The Splendid Outcast. Gibbs George

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СКАЧАТЬ for Harry's gesture from the outer darkness. The meeting had been a stroke of Fate. Perhaps she held the key to the riddle.

      "Tiresome, yes," he said slowly, "all old men are tiresome – "

      "And difficile," she mused, sipping at her glass. "While I am pretty he likes to have me nearby. But I know. He cares not'ing. He will leave me not'ing. I am not content. So I say I want to help in de great affair. You have planned somet'ing in the hospital – you and Monsieur Quinlevin?"

      "Er – nothing definite."

      "Monsieur le Duc still pays?"

      Horton meditated for a moment.

      "No," he said, "he has stopped paying."

      Piquette Morin leaned further over the table, frowning.

      "Ah! Since when?"

      "For – er – three months or more."

      "Then you t'ink he suspects somet'ing?"

      "I don't know. It looks so, doesn't it?"

      "Yes, perhaps." She paused a moment and then, "I make him talk about de past, as you ask' me to. I am no saint and de bon Dieu has taught me to look out for myself. I shall continue. If he tries to get rid of me de way he did wit' his wife, he will find me troublesome."

      Horton laughed. "I don't doubt it." And then, carefully, "You heard how he got rid of her?" he questioned.

      "It was 'er riches, of course. 'E spent 'er 'dot' in a few month gambling at Monte Carlo, and den when 'e came to 'er for more 'e abuse and beat 'er." She paused and her dark eyes snapped viciously. "'E would not have beaten me," she finished.

      "And then?" he asked, wondering whither the conversation was leading.

      "And den, as you know, she ran away to Ireland – "

      "To Ireland – " he muttered eagerly.

      "Of course," she said with a glance at him. "And when 'e got enough money 'e sail 'round de worl' enjoying himself. Even now sometimes 'e is a beast. It is den I come back to de Quartier where I am born and bred – to be merry again." She sighed and then laughed gayly. "But to-night we mus' not talk of dis tiresome matter. It is your night, mon vieux, and we s'all make it 'appy."

      He kissed the rosy palm she thrust to his lips, with difficulty concealing his curiosity.

      "But the child of Monsieur the Duc – " he urged after the moment of badinage. "He said nothing – ?"

      He paused as though in doubt.

      She shrugged carelessly and lighted a cigarette.

      "Monsieur is cautious. 'E spoke not'ing of de child, except to say dat it died wit' de mother. De money came to 'im. Dat was all 'e cared about, mon 'Arry."

      To Jim Horton no light seemed to dawn. And how to question without arousing the girl's suspicions was more that he could plan. But he remembered Quinlevin's uncertainty in the hospital – his thought that Harry might have talked to this girl. So he took a chance.

      "You asked the Duc no questions that might have aroused his suspicions?"

      "No. I t'ink not. And yet I remember once 'e ask' me if I know Monsieur Quinlevin."

      "And what did you reply?"

      "Of course, dat I never heard of 'im."

      He frowned at the cigarette in his fingers as Harry would have frowned and imitated as nearly as possible the sullen mood of his brother.

      "The money has stopped coming to Quinlevin. We've got to do something."

      "Parfaitement," said Piquette carelessly. "De time 'as come to produce de girl Moira and de papers."

      Her glance was not upon his face or she would have seen the look of bewilderment and surprise suddenly distend his eyes. But she heard him gasp and turned again toward him. But by this time the missing pieces of the puzzle were at his fingers' ends and he gathered them quickly. It was Moira who all these years had unconsciously impersonated the dead child who would have inherited. And Quinlevin had bled the Duc for years with promises of silence. Harry had connived at the plot and now the coup they planned meant a sum of not less than "seven figures." And Piquette knew all. Blackmail it was – of the blackest.

      For a moment he did not dare to speak for fear of betraying himself. And then only assented safely to her suggestion.

      "Yes; it is the only thing to be done."

      "It mus' be manage' carefully. You are sure de papers are all correct?"

      "It is as to that Monsieur Quinlevin has gone to Ireland."

      "Ah, I see – we mus' wait until 'e comes back. But I s'all 'elp you, mon ami. You will rely upon me, n'est ce pas?"

      "Yes, I will."

      His mind was so full of this astonishing revelation that he sat silent and motionless while she changed the subject and chattered on. The charm of the chance encounter was gone. Gamine she might be, and irresponsible like others of her kind in Paris or elsewhere, but she was not for him. He had a standard to measure her by.

      "You are so triste, 'Arry," she broke in suddenly. "I do not t'ink I like you so triste. What s'all we care, you and I, for Monsieur le Duc an' 'is money? To be young an' in love – "

      She caught both of his hands across the table and held them. "You are not yet well, 'Arry. I can see. It is dat for so long you do not know comfort an' 'appiness. Allons! I s'all make you laugh again, until de triste look come no more into your eyes."

      He was about to give some token of his appreciation that would satisfy her when he saw her glance past his shoulder toward the door which led into the bar.

      "Your frien' who was wit' you – 'e 'as come back again," she whispered.

      "Ah – " he turned and saw Harry peering through the door.

      "'E wants you to come? C'est embêtant! Sen' 'im away."

      "I'm afraid I – " He rose uncertainly and turned. "Wait," he said, "I'll see." And then walked out into the bar where Harry obstinately awaited him.

      "I've had enough of this," growled his brother. "You come out of here with me or I'll – "

      "Don't be a fool. You could see that I couldn't help it."

      "You can help it now – "

      "All right. We'll have this thing out, you and I – to-night. You meet me at the corner toward the Boulevard in twenty minutes. I'll get rid of her."

      And without waiting for a reply he returned to Piquette, his mind made up.

      "I'm sorry," he said to her, "but I've some urgent business with this man. It can't be put off. But I must see you soon – "

      She pouted and rose.

      "I can't explain – not now. You won't be cross – "

      "It is not – anodder woman – ?" she asked СКАЧАТЬ