely confirmed. But I will do -what I can for your comfort and convenience."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks. And for Madame Morin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Monsieur. She is, I think, now quite contented."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> departed as rapidly as he had -entered. Presently Jim Horton lay down at full length -on his bed—the first time since he had been shown into -the cell. Everything would be right. He knew it. And -it was Moira who had come from her retreat at the first -news of his trouble and Piquette's to help them. Behind -the reserve of Monsieur Matthieu's disclosures he had read -that it was Moira's will—her intelligence that had been -matched against that of the </span><em class="italics">Commissaire</em><span> and Barry -Quinlevin, her instinct—her faith in him that had drawn her -unerringly to the neglected clues. Where was she? -Would she come to him now? Or was the hypnotic spell -of Barry Quinlevin still upon her? He stared into the -darkness, thinking of the tragedy of Moira's life, and -the greater tragedy of his brother Harry's. But in spite -of the terrible climax of Harry's strange career and his -own unwitting part in it, Jim Horton found himself -repeating Moira's wild words, "No divorce—but death——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And this was the divorce that neither of them had wished -for nor dreamed of. But Destiny, which had woven the -threads of Harry's life and Moira's and his together for -awhile, had destroyed the imperfect tissue—to begin anew. -In a while Jim Horton slept, soundly, dreamlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The morning dragged heavily and no one came to his -cell. It almost seemed that Monsieur Matthieu had -forgotten him and it was not until the afternoon that he was -again conducted to the room in which his examination and -Piquette's had taken place. There he was brought face -to face with the </span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span>, who shook him by the -hand and informed him that word had just been received -that the </span><em class="italics">apache</em><span>, Tricot, had been captured and in charge -of Monsieur Matthieu was to be brought at once to -confront the witnesses. Monsieur Simon informed him that -a partial confession having been extracted from Tricot, -the case was simplified and that there seemed little doubt -that he would be restored to freedom in a few hours. -While disposing of some other cases, Monsieur Matthieu -showed the prisoner into the inner room, where Piquette -had preceded him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were both still technically prisoners, but that did -not prevent Piquette from springing up from beside her -guard and rushing to meet him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, </span><em class="italics">mon</em><span> Jeem!" she cried joyfully. "I knew it could -not be for long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette! They're going to set us free!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oui, mon brave</em><span>. An' 'ave you not 'eard? It is -Madame 'Orton who 'as make de way clear? Dey -capture' Tricot an hour ago in a cellar out near de </span><em class="italics">Porte -Maillot</em><span>. You may know dat I am 'appy. Gr——!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she made a queer little sound of repulsion in her -throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Quinlevin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Escape'—gone! Dey cannot find him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sat beside her and they talked while they waited.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you going to do, Piquette?" he asked, after -awhile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do? Jus' go on living, </span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>. What else?" she -replied calmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to help you to get away from </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>, Piquette——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Sapristi</em><span>! I need no 'elp for dat. Don' worry, </span><em class="italics">mon -ami</em><span>. I s'all be 'appy——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not with Monsieur——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed rather harshly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, la la! You are not de on'y man in de worl'——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then, as she saw the look of pain in his eyes, she -caught him by the arm again. "You </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> de on'y man in -de worl'—for 'er—</span><em class="italics">mon vieux</em><span>, but not for me. You t'ink -of me? </span><em class="italics">Eh bien</em><span>. What you say? Forget it. I s'all be -'appy—and free."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment Monsieur Simon entered bringing no -less a personage than Monsieur de Vautrin, who had been -apprehended as a witness the moment he had returned to -Paris. And the details of the affair at Nice having been -set down, Monsieur Simon went out to question Tricot, -who had just been brought in under heavy guard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The birth certificate and other papers were still in -possession of the </span><em class="italics">Juge d'Instruction</em><span>, but the Duc had -been permitted to examine them and questioned Horton -and Piquette eagerly as to what had happened after his -departure from Nice. And when he learned the facts, his -gratitude expressed itself in a desire to kiss Horton on -both cheeks, which Piquette only frustrated by quickly -interposing her small person.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I, Olivier?" she asked in French with a spirit of -</span><em class="italics">diablerie</em><span>. "What is my reward for helping in the great -affair?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You, Piquette!" he laughed, "you are as ever my -angelic child who can do no wrong. Come to my arms."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Piquette laughed and tossed her chin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I refuse?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you are still an angelic child," said de Vautrin. -"I shall give you money—much money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I refuse that too?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He started a pace back from her in amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would desert me now, </span><em class="italics">ma petite</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Piquette's face grew suddenly solemn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Duc</em><span>. We shall make no more pretenses, -you and I. I go back to the </span><em class="italics">Quartier</em><span> where I am -free. Perhaps one day I shall marry. Then you shall -give me a present. But now——" And she extended a -hand, "</span><em class="italics">Adieu, mon ami</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her and at Horton as though unwilling -to believe what he had heard, then took a pace toward -Piquette, his arms extended. But she only smiled at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">C'est fini, Olivier</em><span>," she said quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>De Vautrin pulled at his long mustache and laughing -turned away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">À demain</em><span>, Piquette——" he said confidently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Adieu, Olivier</em><span>," she repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Duc stared at her again and then with a shrug, -took up his hat and stick and swaggered out of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette," whispered Horton eagerly. "Do you mean it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, </span><em class="italics">mon brave</em><span>," she returned lightly. "To be -free—free——!" And she took a long breath, while she gazed -past him out of the big window into the sunshine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a commotion outside and they turned to -the outer door, as two policemen entered, between them -Tricot, securely manacled, and followed by the </span><em class="italics">Juge</em><span>, the -</span><em class="italics">Commissaire de Police</em><span>, Madame Toupin, Moira, Madame -Simon, the carpenter, Paul Joubert, and the other -witnesses whose testimony had already been taken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moira's gaze and Jim Horton's met for a moment, full -of meaning for them both, and then she turned away to the -seat beside Monsieur Simon to which the </span><em class="italics">Juge</em><span> directed -her. She was very pale and sat for a while with eyes -downcast during the preliminaries which led to the -confession of the </span><em class="italics">apache</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tricot stood with bowed head, listening to the evidence -against him, his long arms hanging from his bent shoulders, -his thin lips compressed, his small eyes concealed by -the frowning thatch of his dark brows. He was surly -but indifferent as to his fate, and answered the -questions of Monsieur Simon in a low voice, but distinctly, -evading nothing. His identification by the carpenter -Joubert and two others as the man who had emerged from -the room in the hallway when the crowd had surged upon -the upper landing, caused him to shrug. The corroboration -of Madame Toupin who saw him leave the courtyard -after the murder only caused him to shrug again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did it——" he growled. "I've confessed. What's -the use?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Silence!" commanded the </span><em class="italics">Juge</em><span>. "You will answer -only when questioned. Are these two persons," indicating -Horton and Piquette, "the ones who first entered the -studio?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Capitaine</em><span> entered the studio, -you thought he was his brother—yonder?" indicating Jim.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did. I made a mistake——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And your motive for this crime, Tricot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was paid," he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How much?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Five thousand francs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By whom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tricot paused, and then gasped the name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur Quinlevin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know where Monsieur Quinlevin is now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you tell if you knew?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you anything further to say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Monsieur Simon waved his hand in the direction of the -door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take him away. The proof is now complete." And -then to the witnesses, "You will hold yourselves in -readiness to attend the trial. </span><em class="italics">Bonjour, messieurs</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And rising from his chair at the head of the table he -came over to Jim and Piquette and shook them warmly -by the hands, while Monsieur Matthieu, who had taken -no part in the proceedings, quickly followed his example.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are now free, Monsieur Horton—Madame Morin, -I thank you both, in the name of Justice, for your -indulgence and apologize for the inconvenience that has -been caused you. Had it not been for the keenness of -Madame Horton yonder, you would still doubtless have -been languishing in your cells."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks, Monsieur," said Horton gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me add, Monsieur Horton, that before the -murderer arrived, I was in consultation with </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le -Capitaine Waring</em><span> of the office of the Judge Advocate of -the American Army. I told him what had happened in -the case and he informed me that there was no disposition -to make you suffer for an act which resulted in the -</span><em class="italics">Croix de Guerre</em><span>. He empowers me to ask only for your -parole to report to him to-morrow morning, at ten o'clock, -to comply with the military law. I should say that in the -end you will have nothing to fear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God!" muttered Horton, half to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now, </span><em class="italics">Monsieur le Commissaire</em><span>," said the </span><em class="italics">Juge</em><span>, -with a smile, "Madame Simon, Madame Morin, perhaps -we had better leave Monsieur the American to give his -thanks to the lady who has helped us to liberate -him—Madame Horton——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horton turned around to look for her but she had gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The others were already filing out of the door and -suddenly Jim and Moira found themselves silent, face -to face by the big window in the sunlight, amazed at the -sudden termination of the case, and what it meant to -them. Their glances met and a gentle flush stole along -the pallor of Moira's face, suddenly flooding it from brow -to chin. Scarcely daring to believe this evidence of his -happiness, Jim stared at her awkwardly, and then took -a pace forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moira," he whispered at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God," she murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took her in his arms, gently, as though she were a -child, and held her silently in a moment of wordless -communion. Beyond the river below them, the city of their -tribulations murmured as before, but to them it held a -note of solace and of joy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You did this, Moira—you!" he said at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something stronger than I, Jim. Faith, Hope——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Charity," he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew that I must succeed," she went on quickly. "I -was driven by some inward force which gave me new -courage, and strength. It was Faith, Jim, the Faith in -you that my blindness had lost in the darkness of my -uncertainty—the Faith that I found again. I had to -succeed where others had failed. Faith gave me new -vision—just in time," she finished with a gasp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You never believed that I could have——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, never, Jim," she broke in in a hushed voice. "Not -for a moment. It was too horrible!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hid her eyes with a hand for a moment as though -to blot out the stain of the thought. "I've wondered -why they didn't see as I saw. It's like a dream—all that -afternoon after Fontainebleau. I hardly seem to -remember why I did </span><em class="italics">what</em><span> I did. It seems so easy now that -it's done. I only know that I prayed again and -again—that you—not he—should triumph."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quinlevin——" he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew closer into his arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has escaped," she said with a shudder. "Perhaps -it is best."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you find out——?" he began, but she broke in -quickly, reading his thought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was—my uncle—my father's brother. Nora told -me everything. You've blamed me in your thoughts, -Jim——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Moira——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know," she insisted, "but I couldn't forget the -long years of his kindness—until I knew what—what had -happened—the horror of it. I ran away—here. Even -then I did not tell them everything. And when they went -to take him, it was too late. He's gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You poor child. You've suffered——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wanted to go to you, Jim—that night when they -came to the studio. I wanted to—and again at Nice. -But I was afraid, Jim."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Afraid——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of myself—if I had gone to you then ... our love -had been so sweet a thing, Jim—so pure and beautiful. -I </span><em class="italics">couldn't</em><span> let it be anything else. I had never known -what love was before. I am afraid," she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But not now, dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Not of myself or of you. Only afraid that -it's all a dream—that I'll wake up imprisoned by vows -that may not be broken——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're released from them now, Moira," he said soberly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Jim."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you'll marry me, dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Jim. But it would be a sin for us to be too happy -too soon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can be patient——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't be needing to be too patient, Jim," she -whispered, her warm lips on his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He held her in the hollow of his arm, where she was -meant to be, both of them muttering the phrases that had -been so long delayed, while their eyes looked down toward -the sun-lit river, when suddenly Jim felt the girl's fingers -tighten in his and he followed the direction of her gaze. -Across the </span><em class="italics">Petit Pont</em><span>, just below them, a figure passed, -a female figure in a heavy coat with a small hat that -they both recognized, set rakishly upon a dark head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Piquette!" said Moira.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jim was silent and they watched for another moment. -Piquette paused for a moment on the bridge and then, -raising her head quickly, squared her shoulders and went -quickly along the Quai toward the Boulevard Saint -Michel, where she was engulfed in the crowded thoroughfare.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>END</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE SPLENDID OUTCAST</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47900"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47900</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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™ -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg™ concept and -trademark. 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