The Splendid Outcast

  *CHAPTER XVI*

  *NORA SPEAKS*

  The attention of Monsieur de Vautrin having been attracted by Piquette'snews of the immediate threat against his fortune, it was no longerdifficult to persuade him to listen to what Jim Horton had to say.Madame Thibaud was therefore conducted with scant ceremony to anapartment in the Hotel de Paris, after which the Duc rejoined Piquetteand Jim in the Casino. The unflattering opinion Jim Horton had formedof this French nobleman was, upon closer acquaintance, in no waymodified. The peevish and supercilious air with which he had greetedPiquette had changed to one scarcely less unpleasant,--a fidgety anxietyand apprehension which revealed weaknesses of fiber one would not haveexpected to discover between the points of so long and so imposing amustache. He gave Jim the impression of being very weary in the pursuitof a will-o'-the-wisp. And in repose, his face bore the scars worn bythose who live for pleasure alone. Altogether he seemed a personscarcely worth borrowing so much trouble about. His attitude ofsuspicion toward Jim Horton was illy concealed, but he listened,frowning and questioning, until at last convinced of the reality of hisdanger at the hands of the renegade Irish adventurer to whose venialcleverness he had so long paid handsome tribute.

  "But they can do nothing," he said at last in excellent English, with anair of bravado which was meant to be effective, and which was onlypitiful.

  "I'm not so sure about that," said Jim, "the mere fact of your havingpaid for the support of the child for so many years makes it seem asthough you believed in the thing."

  "What do I care? I have the money. Let them take it if they can."

  "Oh, they'll take it all right, if you don't find some way to meet theirevidence."

  "Lies."

  "Yes, of course. But you've got to prove that they are. Where's yourdefense? You didn't even know you had a daughter until Barry Quinlevintold you you had. What proof have you that your own child died? And ifyou believed Quinlevin then, why shouldn't you believe him now----?"

  "I had my suspicions----"

  "Pardon me. Suspicions won't satisfy an Irish court or a French one.What proof have you that Madame Horton isn't your own child? None?Exactly! But everybody who could have known anything about the matteris dead except Nora Burke, and you've already heard what she has tosay."

  "H--m. And what is _your_ interest in this matter, Monsieur?"

  "That's a fair question," said Jim slowly. "I'll give you a fairanswer. Madame Horton is my brother's wife. The story I've given youis straight--as Piquette will tell you since she heard much of it frommy brother. Your daughter died shortly after her mother, your wife. Myinterest in this affair is personal to this extent. I don't intend tohave Madame Horton used any longer by an unprincipled blackmailer."

  "Surely then you would have told Madame Horton the truth and saved methis unpleasantness----"

  "Yes--I've told her," said Jim slowly, "but she's helpless. Can't yousee, Monsieur? It has all been very sudden--for her. She doesn't knowwhat to believe. Besides, Monsieur Quinlevin has the birth certificateand the testimony of the nurse."

  "But if Madame Horton is an honorable woman----"

  "You can count on that," put in Horton quickly. "She doesn't want yourmoney--she isn't Quinlevin's kind----"

  "Then why doesn't she renounce him?"

  "She might--but what difference would that make? She might permitherself to think she was Joan of Arc, but that wouldn't make her any onebut Patricia Madeleine Aulnoy de Vautrin, if Barry Quinlevin hasevidence enough to prove that she is...."

  De Vautrin frowned darkly and twitched his jeweled fingers.

  "But she would have something to say about her own desires in thematter," he said.

  "Her own desires haven't anything to do with it. See here, Monsieur deVautrin--Barry Quinlevin proves her birth by a certificate; he alsoproves by the nurse that she was the child brought into his house, andthe child he has brought up as his ward, bearing his name and acceptingyour money for twenty-one years--hush money, monsieur, that you paid tokeep her out of a fortune you thought belonged to her."

  "But it doesn't belong to her," cried de Vautrin, gesticulating. "It'smine since the child is dead. Monsieur Harry Horton----"

  Piquette broke in. "Monsieur 'Arry 'Orton could be call' to the stan'of course, but 'is testimony is not to be relied upon."

  "Your brother, Monsieur----?"

  "Yes, Monsieur de Vautrin," replied Jim, "my brother--but an intimate ofBarry Quinlevin's----"

  "Ah, I comprehend--an accomplice?"

  "You might call him that--if you like." He shrugged and turned aside."We don't get along, my brother and I, but I don't think you'll findmuch to gain by putting him on the witness stand. Besides, it won'tlook very pretty in the papers. It's as much to my interest as yours tokeep it out."

  The Duc eyed him suspiciously again.

  "But you must have some other interest besides this in wishing to helpme. What's the ax you have to grind, Monsieur?"

  Jim Horton grinned and shrugged.

  "For myself--nothing."

  "That is difficult to believe."

  "Then I would advise you to tax your imagination to the utmost. I don'twant Madame Horton to figure in an affair that she will regret the restof her life."

  "But why----?"

  "Monsieur is in love wit' Madame 'Orton----" Piquette's voice broke invery calmly.

  There was a silence for a moment in which Jim Horton looked at Piquette,Piquette gazed at de Vautrin and de Vautrin stared from one to the otherin astonishment.

  His knowledge of the world had given him no instinct to appraise asituation such as this. But Piquette met his gaze clearly.

  "It is de trut', Olivier," she repeated. "An' now perhaps youon'erstan'."

  "It is extraordinary," he gasped. "And you two----?"

  "I brought 'im to you. Your interests are de same--and mine, wit'both."

  "_Parbleu_! If I could believe it----!"

  Jim Horton rose, aware of a desire to pull the waxed mustaches to see ifthey were real.

  "You needn't believe it, if you don't want to," he said carelessly."And you don't have to believe my story. But I've given you yourwarning. Barry Quinlevin may be in Nice now, with his birth certificateand his Nora Burke." He buttoned his overcoat and turned toward thedoor. "I think I'll be going back to Nice, Piquette," he said coolly,and then to the bewildered Frenchman, "Good-night, Monsieur."

  "One moment," gasped the Duc, toddling after him and catching him by thehand, "I believe you, Monsieur. Why should I not believe you since whatyou say is what I wish to believe? It is all very bewildering. Ishould have thanked you long ago for your kindness."

  Jim Horton turned with a smile.

  "It's about time. And it ought to be fairly clear that I have littleinterest in your fortune or even in you, Monsieur. I don't mind beingshot at for my interference in Mr. Quinlevin's affairs, but I might havebeen hit--or Piquette might--which would have been worse, and I don'trelish having my word doubted--or hers."

  "I beg forgiveness. You have been shot at?"

  Piquette explained quickly while de Vautrin's watery eyes grew larger.

  "_Mon Dieu_! And you say they are coming here?"

  "Yes. If their dinky little train ever reaches its destination. I'mafraid you're in for it, Monsieur de Vautrin."

  De Vautrin threw out his arms wildly.

  "I will not see them. I will go away."

  Jim Horton nodded. "That's all right--but it's only putting off theevil moment. When they get their evidence working you'll have to meetit, someway. And then what will you do?"

  De Vautrin had caught Jim by the coatsleeve and pulled him down into theseat beside him. And then with a pseudo-dramatic air which failed ofconviction,

  "I shall fight, Monsieur."

  "With what?"

  "With the evidence you've given me."

  "It's not enough."

  Hort
on shook his head and laughed.

  "It looks to me as though you were elected President of the QuinlevinEndowment Association."

  "But there must be some way of getting at the truth," cried theFrenchman, now really pitiful in his alarm.

  "Ah, that's it," laughed Jim. "_You_ know Madame Horton is not yourdaughter and _I_ know it, but that doesn't beat Quinlevin."

  "What then, Monsieur?"

  "You've got to kill his evidence."

  "But how?"

  "With stronger evidence of your own. You haven't it, or any prospect ofgetting it that I can see. So there's only one course open."

  "And that, Monsieur?" asked de Vautrin eagerly.

  "To break down Quinlevin's. I'm no lawyer, but that's only commonsense. Nora Burke is a liar bribed with five thousand pounds. Andthere never was a lie that didn't have its weak points. You've got tomake her speak the truth----"

  "How?"

  "I don't know. But I wouldn't mind trying. Then you've got to get thatbirth certificate----"

  "I don't see how you expect to do that."

  "Neither do I--Quinlevin is no fool, but then he's not super-naturaleither."

  The Duc was silent, appalled by the undertaking which had presenteditself. And the calm way in which his visitor discussed his projectsfilled him with wonder.

  "Justice, Monsieur de Vautrin, is on your side. Will you fight for it?"

  "Assuredly, Monsieur--if you will but help."

  Jim Horton laughed.

  "Then you no longer believe I have an ax to grind?"

  "No--no, Monsieur."

  "And you no longer cherish evil thoughts of Piquette?"

  "Upon my honor," said the Duc, a jeweled hand at his heart. "And yet,Monsieur, you can hardly blame me for some irritation at meeting herhere with you."

  Jim Horton glanced toward the door significantly. And then dryly, "Youhardly deserve her, Monsieur de Vautrin. I am proud of her friendship.It's the finest thing in my life."

  De Vautrin wagged his head foolishly and then shrugged a futileshoulder.

  "What do you want me to do, Monsieur?" he asked peevishly.

  Horton lighted a cigarette carefully and took Piquette by the hand.

  "First, Monsieur de Vautrin," he said coolly, "you will send MadameThibaud about her business----"

  "Monsieur!" said the Duc with a show of dignity.

  "Suit yourself. But she's in the way. This is no time for fooling.Does she go or doesn't she?"

  De Vautrin's injured dignity trembled in the balance for a moment andthen fell away, merged in his apprehension for the immediate future.

  "That can--can doubtless be arranged," he said with a frown.

  "Good," said Horton jovially. "And the sooner the better. It willclear the atmosphere amazingly. Then we will prepare to fight MonsieurQuinlevin with his own weapons."

  "Yes. You--I--Piquette. That's what we came here for. You've made themistake of under-rating Barry Quinlevin. He's desperate. He is playinga big game and if you don't want to be the goat you'll do what Iadvise."

  "I'm listening."

  "If I'm not mistaken he will reach here to-morrow afternoon with MadameHorton and Nora Burke. And you've got to see them."

  "I--Monsieur?"

  "Yes--you--here in your rooms in the Hotel de Paris. You will give itout 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--toeverything Nora Burke has to say, but you yourself will say nothing."

  "But you, Monsieur?"

  "I shall be in an adjoining room, but they must not know it."

  "But Barry Quinlevin will discover that you have been here."

  "Of course. You will tell him that. They will tell you that I havelied. But you won't believe them. And then you will tell them that Ihave gone away."

  "But when will you come in to my assistance?"

  "That depends upon what I hear through the keyhole."

  "But would it not be simpler to pay this Nora Burke for telling thetruth?"

  Horton laughed. "It does seem simple, doesn't it? I don't know muchabout French law, but I wouldn't want to be caught at it out where Icome from. Let's play this game straight and trust to luck. IfQuinlevin is too sharp for us we'll try something else. Do you agree?"

  "Of course, Monsieur."

  And so it was settled. On the following morning Madame Thibaud was sentback to Paris. And Piquette and Jim Horton ostentatiously took thetrain for Nice, returning subsequently by automobile to Monte Carlo,where they were hidden in rooms in the Hotel de Paris. In this they wereaided by an official of the Hotel who proved to be an old acquaintanceof Piquette's in Paris. And so when Barry Quinlevin arrived from Nice inthe afternoon, with Moira and Nora Burke, inquiring for the Duc, theinformation was conveyed directly to Horton, who was happy to learn thatTricot had not yet caught up with the party.

  Monsieur de Vautrin, who had been carefully rehearsed in the part he wasto play, seemed to enter into the game with some spirit, and was sentover to the Casino to play _trente et quarante_ where after awhile BarryQuinlevin found him, deeply absorbed in his game of chance. The Ducmanifested polite surprise, Quinlevin polite insistence, and then theytalked for awhile, the Duc indifferently, Quinlevin impressively,--tothe end that an appointment was made for an hour later the followingafternoon in the Duc's apartment, where he would listen in all goodnature and tolerance to what his visitors would have to say. He hopedhis "daughter" was handsome. It would be a pity if all this money wasto go to one who could not use it with dignity. All this in an ironicand jocular mood which only brought a dour smile upon Quinlevin's face.

  But the main object of the preliminary encounter was achieved, for BarryQuinlevin accepted without reservation the Duc's assertion that JimHorton, having performed his mission, had returned to Paris.

  When the hour of the appointment arrived, Jim Horton sat behind the doorinto the bedroom of Monsieur de Vautrin, carefully studying the pages ofan English-French dictionary. The Duc sat over his paper with an air ofunconcern he was far from feeling. Piquette, at the American'sinstructions, was elsewhere.

  Quinlevin, shown to the door of the room by a servant of the hotel, metthe Duc with his most amiable smile and introduced the women of hisparty. Moira was pale, Nora Burke uncomfortable but arrogant.

  "Monsieur de Vautrin," Quinlevin began with something of an air, "permitme to present to ye yer daughter, Patricia Madeleine Aulnoy de Vautrin."

  The Duc smiled politely, bowed--and stared. Moira, who, as though induty, had taken a step toward him, paused. And then as she saw the lookthat Monsieur de Vautrin swept over her, the color flamed into hercheeks. The Duc's rebuff gave for the first time a true perception ofthe position in which she had voluntarily placed herself. If she were amere adventuress he could not have accused her more eloquently and theadmiration in his impudent stare was even more insulting. Thisman--this effete boulevardier--her father----? Impossible! And therepulsion she felt at the sight of him made her wish only to go anywhereaway from the sight of him. What else she had expected, she didn'tknow, for even Barry Quinlevin had not been too explicit as to whatwould be likely to happen. But there was her mentor at her side, agentle hand upon her elbow urging her forward into the arm-chair by thewindow, which Monsieur de Vautrin was indicating with a ratherexaggerated gesture of formality.

  "Thanks, Monsieur," said Quinlevin with an easy laugh, sinking intoanother chair. "Ye're not to be blamed for not flying to each other'sarms after all these years, when yer acquaintance in the beginning wasto say the least a most trivial affair. But in a while, perhaps, ye'llbe knowing each other better and I'm sure, Monsieur, ye'll be finding myward as I have done, a fine creature capable of a most filial devotion."

  "Ah," said de Vautrin. "I don't doubt that. It would truly be a greatpleasure to me to discover so beautiful a creature to be a daughter ofmine, but the facts of the matter unfortunately----"

  "
One moment, Monsieur," broke in Quinlevin, "before we arrive at thefacts in the matter. Ye must be aware that this situation is none of myward's choosing. She came because she knew that it was a sacred dutywhich she owed to the memory of her mother. Many years have passedsince yer affairs--er--called ye away from Ireland and she lays no faultto yerself for yer desertion, for which I have taken all the blame. Sheknows that ye've provided for her comfortably, and that I have made itmy pleasure to act as yer substitute, as well as I could. But the timehas 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 alreadyacquainted, and who will be answering any questions that ye would liketo put to her."

  Monsieur de Vautrin frowned and moved his gaze from Moira to the servantwho stood, her large hands, badly gloved, folded upon her stomach, herfeet shifting uneasily.

  "I've heard something of Nora Burke's story," said de Vautrin dryly,"but there are parts of it that I have not heard."

  "Ye're quite at liberty to question, Monsieur," put in Quinlevin, "Noratoo is merely an instrument of truth in the hand of Providence."

  "Since Providence has ceased providing," said the Duc dryly, "Icomprehend. But I will listen to this extraordinary tale again, since Ihave promised to do so. It can do no harm. _Allons_! Proceed, NoraBurke. My poor wife, you say, engaged you some weeks before my daughterwas born?"

  "She did, yer Highness----" And, as the woman hesitated----

  "Go on, Nora," said Quinlevin.

  "The choild was born, this very girl they call Moira Quinlevin, who sitsbefore ye, a beautiful choild she was, fine and healthy that the poorDuchesse never lived to see, for she died that night, God rest her soul,faded away before our very eyes."

  "And who was there beside yourself," asked the Duc coolly.

  "Dominick Finucane, the doctor from Athlone, and Father Reilly, thepriest who gave her Absolution----"

  "And who has since died," said de Vautrin dryly.

  "Yes, yer Highness--but the birth certificate I was afther kapin' sinceno father came near us, nor any relation. Mary Callonby was a lonelykind and when she came back to Galway took to living solitary-like onthe small farm with only the one servant, Mrs. Boyle, to look aftherher."

  "And Mrs. Boyle is also dead?" put in de Vautrin keenly.

  "She is."

  "It's very unfortunate that all the witnesses have seen fit to die."

  "All but me, yer Highness," said Nora assertively.

  De Vautrin shrugged. "Well. What happened then?"

  "Well, Mrs. Boyle and meself, we didn't know what to be afther doing, sowe just followed the advice of Father Reilly."

  "And what did he tell you to do?"

  Nora glanced at Quinlevin, who nodded.

  "In a whoile he brought Mr. Barry Quinlevin--this gentleman here--wholived 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 andcolleen havin' died a few months before."

  "That was kind of Mr. Quinlevin."

  "We thought so--yer Highness--but it was kind of Father Reilly too--fornobody was afther coming to see about the poor choild and Mr. Quinlevinwas that grateful--he watched the babby like it was his own----"

  "That's true enough. He would," sneered the Duc. "And what happenedthen?"

  "Mrs. Boyle and I we lived in the house of Mr. Quinlevin, her as cookand me as nurse, bringin' up the choild as Miss Moira Quinlevin,--alonein 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 theplace of poor Mary Callonby."

  "And you were well paid for this service?" asked de Vautrin.

  "I had me wages. It was enough."

  "And when you heard that Mr. Quinlevin had seen me in Paris, two yearsafterward, you received more money?"

  Nora's glance sought Quinlevin, who broke in calmly.

  "I gave Nora as well as Mrs. Boyle a bit more, ye understand--a propershare of the sum for the support of the child. And they agreed to saynothing." He fingered in his pocket and brought forth a paper. "This,as ye can plainly see, is a copy of the birth certificate of yer child."

  "And the original?" asked the Duc.

  "Will be produced at the proper time," said Quinlevin shrewdly.

  De Vautrin took the paper and read it carefully.

  "And where is Mrs. Boyle at the present moment?" he asked. "Dead also?"

  "Three weeks ago," said Quinlevin calmly. "It's most unfortunate--buther signature can be verified."

  "H--m. And Father Reilly also. Of course," said the Duc with a quickglance toward his bedroom door. "And there are other papers?"

  "Yes," said Quinlevin. "Letters from you--accompanying yerchecks--which guarantee yer verbal agreement in Paris. The will ofPatrick Callonby and a few other trifles which are important to ye."

  "And you think your case is complete?"

  "Oh, yes, quite. An Irish court won't hesitate very long just at thistime in carrying out the provisions of this will."

  Monsieur de Vautrin smiled. "And what do you wish me to do?" he askedquietly.

  "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, herfortune was to revert unconditionally to the child. But she's to beconsiderate of yer age and the relation that exists between ye, whichhowever strange it may seem to ye both at this time, is that of fatherand only daughter. Ye've both formed the habits of yer lives--yerselfliving bachelor-fashion in Paris and London. Yer daughter is disposedto be generous and does not wish to interfere with yer plans for thefuture. She will, if you please, still keep the matter secret, and goon living with me--yerself to continue in the comfortable life of yerbachelorhood."

  "And your terms?" asked de Vautrin quietly.

  Barry Quinlevin pocketed the copy of the birth certificate whichMonsieur de Vautrin had put upon the table.

  "As to terms, that won't be made difficult. The estate of PatrickCallonby was reckoned at a million pounds sterling--we'll say twentymillions of francs or thereabouts--since ye're not a man of business andallowing for depreciation. Give yer daughter proper securities to theamount of one third of her fortune and she will assign the other twothirds to you----"

  Quinlevin paused, for when the terms were mentioned Monsieur de Vautrinhad begun to smile and now burst into an unpleasant laugh.

  "Well, Monsieur de Vautrin," broke off Quinlevin angrily.

  "It's merely," he replied, "that you don't figure enough fordepreciation."

  "What do ye mean?"

  "Twenty-one years is a long while. And you are right when you say thatI am no man of business. My fortune has diminished year by year andsince the war--pouf! it has vanished into thin air. The estate ofPatrick Callonby, Monsieur, is now a myth."

  Barry Quinlevin rose, trying to keep his temper.

  "There are ways of verifying yer statements, Monsieur."

  "Of course. I commend you to them. And Nora Burke, who might have toldme the truth last summer in Ireland, when I was disposed to begenerous."

  "I've tould the truth," asserted Nora doggedly, in spite of herbewilderment.

  "And how much more will you tell when there's no money for the telling?"said de Vautrin, rising.

  For at this moment the door into the adjoining room opened and JimHorton strode quickly into the room.