by George Gibbs
*CHAPTER XXI*
_*THE PETIT BLEU*_
The road to Paris was long by the way Jim Horton and Piquette hadchosen, but without mishap they came through Geneva and Lyons, reachingtheir destination at the end of the second day. Of the furtheradventures of Monsieur Barry Quinlevin and his apostle Tricot they hadlearned nothing, though they had scanned all the newspapers upon theirway for any echoes of the adventure at the Hotel de Paris. Jim Hortonhad spoken little of Moira, but as they neared their journey's end, thebirth certificate and other papers still secure in Jim's inner pocket,he was sure that however difficult and painful his decision to desertMoira at the critical moment, Piquette's counsel had been wise. Moirahad fled from him and he knew now that her convictions had laid abarrier between them which no further effort that he could make wouldever pass. Pity he felt for her, deep and abiding, for she was sohelpless and now more than ever alone. But he had done his duty as hehad seen it, drawn Quinlevin's sting and opened Moira's eyes to hisperfidy, throwing a light along the path into which that perfidy wasleading her.
He and Piquette had tried to picture events in the hotel at Monte Carloafter their flight: The helpless men lying in the dark, awaiting themorning, Moira's probable return with Nora Burke and their liberation.As to what Moira would do after that, they could not decide. Her flightto Paris without money seemed impossible, and yet for her to remain withher spurious father after this awakening seemed also impossible.Piquette had related to him parts of her conversation with the girl andHorton had listened, aware of Piquette's motives and the hopelessimpediments to the success of her efforts.
Piquette spoke no more of love, nor did Jim Horton revive the topicwhich had given him a more awkward half an hour than he had ever spentin his life, but he showed her by every act a consideration that touchedher deeply and made the friendship that she asked of him a sacred thingto them both. What the future held for him was yet to be fullyrevealed, but as yet he could not see it clearly. With the collapse ofQuinlevin's scheme it was probable that all the vials of his wrath wouldbe turned upon Horton, who would be denounced to the militaryauthorities, no matter what happened to his unfortunate brother Harry.It was necessary therefore, until the birth certificate and the evidenceof Horton and Piquette was all placed with Monsieur de Vautrin's legalrepresentative, that Horton remain hidden and that Piquette avoid allcontact with her friends of the _Quartier_. It seemed also the part ofprudence for Piquette to remain for awhile away from her apartment,keeping in touch with her maid who would bring her clothing and lettersto a designated place.
"It would have been much more sensible to have killed Tricot," laughedHorton when they were established in rooms in his obscure lodging in theRue Jean Paul. "He'll come poking about with a brand new knife andrevolver, and then we'll have the devil to pay all over again."
"I'm not sure," said Piquette.
"We'll take no chances. And when this business is finished, if Monsieurde Vautrin doesn't do his duty by you I'd like to take you away fromParis, Piquette."
"Where, _mon_ Jeem?"
He shrugged. "To America. Where else?"
But she shook her head like a solemn child.
"No, _mon petit_. You will not wish to be taking me to America. Onecannot change one's destiny like dat. You s'all not 'ang me like amillstone aroun' your neck. My place is 'ere, in Paris, where I amborn, an' if de _bon Dieu_ will, where I s'all die. As for you, _monami_, all will be well. De _vrai gamine_ is born wit' de what youcall--secon' sight. It is I, Piquette, who say dis to you."
He glanced at her curiously, aware of an air of fatalism in her wordsand manner.
"How, Piquette?" he laughed.
She shrugged. "I doan know, but I believe you s'all be 'appy yet."
"With her, you mean?" he asked. "Not a chance, Piquette. That's done.But if I can help her----"
"Yes. You s'all 'elp 'er, _mon ami_. I know."
He smiled gently, and then thoughtfully lighted a pipe.
"You've got Cassandra beaten by a mile, my little Piquette."
"Cassandra?"
"The greatest little guesser in all history. But she guessed right----"
"An' I guess right too, _mon ami_. You see."
He smiled. "Then I wish you'd guess what's happened to your sillyfriend de Vautrin."
"Silly!" she laughed. "Dat's a good word, _mon ami_" and then shrugged."'E will come one day----"
"In a week--and here we sit cooling our heels with our evidence allO.K., burning in our fingers. If he doesn't arrive to-morrow I'm goingto find his _avocat_."
They had examined the birth certificate with a magnifying glass andthere was not a doubt that the final "a" of "Patricia" had been added to"Patrice," also that the word "male" had been changed to "female" by theaddition of the prefix. With Nora Burke as Quinlevin's only witness andHorton and Piquette to oppose her, there would not be the slightestdifficulty in disposing of Barry Quinlevin's pretensions. But Hortonstill worried much about the fate of Moira, for it was difficult for himto conceive of her resumption of the old relations with the Irishman.And yet it could not be long before Quinlevin returned to Paris, andwhat would be Moira's fate unless she accompanied him to the Rue deTavennes? Perhaps she was there now. Already four days had elapsedsince the flight from the Riviera and of course there had been ampletime for Quinlevin and his illy-assorted company to return. Hortonwanted to go to the Rue de Tavennes and try to learn what had happened,but Piquette advised against it. Until the responsibility for thepapers was shifted to de Vautrin, she did not think it wise for him totake any risk of danger. Jim Horton demurred, but when he saw how muchin earnest she was, he consented to remain in hiding a few days longer.
And late the following afternoon, Monsieur de Vautrin not yet havingreturned, and while they still waited, an astonishing thing happened,for Piquette's maid, under cover of nightfall (as was the arrangement)brought the letters from the Boulevard Clichy, and among them was a_Petit Bleu_ addressed to Jim Horton. He picked it up gingerly in hisfingers as though it had been dynamite and curiously scrutinized theenvelope. It augured badly for his security in Paris if many peopleknew so readily where he was to be found. De Vautrin perhaps----?Or----
He tore the envelope open quickly, Piquette looking over his shoulder.It was in French, of course, and he read,
"Shall be alone Rue de Tavennes to-night eight. Forgive and don't fail.MOIRA."
He read the lines over and over, Piquette helping him to translate, andstood a moment as though transfixed by its significance. "Forgive."That was the word that stood out in black letters. What had come overher? Did this mean that driven to desperation by the situation in whichshe had found herself she had been forced against her will to plead withhim for sanctuary? Or was it help that she needed? Whatever the realmeaning of the message, there was no doubt in Jim Horton's mind as towhere his duty lay.
But Piquette was already questioning Celeste rapidly.
"When did this _Petit Bleu_ arrive?"
"Not an hour ago, Madame."
"You are sure?"
"Yes, Madame, positive. I myself received it from the messenger."
"Very well, Celeste. You will return to the apartment and if any othermessage arrives, be sure to bring it at once."
"Yes, Madame."
"And be sure to take the roundabout way and be sure that you are notfollowed."
"Yes, Madame."
When the woman departed, Piquette took the blue slip from Jim Horton'sfingers and sat by the gas-light, rereading it slowly and thoughtfully.
"I must go, of course, Piquette," said Jim quietly.
"Yes, _mon ami_, you mus' go. An' yet there are some t'ings I don'on'erstan'."
"What, Piquette?"
"It is strange, dis sudden change of min' of Madame 'Orton," shereplied.
"She wants me,--needs me," said Jim, unaware of the pain he caused.
Piquette shrugged.
>
"I could 'ave tol' you dat at Monte Carlo," she said dryly, "but to askyou to come to 'er--it's different, dat."
"And yet she has done it----"
"De character of Madame 'as change' a great deal in a few days, _mon_Jeem."
"Something must have happened. Her position! Think of it, Piquette."
"I do. It is mos' onpleasan'. But I t'ink you would be de very las'person she would sen' for."
"Who then----? Piquette, I----"
She rose, and handed him his message. "You mus' go," she said with ashrug, "an' dere is not much time. But wit' your permission, _mon_Jeem----" she added firmly, "I will go wit' you."
"You, Piquette!" he stammered dubiously.
But she smiled at him.
"Ah, _mon vieux_, I s'all not intrude. You know dat, _n'est-ce pas_?But Madame 'Orton and I, we on'erstan' each oder. Per'aps I can 'elp'er too. An' where could she go onless to de Boulevard Clichy?"
Jim Horton stood speechless for a moment and then, slowly, "I hadn'tthought of that," he muttered.
They dined and then Piquette went to her room to put on her hat, whileJim Horton sat watching the clock which ticked off the minutes beforetheir departure. Of course Moira's appeal for forgiveness was only theweary cry of a heart sick with disappointment--a cry for sanctuary fromthe dreaded evils that encompassed her. But he would not permit himselfto believe that it meant any new happiness for him, except the mere joythat he would find in doing her a service. What he hoped was that atlast she had decided to permit him to take her away from Quinlevin.With that he would be content--must be content--for the thing thatseparated them was stronger than her will or his. "There's no divorcebut death." Her words came to him again, the weary tones with which shehad uttered them, and he realized again that there was no hope for heror for him. Even if his will were stronger than hers, he must not useit to coerce her.
When Piquette joined him they went forth by a circuitous way toward theRue de Tavennes. To be certain that they were not recognized theyavoided the populous streets and chose narrow by-ways, shadowed andunfamiliar, their coat collars turned up, their hats pulled well downover their eyes, while Horton strode beside her, saying nothing. To seeMoira, to speak to her, to take her away from the rogue who had for solong held her in his thrall....
As they turned into the Rue de Tavennes Horton glanced at his watch. Itwas some moments before the appointed hour. Under a gas lamp, heglanced at Piquette. He thought that she seemed pale, that her darkeyes burned with a deeper intensity, that she was compact of suppressedemotions, as though she were driven forward upon her feet by a powerbeyond her to control. And something of her tenseness seemed curiouslycommunicated to him. Was it that Piquette knew that the spell thatbound her to him was to be broken to-night, that the strange andwonderful friendship that she had found was to be dissipated by a newelement. Why had she chosen to come with him--insisted on it even? Andthe rapt, eager, absorbed look he had seen upon her face made him almostready to believe that she had in her something of the seer andprophetess at which he had been pleased to jest. He knew that she was"game," physically, spiritually, and that she could walk into the faceof danger and suffering to do him a service. It almost seemed as thoughshe had chosen to come with him to-night because it was her final act ofself-abnegation, to bring Jim and Moira together--to help the woman heloved to security if not to happiness.
As they neared the familiar gate of Madame Toupin, Horton was consciousof a sense of grave responsibility. It was the same feeling that hadcome to him there in the trench before the advance upon Boissiere Wood,the imminence of great events, the splendid possibilities of success,the dire consequences of failure, a hazard of some kind, with happinessor misery for many as the stake.
At the corner Piquette suddenly caught him by the elbow and held him.
"Wait, _mon ami_," she whispered. "Wait!"
He looked down at her in surprise at the sudden pause in her eagerfootsteps.
"Why, Piquette?" he asked.
"I--I don' know, _mon_ Jeem," she muttered breathlessly, one hand to herheart. "I don' know--somet'ing tell me to wait----"
"Do you want to go back?" he asked.
"No, no----"
"What then----?"
"I can't tell you. Jus' a feeling dat you should not go. I am notsure----"
"But I don't understand----"
"Nor I, _mon_ Jeem," she laughed. "'Ave I not tol' you de _vrai gamine_'ave secon' sight? Forgive me. You t'ink I am foolish. But it is 'erein my 'eart----"
"You do not want me to go to her, Piquette?" he asked.
"Yes. To 'er, _mon_ Jeem. _C'est bien_. Is it not for dat which Icome?"
She hesitated for another long moment, Jim watching her, and then raisedher head like some wild creature sniffing at the breeze.
"_Allons_!" she said. "We shall go now."
He smiled at her mood and they went on, Piquette making no furtherprotest, and reached the gate of Madame Toupin, where they paused for amoment. The _loge_ was dark and the gate was open. This was unusual,but Horton remembered that sometimes Madame Toupin and her prettydaughter went together for visits in the neighborhood. Two men werechatting under the lamp in the court-yard, but so absorbed in their ownaffair that they gave no attention to the visitors who entered thebuilding and slowly climbed the stairs, so familiar to Jim, and sosuggestive of the greatest joy and the greatest misfortune he had everknown. Piquette followed him one step behind, clinging to the tail ofhis overcoat. They met no one. A light showed beyond a transom on thesecond floor, the odor of a cigarette was wafted to them, and the soundof a voice softly singing. There was no other studio-apartment on thethird floor but Moira's, and they mounted the steps softly on tiptoe,peering upward into the obscurity for signs of illumination that wouldproclaim occupancy. But they could see no light but the reflection ofthe cold starlit sky which came through a window on the stair andoutlined the rail and baluster.
"Is dere no light?" asked Piquette in a voice which in spite of itselfseemed no more than a whisper.
"I can't see any yet," muttered Jim. And then, as his head came in linewith the floor, he pointed upward. Above the door the transom showed.
"Ah! _Elle est la_," she gasped, falling into her native tongueunconsciously.
Silently they mounted and Jim knocked upon the door. There was no reply.He knocked more loudly. Silence again. Then he put his hand on theknob and turned it. The door yielded and they entered, Piquette peeringcuriously over his shoulder, and around the room. The gas-light, turnedlow, cast a dim light over the room. The corners ware bathed in shadow,and Horton's gaze swept them eagerly, while he moved here and there.The familiar chairs, the couch by the big window, the easel with itscanvas, the draperies, the lay figure, seemed to be all as when he hadseen them last, but there was no one there. The studio was empty. WithPiquette close at his side he went to the door of the kitchenette. Itwas locked and the key was in the door. It had been fastened from thestudio side.
"That's curious," muttered Jim. "She may have gone out for a moment."
"Perhaps," said Piquette.
Jim went around the studio, glancing at the windows, and then joined hiscompanion by the door, scrutinizing his watch.
"We're a few moments early, Piquette," he muttered.
"I will go down, _mon ami_, and ask when she come back," she ventured.
And they went out of the studio, closing the door behind them. But JimHorton hesitated, glancing back at the door.
"I wonder if there could have been any mistake," he muttered. "Eighto'clock. I don't understand----"
"Jeem," said Piquette, "I do not like de look of dis. I am afraid----"
She peered down into the obscurity suddenly and put her fingers to herlips.
"Some one is coming," she murmured. "It is----" she paused, listened,and then caught him by the arm. "It is not a woman,--it is a man.Listen."
He obeyed, catching her meaning and its significance q
uickly. Thefootsteps were surely not those of a woman, and the stairs to the floorbelow creaked heavily.
"A man! Who?" he muttered.
"It is what I fear'. We mus' 'ide--somewhere--quick!"
The door of the hall-room Jim had slept in was near them. Tiptoeingover to it quickly, the girl behind him, he tried the knob. It yieldedand they entered its darkness, leaving the door wide enough open so thatthey could look out. The man was now climbing up the stair and reachedthe landing. If either of them had expected to see Barry Quinlevin theywere disappointed, for the figure was heavier, strangely similar to JimHorton's, and like him wore a dark overcoat and slouch hat. And whilethey peered out at him, the man hesitated, looked up at the transom andthen turned the knob and entered the studio, closing the door carefullybehind him. Jim Horton had felt Piquette's fingers clutch his arm andquestioned in a whisper.
"What is it, Piquette?"
"Your broder--'Arry," she gasped.
"Impossible. He's at camp----"
"I would swear it----"
"In civilian clothes? He knows better than that." He laughed gently."You're nervous, Piquette----"
"It's 'Arry, I tell you," she insisted. "I am not mistake'----"
"H-m. It did look like him--but what----?"
"I doan know. Its strange what I t'ink----"
"But why should Harry come here when Moira sent me----"
"An' what if she did not send you de _Petit Bleu_?"
"You mean----?"
"I doan know----"
"That Harry sent it? Why would he want to meet me?" he shrugged. "Butit's queer, Piquette. If he's here to worry her again I'll break hishead."
"Sh----," whispered Piquette, calming him. "She mus' go wit' me, _monami_."
He nodded.
"But she isn't there. I don't understand."
"We mus' wait 'ere."
And so they stood at the door, listening for sounds from below.Silence. And then a strange commotion close at hand.
Suddenly Piquette clutched Jim's arm.
"Jeem!" he heard her whisper in sudden terror. "What is it?"
He had heard the same thing too, a faint sound, like a cough, followedby a groan as though some one were struggling for breath. Another pausewhile they listened again. There was no mistaking it now. Jim Hortonhad heard the same sounds before from the throat of one of the Engineerswho had been horribly gassed. Another groan, then the impact of a heavybody falling.
Jim Horton sprang out into the hallway, drawing his automatic, and threwhimself against the studio door. It was locked. He assaulted it again,again, and at last the door-jamb tore away and he was precipitated intothe middle of the room, revolver in hand, glaring about him, Piquetteclose beside him, her eyes distended with horror.
In the middle of the floor near the fireplace lay the figure of a man,quite motionless, a dark blotch growing on the rug beneath his body.And the distorted face turned toward the feeble light of the flickeringgas-jet was that of his brother--Harry.
"_Sainte Vierge_," came from Piquette in an awed tone. "'E 'as kill''imself."
But Jim was bending over the body.
"Impossible. A knife under the arm--in the heart. It's murder!"
He straightened, keenly alert, and searched the room quickly, weapon inhand, thoroughly, aware of its possibilities for concealment. A chairwas overturned but the lay figure, the draperies, the easel wereundisturbed, and the door into the kitchen was locked, _the key on theoutside_, as before. The thing was unbelievable, and the mysterydeepened as he searched. Moira was not here--had not been here--he wassure of it now. This trap, super-natural it seemed, had been set tocatch Jim Horton and Harry--God knows how or why--Harry had walked intoit.
As Piquette bent over to examine the dead man, Horton hauled her awayquickly. He had just wits enough left to know how dangerous was his ownposition.
"Don't touch anything--this is a case for the police. Come."
And he led the way down the stairs to the second floor, shoutingincoherently for help, while Piquette, her tongue loosened, now ablyseconded him. And in a moment, it seemed, the entire household appearedin the hallway, while people from the court and from the street camecrowding up.
Horton, who knew that there was no possibility of the murderer's escapeby the window, stood at the stair on the second floor, guarding it,still bewildered by the mystery, trying to explain while the crowdsurged up and a police officer who had been passing, forced his waythrough. To him Piquette, gathering her courage, explained, telling himbriefly what had happened while they had watched from the room upstairs.The police officer went up with Horton and Piquette, and entered thestudio, the crowd following to the door, where the policeman commandedthem to stop. Then while he questioned Piquette he lighted all theburners and examined the body, then the closet, the windows and withdrawn weapon approached the door to the kitchenette. It was stilllocked, the key still in the door. He turned the key--then locked itagain.
"You say you tried this door when you first--entered the room?" heasked.
"Yes, Monsieur," said Piquette promptly. "We thought that Madame Hortonmight be inside. But finding it locked we did not go in."
The policeman drew back muttering.
"Most extraordinary!" he said. "There is a door from these other roomsinto the hallway outside?"
"Yes."
The policeman pushed a way through the crowd and tried the door from theoutside. It, too, was locked.
He turned to the crowd.
"No one came out of this door?"
"No one, no one, Monsieur."
"And this other door?" indicating the hall room.
"There was no one there," said a man who seemed much at home. "One ofus went in when we came up the stair and came out saying it was empty.Look! You may see for yourself." And he threw the door open while theofficer investigated. He came out more puzzled than ever, rejoiningHorton and Piquette at the door of the studio, summoning the man and oneor two of the others, with Horton and Piquette, as witnesses, taking thenames and addresses carefully.
"This is a case for the _Commissaire_," he said to them. "You willplease wait."
