The Splendid Outcast

  *CHAPTER XIV*

  *A NIGHT ATTACK*

  And even as he looked the faces were merged into the obscurity andvanished.

  Piquette clung to his arm, whispering.

  "I'd such a dreadful dream-- Why, Jeem, what is it?"

  He started to his feet.

  "Barry Quinlevin--there!" he gasped. "With _her_!"

  Her clutch on his arm tightened.

  "Here--impossible!"

  "I saw them."

  "You dreamed, like me. I can't believe----"

  "They were there a moment ago. Let me go, Piquette."

  "No," she gasped in a frightened whisper. "You mus' not follow----"

  "I've got to--to explain," he muttered.

  But she only clutched his arm the more firmly and he could not shake heroff, for she held him with the strength of desperation.

  "Not now, _mon_ Jeem," she pleaded. "I--I am frighten'----"

  He glanced at her quickly and it seemed as if this were so, for her facehad gone so white that the rouge upon her lips looked like the bloodupon an open wound.

  "It is jus' what 'e want', _mon_ Jeem, for you to go after him."

  "What do you mean?"

  "It would give him de excuse he want' to shoot you----"

  "Nonsense."

  "_Defense personnelle_. He knows de law. He will kill you, _mon_Jeem."

  "I'm not afraid. I've got to go, Piquette----"

  "No. You s'all not. An' leave me here alone----?"

  "There's nothing to be frightened about on a train full of people----"

  He managed to reach the door with Piquette clinging to him and peeredout into the corridor. A guard was approaching.

  "_Ou est ce monsieur et cette dame_----" he stammered,

  Ollendorf fashion, and then his French failed him and he flounderedhelplessly, pleading with Piquette to finish what he wished to say.

  But the man understood, rattled off a rapid sentence and disappeared.

  "It is dat dey have gone into anoder carriage," she translated. "Yousee. It will be impossible to find dem."

  "No," he muttered, but he knew that the delay had cost him hisopportunity.

  "You mus' not leave me, _mon petit_," Piquette pleaded at his ear. "I'ave fear of him. 'E 'as seen us together. Now 'e knows that it is Iwho 'ave tol' about Monsieur le Duc--I who 'ave 'elp you from de housein de Rue Charron--everyt'ing. I 'ave fear----"

  Jim laid a hand over hers and patted it reassuringly.

  "Don't worry. He can't harm you."

  "I am not afraid when you are 'ere,----" she whispered.

  And she won her way. It was the least that he could do for her; so hesat again thinking of the look in Moira's eyes and frowning out of thewindow, wondering how best to meet this situation, while Piquette clungto his arm and patted his hand nervously.

  "We should 'ave watch' for 'im, _mon_ Jeem--at de Gare de Lyon. I don'on'erstan'----"

  "Nor I--how he got her to come with him," muttered Jim fiercely.

  "'Ave I not tol' you 'e is a man _extraordinaire_--a man to bewatch'--to be fear'----?"

  "How did he get her to come?" Jim repeated, as though to himself. "Howdid he----?"

  There seemed no necessity to find a reply to that, for there she was, inthe next carriage, perhaps, with this shrewd rascal, whose power andresource seemed hourly to grow in importance.

  It was difficult to believe that Moira had listened to Quinlevin, hadbelieved the story he had chosen to tell her, directly after theconvincing proof of his villainy, directly after Jim Horton's own pleato save her. What art--what witchcraft had he employed?

  The answer came in a shrewd guess of Piquette's.

  "Dis was de firs' fas' express to de Mediterranean," she said. "'E knewyou would go to Monsieur de Vautrin. Las' night 'e foun' out I would gowit' you."

  "But how----?"

  "Who knows----?" she shrugged uneasily.

  He turned with a frown and examined Piquette with quick suspicion, buther gaze met his frankly. The thought that had sped through his mindwas discreditable to her and to him for thinking it. There was nopossibility of her collusion with Quinlevin. Her fear of him was toogenuine.

  "H-m. He arranged things nicely. To show her _me_ with _you_----"

  "_Parfaitement_! It is dat only which made 'er come, _mon petit_."

  "Smooth!" muttered Jim. "And she saw me, all right," he finishedbitterly.

  Piquette was silent for awhile.

  "She is ver' 'andsome," she said at last. And then, "An' she foun' measleep wit' my 'ead on your shoulder."

  "Yes," muttered Jim. "She did."

  At the moment he could not think how much his words wounded her.

  "I am sorry, _mon petit_," she said gently.

  His conscience smote him at the tone of contrition.

  "Oh, it doesn't matter, of course," he said. "There was no hope--forme--none. But it complicates things a little."

  "Yes, I comprehend. Monsieur hopes to keep you from reaching the Duc."

  "He won't succeed--but I'd rather he hadn't seen me in the train."

  "Or Madame."

  Jim Horton made no reply and was at once enwrapped in his thoughts,which as Piquette could see, excluded her. And after a glance at hisface, she too was silent. The train, stopping here and there, rushed onthrough the darkness, for hours it seemed to Piquette, and her companionstill sat, staring at the blank wall before him, absorbed in hisproblem. He seemed to have forgotten her--and at last she could bearthe silence no longer.

  "_Mon pauvre_ Jeem, you love 'er so much as dat?" she asked.

  He started at the sound of her voice and then turned and laid his handover hers.

  "I'm a fool, Piquette," he muttered.

  "Who s'all say?" She shrugged. Then she turned her palm up and claspedhis. "I am ver' sorry, _mon ami_."

  The touch of her hand soothed him. In spite of the danger that she nowran, only half suggested by what she had said, she could still findwords to comfort him. Selfish brute that he was, not to think of her!

  "Piquette! I have gotten you into trouble."

  "No. I got myself into it, _mon_ Jeem."

  He made no reply--and sat frowning. The train had stopped again. Bycontrast with the roar to which their ears had become accustomed, thesilence was eloquent as though their train had stopped breathless uponthe edge of an abyss. Then small sounds emerged from the silence, acomplaining voice from an adjoining compartment, the buzzing of aninsect, a distant hissing of steam. Then suddenly, the night was splitwith a crash of sound and glass from the window was sprinkled over them.Another crash. And before Piquette had realized what was happening Jimhad seized her bodily and thrown her to the floor of their compartment,and was crouching over her, while the missiles from outside, firedrapidly, were buried in the woodwork above the place where they had sat.

  Six shots and then a commotion of voices here, there, everywhere, andthe sound of feet running inside the train and out.

  "Lucky I pulled that blind," said Jim as he straightened, glancing atthe bullet holes.

  "Quinlevin," gasped Piquette as she rose to a sitting posture.

  Jim Horton got up and opened the door just as the guards came runningwith excited inquiries, and seeing Piquette upon the floor.

  "Madame has been shot----?"

  But Piquette immediately reassured them by getting up, frightened butquite unhurt.

  "By the window--the shots came," she explained quickly in French, whileJim exhibited the damaged paneling. "Some one outside has fired atus----"

  They understood and were off again, out into the darkness where therewas much running about with lanterns and many cries of excitement, whilethe other passengers crowded into the compartment and examined thebullet holes, mouths agape.

  "Is it the Boches?" asked an excited _mondaine_ of her _compagnon devoyage_.

  "Not unlikely," replied the other.

>   But Jim Horton knew better. Consideration for Moira's position had kepthim silent and inactive until the present moment, but he was angry nowat Quinlevin's dastardly attempt at the murder of either or both ofthem, so nearly successful. And so, when the officials of the train ledby a fussy, stout, black-bearded individual in buttons, returned toquestion him, he answered freely, his replies quickly translated byPiquette, describing Quinlevin.

  "A monsieur with a mustache and _Imperiale_?" echoed the stout official,taking notes rapidly on a pad. "And mademoiselle had dark hair and blueeyes----?"

  "They were of the party of four in the second carriage----," broke inthe guard whom Jim had questioned earlier in the day.

  "It is impossible, Monsieur. They left the train at St. Etienne."

  "A party of four?" questioned Piquette, astonished.

  "_Oui, Madame_. The two you mention besides another man and an olderwoman."

  "What did the other two look like?" asked Jim, thinking of Harry.

  "The old woman had reddish hair streaked with gray--the man was small,with a hooked nose."

  "And the man with the hooked nose, did he leave at St. Etienne too?"asked Jim.

  "_Parbleu_, now that you mention it----," said the guard, scratching hishead, "I think I saw him a while ago at the rear of the train."

  Jim Horton scowled. "Find the man with the hooked nose, Monsieur," hemuttered.

  But the fussy official was now shrugging and gesticulating wildly. Itwas impossible to do anything more. It was like hunting for a needle ina hay-mow. His train was already an hour late. The search would betaken up in the village where they had stopped, but nothing could bedone for the present. The train would be thoroughly searched and thenthey must go on. In the meanwhile perhaps it would be better forMonsieur and Madame to change to a vacant compartment.

  Jim Horton protested, but to no avail. And after another wait, duringwhich there were more waving of lanterns outside and more shouts, thetrain went on upon its way. He had to confess himself astonished at thedesperate measures his enemies had taken to prevent his revelations.Who was the small man with the hooked nose? It wasn't Harry, who wastall--and whose nose was straight. But when they were seated in the newplace provided for them, a thought came to Jim and when the guard camearound again he questioned.

  "Was there anything especially noticeable about the small man with thehooked nose?" asked Jim.

  "I don't comprehend, M'sieu."

  "Did you notice anything curious in the way he walked for instance?"

  "No--yes. Now that you mention it, I think he walked with a slightlimp."

  Piquette and Jim exchanged quick glances.

  "Tricot!" gasped Piquette.

  "You're sure he is nowhere on the train?"

  "Positive, M'sieu. We have searched everywhere."

  It was with a feeling of some security therefore that Jim settledhimself again and tried to make Piquette comfortable for the remainderof the journey. Neither of them felt like sleeping now and they talkedeagerly of the extraordinary happening. There seemed no reason to doubtthat their assailant was Tricot and that the clever brain of Quinlevinhad planned the whole affair. There was no doubt either that Quinlevinhad told the _apache_ of Piquette's part in the affair of the RueCharron and that the shots were intended as much for Piquette as forhim. This was the danger in the path of those who betrayed the secretsof the underworld. But Piquette having recovered from her fright wasnow again quite composed.

  "It's very clear why Monsieur Quinlevin left the train at St. Etiennewith Madame."

  "He was afraid she would make trouble."

  "Yes, _mon_ Jeem. Also, 'e t'ought Tricot would have success." Shecaught his hand and held it a moment. "'E would 'ave kill' me if you'adn' push' me on de floor."

  "Pretty clever, sizing us up like that, then letting Tricot do his dirtywork. He didn't think I'd see him. But we know what we're up againstnow. And they'll waste no time in following. I've got to get a 'gun'somewhere, that's sure, and you've got to stop at Marseilles."

  "At Marseilles?"

  He nodded. "I'm not going to let you run your head any further intothis noose. You see what the danger is----"

  But Piquette only smiled.

  "I knew what de danger was when I offer'd to come, _mon ami_. I'm notgoing to stay at Marseilles. I'm going on wit' you, as I promis'."

  "But, Piquette----"

  She put her fingers over his lips.

  "You do not know my great force of mind. Besides," she added, "deycannot catch us now."

  "I can't have you running any more risks," he muttered.

  "I s'all run de risk you run, _mon_ Jeem."

  He smiled at her gently. There was something animal-like in herdevotion.

  In the dusk of the soft illumination from above, the shadows at her eyesand lips seemed more than ever wistful and pathetic.

  "Why do you dare all this for me, Piquette?"

  "Why should I not tell you?" she said gently. "It makes no differenceto you, but I t'ink I should like you to know. It is because I loveyou, _mon_ Jeem."

  "Piquette!"

  "It's true, _mon ami_. It 'as never 'appen to me before. Dat's why Iknow.... No, _mon_ Jeem. It is not _necessaire_ for you to makebelieve. 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 togo find you in de Rue Charron? 'Ow else would I care enough to fin' outde difference between you an' 'Arry?" She took a long breath before shewent on. "It did not take me long, I assure you--for you, _mon ami_,were de man I was to love an' 'Arry----" she paused painfully. "'Arrywas jus' a mistake."

  "I--I'm not what you think I am, Piquette," he broke in awkwardly.

  "Let me finish, _mon ami_," she said with a wave of the hand."Confession is good for de soul, dey say. I want you to know about me.I am on'y what de _bon Dieu_ make me--a _gamine_. If 'E wish' me to be_fille honnete_, 'E would not make a _gamine_. _C'est la destinee_."

  "Don't, Piquette. I know."

  "Mos' men are _si bete_--always de same. Dey talk of love--Pouf! Iknow. _Toujours la chair_.... But you--_mon ami_--" She held herbreath 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 _fillebonnete_. _Mon Dieu_! What would you? Is it not'ing to be care' for bya man clean like dat?"

  "I do care," he said impulsively. "Yes--and like that. I'd giveanything to make you happy."

  She gently disengaged his arm from about her waist.

  "Den care for me like dat--like you say you care," she said gently. "Itis what I wish--all I wish, _mon petit_ Jeem."

  He touched her hand with his lips but there seemed nothing to say.

  "_C'est bien_," whispered Piquette with a smile. "I t'ink you 'avetaught me somet'ing, _mon_ Jeem----"

  "As you've taught me," he blurted out, "but I won't lie to you,Piquette."

  "Dat is as it mus' be. An' now we on'erstan' each oder. I am ver'content."

  Jim Horton, from embarrassment at the astonishing confession, began tounderstand its motive and sat silent, Piquette's hand in his, aware ofthe bond of sympathy between them.

  "It's a queer world, Piquette," he said at last, with a dry laugh. "Icare for somebody I can't have--you care for me--why, God knows. I'vemade a fine mess of things and will probably go on making a mess ofthings--_her_ life, mine, yours--when you and I might have hit it offfrom the beginning."

  "No, _mon_ Jeem, you were not for me."

  "Piquette!"

  She caught his hand in both of her own and with one of her swifttransitions from the womanly to the child-like she pleaded.

  "An' now you will not 'ide me away in Marseilles?"

  He smiled at her earnestness and it wasn't in his heart any longer torefuse her.

  "No, Piquette. You shall go."

  And impulsively, with the innocence that was a part of her charm, shekissed him fair upon the lips.

  "Ah, _mon_
Jeem. You are ver' good to me."

  But at Marseilles he armed himself with a new automatic and with theweapon in his pocket felt a reasonable sense of security, at least untilthey reached their destination.

  Piquette was resourceful. And on the train to Nice found the answer tothe problem that neither of them had been able to solve.

  "De ol' woman, wit' de gray hair," she said with an air of convictionafter a long period of silence--"it is Nora Burke."

  "By George!" cried Jim, awakening. "I believe you're right, Piquette.Nora Burke! And he's bringing her along to clinch the thing--downhere--at Nice."

  She nodded. "But we s'all reach Monsieur le Duc firs', _mon_ Jeem----"

  Delays awaited them when they reached the Hotel Negresco. Piquette wasprovided with the name which Monsieur the Duc chose to use whentraveling. Upon inquiry of the polite gentleman who presided over thedestinies of the guests of this newest addition to the luxuries of the_Promenade des Anglais_, they were informed that Monsieur and MadameThibaud had gone upon a motor-journey along the Cornice Road.

  At the information, Piquette laughed outright and the polite Frenchmanfrowned.

  "Is there anything so extraordinary in a motor-trip with Madame?" heasked frigidly.

  "No--nothing, Monsieur," she replied and laughed again. But Jim Hortonunderstood. Monsieur the Duc was relieving Piquette of a great moralresponsibility.

  They were shown adjoining rooms where they removed the traces of theirjourney, and then met for dinner, when they held a consultation as totheir future plans. If Monsieur the Duc had gone on a motor-trip hemight be back that night, or he might be away for a week. They foundthat Monsieur and Madame had taken only a suitcase and the chances werethat they would return to the Negresco by the morrow. But time wasprecious--and it would not be long before Quinlevin and his queerlyassorted company would be arriving in Nice, ready in some nefarious wayto interfere with their plans. And so after dinner they took the trainfor Monte Carlo, hoping that de Vautrin's weakness for gaming would haveled him to that earthly paradise of loveliness and iniquity.

  It was late when they reached there, but Piquette had made no mistake,for they found their man at the tables, so deeply engrossed that he didnot notice their approach or even look up when Piquette, ignoring thewonderfully accoutered lady at his side, addressed him in her mostmellifluous tone.

  Jim Horton took him in with a quick glance of appraisal--a man still inhis fifties, about the age of Barry Quinlevin, but smaller, with a thinnose, sharp, black eyes, a bald head, and a dyed mustache waxed to longpoints. And the hands upon the green baize of the table wore largerings, one set with a ruby, the other with an emerald. That he waslosing some money was indicated by the pucker of his bushy eyebrows andthe nervous tapping of his jeweled fingers upon the cloth.

  It was not until Piquette had spoken his Christian name several timesthat he seemed to hear and then looked up, his face a cloud ofimpatience and ill-temper.

  "It is I, Olivier," she repeated--"Piquette."

  "You--Madame!" he said with a glance at his companion.

  "Yes, Monsieur," said Piquette coolly, "and it seems that I've broughtyou luck," for at that moment a pile of gold and bank notes was swept inhis direction.

  "Ah--perhaps," he said confusedly. And then, "But it isn't possible. Iwas told that you were coming. I can't see you or this monsieur whocomes with you. Go away if you please."

  His attitude was uncompromising, his announcement bewildering, butPiquette was undismayed.

  "The red, Monsieur," she said calmly, and before he could prevent,shoved a pile of the gold coins upon the color. And the Duc, aghast ather impudence, sat for a moment scowling at his pile of money, thegambler in him arrested by the fascinating click of the little ball.

  "Red wins," announced Piquette, echoing the _croupier_. "You see,Monsieur, it will be wise for you to treat me with more politeness."

  And as he still sat as though fascinated by the turn of his fortune, andmade no motion to prevent her, she put all the money she had won for himon the black. Black won and Piquette laughed gayly, while the womanbeside de Vautrin sat in silence.

  "It does not do to venture here with strange Goddesses."

  She glanced rather scornfully at the Duc's companion and straightened.

  "Again, Madame," muttered de Vautrin, "the wheel runs for you."

  "I have finished," said Piquette firmly. "It is enough."

  "No," growled the Duc, thrusting his winnings again upon the black.

  "You will lose," said Piquette calmly, watching the leaping of thelittle ball. He did--all that she had won for him. He tried again,lost more, then turned on her with a frown.

  "_Sacre_----" he began.

  "Sh----," she silenced. "_Allons_. I did not come to interfere withyour games, but if Madame Thibaud will permit us----" and she smiledwith diabolical irony at de Vautrin's companion--"I would like to have aword with you at once."

  "I will not listen to you--or him." He scowled at Jim. "I know whatit's all about. I don't wish to see you."

  "Are you mad?"

  "No."

  "Then what do you mean by this? I've come to save you from a greatfinancial disaster----"

  "You----?" he sputtered. "What are you doing here, with this man? Itis infamous. I want no more of you. Go."

  "No, Olivier. I stay," she said quietly. "You will kindly composeyourself and tell me who has been sending you lying telegrams."

  "A--a friend in Paris."

  "Ah! What did he say?"

  "What does it matter to you what he said?" gasped de Vautrin. "You arein love with this monsieur. _Eh bien_! Go to him. I don't care. I'mthrough with you."

  "Ah, no, you're not, Olivier," said Piquette, smiling calmly, "not untilI'm through with you." And then, soberly: "Don't be a fool. Your_petit bleu_ was sent by Monsieur Quinlevin. He has the best of reasonsfor not wanting you to see us. Will you listen to me now?"

  Quinlevin's name had startled him.

  "What do you mean?" he sputtered.