*CHAPTER XII*
*QUINLEVIN SPEAKS*
A moment longer she waited, summoning calm and resolution, when theknocking on the door began again and her name was called.
"Coming," she replied, looking around the studio keenly. And thencatching sight of Jim Horton's hat, whisked it under the couch and thenopened the door.
Barry Quinlevin came in, Harry carrying his bag. With a gay laugh hecaught Moira into his arms.
"Well,--it's joyful I am to be back, dusty and unwashed, but none theless glad to be here. How are ye, child? By the amount of time ye tookopening the door, I thought ye might be dead----"
"I'm very tired--," she murmured, "I've not been up to the mark----"
He held her off and looked at her in the dim light from the gas jet.
"A little peaky--eh--too much moping in the dark. Let's have somelights--and a drink of the Irish. 'Twill do none of us harm."
He moved into the studio and Harry Horton set the bag down.
"Did you have a successful trip?" asked Moira, putting more color intoher voice than she felt.
"So, so," said Quinlevin. "A bottle, Moira--and some glasses andwater," and when she had obeyed, "There--the very sight of it's alreadymaking a new man of me. Harry, boy--yer health."
Moira sat and listened while he described the incidents of his trip.Harry could not meet her look, but she saw that he drank sparingly. Asfor her father, she watched him in silence, aware of his flamboyantgrace 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 fairskin of her breast to remind her of his venality.
On his way to the bottle he pinched her pale cheeks between his longfingers. "Where's yer spirit, girl? Ye look as though ye'd beenhearing a banshee. A fine husband ye've got, and all, to be puttinglilies in yer cheeks instead of roses!"
"She stays in the studio too much," put in Harry, uneasily.
"A good jumper and a few stone walls of County Galway would set ye rightin a jiffy. We'll be taking ye there, one day soon, I'm thinking, if yedon't come to life. What is it, child?"
"Oh--nothing--I'm just tired."
He took his glass and held it to the light with a critical air.
"Maybe it's better if ye go to bed then. I'll just clean up a bit andthen come back and have a talk with you, Harry boy."
And finishing his glass, he took up his bag and went into his room tocleanse himself, leaving Moira alone with Harry. She was veryuncomfortable, and sat wondering what ruse she could find to get rid ofthem.
Harry fumbled at his glass nervously.
"You're going to tell him?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Of course," she said coolly, "the farce has gone on longenough."
"Yes," he muttered. "Perhaps you're right. I'll tellhim--myself--to-night."
"Thanks," she said quietly, "it would be better."
They seemed to have very little to say. She saw Harry furtively lookingat 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? Itseemed almost enough of luck to have hidden Jim Horton's hat before theyhad entered. She knew that his predicament was hardly to his liking andin spite of her entreaties, feared that any moment he might be openingthe door and facing the situation.
And when Barry Quinlevin returned to the room in a moment, his faceshining with his vigorous ablutions, any immediate hopes she may havehad of Jim's release were dashed to the ground.
"Ye'd better be going to yer room, child, and get yer beauty sleep," hesaid. "I want to talk to Harry."
That he wanted to be alone with her husband was evident, and the requestwas something in the nature of a command. Still wondering what she hadbetter do, she got up and moved slowly toward the door into the kitchen.They would talk--she would watch at the door and listen.
"Very well," she said languidly, "perhaps I'll feel better if I lie downfor awhile--" and went out of the room, closing the door behind her.But she did not go into her room. All alive with uncertainty andapprehension, she crouched by the door, listening intently. The keyholewas large. Through it she could see the closet upon the opposite sideof the studio where Jim was concealed, and what they said she could heardistinctly.
"Well, Harry boy," said Quinlevin, "here we are again, and with Noraclose at hand, ready for the 'coup.' There can't be any haggling orboggling now. A clean million we'll get from it, or my name's not B.Q."
"Did you have any trouble getting Nora to come?"
"A little--but five thousand pounds settles her business. Nora wasalways a bit of rogue, but she couldn't deny real genius. And then, abit of blarney----"
"But the birth certificate----"
"Here--," producing his pocket case, "a little mildewed and rumpled fromhiding in the mattresses, and the like, but still quite legible. See,Patrice--a little hard to read, ye see. Patricia it is. PatriciaMadeleine Aulnay de Vautrin. Female, me boy. Born August 7th, in theyear of Our Lord, 1897--signed by the Doctor--Dominick Finucane--andattested by the Parish priest--a little illegible in certain notableplaces, but all quite straight and proper. He can't go back of that."
"And the other servant--who knew--?"
"Dead as a herring--a fortnight ago--ye'll admit most fortuitously--forI can't keep the whole of County Galway under my hat."
Harry Horton frowned.
"No. And you can't keep Moira there either."
"What d'ye mean?"
"Merely that she'll put a spoke in your wheel if you're not careful."
Quinlevin laughed.
"I won't worry about that bridge until I come to it. She won't object totaking her place in the world as the Duchesse de Vautrin----"
He broke off abruptly. "What's that? Did Moira call?"
"I didn't hear anything."
"I've got the fidgets, then. I'd be having to give her up if Monsieurthe 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 theend--or we'll gaff him for the whole estate." He stopped and carefullycut the end from a cigar. "D'ye think, by any chance, that PiquetteMorin could have done any talking?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because four months ago Monsieur the Duc was in Ireland askingquestions."
"Who told you this?"
"Nora Burke. He got nothing from her. She knew which side her breadwas buttered on. But that's what made her squeamish when my allowancestopped coming to her."
"I see. And you've paid her something?"
"Yes. And the devil's own time I had getting it together. I'm thinkingI've squared accounts with you already in all this business."
But Harry Horton had gotten up and poured himself out a stiff drink ofthe whisky, which he drained hurriedly.
"I don't like it," he muttered uneasily.
"What?"
"This de Vautrin business."
Quinlevin calmly stared at him.
"Yer feet aren't getting cold now?"
Harry took a pace or two, trying to find his words. And then,
"Things haven't been going right, here--since--er--since you left."
"I see," said Quinlevin with a shrug. "You and Moira haven't beenhitting it off----"
"No. And it's worse than that."
Barry Quinlevin leaned forward, his shaggy brows thatched unpleasantly.
"What the devil are ye talking about?"
"I--I've got to tell you."
"Ye'd be obliging me if ye would."
Harry met the sharp look of the older man and then his gaze flickeredand fell as he sank into his chair again.
"You--you've heard me speak of my twin brother, Jim?" he asked after amoment.
"The railroad man ye quarreled with over the trifling matter of anes
tate. Well, what of him?"
"He's turned up--here--in--Paris."
"What have you got to do with him?"
"More than you think. I've got to tell you what has happened--and it'splenty. It's been H---- and repeat. D---- him!"
"At least," laughed the Irishman, "he seems to have gained no new placein yer affection."
"No--nor will he in yours when you have the facts."
"Go on. I'm listening."
And slowly, halting here and there for a word or a phrase that would puta better construction on his own share in the affair, he told Quinlevinof the substitution of Jim Horton for himself and of the events that hadfollowed, including his return to Paris and the desperate means he hadtaken to regain his own identity. Of Moira he spoke nothing, but as thesituation was revealed with all its hazards to the success of theirintrigue, from an attitude of polite attention with which he hadlistened at first, Quinlevin became eagerly and anxiously absorbed,interjecting question after question, while his iridescent eyes glowedunder his frowning brows and his long, bony fingers clutched his chairarm. By degrees, the full meaning of the revelation came to him--itsrelation to Harry's future, to the matter of the Duc, to Moira. But ashe grew more furious, he grew more pale, more calm, and listened in asilence punctuated by brief questions, to the conclusion of the story, alittle contemptuous of the nervousness of his companion, reading belowthe thin veneer of braggadocio the meanings that the younger man stroveto conceal.
"So," he said coolly, "ye've gone and let us all in for a nice mess ofbroth! Shell-shock! Humph! And ye'll let a man be tearing the uniformoff yer very back--winning yer honors for ye."
He rose and stood at his full height, looking down at the figure in theopposite chair. "And Moira--?" he asked.
"He came--here--to this apartment--when he left the hospital----"
"She did not guess?"
"Nor you," said Harry with, some spirit, "since you invited himhere----"
"True for ye--I did--bad cess to him." He broke off and took a pacetoward the lay figure in the corner and back. And then, "This is a badbusiness," he said soberly. "And ye don't know where he is at thepresent moment?"
"No. He got away clean through a passage to the river----"
"You've no idea who helped him?"
"No. And Tricot's no fool--nor Pochard----"
"But they lack imagination--like yerself----"
Harry Horton aroused himself. "He was drugged, I tell you--to thelimit. 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 Iwouldn't let them do that--no--not that."
"Ye were always lacking in a pinch, Harry----"
"But my brother--my own brother----"
Quinlevin shrugged. "I can see yer scruples. A brother's a brother,even if he does wean away yer wife."
Harry started up, his face livid at the cool, insulting tones.
"And ye can't blame Moira," continued Quinlevin coolly, "if he's turnedout a better man than yerself."
His fiery eyes burned in his pale face and challenged the otherman--intimidated him until the hot words on Harry's tongue diedunuttered.
"A fine mess! And he's no baby--this frolicsome brother of yours! Howmuch does he know of the de Vautrin affair?"
"Enough," muttered Harry sullenly, "from the letters and what you toldhim in the hospital----"
"He can't go far--" He broke off and then, with a quick change intoeager inquiry. "He'd hardly have had time to find the Duc, and if hedid----"
"No," said Harry sullenly. "De Vautrin is in Nice."
"Good. Then we'll have time."
"For what?"
"To meet the situation as it should be met. I intend to take a hand inthis affair myself."
"What can you do?"
"I'll find a way. There's one thing sure. I don't intend to have theingenious plans of half a lifetime spoiled by any blundering hay-makerfrom 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 tocome poking about my affairs or hers. She's a good girl--too good forthe likes of either of us. She was never much after the men, beingwedded to her art, and I thought you'd do as well as another--that ye'dmake good over here and turn out the husband she deserved." He pausedto give his words more weight. "Instead of making good--ye've made amess of it--to say nothing of falling short with Moira. I might haveknown. But it's too late now for me to be crying over my spilt milk oryours. And whatever happens I'd like ye to know, my boy, that thisaffair means too much--to be balked for a mere sentiment. If shedoesn't love you that's yer own affair. And as for yer brother,Jim--all I say is let him look out for himself."
He had sunk into his chair again, his lips compressed, his eyes closedto narrow slits and his voice, husky a moment ago with his passion,enunciating his words with icy precision.
"But how are you going to find him? Haven't I told you that he'sslipped away--lost in Paris? And you know what that means."
"How could he slip away--drugged--after being knocked out andunconscious?" He leaned forward in his chair, his white fist clenchedon the table. "Somebody helped him----"
"It's not possible."
"Why not? How do ye know? Ye were all so frightened of the police thatye took to yer heels without a look around."
"But nobody but Pochard's crowd knew about the old passage to theriver----"
"Then somebody in Pochard's crowd did the helping."
"It can't be. They're all in on it."
Quinlevin shrugged. "Perhaps, but I'll be looking into that phase ofthe question myself."
"Go ahead. I wish you luck. But how is that going to help?"
"It'll find Jim Horton. And that's the only matter I'm concernedabout."
There was a pause, and another voice broke the silence.
"And when you find him what will you do about it?"
In her place of concealment Moira trembled at the sound. For there wasa harsh scraping of chairs as Harry and Quinlevin rose, startled, andfaced Jim Horton, who had opened the door of the closet and stoodrevealed before them.
Harry Horton drew back a pace, leaning on a chair, his face gray, thenpurple again. Quinlevin stared, one eye squinting, his face distortedin surprise and curiosity at the astonishing apparition.
"So," he said, "the skeleton in the closet!"
"You'll find me far from that," said Jim Horton, striding forward towithin a few paces of them. "You thought I might be hard to find. I'llsave you that trouble."
"I see," said the Irishman, finding his composure and a smile. "Soye're the interloper--the comic tragedian of the piece, all primed andset for trouble. Well, I can't say that ye'll be disappointed--" Hereached deliberately for his trousers pocket and drew out a weapon. ButJim leaped for him at the same time that Moira, rushing into the room,shrieked Quinlevin's name.
The sound disconcerted him and the shot went wild and before he couldshoot again Jim Horton had caught his arm and given his wrist a vicioustwist which wrenched the weapon away and sent him hurling into a chair.Harry Horton hadn't moved. His feet seemed riveted to the floor.
"Father!" Moira gasped, her face white as paper. "You might have killedhim."
"That was the exact intention," said Quinlevin, making a wry face andnursing his wrist.
But Jim Horton, frowning at the two men, held the weapon in his hand, incommand of the situation.
"Why did you come out, Jim--why?" Moira pleaded, wringing her fingersand staring from one to the other.
But Jim Horton didn't even hear her. His gaze was fixed steadily onBarry Quinlevin, who had shrugged himself back into self-possession andwas smiling up at the intruder as though in appreciation of an admirablejoke.
"We'd better have this thing out--you and I," said Jim, coolly,eliminating Harry from the discussion.
"By all means," said Quinlevin
. "And I'm glad ye know a real enemy whenye see one."
"You've hardly left any doubt about that. There's not much to say,except that you're not going to drag Moira into this dirty business withthe Duc. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly--but ye'll hardly be less perspicuous if the muzzle of therevolver is twisted a bit to one side. It's a hair trigger--thanks. Asyou were saying----"
"I won't waste words. I gave Harry his warning. Instead of heeding it,he hired a pair of thugs to put me out of business. But I'll take nochances for the future. I'm in no mood to die just yet."
"I like yer nerve, Jim Horton. I may add, it suffers no disadvantage incomparison to yer twin brother." He shrugged and folded his arms."Well. Ye seem to have turned the odd tricks--the ace of clubs--the aceof hearts. Now what are ye going to be doing with us all entirely?"
"I told Harry what I'd do, and I'll repeat it now. Drop this affair ofthe Duc de Vautrin--without dragging Moira through the dirty mess, and Iquit--leaving Harry with his rank and honors."
"And if I refuse----?"
Jim Horton shrugged carelessly.
"I'll tell the truth--that's all."
"Brevity is the soul of wit. Permit me to say that I admire thesuccinctness of yer statement. But the alternative is impossible."
"You mean, that you'll go on with this affair----"
"Ye've guessed it, me son--as sure as ever ye find it convenient toremove the imminent and deadly weapon and yerself from my presence."
"That's final?"
Quinlevin laughed and very coolly poured himself out a glass of whisky.
"What's the use of quarreling? By a bit of mistaken heroics ye've firedyerself into the midst of my little family circle and exploded. Maybeye've done some damage. But I'm an old bird, and I don't scare soeasily. Come now. Ye wouldn't kill me out of hand. Ye're not thatkind. And so--let's be reasonable. Can I pour ye a drink?"
"No, thanks----"
"As ye please. But ye've got to admit that there are two sides to thisquestion. 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 thenearest private of the Military Police and ye're jugged, to do yerexplaining to a judge advocate."
"You can't--you won't do that."
Moira seemed to find her speech with an effort, for the rapidity ofevents and their portentous consequences to her own destiny had robbedher of all initiative. But her courage came back with a rush as shefaced this man who had deceived her all these years--and charmed hereven now with his reckless grace and magnetism.
"You won't do that," she went on breathlessly. "I can't permit it.I've heard all you said. I've been listening---there----"
"Ah, you heard," said Quinlevin with a quick glance at her. "Thenperhaps 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 childof the Duc de Vautrin."
As he shot this bolt at her, he watched its effect. Moira grew evenpaler and stared at him as though he were a person she had never seenbefore.
"The daughter--of the Duc de Vautrin?" she stammered.
"That's not true, Moira," broke in Jim's voice, "but you're not _his_daughter either. I'll take my oath on it."
She glanced at Jim as though the deep tones of his voice had steadiedher for a moment.
"Not his daughter--then who----?" She paused and sought Quinlevin'seyes uncertainly.
"I've told ye the truth, my dear. It was my crime not to have told yebefore--but that's all ye can lay against me--that and the love for yethat has made the confession difficult."
Moira faltered. But Barry Quinlevin's eyes were upon her, alive, itseemed, with the old affection. And across her brain flitted quickvisions of their careless past, their years of plenty, their years ofprivation, in which this man, her father she had thought, had alwaysloomed the dominant figure, reckless perhaps, aloof at times--but alwayskindly--considerate.... But there was Jim Horton just beside her....She felt his presence too--the strength of him--the honesty and the loveof her that gave him the courage to face oblivion for her sake. Thesilence was deathly, and seemed to have gone on for hours. Jim did notspeak. There was Harry too, standing like a pale image, the ghost ofher happiness--staring at her. Were they all dumb? Something seemed tobe required of her and her instinct answered for her. She moved towardJim Horton, her fingers seeking his.
"I--I love him," she found herself saying. "I--want you both to know.It has all been a horrible mistake--But it's too late to cry over. Ithas just happened--that's all. I can never love any one else----"
"Moira----," whispered Jim.
"But I know that--that there's nothing to be done. I only wanted you toknow," she finished firmly, "that any one who harms him, harms me----"
"Moira," Jim's voice broke in pleadingly at her ear. "Come away withme--now. You can't stay here. The situation is impossible."
She felt Barry Quinlevin's eyes before he spoke.
"I don't need to remind ye, Moira--of yer vows at the altar----"
"What vows!" broke in Jim, fiercely facing his brother. "A travesty--acruel hoax. There's no law that will keep it binding----"
"She married me--with her eyes open," muttered Harry. "And unless Irelease her----"
"Stop! For God's sake," Moira's voice found itself in pity for her ownhumiliation. "There's no release--no hope for either of us. There's nodivorce--except death----"
"I ask nothing of you, Moira," Jim was pleading again, "only to go withme--away from here--to-night--for your own self-respect."
"An outcast----," sneered Quinlevin.
He saw how the game was going, but he went too far. She turned on himdefiantly.
"An outcast!" she said. "I would be proud to be facing the world alonewith such an outcast as Jim Horton--the shame and the glory of followingblindly where my heart was leading me----"
"Come, then," said Jim.
"No. Don't you see? I can't. What Harry says is true. I married withmy eyes open. I swore to a lie. And I've got to abide by that lie.I've got to, Jim. For God's sake, have pity."
She sank helplessly into a chair, relinquishing his hand. All hope, alllife, it seemed, had gone out of her. Jim Horton stood regarding her fora moment and then silently walked to the door, when he heard her voiceagain.
"Jim," she cried despairingly.
He turned in the doorway and their glances met for a moment.
"Will you come, Moira?" he asked quietly.
"I can't, Jim. I can't----"
He waited a moment, and then laying Quinlevin's weapon on the table infront of him, turned again and walked out of the door and into thedarkness of the corridor.