The Splendid Outcast

  *CHAPTER XVII*

  *JIM MAKES A GUESS*

  Horton did not look at Moira and quickly sought out the tall figure ofthe astonished Irishman, who stood by the table, glaring angrily.

  "What's this, Monsieur de Vautrin?" Le asked.

  "I beg pardon," said Horton quickly, "but my departure has been delayedby the necessity for presenting some evidence which had been overlookedby Mr. Quinlevin."

  "A trick--Monsieur de Vautrin," stormed the Irishman. "I'll have none ofhim," and moved toward the door into the corridor. But Jim Horton hadreached it ahead of him, and quickly locking the door, put the key intohis pocket, turned quickly, his height topping Quinlevin's, his bulkdominating him.

  "I'm afraid you must," said Horton coolly.

  "Must----!" Quinlevin struggled for his temper and then, realizing thathe was doing his cause no good, shrugged a careless shoulder and glancedtoward the door into the adjoining room.

  "And yer _compagnon de voyage_? Is she to be with us also?" he saidinsultingly, for Moira's benefit.

  Horton met Moira's glance as she took a pace forward toward him.

  "By what right do you keep me here against my will?" she asked in angrydisdain.

  He faced her coolly.

  "By every right you've given me--to act in your interest whether youwish it or not."

  "I'm quite capable of looking after my own affairs," she cut in quickly.

  He smiled quietly.

  "If I thought so, I shouldn't be here."

  "Will you unlock that door?" she asked icily.

  He did not move and his level gaze met hers calmly. "No, Moira----" hesaid gently, "I won't."

  "Oh!" she gasped furiously, then turned her back and went to the windowwhere she stood silently looking down over the garden.

  Without noticing her further Horton turned toward Quinlevin.

  "You seem to have forgotten your conversation with me in the hospital atNeuilly, Mr. Quinlevin, and the intimate blood-ties that bind me to yourfellow-conspirator, Harry Horton."

  Quinlevin had sunk into a chair in an attitude of careless grace andplaying this old gambler's game smiled grimly up into the face of theenemy.

  "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 windowto land ye in a jail. But I confess to some idle curiosity as to yerreasons for this behavior. And I warn ye that when ye unlock the doorI'll see ye into the prison at Monaco. In the meanwhile I'll tell yethat what ye say will be held against ye."

  "And what of the evidence I hold against _you_, Barry Quinlevin?"

  "The evidence of a deserter from the American army," Quinlevin sneered."Let it be brief and to the point, Corporal Horton."

  "You don't alarm me," said Horton calmly. "I've discounted that. Giveme 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'sinterests." Horton laughed easily as the Irishman refused a reply."Come. Perhaps it won't be necessary to go so far as that. If yourfriend Tricot had done his shooting at Marboeuf a little lower neitherPiquette nor I would be here to oppose you."

  Jim Horton saw Moira turn from the window with startled eyes at Tricot'sname, but he went on carelessly. "But here I am, and I'm not easy tokill, Mr. Quinlevin. If I came through at Boissiere Wood I'm not likelyto get hit now. So you'd better listen to me."

  "I've been doing little else these ten minutes, Mr. Horton," saidQuinlevin, yawning politely.

  "I won't waste any more time than I can help, but when you promise NoraBurke five thousand pounds for telling a lie I want to give her hermoney's worth."

  He turned to the old woman with a frown as he caught her off her guardbut Quinlevin broke in quickly.

  "See here, Horton, I've had about enough of this----"

  The Irishman rose furiously, but Horton took a quick pace toward him.

  "Keep your hands out of your pockets, Quinlevin," he shouted warningly."I'm younger than you--and quicker. That's better. And Monsieur deVautrin, you will please close the window. The interview is apt to benoisy."

  The Irishman knew that he was no match in physical strength for theAmerican, and so he sank into his chair again, Horton near him in acommanding position where he could watch Nora Burke. He was consciousof Moira's gaze from the corner by de Vautrin. She had not spoken buthe knew that he had her attention again.

  "Five thousand pounds for a lie," he said distinctly over Quinlevin'shead. "That's true, isn't it, Nora?"

  But the woman had had time to regain some of her composure after thesudden shock of his first accusation and turned on him defiantly.

  "It is not," she replied. "And the man lies who says it."

  "Even if it was Mr. Quinlevin himself?" said Horton.

  "Say nothing, Nora," the Irishman's voice broke in quickly. "No one canmake you speak."

  "But when he says----"

  "Silence!"

  Horton shrugged. "As you please. But she'll have to answer later, andit won't be so easy then. Five thousand pounds is a lot of money----"

  "It's a lie----"

  "Silence!" from Quinlevin.

  "It's a mighty small sum, Nora Burke, for so big a lie."

  When the woman opened her mouth to speak again Quinlevin silenced herwith a gesture. But her face was flushed and she shifted from one footto the other, glaring at her tormentor, who, it seemed, had just begunhis inquisition.

  Horton smiled at her grimly.

  "It's a mighty small sum, Nora--especially as you're not going to getany of it--unless Mr. Quinlevin has other means at his disposal."

  "I want no money from Mr. Quinlevin."

  "Then you're just lying for the fun of it? Do you happen to know whatthe penalty for false-swearing is in France?"

  "Don't let him frighten you, Nora," interjected the Irishman.

  "It's Excommunication," said Horton, grinning at his own invention.

  Nora was silent but her face was a study in her varying emotions. Shehad not bargained for this, and her knees were shaking under her.

  Quinlevin's laugh reassured her a little.

  "I'm not believin' ye----" she muttered.

  "You don't have to believe me--but you'll wish you'd never left Galwaywhen Monsieur de Vautrin's lawyer gets through with you--and nothing atthe end of it all but a French jail."

  "I never did any harm in me life."

  "Except to forget to speak the truth. You're getting old, Nora. Maybethat's what's the matter with your memory. Because Monsieur de Vautrinis certain that the facts about the birth of his child are quitedifferent from those you've related. You've said that Mary Callonby'schild was this very girl called Moira Quinlevin----?"

  "I did--she was," blurted Nora, furiously.

  "And before she died--that very night--she gave the child a Christianname?"

  "She did."

  "You're very sure of this?"

  "Nora----!" warned Quinlevin.

  "I'm sure of it. Why wouldn't I----" cried Nora, "when I was hearin'the very words of her tongue."

  "And the child was a girl?"

  "Yes--a--a girl----"

  Quinlevin rose, glaring at Horton.

  "Silence, Nora!"

  "Then why," insisted Horton, "if the child was a girl, was it given theChristian name of a boy?"

  "A boy----!"

  Nora Burke started back a pace, her round foolish face, usually florid,now the color of putty.

  "Nora!" Quinlevin roared. "Keep silent, d'ye hear?"

  But it was too late to repair the damage done. Horton had not taken hisgaze 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 tablenear him, watching as eagerly as he.

  Jim Horton shrugged and brought quickly from his pocket a small redbook, which he opened at a page carefully dog-cared.

 
"This little book is a dictionary of French and English, Nora. It's avery good dictionary. Here's a page of Christian names in French and inEnglish. Here you are: Patrice--Patrick. Can you tell me in the nameof all that's sensible why Mary Callonby named the child Patrick unlessit was a boy?"

  Nora gasped for breath once or twice, glancing at Quinlevin, whoshrugged and frowned.

  "The name upon the birth certificate is Patricia," he growled.

  "Then who changed it?" asked Horton keenly, glaring at Nora.

  "Not I, sor. I--I can't write," she gasped.

  Jim Horton laughed.

  "It couldn't have been Father Reilly, or Dr. Finucane. Perhaps Mr.Quinlevin will produce the certificate."

  "When the time comes," gasped Quinlevin, "ye'll see it--in a court oflaw."

  "And the death certificate of your own child too, Mr. Quinlevin?" askedHorton amiably.

  "Ay--that too," he stammered in his rage as he faced the American, "butyou won't be there to see. For on my evidence you'll be shot, my friendthe masquerader."

  "I'll have to run that chance----"

  Moira's voice, tense, shrill with nervousness, broke in as she caughtQuinlevin by the arm.

  "No, never. You will not dare. I forbid it."

  "We'll see to that----"

  The Duc, who at last seemed to have recovered his initiative, cameforward with an air of alacrity.

  "Perhaps, Monsieur Horton, it is just as well if you now unlock thedoor."

  Horton looked at his wrist watch.

  "Willingly. Oblige me, Monsieur." And he handed de Vautrin the key."Unless there are some further matters Mr. Quinlevin wishes to discuss."

  Jim's gaze met Moira's for the fraction of a second and brief as it was,he seemed to find a glimpse of that fool's paradise in which he hadlived for a while. And then her glance turned from him to Quinlevin asshe moved past Horton toward the door. Nora Burke, her stolidityshaken, her arrogant mien fallen amid the wreck of her probity, sent afleeting glance over her shoulder toward the long mustaches of deVautrin and stumbled after Moira.

  But the Duc was in high feather again and fairly danced to the door.

  "Will you give me your Paris address, that I may send you the money, Mr.Barry Quinlevin?" he shouted after him into the corridor.

  There was no reply. Quinlevin's clever house of cards had toppled andfallen. But Horton followed down the corridor when they turned thecorner and watched what happened. At the landing, the Irishman made agesture and the two women went in the direction of their rooms, whileQuinlevin passed down the stairs.

  When Horton returned to the room the Duc closed the door and camedelightedly toward him.

  "Ah, _mon ami_. It was as good as a play. How did you know that mychild was not a girl--but a boy?"

  "I didn't know it," sighed Horton, with a laugh. "I guessed it."

  "But you must have----"

  "I got to thinking--last night. The whole story was a lie--whyshouldn't this be a part of it?"

  "But a suspicion wasn't enough----"

  "Enough for a starter, Monsieur. You'll admit, it _might_ have been aboy. Just because you always _thought_ the child was a girl, thatdidn't make it one. I lay awake. Phrases in Quinlevin's talk in thestudio came back to me and I began to think about the name 'Patrice'--hesaid, '_a little hard to read. Patricia it is_.' Just phrases, butthis meant something. '_Female, me boy. A little illegible_----'"Horton turned with a quick gesture.

  "Why should the name Patricia be illegible when all the rest was clear?"

  "But you said nothing of this to me," muttered the Duc.

  "I wasn't sure. I sent out for the dictionary. It had the Christiannames in the back. Patrice was Patrick. There wasn't any Patricia. YouFrench have a way of giving males and females the same names anyway.Madeleine--I knew a Frenchman in America with Madeleine for a middlename. Aulnoy might be anything----"

  "A family name----"

  "Yes. Your wife wanted your family name in it--but she wanted herfather's name too--Patrick--so she called the boy Patrice--we can provethis now, I think."

  "Assuredly, Monsieur," said de Vautrin, "you are a genius."

  "No. I'm only a good guesser. But it worked. I got the poor thingrattled. And when I saw Nora's face I knew I'd hit with the secondbarrel."

  Outside it was getting dark. Horton went to the window and peered out.

  "Monsieur de Vautrin, there's nothing to keep you here now," he said."It may be even dangerous to remain. You must go away incognito and bythe first train. You've been very careless with your affairs. Lay yourentire case in the hands of your lawyer--telling him all that hashappened here and sending to Ireland for a careful search of the birthrecords of the parish of Athlone----"

  "But you, Monsieur. What will you do?"

  "I shall stay here awhile. There's something else that I must do."

  "And Piquette----?"

  "I will see that she returns safely."

  "You are very good, Monsieur," said the Duc. "Will you forgive me formy suspicions?"

  "Yes. If you will promise to give Piquette the affection she deserves.She is a child, Monsieur, with great impulses--both good and bad--whatshe becomes will depend upon your treatment of her."

  "She has saved me from great trouble, bringing you, my savior----"

  Horton moved into the bed room and picked up his hat. "Don't let thattrouble you," he said, and then offered his hand. "Glad to have metyou, Monsieur. _Au revoir_. I will see you in Paris in a week. Butdon't waste any time getting out of here. _Allez--tout de suite_, youunderstand. Paris in a week, Monsieur."

  And with a quick wave of his hand Horton went out and walked rapidlydown the corridor. The interview with Quinlevin had served a doublepurpose. He had succeeded beyond all hope in finding out what he hadwanted to know; and he had so occupied the Irishman's time that Piquettecould proceed unmolested in making an investigation of her own. Hehurried up to her room to meet her, as agreed. Watching the corridor,he knocked by a preconcerted signal. There was no reply. After a momenthe opened the door and entered. The room was empty.

  * * * * *

  Piquette was fearless but she was also clever. It was her thought thatBarry Quinlevin would take no chances with the original birthcertificate and other papers in the apartment of Monsieur de Vautrin.It was her suggestion that she be permitted to take advantage of theabsence of Quinlevin and his party to make a thorough search of therooms for any private papers. And in this she was aided and abetted byMonsieur Jacquot, in the office of the hotel, to whom she explained asmuch as was necessary, and who provided the keys and wished her luck inher undertaking.

  Jim had allowed her an hour for the investigation, during which periodhe had promised to keep Quinlevin prisoner. Here then, Piquette reachednew heights of self-abnegation, for in helping Jim in the cause ofMoira, she worked against her own interests, which had nothing to dowith Moira Quinlevin. Jim had opened her eyes to her obligations toMonsieur de Vautrin but she had done her duty merely because Jim hadasked it of her. He had kissed her as though she were a queen. Shecould never forget that.

  But in spite of any mental reservations she may have had in doingsomething in the interest of the girl Jim Horton loved, she wasconscious of a thrill of keen interest in the task that she had setherself. And Piquette went about her investigation methodically,waiting on the steps from the upper landing until Quinlevin and the twowomen had entered the room of the Duc, when, keys in hand, she made herway quickly to the rooms Quinlevin had engaged. There were three ofthem _en suite_, with connecting doors, and with a quick glance alongthe empty corridor she entered the nearest one.

  An ancient valise, and a flannel wrapper, proclaimed its occupant--Nora.There might be something of interest here--but it was doubtful, forBarry Quinlevin was hardly a man to leave Nora in possession of anydocuments that were better kept in his own hands. But Piquettenevertheless searched carefully and for he
r trouble, found nothing. Thedoor into the adjoining room, that of Madame Horton, was open, showinghow quickly and easily an _entente_ had been re-established betweenMoira Quinlevin and her old nurse.

  At the threshold of this room Piquette paused, glancing with a delicatefrown at the articles of feminine apparel on bed and dressing stand.

  "H--m," she sniffed, scenting the air delicately, her chin raised."Violette!" Then she approached the bed and took a white garment andrubbed it critically between thumb and forefinger. "H-mph!" saidPiquette again. A pair of stockings next--a small slipper which shemeasured with her own, shrugged, and then searched the suit case anddressing table thoroughly. Of paper there was nothing--not even apost-card.

  The door into Barry Quinlevin's room was bolted on the side wherePiquette stood. She went back through the rooms that she had passed, tobe sure that nothing had been disarranged, locked the outside door ofNora Burke's room as she had found it, and then went back to Quinlevin'sdoor which she opened quickly and peered around. Here there was a fieldfor more careful investigation, a suit-case, a dressing-stand, a bed,some chairs, a closet--all of them she took in in a quick inspection.The suit-case first--and if locked she meant to take it bodily away.

  It wasn't locked. She had a slight sense of disappointment. Itcontained 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 thenarranging the contents as she had found them, straightened with a shortbreath, and looked elsewhere. No. Monsieur Quinlevin would have hiddensuch important papers more cleverly than that. Where then? In a placeso obvious that no one would think of looking there for them? That wasan ancient trick well known to the police. But after she had lookedaround the room, she examined the bed minutely, running her nimblefingers along the ticking of the mattress, the pillows, dismantling thebed completely, and then satisfied that she had exhausted thispossibility, remade it skillfully.

  Next, the dressing-stand, inch by inch inside and out, then theupholstery of the chairs, straightening at last, puzzled. And yet sheknew that the birth certificate must be in these rooms somewhere. Shemoved the rugs, examined the ashes in the fireplace, the base board andmolding, took down the pictures from the walls and then, baffled, sankinto the arm chair for a moment to think. Could Quinlevin have taken theprecaution to leave the documents in the safe at the Hotel Ruhl in Nice,or would he perhaps have deposited them downstairs in the strong-box ofthe Hotel de Paris? In that event Monsieur her friend would help....

  But her hour had not yet expired. There were a few moments left. Whereelse was she to look? She glanced at the picture molding, the walls,the electric light brackets by the bed and dressing-stand, then rose fora last and possibly futile and despairing effort. She ran her sensitivefingers over the bracket by the bed. It was affixed to the wall by ahexagonal brass plate held by a small screw. She tried to move thescrew with her fingers but it resisted, so she ran to the dressing-standfor a nail file and in a moment had moved the brass plate from the wall.A patch of broken wall-paper and wires in a small hole--but no papers.

  She screwed the plate carefully into place and turned to the otherfixture over the dressing-stand. This was her last venture, but she haddetermined to make it, and felt a slight thrill of expectation when thescrew of the first bracket moved easily in her fingers. She loosenedthe plate and as it came out from the surface of the wall, there was asibilant rustle and something slipped down behind the dressing-stand tothe floor. Eager now with excitement, she thrust her fingers behind theplate and brought forth some papers. These she examined quickly inamazement, then carefully screwed the bracket into its place, recoveringthe other paper that had fallen to the floor--success! The papers thatshe had taken from behind the bracket she could not understand, but thepaper that she had recovered from the floor was the much desired birthcertificate of the dead child. The light was failing, but in the shadowof the hangings of the French window she stood and read the namePatricia Madeleine Aulnoy de Vautrin.

  She was filled with the joy of her success and so absorbed in theperusal of the paper that she did not hear the small sounds that camefrom the adjoining room, nor was she aware of the tall dark figure ofthe girl with the pale face who for a long moment had stood in thedoorway watching her in silent amazement. And it was not until Moiraspoke that Piquette turned, the papers hidden behind her, and met thesteady gaze of the woman Jim Horton loved.

  "What are you doing in this room?" asked Moira steadily.