by George Gibbs
*CHAPTER VIII*
*THREATS*
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 wasdrowning her. And yet she watched him tensely, aware of the crisis,aware too of the revelations that seemed to have laid her heart bare toall the world.
Her husband reached the large table and poured out what remained of thewhisky. Then she heard his laugh again, and saw him leering at her overhis glass.
"Lucky dog, I am. Pretty little devil to come home to. Love tap!" Heshrugged and raised his glass. "To our better acquaintance!"
She made no sound, but while her eyes watched, her mind was workingrapidly. His air was braggart, but she could see that he wasn't any toosure of himself. He had thought to come here and by the ruse of theadhesive plaster merge his identity into that of his brother Jim. Thelapse of time since she had seen him and the illness had deceived her inthe hospital. And so he had figured on the remarkable resemblance tohis 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 ofthe brother so close to her heart. Something of what was passing in hermind seemed to come to him.
"So you've fallen in love with my pretty brother?" he muttered.
"No."
"Complaisant husband--_mari complaisant_. You wanted Jim to take you inhis arms--and you only had _me_. You don't care for my kisses. Whynot? We're just alike--as like as two peas in a pod. What's thedifference? Come now. Tell me. I'll be a good sport."
"We--we've got to come to an understanding----" she gasped at lastdesperately.
"Exactly--an understanding. That's what I'm getting at----" he laughedand sank into a chair by the lay figure. "Oh, don't be disturbed. I'mnot going to try to kiss you again. It's too dangerous."
She watched him intently while he took out a package of cigarettes andlighted one. And then, with a wave of the hand, "An understanding--byall means. Fire away."
"It isn't necessary to go into the past, except to say what you knowalready--that our marriage was a horrible mistake. But we did have anunderstanding then--that you were to wait--that you were to--to makegood--and that I was to try to--to care for you."
"Quite so. And we've both failed?"
"Thanks. We--we have both failed," she repeated. "I can't say I everreally believed we should succeed until----"
"Until you went to the hospital."
She bent her head. "The main thing is," she went on more evenly as shegathered courage, "that whatever my hopes were for you, now at leastyou've forfeited all claim to consideration."
"Why? Because I take a fancy to my own uniform--my own personality?"
"Because you----" she paused to catch her breath, "because you'vestooped to something--something unworthy--something vile and terrible,perhaps--God knows, to get rid of a man--your own brother,--who did youa service; and because you'll dare to receive honors that don't belongto you." And then, as he started up, "One moment. I don't know whathappened on the battlefield. If you were injured, it was aglorious--foolish thing Jim Horton did for you. But whatever he did andwhatever his motive, it deserves something of you--something differentfrom what you've confessed. Tell me what you have done with him andI'll try to believe you."
"He's quit, I told you," he protested. "There wasn't anything else forhim----"
"Where is he?"
"What does it matter? He's out of your life--out of mine."
"No--not out of your life----" she paused.
"What do you mean?"
"Merely that the truth of this thing must be told."
"Impossible. It would ruin us both."
She gave a little gasp of relief.
"Tell me where he is."
"He's safe----"
She deliberated a moment.
"You've got to prove it to me. He said he was coming back to the studioto-day. Instead, you came--in the uniform he wore. He didn't give itto you willingly----"
"Yes," he lied sullenly. "He gave it to me. There wasn't anything elseto do when I turned up. He realized he couldn't stay here--with you."And then, "Oh, he was square enough about it."
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 awarethat he had risen unsteadily from his chair and was approaching her.
"So here, Moira," he said in an ingratiating tone. "I'm not a badsort--really I'm not. I--I was out of my head awhile ago--the way youcame up to me, thinking I was him. I guess I wanted to hurt you--theway you had hurt me. I'm sorry. I won't touch your fingers even, ifyou don't want me to. I was a rotter to try to kiss you. I ought tohave 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'sforget it and talk the thing over sensibly. There may be a way out. Idon't want any honors that don't belong to me, but I don't want to bedismissed from the service, either, or shot--on Jim's account. Butwe've got to keep this thing quiet."
She understood his drift. The facts in her possession made herdangerous.
"It can't be kept quiet, so long as Jim Horton is in danger."
"Who said he was in danger? I said he'd quit----"
"But you lied. He hasn't quit. He isn't the quitting kind. He was tohave come to me to-day, and told me the truth--I didn't know what it allmeant then. But I do now. He has got to have his chance."
She saw him glare at her somberly.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Take me to him--to-night."
"That's impossible. I couldn't find him."
"Yes. You can find him. Or he would have found me."
He smeared out the ash of his cigarette in a receiver and rose, his facelivid.
"You seem very sure of him--and of yourself. And if I don't find himfor you, what are you going to do?"
"I shall tell what I know to the proper authorities."
He stood for a moment balked and then before she knew what he was abouthe stumbled to the studio door and turning the key in the lock put it inhis pocket. She was frightened by the significance of the action, andran quickly toward the door of her own room. He turned and moved tointercept her but awkwardly and she slammed the door in his face,catching the bolt on the inside.
She was frightened now, desperately frightened, but resolved to escapeand tell what she knew. The brother--Jim--was in danger--a prisonersomewhere--otherwise he would have come to her. Much as his silence hadinjured her, deeply as her pride was hurt at the position in which hehad placed her, she knew now that he had intended to tell the truth fromhis own lips and warn her of Harry's return before he left her and wentaway alone. He loved her.... It was his love that had sought to spareher the humiliation of this very knowledge that had come to her.Shell-shock! There was another reason for the substitution. What? Butwhatever it was, there seemed little difficulty in choosing betweenthem. The other--Jim--the man she loved ... she acknowledged it inevery impulse ... would have come to her. She had to find him. Justwhat she meant to do she didn't know, except to get away from Harry. Hewas hammering on the door now--pleading with her. But she didn'tanswer. Catching up her hat and a heavy coat, she went quietly to herown door into the hall, and, while he still hammered and pleaded, fledquickly down the stairs and into the lodge of the _concierge_.
Madame Toupin, aroused suddenly from her doze, started up in amazement.
"Madame Horton, what is it?" she asked in French.
"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 outinto the street. You understand?"
"_Parfaitement, Madame. Ah, les jeux d'amour. Entrez vite_." And sheopened the door of the closet which Moira entered quickly.
T
hen Madame Toupin with a smile of wisdom composed herself to read herpaper. And in a moment a clatter of boots upon the stairway and thesound of footsteps upon the paving of the courtyard announced theapproach of the officer. Through a crack in the door Moira listened tothe conversation which Madame conducted with her amiable smile, andpresently Harry Horton withdrew frowning and went out hurriedly into theRue de Tavennes.
But while she stood upright in the closet listening, Moira hadformulated a plan. It was clear from the tone of Harry's voice and hishaste to go that her escape had frightened him. For his judgment wasnot amiss when he decided that Moira was fully capable of carrying outher threat to tell the whole story to the military authorities. Butinstead of clinging to her original intention, a new idea had come toher.
If she followed him, she could perhaps get a clue to the mystery of JimHorton's disappearance. She couldn't understand yet--couldn't makeherself believe that this man that she had married could be capable of athing so vile. But the evidence--his own words stammered in his fury,were damning. The familiar formulas seemed to have no bearing now. Thewar had made men demi-gods or devils and Harry.... It did not seem verydifficult to decide to-night what Harry was.
She slipped on her heavy coat and the hat she had brought and with aword of explanation and caution to Madame Toupin, she went out into thestreet. Far down upon the opposite sidewalk she saw a tall figurestriding away into the darkness. She followed, keeping at a distance,her coat collar turned up and her broad-brimmed hat pushed well downover her eyes. She hurried along, keeping in the shadow of the oppositeside of the street, trembling with the excitement of her venture andwondering what was to be its outcome, but sure from his gait that thesituation she had created had developed in Harry Horton's hazy brainsome definite plan of action. She noticed too that he no longer swayedor stumbled and that he glanced furtively to left and right at thestreet corners, peering back toward her from time to time. But shematched her wits to his, crouching into corners as he turned and thenrunning forward breathlessly in the dark places, keeping him in sight.He turned into the narrow reaches of the _Rue de Monsieur le Prince_,past the _Lycee_ and the _Ecole de Medicine_, and crossed the BoulevardSt. Germain into the network of small streets in the direction of theriver, twisting and turning in a way which confirmed her belief in thedishonesty of his purposes. It was now long after midnight, and thestreets into which they moved were quiet and almost deserted. From thedirection of the _Boule' Miche'_ came a rumble of vehicles, the glare oflights, the distant grunt of an automobile-horn, the clatter of a cabhorse down an echoing street. The neighborhood was unfamiliar to her, apart of old Paris near the _Isle de la Cite_, where the houses, relicsof antiquity, were huddled into ghostly groups, clinging to one another,illumined fitfully by murky bracket-lamps which only served to maketheir grim facades more somber and fantastic. Dark shapes emerged fromdarker shadows and leered at her--evil figures, bent and bedraggled, orpainted and bedizened, the foul night-creatures of the city, thescavengers, the female birds of prey, the nighthawks, the lepers. Twiceshe was accosted, once by a vile hag that clutched at her arm withskinny talons, and again by a man who tried to bar her way, but with astrength born of her desperation she thrust him aside and ran on, hergaze seeking the tall figure that she followed.
More than once she lost sight of him as he plunged deeper and deeperinto the maze and she paused trembling in the shadows, not knowing whichway to turn, but gathering courage again hurried on to catch the glintof a street light on his brown overcoat in the distance.
Above the roofs, almost hanging over her, she caught a glimpse of thegrim 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. Withan effort she threw off her terror of the evil that seemed to hang inevery shadow, trying to remember that this was Paris, her Paris, withfamiliar places close at hand; and that this man whom she followed wasno creature of the middle ages, but Harry, her husband; that this wasthe Twentieth Century, and that here was the very heart of thecivilization of the world. But the facts that had come to her wereamazing, and Harry's confessions damnable. It was clear that hisposition was desperate and his intentions none less so. Here somewhere,hidden, she believed, Jim Horton lay, helpless and injured, if not byhis brother's hand by that of some one in his employ. It was the onlyanswer to the riddle of his failure to come back to her. She must findhim--before they took him away--before they ... Her thoughts terrifiedher again. Harry wouldn't dare. He was a coward at heart. She knew itnow. Besides, there must be some spark of decency and manhood left torestrain him from so desperate, so terrible an expedient to savehimself.
She crept cautiously to the corner of a small street into which HarryHorton had turned. It was scarcely more than an alley-way--a vestige ofthe old city, hedged in by squat stone houses with peaked roofs,deserted it seemed and unoccupied. Beyond she could see the _Quai_, theloom of the Hotel Dieu and Notre Dame. The house at which he hadstopped was but a few yards from the river front. She stole into theblackness of an angle of wall and watched. He was knocking upon thedoor--three quick taps followed by two slower ones. For awhile hewaited impatiently and then, as no one answered the summons, he triedthe window and then started up a small passage at the side not twentyfeet from where she crouched.
Her pulses were throbbing violently, but the terror of her surroundingshad passed. And she tried to convince herself that she did not fearHarry.... And yet she hesitated to confront him, fascinated by herdiscovery.... The brother--Jim--was here--she was as sure of it asthough 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 ifshe revealed herself, would not the warning give them time to carry outwhatever plan they had in mind? And so she crouched watching,breathless and uncertain.
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.
"Tricot!" he called. "Tricot! Tricot!"
And in a moment she heard a sound at the door, which was opened a fewinches.
"_C'est moi, Tricot_," she heard Harry say, and then the door was openedwide, giving her a glimpse of a short man with tousled hair and adiabolic face, holding a lantern.
"_Oh, Monsieur_----" growled the man with the lantern, stepping aside asHarry Horton entered. And just as Moira sprang up, her husband's nameon her lips, the door was closed and bolted. She ran to it and thenpaused in uncertainty, trying to plan what it was best to do. She feltvery small, very helpless, for the sight of the villainous looking manwith the lantern frightened her terribly. He seemed to typify all theevil in all the world--to explain in a glimpse all that was sinister andterrifying in the disappearance of Jim Horton. An ugly creature of theworld of underground, an _apache_! There were others like him here.And Harry....
There was no time to be lost. Her thoughts seemed to clear, her courageto return as she cautiously returned by the way that she had come--outinto the wider street, up which she hurried, turning in the direction ofthe _Boule' Miche'_. Her one idea now was to find a policeman,--any onewith a vestige of authority. Men she met but she shrank away from themas she saw what they were and what they thought she was. Ten--fifteenminutes of rapid searching without result and she turned toward the Quaiand, failing there, over the _Petit Pont_ to the Island and thePrefecture de Police. It was curious that she had not thought of itbefore. The buildings were dark but she found at last a man in uniformto whom excitedly she told her story. He listened with maddeningpoliteness and at last took her to an office where several other men inuniform were sitting around a stove. More alarmed than ever at thepassage of time, she told her story again. Here she seemed to make someimpression at last, for an older man, who sat at a desk, finally arousedhimself and gave some orders. And in a few moments with two of thepolicemen she was leading the way back to the _Quai St. Michel_. Shewas almost running now in her eagerness so that the men had to t
aketheir longest strides to keep up with her, but more than ten minutes hadalready passed, it seemed an eternity to Moira, and there was still somedistance to go.
"What was the name this man spoke at the door?" asked one of thepolicemen.
She told him.
"Ah, Tricot! _Parbleu_! I think perhaps, Mademoiselle, that there maybe some reason in your anxiety."
"You know----?"
"An _apache_ of the old regime, Mademoiselle. We would do well to findhim."
And so, explaining her fears, but not yet revealing all the reasons forthem, she led the way down the streets by which she had come and to thehouse which Harry Horton had entered.
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 andcalled to them. There was a shutter and a window open. Withouthesitation, he drew a weapon and crawled over the sill, the other manfollowing, leaving Moira alone. She listened, as they moved aboutinside, saw the glint of an electric torch and then heard the bolts ofthe door shot back and the police officer calling to her.
"Enter, Mademoiselle," he said, when she had come around. "You are surethat this is the house?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"There is no one here. The house is deserted. It is a street ofdeserted houses."
"That is impossible----" she stammered. "With my own eyes, less than anhour ago, this Tricot met the other at the door."
"_Allons_! We will search a little further, then."
She followed them up the rickety stairway and then they found evidencesof recent occupation--two pallets of straw--some food--a bottlecontaining absinthe.
"Mademoiselle, you are right. This bottle is not yet empty. There'ssomething suspicious here."
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 gazesearching the shadows. The place smelled of the earth and the wallswere damp to the touch, but a quick examination with the torch showedthe marks of many foot-prints in the earthen floor. The astonishingfeature of the cellar was its size, for it seemed to extend under twohouses, and its vaulted ceiling of rough stone of great antiquity wasupheld by huge piers, that might at one time have supported the walls ofa great edifice. At first they could make out nothing but a litter ofpapers, bottles and packing cases, but as the torch of the policeofficer searched the shadows in a distant corner, they heard hisexclamation of astonishment. There was another pallet of straw herecovered with rags and quite distinctly there came to their nostrils theodor of chloroform. Moira peering over the shoulders of the man withthe 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 hepicked up some pieces of rope.
"Some one lay here but a short while ago," he muttered positively, "tiedhand and foot. The bed is still warm."
"They can't have gone far then----"
"But the door was bolted on the inside----"
"The window----"
"There would hardly have been time, is it not so, Mademoiselle?"
"I don't know," whispered Moira in dismay. "Is there no outlet to thisplace? There must be. The light, Monsieur--yonder, in the cornersbeyond the stone-work----"
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 stonearch over some steps leading into a dark opening. The man who held thelight suddenly extinguished it and a warning sound came from his lips.
"Listen," he whispered.
Scarcely able to breathe, Moira obeyed. From the passage-way at adistance, there came the sounds of voices.
"Come, follow me, Dupuy! Mademoiselle had better remain."
And with that, turning his light into the dark hole, he descended, theother following. But the thought of remaining alone in this terriblehouse frightened her and she clutched at the hand of the secondpoliceman.
"I dare not stay here, Monsieur. I must go with you."
"_Bien_. But I warn you it may be dangerous."
And yet what could be more dangerous than remaining in the cellar of the_apache_, Tricot? With shaking limbs she followed down the passage,stumbling and clinging to the shoulder of the gallant policeman. Theman who led them disappeared beyond a turn in the passage, but theyreached it and as they turned the corner felt the chill of the night airbeating in their faces. And in a moment they came out on the shore ofthe river near a boat landing.
"_Tonnerre de Dieu!_" shouted the man with the light, and startedrunning toward the steps that led to the Quai above. The other hadreached the boat landing and stared for a moment down into the darkmists above the river. Then he ran up the steps after his companion.
Frightened and mystified, Moira followed up the steps where after amoment the two men joined her.
"We have missed them. We were too late----"
"But the captive--the prisoner," pleaded Moira, in an agony ofapprehension.
"That's the point--the prisoner," said the younger man. "Wait a moment,Mademoiselle."
And he ran down the steps to the boat landing again, peering eagerlydown the stream. Already far away, merely a blotch in the shadowsbeyond the Pont Neuf, there was a boat at the Quai du Louvre.
"_Vite_, Dupuy. There may be yet time."
And the two of them started running toward the distant bridge, leavingMoira to follow as fast as she could.
When Moira reached them on the opposite side of the river, breathlessand almost dead of apprehension, they were questioning a man on the Quaidu Louvre. He reported that a man had attempted suicide by drowning andthat 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 apassing _fiacre_ in which the woman had driven away.
"Did you notice anything extraordinary about the rescued man?"questioned Dupuy.
"Nothing, except that he was very pale. Also that there was an odor ofchloroform on his clothing."
"Chloroform! Are you sure?"
The man shrugged. "You may smell for yourself."
And he extended a hand and arm upon which the odor was unmistakable.
She heard the officer take the address of the witness and then turn toher.
"Mademoiselle is no doubt weary. There is nothing more that can be doneto-night. If you will permit me to conduct you home."
A woman? Who?
Moira nodded in a bewildered way.
"A _fiacre_, Monsieur, if you please," she stammered. "I--I am verytired."
