Chapter 13

CHAPTER XXIVTHE CLUEThe body of Harry Horton had been removed from the studio and this it seemed made Moira's task less painful. But she was now armed with a desperate courage which even the sight of Harry's mangled body would not have dismayed. And the thought that her keenness of perception, her intelligence, her woman's instinct were the only weapons she had with which to combat the scepticism of this skillful detective and save Jim Horton from the perils of impending indictment for murder, gave her a sense of responsibility which keyed her faculties to their utmost and drove from her heart all terrors of her situation. Shemustsucceed where Monsieur Matthieu had failed. Instinct would guide her, instinct and faith. Monsieur Matthieu, if not her enemy, was prejudiced in favor of a pre-conceived idea which every bit of evidence justified, and yet there must be other evidence—clues neglected, trifles overlooked—and she must find them out.The burden of the testimony against Jim Horton would fall if she could prove it physically possiblefor some one to have been in the studio while Jim Horton and Piquette had waited outside. This was her object—nothing else seemed to matter.On the way to the Rue de Tavennes in a cab Monsieur Simon replied politely to her questions, giving her all the information she desired, while Monsieur Matthieu sat opposite. How she hated the man! His smile patronized, his reddish hair inflamed her. She could see that in his mind Jim Horton was already convicted. But when they reached theporte cochèreof Madame Toupin, Monsieur Simon handed her gravely down and Monsieur Matthieu led the way up the stair to the studio where a policeman was still on guard. Moira followed theCommissaireclosely and stood for a moment on the threshold of the room while Monsieur Matthieu unbent enough to show her where the body lay and to indicate the locked door and the chair which had been overturned. To Moira these matters were already unimportant, since she saw no reason to deny the testimony of the many witnesses on these points. She entered the room slowly, with a feeling of some awe, and for a moment stood by the fireplace, glancing from one object to the other, thinking deeply. A dark stain on the rug, just before her, gave her a tremor, but she recovered herself immediately and walked slowly around the room, examining each object as though she had never seen it before."Does Madame wish to look in the apartment or the kitchenette?" she heard Monsieur Matthieu's voice asking.But she shook her head. The answer to the mystery lay here—in this very room. She was already satisfied as to that."Is this room in the precise condition in which it was found when the police first arrived?" she asked coolly."Yes, Madame, except for the removal of the body, nothing has been disturbed.""You are sure of this?""I am, Madame. It is for this reason that a policeman has been always on guard.""And you yourself, Monsieur,—you have moved no object—no drapery—no chair?""No, Madame. Nothing. I climbed upon the couch to look out of the window. That is all."She nodded and passed around the lay figure which she was regarding with a new interest."And the gray drapery on the shoulder of the lay figure—you say it has not been touched?"Monsieur Matthieu looked up with a smile."I examined the figure carefully, Madame. I may have raised the drapery—but I restored it as I found it.""Then things are not precisely as they were," she said keenly."No, Madame. Not the gray drapery," said Matthieu amusedly."You did not touch the bolero jacket?""No, Madame.""Nor the skirt?""I am quite sure of that," said theCommissaire.She removed the hat from the head ofpapier machéand examined it minutely, then took off the head itself and stared into the painted eyes as though asking the mute familiar lips a question. And then suddenly, as theCommissaireand Monsieur Simon watched curiously,"It is a pity that you moved the draperies, Monsieur Matthieu," she said slowly."Why, Madame?""Because you have disturbed the dust.""I can't understand why——""I was away for a week. Some dust would have accumulated, upon the draperies—the figure has been touched. It is not as I left it.""Of course, Madame, I made a thorough investigation——""And what did you learn from it?" she asked quietly.Monsieur Matthieu glanced at her once and then shrugged."Nothing, Madame. A lay figure is a lay figure.""True," said Moira carelessly, but theCommissairefound himself regarding her with a new appraising eye. What did she mean by this question?But she moved past him quickly as though with a definite purpose, and approached the north window."Which of these sashes was unlocked, Monsieur?""The one to the right, Madame.""I see. You say it was closed but not fastened?""That is correct.""That is strange.""Why, Madame?""Because I fastened it with great care before I left for Fontainebleau.""You are sure of this?""Positive. It has an awkward catch. You see?"And she demonstrated how easily it came unlatched unless pressed firmly down.Monsieur Matthieu came forward smiling."You only indicate, Madame, that it will slip easily out of place."Moira met his gaze firmly."Try to make it slip, Monsieur," she said, "since I have fastened it."He tried by tapping—by shaking the window, but the catch held."It is a matter of little moment," he muttered, "since it would be impossible for the murderer to have escaped by this way.""Perhaps," said Moira.But while she spoke she unlocked the catch, then slipped it insecurely into place and stood aside, studying it keenly."What is it that interests you, Madame?" asked theJuge d'Instruction."The catch, Monsieur," she replied quietly. "It is an old one. The edges are worn quite smooth." And just then as a breeze came from without, the French window swung gently open.Monsieur Matthieu started back a pace and glanced at Monsieur Simon."You found this window open,Monsieur le Commissaire," said the Judge."That is true," replied theCommissaireconfidently, "but it is possible that Monsieur Horton may have disturbed it when he examined it before the murder."Moira turned quickly."The window was securely locked. I left it so. Monsieur Horton found it so. You make nothing of this, either,Monsieur le Commissaire?"Monsieur Matthieu shook his head and pointed toward the opening."My answer to your questions, Madame, is yonder," he said with a grin. "Explain to me how any living man could have descended from that window and I will surrender to you my position and my reputation asCommissaire de Police."Moira made no reply. She had climbed upon the couch and was already half out of the window, examining the broad ledge outside, while Monsieur Simon, somewhat alarmed lest she should lose her balance, had caught her by the skirt of her dress."Be careful, Madame," he warned, "you may fall.""Have no fear,Monsieur le Juge," she said with a smile. But she had lowered herself to her knees upon the ledge outside and clinging to the jamb of the window was carefully examining every inch of the sill and tin gutter.Monsieur Matthieu, inside the room, had lighted a cigarette and was puffing at it contentedly, looking on with an amused tolerance at the solicitude of Monsieur Simon, who as he knew was more easily swayed than himself from the paths of his duty by a pretty face or a well-turned ankle. Through the panes of glass he saw that the girl had bent forward at the edge, her eyes near the tin gutter, the fingers of one hand touching the edge, while Monsieur Simon held her other arm and besought her to return. This she did presently, standing for a moment upright in the open window and looking down at them intently, a challenge in her eyes for theCommissaire."Did you discover anything, Madame?" he asked politely enough.Though his professional manner may not have indicated it, Monsieur Matthieu was sorry for her. She had attempted the impossible. Her lover was doomed. But she was handsome—with the fine color that had come into her face from her exertions, and the new gleam of hope that had come into her eyes—handsome, but her effort was futile, so futile to hope to find clues where he, Matthieu, had failed.She didn't reply and accepting the hand which the gallantJuge d'Instructionoffered her, stepped down to the couch and so to the floor."You see, Madame," ventured theCommissairemore kindly, "that it would be quite out of the question for the murderer to have descended from the window.""I have never thought that he did, Monsieur," said Moira dryly.TheCommissairestared at her for a moment in astonishment. What was the meaning of this sudden assurance in her tone? Could it be possible that this girl had noted something that he had overlooked? That she had evolved a theory out of some intangible bit of evidence that had escaped him? Impossible. And yet curiously enough, he experienced a slight feeling of uneasiness which might have been discomfort had he not been so sure of himself."You have perhaps happened upon something that has escaped my eye?" he asked frankly."I do not know what your eye saw or what it did not see, Monsieur," she said quietly, "but I have learned nothing to make me change my opinions as to this crime.""I hope that you will be able to confirm them," said theCommissaire. "If there is anything that I can do——""Yes, Monsieur," broke in Moira with precision. "IfMonsieur le Juge d'Instructionwill grant permission," with a flash of her eyes at Monsieur Simon, "I would be obliged if you will summon for me Monsieur Joubert or any others in the building who followed Monsieur Horton up the stair."She glanced at Monsieur Simon, who bowed his head in agreement."By all means," said the Judge, "if Madame has reason to believe——""I ask it,Monsieur le Juge, not as a favor, but as a necessary step in the administration of justice in this case.""It is little enough. Go, Monsieur. Here are the names. Madame Toupin will direct you."Monsieur Matthieu hesitated. He did not wish to leave the room. Something had happened to change the manner of this woman. Her eyes glowed—she was authoritative—inspired. He was beginning to believe that after all..."You will please go at once, Monsieur," the voice of the Judge was saying. "Madame and I will await your return."And so with a backward glance, Monsieur Matthieu went out."You think you have found a clue, Madame?" asked Monsieur Simon with an air of encouragement."I don't know, Monsieur—a hope—perhaps a vain one. But you are friendly. You shall see."And crossing quickly in front of him she went directly to the lay figure and examined it minutely."This old skirt, Monsieur, as you will observe, is fastened by buttons and is somewhat twisted to one side.""Yes, Madame.""This was the first thing that attracted my attention. But one button holds it, and it is fastened at the wrong button-hole.""And what does that signify?""Merely that it has been tampered with—I did not fasten it in this way, Monsieur," she said positively."You are sure?" Monsieur Simon was now as eager as she."Absolutely. I am a leisurely person. I have done all the cleaning in this studio myself. I am careful in small matters. It would have been impossible for me to have fastened these buttons as you see them.""Sapristi! Madame—And you think——?"He paused as Moira unbuttoned the old skirt and slipped it down while she moved eagerly around the partially disrobed figure."Monsieur!" she gasped in sudden excitement as she pointed to the cotton covering of the mannikin. He looked where she pointed and saw a stain of dirt and dust which extended the full length of the thigh."What does it mean?" he asked."The lay figure has been moved from its iron bracket——""And even so, what——?"But she had fallen on her knees before it and didn't even hear him, for she suddenly bent forward with a little cry and put her finger into a small tear in the cotton cloth on the outside of the right calf."I have it," she muttered excitedly, as though half to herself. "I have it—new—clean on one side, soiled on the other——""What, Madame—what?" asked Simon, catching the fire of her eagerness."The hole in the leg, Monsieur," she cried. "Don't you see? A piece torn out against some rough surface——""Yes, but——""And here is the cloth that was torn from it," she gasped, exhibiting a small piece of cotton cloth. "You see? It fits the tear exactly."Simon took it from her hands and scrutinized it through his glasses. The torn piece was of the same material as the cotton skin of the lay figure, soiled upon one side and clean upon the other."Where did you find this piece of cotton, Madame?" he asked in a suppressed tone."Outside the window—hanging below a torn edge of the tin gutter, where it must have escaped the eyes ofMonsieur le Commissaire.""Mon Dieu! Then the lay figure must have been outside on the ledge——""Exactly. Outside. The stain of dust upon the leg shows how it lay——""Magnifique, Madame——""But the skirt and the jacket were first removed," she went on breathlessly. "Isn't it obvious? Otherwise there would have been no stain of dirt upon the leg. There is no mark of dirt upon them.""Quick, Madame. The jacket——"And with his own hands the Judge helped her remove the Spanish jacket, taking from his pocket a small magnifying glass with which he examined the figure intently."By the armpits, Monsieur Simon. It is there the hands would have caught."Simon obeyed while Moira lifted the arms."There's something," he muttered softly."A stain," broke in Moira quickly. "I can see it with the naked eye."It was a faint smudge, of a brownish color like rust."The print of a finger?" she mumbled."It shall be analyzed. It looks like——""The murderer's fingers—stained——""If it is blood, Madame——""Yes, yes——""Then the murderer carried this figure back—afterthe murder——""Exactly. And he——"She paused and then was suddenly silent, for Monsieur Matthieu, theCommissaire, appeared at the door of the studio. He came quickly forward, glancing at the denuded mannikin in the absurd pose of gesticulation into which they had put it. It seemed to be making a ribald gesture at the astonishedCommissaire."You have left nothing to the imagination, I see, Madame." And then, "You have discovered something?" he asked."Perhaps," said Moira briefly. "You have been able to find some of the witnesses?""Yes, Madame. The most important. But it would give me pleasure to know——""In a moment, Monsieur. I am intent upon this problem. Perhaps we shall learn something. It is Monsieur Joubert that I wished to see particularly. He is a carpenter and lives in the court at the rear——""It is he I have found, Madame." And turning aside, Matthieu beckoned toward the corridor, and Monsieur Joubert entered. He was well known to Moira and saluted her, his brow troubled."Bon jour, Monsieur Joubert," she said, trying to control the beating of her heart and the labor of her breathing, for here she knew was to be the test of the worth of her discoveries. Everything that she believed, would stand or fall by the testimony of the people who had followed Jim Horton up the stair."Bon jour, Madame 'Orton," said the carpenter politely."Where were you, Monsieur," she began, "when you heard Monsieur Horton's cry of alarm?""In the court below, Madame. I was standing with Monsieur Lavaud, the pastry cook, at the angle of the wall just inside theLogeof Madame Toupin——""And when you heard the cries what did you do?" asked the girl."I waited a moment in fear and then with Monsieur Lavaud went toward the entrance.""Were there some others there?""Oui, Madame. A number of persons came running into the court. They seemed to spring from the earth as if by magic.""And were you among the first to rush up the stair?""Oui, Madame. There were but two or three before me.""And whom did you find on the second landing?""Monsieur 'Orton and a lady who told us that a murder had been committed.""And you went with him up the stair?""Yes, Monsieur. A policeman had come rushing in, and we all mounted to the third floor.""Was it dark out there on the third floor landing?""Not dark, but dim. The studio door was open and threw a light outside.""And what did you do then?""Some rushed into the studio. We were all greatly excited. I stood in the hallway. Some went to the small hall room, the door of which was partly open.""It was dark inside the hall room?""Oui, Madame—dark.""You have testified that one of the crowd went into the small hall room and came out saying that no one was there.""Non, Madame. No one was there. I and Monsieur Lavaud went into the room, made a light and verified the statement of the man who had come out."Moira clasped and unclasped her hands nervously, and when she spoke again her throat was dry with uncertainty."Monsieur Joubert, you will please listen very carefully to my question and try to answer very accurately.""Oui, Madame.""You say that one of the crowd who had come up the stair with you examined the room. Did you see him come out of the door?""Oui, Madame. I saw him come out."She paused significantly, and then, with emphasis,"Did you see himgo in, Monsieur Joubert?"Joubert stared at her stupidly for a moment, and Monsieur Matthieu and the Judge leaned forward, aware of the intent of the question.As the man did not reply, it was theJuge d'Instructionwho broke the silence impatiently."Yes, yes, Monsieur Joubert," he questioned sharply, "did you see him go in?""The truth—Monsieur Joubert," gasped Moira.Joubert scratched his head and snuffled his feet awkwardly."No, Madame. I can't really say that I did.""Did any of the others see him go in?"Here Monsieur Simon broke in quietly. "Pardon, Madame! But that is a question the other witnesses must answer."Moira glanced at him and then at Monsieur Matthieu."Perhaps you can inform me,Monsieur le Commissaire," she said. "Have any of the witnesses who testified to seeing this man come out of the door also testified to seeing him go in?""Many persons went into the room, Madame——""Later, Monsieur," she broke in quickly. "Later, after this man who had come out had mingled with the crowd and gone down the stair."Monsieur Matthieu started."Madame!" he gasped."Listen, Monsieur Joubert," she went on earnestly, "and answer me truthfully, for the life of a human being hangs on your replies. Did you know some of the people in the crowd who rushed up the stair?""As to that—oui, Madame," said Joubert more easily. "Most of them I knew—they are of the neighborhood. Monsieur Lavaud, Monsieur Picard of theLavoir, Monsieur Gabriel and others——""But this man who came out of the door of the hall room," she insisted clearly. "You had never seen him before?"Joubert shrugged."Now that you mention it, Madame, I think that is the truth.""Are you sure that you never saw him in the neighborhood?""No, Madame. I never saw him in this neighborhood."Moira gasped in relief, aware that theCommissaire, from contempt, from indifference, had been reduced to the silence of consternation. She saw it in his face and in the eyes of Monsieur Simon, who stood beside her, listening in admiration and ready to aid her with advice or question. He was on her side now. But she was reserving her strongest stroke for the last and she delivered it with growing assurance, for in her heart all along she had known through whom and by whom the murder must have been committed."Monsieur Joubert," she asked coolly, "you say the light was dim in the corridor. Was it too dark for you to see what the man who came out of the door looked like?""It was dim, Madame. But I remember him perfectly.""You could identify him, if you saw him?""I think so, Madame.""Good. Perhaps I can describe him to you, Monsieur Joubert. He was not a large man, he was smaller than you, with broad but bent shoulders, long arms like an ape's, which reached nearly to his knees, a thin face, small black eyes, a nose like the beak of an eagle——"Joubert had started back in astonishment."It is he, Madame! You have described him——""And when he walked he had a slight limp of the left leg——""A limp, Madame. It is true," cried Joubert, "the very same. He limped. I saw it as he came forward——""That will be all, Monsieur Joubert," said Moira wearily.And when the man had gone out she turned to Monsieur Simon with a smile of triumph. "Have I made out a case,Monsieur le Juge?""Parfaitement, Madame. But the murderer——?" he urged.She grew grave at once."The man I have described is Monsieur Tricot."The two men exchanged glances."We have already taken steps. He will be found, Madame," said theCommissaire. "All the police of Paris are on his trail.""I pray God you may find him," said Moira quietly."And even if we do not, Madame," said Monsieur Simon, "you have created already a reasonable doubt." And then, with a mischievous look toward Monsieur Matthieu, "But I think perhaps it would be as well if you tookMonsieur le Commissaireinto your confidence."Monsieur Matthieu, aware of the position theJuge d'Instructionhad now taken, was silent, but still incredulous."I should like to hear the other facts upon which you base this testimony," he said slowly.Monsieur Simon waved his hand toward the mannikin, its frozen gesture now almost prophetic. "TellMonsieur le Commissairewhat happened in this room as you have traced it, Madame."Moira glanced at theCommissaire, who bowed his head in an attitude of attention, which had in it not a little of humility."The murderer lay in wait for Monsieur Jim Horton," said Moira. "There is no doubt in my mind as to that. ThePetit Bleuwas the lure, this studio the trap. The affair had been planned with skill. The motive was vengeance, and a desire to prevent certain papers from reaching the hands of Monsieur le Duc de Vautrin. This man Tricot was already in the studio when Monsieur Horton and Madame Morin arrived. PerhapsMonsieur le Commissairehas already guessed where.""Go on, Madame," said Matthieu gravely."He had taken the clothing from the mannikin and put the lay figure out in the darkness on the ledge outside the north window. Then he went and stood in the place of the lay figure. He had put on the old skirt and bolero jacket, and slouch hat, and about his shoulders was the gray drapery. He had only to remain silent and motionless. He was prepared to spring upon and stab Monsieur Jim Horton when his back was turned, but the appearance of Madame Morin disconcerted him. He had counted on a quick death without an outcry. Madame Morin knew him. He did not dare to attempt to kill them both. And so he waited.""Saperlotte!""Monsieur Horton and Madame Morin examined the studio in curiosity and then went out into the hall, now suspicious that all was not as it should be. Monsieur Tricot did not dare to go until he was sure that they had gone. He was about to take his leave when he heard a man's footsteps upon the stair and went back to his position on the model stand. The man entered. He thought that it was Monsieur Jim Horton come back alone. But it was not Jim Horton. It was my husband, Harry Horton, his twin brother. The testimony shows that their clothing was much alike. Their faces were the same. Tricot saw my husband's face for a moment under the low gas light as he came in the door, locking it behind him. God knows why my—my husband was here. I don't. He came to spend the night perhaps—to wait for me."She paused, breathing hard, her words scarcely audible. But a word from Monsieur Simon encouraged her again."This Tricot is desperate and very strong. He sprang upon my husband and killed him. But there was a sound of struggle and the noise of a falling body which Monsieur Jim Horton and his companion heard from the door of the room in the hall. They came out. And weapon in hand, Jim Horton, after several minutes, broke in the door. But by this time the murderer had taken his place again as the lay figure, just as he stood when they had first entered the room. In their horror at their discovery they passed him by and rushed down the stair.""And then, Madame?" nodded the Commissaire."He ran quickly to the window, outside which he had put my lay figure, dragged it in hurriedly, dressed it in its clothing and restored it to its place, then ran out and hid in the darkness of the hall room, intending to leap out to the roof below. But he did not dare it with his injured leg, resorting to the clever device which I have indicated to you, of going out when the crowd swarmed excitedly up to the studio door, and announcing that no one was there. Then, Messieurs, in a moment he had mingled with the crowd and was gone.""And how did you learn this, Madame?""By a trifle which even your experienced eyes had overlooked. This, Monsieur——"And she produced the small piece of torn cotton cloth from her pocket."It was torn from the mannikin upon a projecting piece of tin and hung from the gutter outside. You have only to apply it to the leg of the mannikin,Monsieur le Commissaire."The bewildered police officer took the small object and turned it over in his fingers, then went to the lay figure while Monsieur Simon showed him the stains at the arm pits and upon the thigh, explaining the line of reasoning the girl had employed.He raised his head and looked at her, but his voice was that of a broken man."My honor—my reputation, are in your keeping, Madame," he muttered.But Moira caught him by the hands in an access of generosity."I render them to you, Monsieur. IfMonsieur le Jugekeeps silent, you may be sure that I shall do so.""You are very good, Madame——""It is not your fault. You were not familiar with the studio as I was. And besides—you were doing your duty, while I—it was my life, my whole happiness, that was involved.""And what can I do to repay you, Madame?" he asked."Find Monsieur Tricot!" she cried with spirit."And Monsieur Quinlevin?" asked the Judge quietly.Moira glanced at them, then sank upon the couch and buried her head in her arms, but she did not reply. She could not. She had reached the end of her resources.Monsieur Simon bent over and touched her kindly on the shoulder."You had better be going and getting some rest, Madame. If you will permit me. I am sure that Madame Simon will be glad if you will let me bring you to her."Moira looked up at the dark stain upon the floor, the terrible mannikin, and then rose. There were tears in her voice as she gave theJuge d'Instructionher hand in gratitude."Ah, thanks, Monsieur, you are very kind. If it will not trouble you——"And leaving the theater of her life's drama to the solitary policeman on guard, she followed the charitable Monsieur Simon down the stair.Monsieur Matthieu had already disappeared.CHAPTER XXVCONCLUSIONJim Horton passed the night pacing the floor of his prison, and his interrogation by Monsieur Simon, theJuge d'Instruction, with the assistance of theCommissaire de Policein the morning gave him little hope of release. The examination was severe, but his inquisitors had not been able, of course, to shake his testimony and had left his cell more puzzled than when they had entered it. But he had sense enough to see that unless it were proven possible for some one to have been in the studio to commit the murder all the evidence must point to him. And yet he could not help them, nor could he suggest a line of investigation. He was still completely in the dark about the whole tragic affair and could scarcely blame them for their uncompromising attitude toward himself—and poor Piquette—toward her also. He sat upon the edge of his cot for hours after the examination, his head in his hands, trying to evolve some possible explanation of the mystery.A more encouraging affair was the visit in the late afternoon of a captain of the regular army of the United States, representing the Judge Advocate General's office, who interviewed him in the presence of an officer of thePrefet de Police. And in the course of this investigation Jim Horton learned of Harry's second defection from the army which had resulted in his horrible death.Captain Waring questioned shrewdly, but Jim Horton now needed no encouragement or threat to reveal the whole truth, for, whatever happened to him at the hands of thePrefet de Police, he knew that there was nothing left for him but to throw himself upon the mercy of the Army officials. And so he told the whole story, from the moment when as Corporal of Engineers, he had heard the Infantry Major's instructions to his brother, of his meeting with Harry, of his effort to save his brother's name and position by attempting to carry out the Major's orders, the changing of uniforms, the fight at Boissière Wood, the hospital, and the events that had followed in Paris, leaving out what references he could to Harry's wife, and palliating where he could his brother's offenses against the military law.From sternness, he saw Captain Waring's expression change to interest, from interest to sympathy, and to Horton's surprise, when the officer finished taking the testimony, he extended his hand frankly."You have committed a military offense, Corporal Horton. But your story has impressed me. It can be easily verified. I will do what I can for you at Headquarters. It wasyour Croix de Guerre, you see.""Thank you, sir," said Jim, "but it looks as though I'm in a bad position here. Do you think I could have done this horrible thing, sir? Do you?""No," said the Captain, "but sit tight, Corporal. I think you'll find that things will turn out all right."What did the man mean? Jim Horton followed his neatly fitting uniform out of the cell with his gaze and then, more mystified than ever at this mingling of good fortune and bad, sank again upon his cot to try and think it out.But he was no sooner seated than the man who had done the most to put him where he was, Monsieur Matthieu, theCommissaire de Police, again entered the cell. His manner during the examination by theJuge d'Instructionin the morning had been aggressive—Horton's ordeal had been most unpleasant, the French counterpart of what he had heard of in his own country as the "Third Degree." But Monsieur Matthieu's ugly face was now almost kindly, its expression quite calm. And while Horton wondered what was the meaning of the visit theCommissaireexplained."Evidence has been introduced into this case, Monsieur, which somewhat changes its complexion.""Ah! You have found Tricot? Or Quinlevin?""No—not yet, Monsieur. But we have hopes. The evidence came from another quarter. We believe that theapachecommitted this crime."Horton couldn't restrain a gasp of relief."It is only what I told you, Monsieur."Monsieur Matthieu nodded. "But you will not blame us for not accepting, with some reserve, the testimony of a person in your position.""Who has testified, Monsieur?""Madame Horton."And in a few words he described the line of procedure which had resulted in the discovery of the part the lay figure had played in the tragedy.Moira had come to the rescue! Moira—whose eyes, it seemed, had been keener than his own, keener even than those of this veteran detective. And amazement at the simplicity of the device, and the ease with which it had been put into practice, made him dumb."It is always so, Monsieur. The mysteries which seem most difficult to solve are always the simplest in conception.""But Tricot did not invent this crime, Monsieur. Theapacheis shrewd, but the brain that conceived this plan——""I believe you now, Monsieur. But I'm afraid that he will not be easy to catch. He was at Fontainebleau last night and this morning. It was his alibi. When my men reached there, he had gone.""And Tricot?""It is as to Tricot that I wished to see you. We have watched the house in the Rue Charron. Every haunt of men of his type is under observation. I thought perhaps that you might give us a further clue.""Émile Pochard should know. Pochard in the Rue Dalmon—under arrest he may talk——""Good, Monsieur. The help that you give us will make your deliverance the more speedy.""I know nothing more.""You understand, it is not possible to release you until the evidence is more definitely confirmed. But I will do what I can for your comfort and convenience.""Thanks. And for Madame Morin?""Yes, Monsieur. She is, I think, now quite contented."And theCommissairedeparted as rapidly as he had entered. Presently Jim Horton lay down at full length on his bed—the first time since he had been shown into the cell. Everything would be right. He knew it. And it was Moira who had come from her retreat at the first news of his trouble and Piquette's to help them. Behind the reserve of Monsieur Matthieu's disclosures he had read that it was Moira's will—her intelligence that had been matched against that of theCommissaireand Barry Quinlevin, her instinct—her faith in him that had drawn her unerringly to the neglected clues. Where was she? Would she come to him now? Or was the hypnotic spell of Barry Quinlevin still upon her? He stared into the darkness, thinking of the tragedy of Moira's life, and the greater tragedy of his brother Harry's. But in spite of the terrible climax of Harry's strange career and his own unwitting part in it, Jim Horton found himself repeating Moira's wild words, "No divorce—but death——"And this was the divorce that neither of them had wished for nor dreamed of. But Destiny, which had woven the threads of Harry's life and Moira's and his together for awhile, had destroyed the imperfect tissue—to begin anew. In a while Jim Horton slept, soundly, dreamlessly.The morning dragged heavily and no one came to his cell. It almost seemed that Monsieur Matthieu had forgotten him and it was not until the afternoon that he was again conducted to the room in which his examination and Piquette's had taken place. There he was brought face to face with theJuge d'Instruction, who shook him by the hand and informed him that word had just been received that theapache, Tricot, had been captured and in charge of Monsieur Matthieu was to be brought at once to confront the witnesses. Monsieur Simon informed him that a partial confession having been extracted from Tricot, the case was simplified and that there seemed little doubt that he would be restored to freedom in a few hours. While disposing of some other cases, Monsieur Matthieu showed the prisoner into the inner room, where Piquette had preceded him.They were both still technically prisoners, but that did not prevent Piquette from springing up from beside her guard and rushing to meet him."Oh,monJeem!" she cried joyfully. "I knew it could not be for long.""Piquette! They're going to set us free!""Oui, mon brave. An' 'ave you not 'eard? It is Madame 'Orton who 'as make de way clear? Dey capture' Tricot an hour ago in a cellar out near dePorte Maillot. You may know dat I am 'appy. Gr——!"And she made a queer little sound of repulsion in her throat."And Quinlevin?""Escape'—gone! Dey cannot find him."He sat beside her and they talked while they waited."What are you going to do, Piquette?" he asked, after awhile."Do? Jus' go on living,mon vieux. What else?" she replied calmly."I want to help you to get away fromhim, Piquette——""Sapristi! I need no 'elp for dat. Don' worry,mon ami. I s'all be 'appy——""Not with Monsieur——"She laughed rather harshly."Oh, la la! You are not de on'y man in de worl'——"And then, as she saw the look of pain in his eyes, she caught him by the arm again. "Youarede on'y man in de worl'—for 'er—mon vieux, but not for me. You t'ink of me?Eh bien. What you say? Forget it. I s'all be 'appy—and free."At this moment Monsieur Simon entered bringing no less a personage than Monsieur de Vautrin, who had been apprehended as a witness the moment he had returned to Paris. And the details of the affair at Nice having been set down, Monsieur Simon went out to question Tricot, who had just been brought in under heavy guard.The birth certificate and other papers were still in possession of theJuge d'Instruction, but the Duc had been permitted to examine them and questioned Horton and Piquette eagerly as to what had happened after his departure from Nice. And when he learned the facts, his gratitude expressed itself in a desire to kiss Horton on both cheeks, which Piquette only frustrated by quickly interposing her small person."And I, Olivier?" she asked in French with a spirit ofdiablerie. "What is my reward for helping in the great affair?""You, Piquette!" he laughed, "you are as ever my angelic child who can do no wrong. Come to my arms."But Piquette laughed and tossed her chin."And if I refuse?""Then you are still an angelic child," said de Vautrin. "I shall give you money—much money.""And if I refuse that too?" she asked.He started a pace back from her in amazement."You would desert me now,ma petite?"Piquette's face grew suddenly solemn."Yes,Monsieur le Duc. We shall make no more pretenses, you and I. I go back to theQuartierwhere I am free. Perhaps one day I shall marry. Then you shall give me a present. But now——" And she extended a hand, "Adieu, mon ami."He glanced at her and at Horton as though unwilling to believe what he had heard, then took a pace toward Piquette, his arms extended. But she only smiled at him."C'est fini, Olivier," she said quietly.De Vautrin pulled at his long mustache and laughing turned away."À demain, Piquette——" he said confidently."Adieu, Olivier," she repeated.The Duc stared at her again and then with a shrug, took up his hat and stick and swaggered out of the room."Piquette," whispered Horton eagerly. "Do you mean it?""Yes,mon brave," she returned lightly. "To be free—free——!" And she took a long breath, while she gazed past him out of the big window into the sunshine.There was a commotion outside and they turned to the outer door, as two policemen entered, between them Tricot, securely manacled, and followed by theJuge, theCommissaire de Police, Madame Toupin, Moira, Madame Simon, the carpenter, Paul Joubert, and the other witnesses whose testimony had already been taken.Moira's gaze and Jim Horton's met for a moment, full of meaning for them both, and then she turned away to the seat beside Monsieur Simon to which theJugedirected her. She was very pale and sat for a while with eyes downcast during the preliminaries which led to the confession of theapache.Tricot stood with bowed head, listening to the evidence against him, his long arms hanging from his bent shoulders, his thin lips compressed, his small eyes concealed by the frowning thatch of his dark brows. He was surly but indifferent as to his fate, and answered the questions of Monsieur Simon in a low voice, but distinctly, evading nothing. His identification by the carpenter Joubert and two others as the man who had emerged from the room in the hallway when the crowd had surged upon the upper landing, caused him to shrug. The corroboration of Madame Toupin who saw him leave the courtyard after the murder only caused him to shrug again."I did it——" he growled. "I've confessed. What's the use?""Silence!" commanded theJuge. "You will answer only when questioned. Are these two persons," indicating Horton and Piquette, "the ones who first entered the studio?""They are.""And whenMonsieur le Capitaineentered the studio, you thought he was his brother—yonder?" indicating Jim."I did. I made a mistake——""And your motive for this crime, Tricot?""I was paid," he muttered."How much?""Five thousand francs.""By whom?"Tricot paused, and then gasped the name."Monsieur Quinlevin.""Do you know where Monsieur Quinlevin is now?""No.""Would you tell if you knew?""Yes.""Have you anything further to say?""No."Monsieur Simon waved his hand in the direction of the door."Take him away. The proof is now complete." And then to the witnesses, "You will hold yourselves in readiness to attend the trial.Bonjour, messieurs."And rising from his chair at the head of the table he came over to Jim and Piquette and shook them warmly by the hands, while Monsieur Matthieu, who had taken no part in the proceedings, quickly followed his example."You are now free, Monsieur Horton—Madame Morin, I thank you both, in the name of Justice, for your indulgence and apologize for the inconvenience that has been caused you. Had it not been for the keenness of Madame Horton yonder, you would still doubtless have been languishing in your cells.""Thanks, Monsieur," said Horton gravely."Let me add, Monsieur Horton, that before the murderer arrived, I was in consultation withMonsieur le Capitaine Waringof the office of the Judge Advocate of the American Army. I told him what had happened in the case and he informed me that there was no disposition to make you suffer for an act which resulted in theCroix de Guerre. He empowers me to ask only for your parole to report to him to-morrow morning, at ten o'clock, to comply with the military law. I should say that in the end you will have nothing to fear.""Thank God!" muttered Horton, half to himself."And now,Monsieur le Commissaire," said theJuge, with a smile, "Madame Simon, Madame Morin, perhaps we had better leave Monsieur the American to give his thanks to the lady who has helped us to liberate him—Madame Horton——""Piquette——"Horton turned around to look for her but she had gone.The others were already filing out of the door and suddenly Jim and Moira found themselves silent, face to face by the big window in the sunlight, amazed at the sudden termination of the case, and what it meant to them. Their glances met and a gentle flush stole along the pallor of Moira's face, suddenly flooding it from brow to chin. Scarcely daring to believe this evidence of his happiness, Jim stared at her awkwardly, and then took a pace forward."Moira," he whispered at last."Thank God," she murmured.He took her in his arms, gently, as though she were a child, and held her silently in a moment of wordless communion. Beyond the river below them, the city of their tribulations murmured as before, but to them it held a note of solace and of joy."You did this, Moira—you!" he said at last."Something stronger than I, Jim. Faith, Hope——""And Charity," he added."I knew that I must succeed," she went on quickly. "I was driven by some inward force which gave me new courage, and strength. It was Faith, Jim, the Faith in you that my blindness had lost in the darkness of my uncertainty—the Faith that I found again. I had to succeed where others had failed. Faith gave me new vision—just in time," she finished with a gasp."You never believed that I could have——""No, never, Jim," she broke in in a hushed voice. "Not for a moment. It was too horrible!"She hid her eyes with a hand for a moment as though to blot out the stain of the thought. "I've wondered why they didn't see as I saw. It's like a dream—all that afternoon after Fontainebleau. I hardly seem to remember why I didwhatI did. It seems so easy now that it's done. I only know that I prayed again and again—that you—not he—should triumph.""Quinlevin——" he muttered.She drew closer into his arms."He has escaped," she said with a shudder. "Perhaps it is best.""Did you find out——?" he began, but she broke in quickly, reading his thought."He was—my uncle—my father's brother. Nora told me everything. You've blamed me in your thoughts, Jim——""No, Moira——""Yes, I know," she insisted, "but I couldn't forget the long years of his kindness—until I knew what—what had happened—the horror of it. I ran away—here. Even then I did not tell them everything. And when they went to take him, it was too late. He's gone.""You poor child. You've suffered——""I wanted to go to you, Jim—that night when they came to the studio. I wanted to—and again at Nice. But I was afraid, Jim.""Afraid——""Of myself—if I had gone to you then ... our love had been so sweet a thing, Jim—so pure and beautiful. Icouldn'tlet it be anything else. I had never known what love was before. I am afraid," she whispered."But not now, dear?""No. Not of myself or of you. Only afraid that it's all a dream—that I'll wake up imprisoned by vows that may not be broken——""You're released from them now, Moira," he said soberly."Yes, Jim.""And you'll marry me, dear?""Yes, Jim. But it would be a sin for us to be too happy too soon.""I can be patient——""You won't be needing to be too patient, Jim," she whispered, her warm lips on his.He held her in the hollow of his arm, where she was meant to be, both of them muttering the phrases that had been so long delayed, while their eyes looked down toward the sun-lit river, when suddenly Jim felt the girl's fingers tighten in his and he followed the direction of her gaze. Across thePetit Pont, just below them, a figure passed, a female figure in a heavy coat with a small hat that they both recognized, set rakishly upon a dark head."Piquette!" said Moira.Jim was silent and they watched for another moment. Piquette paused for a moment on the bridge and then, raising her head quickly, squared her shoulders and went quickly along the Quai toward the Boulevard Saint Michel, where she was engulfed in the crowded thoroughfare.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE CLUE

The body of Harry Horton had been removed from the studio and this it seemed made Moira's task less painful. But she was now armed with a desperate courage which even the sight of Harry's mangled body would not have dismayed. And the thought that her keenness of perception, her intelligence, her woman's instinct were the only weapons she had with which to combat the scepticism of this skillful detective and save Jim Horton from the perils of impending indictment for murder, gave her a sense of responsibility which keyed her faculties to their utmost and drove from her heart all terrors of her situation. Shemustsucceed where Monsieur Matthieu had failed. Instinct would guide her, instinct and faith. Monsieur Matthieu, if not her enemy, was prejudiced in favor of a pre-conceived idea which every bit of evidence justified, and yet there must be other evidence—clues neglected, trifles overlooked—and she must find them out.

The burden of the testimony against Jim Horton would fall if she could prove it physically possiblefor some one to have been in the studio while Jim Horton and Piquette had waited outside. This was her object—nothing else seemed to matter.

On the way to the Rue de Tavennes in a cab Monsieur Simon replied politely to her questions, giving her all the information she desired, while Monsieur Matthieu sat opposite. How she hated the man! His smile patronized, his reddish hair inflamed her. She could see that in his mind Jim Horton was already convicted. But when they reached theporte cochèreof Madame Toupin, Monsieur Simon handed her gravely down and Monsieur Matthieu led the way up the stair to the studio where a policeman was still on guard. Moira followed theCommissaireclosely and stood for a moment on the threshold of the room while Monsieur Matthieu unbent enough to show her where the body lay and to indicate the locked door and the chair which had been overturned. To Moira these matters were already unimportant, since she saw no reason to deny the testimony of the many witnesses on these points. She entered the room slowly, with a feeling of some awe, and for a moment stood by the fireplace, glancing from one object to the other, thinking deeply. A dark stain on the rug, just before her, gave her a tremor, but she recovered herself immediately and walked slowly around the room, examining each object as though she had never seen it before.

"Does Madame wish to look in the apartment or the kitchenette?" she heard Monsieur Matthieu's voice asking.

But she shook her head. The answer to the mystery lay here—in this very room. She was already satisfied as to that.

"Is this room in the precise condition in which it was found when the police first arrived?" she asked coolly.

"Yes, Madame, except for the removal of the body, nothing has been disturbed."

"You are sure of this?"

"I am, Madame. It is for this reason that a policeman has been always on guard."

"And you yourself, Monsieur,—you have moved no object—no drapery—no chair?"

"No, Madame. Nothing. I climbed upon the couch to look out of the window. That is all."

She nodded and passed around the lay figure which she was regarding with a new interest.

"And the gray drapery on the shoulder of the lay figure—you say it has not been touched?"

Monsieur Matthieu looked up with a smile.

"I examined the figure carefully, Madame. I may have raised the drapery—but I restored it as I found it."

"Then things are not precisely as they were," she said keenly.

"No, Madame. Not the gray drapery," said Matthieu amusedly.

"You did not touch the bolero jacket?"

"No, Madame."

"Nor the skirt?"

"I am quite sure of that," said theCommissaire.

She removed the hat from the head ofpapier machéand examined it minutely, then took off the head itself and stared into the painted eyes as though asking the mute familiar lips a question. And then suddenly, as theCommissaireand Monsieur Simon watched curiously,

"It is a pity that you moved the draperies, Monsieur Matthieu," she said slowly.

"Why, Madame?"

"Because you have disturbed the dust."

"I can't understand why——"

"I was away for a week. Some dust would have accumulated, upon the draperies—the figure has been touched. It is not as I left it."

"Of course, Madame, I made a thorough investigation——"

"And what did you learn from it?" she asked quietly.

Monsieur Matthieu glanced at her once and then shrugged.

"Nothing, Madame. A lay figure is a lay figure."

"True," said Moira carelessly, but theCommissairefound himself regarding her with a new appraising eye. What did she mean by this question?

But she moved past him quickly as though with a definite purpose, and approached the north window.

"Which of these sashes was unlocked, Monsieur?"

"The one to the right, Madame."

"I see. You say it was closed but not fastened?"

"That is correct."

"That is strange."

"Why, Madame?"

"Because I fastened it with great care before I left for Fontainebleau."

"You are sure of this?"

"Positive. It has an awkward catch. You see?"

And she demonstrated how easily it came unlatched unless pressed firmly down.

Monsieur Matthieu came forward smiling.

"You only indicate, Madame, that it will slip easily out of place."

Moira met his gaze firmly.

"Try to make it slip, Monsieur," she said, "since I have fastened it."

He tried by tapping—by shaking the window, but the catch held.

"It is a matter of little moment," he muttered, "since it would be impossible for the murderer to have escaped by this way."

"Perhaps," said Moira.

But while she spoke she unlocked the catch, then slipped it insecurely into place and stood aside, studying it keenly.

"What is it that interests you, Madame?" asked theJuge d'Instruction.

"The catch, Monsieur," she replied quietly. "It is an old one. The edges are worn quite smooth." And just then as a breeze came from without, the French window swung gently open.

Monsieur Matthieu started back a pace and glanced at Monsieur Simon.

"You found this window open,Monsieur le Commissaire," said the Judge.

"That is true," replied theCommissaireconfidently, "but it is possible that Monsieur Horton may have disturbed it when he examined it before the murder."

Moira turned quickly.

"The window was securely locked. I left it so. Monsieur Horton found it so. You make nothing of this, either,Monsieur le Commissaire?"

Monsieur Matthieu shook his head and pointed toward the opening.

"My answer to your questions, Madame, is yonder," he said with a grin. "Explain to me how any living man could have descended from that window and I will surrender to you my position and my reputation asCommissaire de Police."

Moira made no reply. She had climbed upon the couch and was already half out of the window, examining the broad ledge outside, while Monsieur Simon, somewhat alarmed lest she should lose her balance, had caught her by the skirt of her dress.

"Be careful, Madame," he warned, "you may fall."

"Have no fear,Monsieur le Juge," she said with a smile. But she had lowered herself to her knees upon the ledge outside and clinging to the jamb of the window was carefully examining every inch of the sill and tin gutter.

Monsieur Matthieu, inside the room, had lighted a cigarette and was puffing at it contentedly, looking on with an amused tolerance at the solicitude of Monsieur Simon, who as he knew was more easily swayed than himself from the paths of his duty by a pretty face or a well-turned ankle. Through the panes of glass he saw that the girl had bent forward at the edge, her eyes near the tin gutter, the fingers of one hand touching the edge, while Monsieur Simon held her other arm and besought her to return. This she did presently, standing for a moment upright in the open window and looking down at them intently, a challenge in her eyes for theCommissaire.

"Did you discover anything, Madame?" he asked politely enough.

Though his professional manner may not have indicated it, Monsieur Matthieu was sorry for her. She had attempted the impossible. Her lover was doomed. But she was handsome—with the fine color that had come into her face from her exertions, and the new gleam of hope that had come into her eyes—handsome, but her effort was futile, so futile to hope to find clues where he, Matthieu, had failed.

She didn't reply and accepting the hand which the gallantJuge d'Instructionoffered her, stepped down to the couch and so to the floor.

"You see, Madame," ventured theCommissairemore kindly, "that it would be quite out of the question for the murderer to have descended from the window."

"I have never thought that he did, Monsieur," said Moira dryly.

TheCommissairestared at her for a moment in astonishment. What was the meaning of this sudden assurance in her tone? Could it be possible that this girl had noted something that he had overlooked? That she had evolved a theory out of some intangible bit of evidence that had escaped him? Impossible. And yet curiously enough, he experienced a slight feeling of uneasiness which might have been discomfort had he not been so sure of himself.

"You have perhaps happened upon something that has escaped my eye?" he asked frankly.

"I do not know what your eye saw or what it did not see, Monsieur," she said quietly, "but I have learned nothing to make me change my opinions as to this crime."

"I hope that you will be able to confirm them," said theCommissaire. "If there is anything that I can do——"

"Yes, Monsieur," broke in Moira with precision. "IfMonsieur le Juge d'Instructionwill grant permission," with a flash of her eyes at Monsieur Simon, "I would be obliged if you will summon for me Monsieur Joubert or any others in the building who followed Monsieur Horton up the stair."

She glanced at Monsieur Simon, who bowed his head in agreement.

"By all means," said the Judge, "if Madame has reason to believe——"

"I ask it,Monsieur le Juge, not as a favor, but as a necessary step in the administration of justice in this case."

"It is little enough. Go, Monsieur. Here are the names. Madame Toupin will direct you."

Monsieur Matthieu hesitated. He did not wish to leave the room. Something had happened to change the manner of this woman. Her eyes glowed—she was authoritative—inspired. He was beginning to believe that after all...

"You will please go at once, Monsieur," the voice of the Judge was saying. "Madame and I will await your return."

And so with a backward glance, Monsieur Matthieu went out.

"You think you have found a clue, Madame?" asked Monsieur Simon with an air of encouragement.

"I don't know, Monsieur—a hope—perhaps a vain one. But you are friendly. You shall see."

And crossing quickly in front of him she went directly to the lay figure and examined it minutely.

"This old skirt, Monsieur, as you will observe, is fastened by buttons and is somewhat twisted to one side."

"Yes, Madame."

"This was the first thing that attracted my attention. But one button holds it, and it is fastened at the wrong button-hole."

"And what does that signify?"

"Merely that it has been tampered with—I did not fasten it in this way, Monsieur," she said positively.

"You are sure?" Monsieur Simon was now as eager as she.

"Absolutely. I am a leisurely person. I have done all the cleaning in this studio myself. I am careful in small matters. It would have been impossible for me to have fastened these buttons as you see them."

"Sapristi! Madame—And you think——?"

He paused as Moira unbuttoned the old skirt and slipped it down while she moved eagerly around the partially disrobed figure.

"Monsieur!" she gasped in sudden excitement as she pointed to the cotton covering of the mannikin. He looked where she pointed and saw a stain of dirt and dust which extended the full length of the thigh.

"What does it mean?" he asked.

"The lay figure has been moved from its iron bracket——"

"And even so, what——?"

But she had fallen on her knees before it and didn't even hear him, for she suddenly bent forward with a little cry and put her finger into a small tear in the cotton cloth on the outside of the right calf.

"I have it," she muttered excitedly, as though half to herself. "I have it—new—clean on one side, soiled on the other——"

"What, Madame—what?" asked Simon, catching the fire of her eagerness.

"The hole in the leg, Monsieur," she cried. "Don't you see? A piece torn out against some rough surface——"

"Yes, but——"

"And here is the cloth that was torn from it," she gasped, exhibiting a small piece of cotton cloth. "You see? It fits the tear exactly."

Simon took it from her hands and scrutinized it through his glasses. The torn piece was of the same material as the cotton skin of the lay figure, soiled upon one side and clean upon the other.

"Where did you find this piece of cotton, Madame?" he asked in a suppressed tone.

"Outside the window—hanging below a torn edge of the tin gutter, where it must have escaped the eyes ofMonsieur le Commissaire."

"Mon Dieu! Then the lay figure must have been outside on the ledge——"

"Exactly. Outside. The stain of dust upon the leg shows how it lay——"

"Magnifique, Madame——"

"But the skirt and the jacket were first removed," she went on breathlessly. "Isn't it obvious? Otherwise there would have been no stain of dirt upon the leg. There is no mark of dirt upon them."

"Quick, Madame. The jacket——"

And with his own hands the Judge helped her remove the Spanish jacket, taking from his pocket a small magnifying glass with which he examined the figure intently.

"By the armpits, Monsieur Simon. It is there the hands would have caught."

Simon obeyed while Moira lifted the arms.

"There's something," he muttered softly.

"A stain," broke in Moira quickly. "I can see it with the naked eye."

It was a faint smudge, of a brownish color like rust.

"The print of a finger?" she mumbled.

"It shall be analyzed. It looks like——"

"The murderer's fingers—stained——"

"If it is blood, Madame——"

"Yes, yes——"

"Then the murderer carried this figure back—afterthe murder——"

"Exactly. And he——"

She paused and then was suddenly silent, for Monsieur Matthieu, theCommissaire, appeared at the door of the studio. He came quickly forward, glancing at the denuded mannikin in the absurd pose of gesticulation into which they had put it. It seemed to be making a ribald gesture at the astonishedCommissaire.

"You have left nothing to the imagination, I see, Madame." And then, "You have discovered something?" he asked.

"Perhaps," said Moira briefly. "You have been able to find some of the witnesses?"

"Yes, Madame. The most important. But it would give me pleasure to know——"

"In a moment, Monsieur. I am intent upon this problem. Perhaps we shall learn something. It is Monsieur Joubert that I wished to see particularly. He is a carpenter and lives in the court at the rear——"

"It is he I have found, Madame." And turning aside, Matthieu beckoned toward the corridor, and Monsieur Joubert entered. He was well known to Moira and saluted her, his brow troubled.

"Bon jour, Monsieur Joubert," she said, trying to control the beating of her heart and the labor of her breathing, for here she knew was to be the test of the worth of her discoveries. Everything that she believed, would stand or fall by the testimony of the people who had followed Jim Horton up the stair.

"Bon jour, Madame 'Orton," said the carpenter politely.

"Where were you, Monsieur," she began, "when you heard Monsieur Horton's cry of alarm?"

"In the court below, Madame. I was standing with Monsieur Lavaud, the pastry cook, at the angle of the wall just inside theLogeof Madame Toupin——"

"And when you heard the cries what did you do?" asked the girl.

"I waited a moment in fear and then with Monsieur Lavaud went toward the entrance."

"Were there some others there?"

"Oui, Madame. A number of persons came running into the court. They seemed to spring from the earth as if by magic."

"And were you among the first to rush up the stair?"

"Oui, Madame. There were but two or three before me."

"And whom did you find on the second landing?"

"Monsieur 'Orton and a lady who told us that a murder had been committed."

"And you went with him up the stair?"

"Yes, Monsieur. A policeman had come rushing in, and we all mounted to the third floor."

"Was it dark out there on the third floor landing?"

"Not dark, but dim. The studio door was open and threw a light outside."

"And what did you do then?"

"Some rushed into the studio. We were all greatly excited. I stood in the hallway. Some went to the small hall room, the door of which was partly open."

"It was dark inside the hall room?"

"Oui, Madame—dark."

"You have testified that one of the crowd went into the small hall room and came out saying that no one was there."

"Non, Madame. No one was there. I and Monsieur Lavaud went into the room, made a light and verified the statement of the man who had come out."

Moira clasped and unclasped her hands nervously, and when she spoke again her throat was dry with uncertainty.

"Monsieur Joubert, you will please listen very carefully to my question and try to answer very accurately."

"Oui, Madame."

"You say that one of the crowd who had come up the stair with you examined the room. Did you see him come out of the door?"

"Oui, Madame. I saw him come out."

She paused significantly, and then, with emphasis,

"Did you see himgo in, Monsieur Joubert?"

Joubert stared at her stupidly for a moment, and Monsieur Matthieu and the Judge leaned forward, aware of the intent of the question.

As the man did not reply, it was theJuge d'Instructionwho broke the silence impatiently.

"Yes, yes, Monsieur Joubert," he questioned sharply, "did you see him go in?"

"The truth—Monsieur Joubert," gasped Moira.

Joubert scratched his head and snuffled his feet awkwardly.

"No, Madame. I can't really say that I did."

"Did any of the others see him go in?"

Here Monsieur Simon broke in quietly. "Pardon, Madame! But that is a question the other witnesses must answer."

Moira glanced at him and then at Monsieur Matthieu.

"Perhaps you can inform me,Monsieur le Commissaire," she said. "Have any of the witnesses who testified to seeing this man come out of the door also testified to seeing him go in?"

"Many persons went into the room, Madame——"

"Later, Monsieur," she broke in quickly. "Later, after this man who had come out had mingled with the crowd and gone down the stair."

Monsieur Matthieu started.

"Madame!" he gasped.

"Listen, Monsieur Joubert," she went on earnestly, "and answer me truthfully, for the life of a human being hangs on your replies. Did you know some of the people in the crowd who rushed up the stair?"

"As to that—oui, Madame," said Joubert more easily. "Most of them I knew—they are of the neighborhood. Monsieur Lavaud, Monsieur Picard of theLavoir, Monsieur Gabriel and others——"

"But this man who came out of the door of the hall room," she insisted clearly. "You had never seen him before?"

Joubert shrugged.

"Now that you mention it, Madame, I think that is the truth."

"Are you sure that you never saw him in the neighborhood?"

"No, Madame. I never saw him in this neighborhood."

Moira gasped in relief, aware that theCommissaire, from contempt, from indifference, had been reduced to the silence of consternation. She saw it in his face and in the eyes of Monsieur Simon, who stood beside her, listening in admiration and ready to aid her with advice or question. He was on her side now. But she was reserving her strongest stroke for the last and she delivered it with growing assurance, for in her heart all along she had known through whom and by whom the murder must have been committed.

"Monsieur Joubert," she asked coolly, "you say the light was dim in the corridor. Was it too dark for you to see what the man who came out of the door looked like?"

"It was dim, Madame. But I remember him perfectly."

"You could identify him, if you saw him?"

"I think so, Madame."

"Good. Perhaps I can describe him to you, Monsieur Joubert. He was not a large man, he was smaller than you, with broad but bent shoulders, long arms like an ape's, which reached nearly to his knees, a thin face, small black eyes, a nose like the beak of an eagle——"

Joubert had started back in astonishment.

"It is he, Madame! You have described him——"

"And when he walked he had a slight limp of the left leg——"

"A limp, Madame. It is true," cried Joubert, "the very same. He limped. I saw it as he came forward——"

"That will be all, Monsieur Joubert," said Moira wearily.

And when the man had gone out she turned to Monsieur Simon with a smile of triumph. "Have I made out a case,Monsieur le Juge?"

"Parfaitement, Madame. But the murderer——?" he urged.

She grew grave at once.

"The man I have described is Monsieur Tricot."

The two men exchanged glances.

"We have already taken steps. He will be found, Madame," said theCommissaire. "All the police of Paris are on his trail."

"I pray God you may find him," said Moira quietly.

"And even if we do not, Madame," said Monsieur Simon, "you have created already a reasonable doubt." And then, with a mischievous look toward Monsieur Matthieu, "But I think perhaps it would be as well if you tookMonsieur le Commissaireinto your confidence."

Monsieur Matthieu, aware of the position theJuge d'Instructionhad now taken, was silent, but still incredulous.

"I should like to hear the other facts upon which you base this testimony," he said slowly.

Monsieur Simon waved his hand toward the mannikin, its frozen gesture now almost prophetic. "TellMonsieur le Commissairewhat happened in this room as you have traced it, Madame."

Moira glanced at theCommissaire, who bowed his head in an attitude of attention, which had in it not a little of humility.

"The murderer lay in wait for Monsieur Jim Horton," said Moira. "There is no doubt in my mind as to that. ThePetit Bleuwas the lure, this studio the trap. The affair had been planned with skill. The motive was vengeance, and a desire to prevent certain papers from reaching the hands of Monsieur le Duc de Vautrin. This man Tricot was already in the studio when Monsieur Horton and Madame Morin arrived. PerhapsMonsieur le Commissairehas already guessed where."

"Go on, Madame," said Matthieu gravely.

"He had taken the clothing from the mannikin and put the lay figure out in the darkness on the ledge outside the north window. Then he went and stood in the place of the lay figure. He had put on the old skirt and bolero jacket, and slouch hat, and about his shoulders was the gray drapery. He had only to remain silent and motionless. He was prepared to spring upon and stab Monsieur Jim Horton when his back was turned, but the appearance of Madame Morin disconcerted him. He had counted on a quick death without an outcry. Madame Morin knew him. He did not dare to attempt to kill them both. And so he waited."

"Saperlotte!"

"Monsieur Horton and Madame Morin examined the studio in curiosity and then went out into the hall, now suspicious that all was not as it should be. Monsieur Tricot did not dare to go until he was sure that they had gone. He was about to take his leave when he heard a man's footsteps upon the stair and went back to his position on the model stand. The man entered. He thought that it was Monsieur Jim Horton come back alone. But it was not Jim Horton. It was my husband, Harry Horton, his twin brother. The testimony shows that their clothing was much alike. Their faces were the same. Tricot saw my husband's face for a moment under the low gas light as he came in the door, locking it behind him. God knows why my—my husband was here. I don't. He came to spend the night perhaps—to wait for me."

She paused, breathing hard, her words scarcely audible. But a word from Monsieur Simon encouraged her again.

"This Tricot is desperate and very strong. He sprang upon my husband and killed him. But there was a sound of struggle and the noise of a falling body which Monsieur Jim Horton and his companion heard from the door of the room in the hall. They came out. And weapon in hand, Jim Horton, after several minutes, broke in the door. But by this time the murderer had taken his place again as the lay figure, just as he stood when they had first entered the room. In their horror at their discovery they passed him by and rushed down the stair."

"And then, Madame?" nodded the Commissaire.

"He ran quickly to the window, outside which he had put my lay figure, dragged it in hurriedly, dressed it in its clothing and restored it to its place, then ran out and hid in the darkness of the hall room, intending to leap out to the roof below. But he did not dare it with his injured leg, resorting to the clever device which I have indicated to you, of going out when the crowd swarmed excitedly up to the studio door, and announcing that no one was there. Then, Messieurs, in a moment he had mingled with the crowd and was gone."

"And how did you learn this, Madame?"

"By a trifle which even your experienced eyes had overlooked. This, Monsieur——"

And she produced the small piece of torn cotton cloth from her pocket.

"It was torn from the mannikin upon a projecting piece of tin and hung from the gutter outside. You have only to apply it to the leg of the mannikin,Monsieur le Commissaire."

The bewildered police officer took the small object and turned it over in his fingers, then went to the lay figure while Monsieur Simon showed him the stains at the arm pits and upon the thigh, explaining the line of reasoning the girl had employed.

He raised his head and looked at her, but his voice was that of a broken man.

"My honor—my reputation, are in your keeping, Madame," he muttered.

But Moira caught him by the hands in an access of generosity.

"I render them to you, Monsieur. IfMonsieur le Jugekeeps silent, you may be sure that I shall do so."

"You are very good, Madame——"

"It is not your fault. You were not familiar with the studio as I was. And besides—you were doing your duty, while I—it was my life, my whole happiness, that was involved."

"And what can I do to repay you, Madame?" he asked.

"Find Monsieur Tricot!" she cried with spirit.

"And Monsieur Quinlevin?" asked the Judge quietly.

Moira glanced at them, then sank upon the couch and buried her head in her arms, but she did not reply. She could not. She had reached the end of her resources.

Monsieur Simon bent over and touched her kindly on the shoulder.

"You had better be going and getting some rest, Madame. If you will permit me. I am sure that Madame Simon will be glad if you will let me bring you to her."

Moira looked up at the dark stain upon the floor, the terrible mannikin, and then rose. There were tears in her voice as she gave theJuge d'Instructionher hand in gratitude.

"Ah, thanks, Monsieur, you are very kind. If it will not trouble you——"

And leaving the theater of her life's drama to the solitary policeman on guard, she followed the charitable Monsieur Simon down the stair.

Monsieur Matthieu had already disappeared.

CHAPTER XXV

CONCLUSION

Jim Horton passed the night pacing the floor of his prison, and his interrogation by Monsieur Simon, theJuge d'Instruction, with the assistance of theCommissaire de Policein the morning gave him little hope of release. The examination was severe, but his inquisitors had not been able, of course, to shake his testimony and had left his cell more puzzled than when they had entered it. But he had sense enough to see that unless it were proven possible for some one to have been in the studio to commit the murder all the evidence must point to him. And yet he could not help them, nor could he suggest a line of investigation. He was still completely in the dark about the whole tragic affair and could scarcely blame them for their uncompromising attitude toward himself—and poor Piquette—toward her also. He sat upon the edge of his cot for hours after the examination, his head in his hands, trying to evolve some possible explanation of the mystery.

A more encouraging affair was the visit in the late afternoon of a captain of the regular army of the United States, representing the Judge Advocate General's office, who interviewed him in the presence of an officer of thePrefet de Police. And in the course of this investigation Jim Horton learned of Harry's second defection from the army which had resulted in his horrible death.

Captain Waring questioned shrewdly, but Jim Horton now needed no encouragement or threat to reveal the whole truth, for, whatever happened to him at the hands of thePrefet de Police, he knew that there was nothing left for him but to throw himself upon the mercy of the Army officials. And so he told the whole story, from the moment when as Corporal of Engineers, he had heard the Infantry Major's instructions to his brother, of his meeting with Harry, of his effort to save his brother's name and position by attempting to carry out the Major's orders, the changing of uniforms, the fight at Boissière Wood, the hospital, and the events that had followed in Paris, leaving out what references he could to Harry's wife, and palliating where he could his brother's offenses against the military law.

From sternness, he saw Captain Waring's expression change to interest, from interest to sympathy, and to Horton's surprise, when the officer finished taking the testimony, he extended his hand frankly.

"You have committed a military offense, Corporal Horton. But your story has impressed me. It can be easily verified. I will do what I can for you at Headquarters. It wasyour Croix de Guerre, you see."

"Thank you, sir," said Jim, "but it looks as though I'm in a bad position here. Do you think I could have done this horrible thing, sir? Do you?"

"No," said the Captain, "but sit tight, Corporal. I think you'll find that things will turn out all right."

What did the man mean? Jim Horton followed his neatly fitting uniform out of the cell with his gaze and then, more mystified than ever at this mingling of good fortune and bad, sank again upon his cot to try and think it out.

But he was no sooner seated than the man who had done the most to put him where he was, Monsieur Matthieu, theCommissaire de Police, again entered the cell. His manner during the examination by theJuge d'Instructionin the morning had been aggressive—Horton's ordeal had been most unpleasant, the French counterpart of what he had heard of in his own country as the "Third Degree." But Monsieur Matthieu's ugly face was now almost kindly, its expression quite calm. And while Horton wondered what was the meaning of the visit theCommissaireexplained.

"Evidence has been introduced into this case, Monsieur, which somewhat changes its complexion."

"Ah! You have found Tricot? Or Quinlevin?"

"No—not yet, Monsieur. But we have hopes. The evidence came from another quarter. We believe that theapachecommitted this crime."

Horton couldn't restrain a gasp of relief.

"It is only what I told you, Monsieur."

Monsieur Matthieu nodded. "But you will not blame us for not accepting, with some reserve, the testimony of a person in your position."

"Who has testified, Monsieur?"

"Madame Horton."

And in a few words he described the line of procedure which had resulted in the discovery of the part the lay figure had played in the tragedy.

Moira had come to the rescue! Moira—whose eyes, it seemed, had been keener than his own, keener even than those of this veteran detective. And amazement at the simplicity of the device, and the ease with which it had been put into practice, made him dumb.

"It is always so, Monsieur. The mysteries which seem most difficult to solve are always the simplest in conception."

"But Tricot did not invent this crime, Monsieur. Theapacheis shrewd, but the brain that conceived this plan——"

"I believe you now, Monsieur. But I'm afraid that he will not be easy to catch. He was at Fontainebleau last night and this morning. It was his alibi. When my men reached there, he had gone."

"And Tricot?"

"It is as to Tricot that I wished to see you. We have watched the house in the Rue Charron. Every haunt of men of his type is under observation. I thought perhaps that you might give us a further clue."

"Émile Pochard should know. Pochard in the Rue Dalmon—under arrest he may talk——"

"Good, Monsieur. The help that you give us will make your deliverance the more speedy."

"I know nothing more."

"You understand, it is not possible to release you until the evidence is more definitely confirmed. But I will do what I can for your comfort and convenience."

"Thanks. And for Madame Morin?"

"Yes, Monsieur. She is, I think, now quite contented."

And theCommissairedeparted as rapidly as he had entered. Presently Jim Horton lay down at full length on his bed—the first time since he had been shown into the cell. Everything would be right. He knew it. And it was Moira who had come from her retreat at the first news of his trouble and Piquette's to help them. Behind the reserve of Monsieur Matthieu's disclosures he had read that it was Moira's will—her intelligence that had been matched against that of theCommissaireand Barry Quinlevin, her instinct—her faith in him that had drawn her unerringly to the neglected clues. Where was she? Would she come to him now? Or was the hypnotic spell of Barry Quinlevin still upon her? He stared into the darkness, thinking of the tragedy of Moira's life, and the greater tragedy of his brother Harry's. But in spite of the terrible climax of Harry's strange career and his own unwitting part in it, Jim Horton found himself repeating Moira's wild words, "No divorce—but death——"

And this was the divorce that neither of them had wished for nor dreamed of. But Destiny, which had woven the threads of Harry's life and Moira's and his together for awhile, had destroyed the imperfect tissue—to begin anew. In a while Jim Horton slept, soundly, dreamlessly.

The morning dragged heavily and no one came to his cell. It almost seemed that Monsieur Matthieu had forgotten him and it was not until the afternoon that he was again conducted to the room in which his examination and Piquette's had taken place. There he was brought face to face with theJuge d'Instruction, who shook him by the hand and informed him that word had just been received that theapache, Tricot, had been captured and in charge of Monsieur Matthieu was to be brought at once to confront the witnesses. Monsieur Simon informed him that a partial confession having been extracted from Tricot, the case was simplified and that there seemed little doubt that he would be restored to freedom in a few hours. While disposing of some other cases, Monsieur Matthieu showed the prisoner into the inner room, where Piquette had preceded him.

They were both still technically prisoners, but that did not prevent Piquette from springing up from beside her guard and rushing to meet him.

"Oh,monJeem!" she cried joyfully. "I knew it could not be for long."

"Piquette! They're going to set us free!"

"Oui, mon brave. An' 'ave you not 'eard? It is Madame 'Orton who 'as make de way clear? Dey capture' Tricot an hour ago in a cellar out near dePorte Maillot. You may know dat I am 'appy. Gr——!"

And she made a queer little sound of repulsion in her throat.

"And Quinlevin?"

"Escape'—gone! Dey cannot find him."

He sat beside her and they talked while they waited.

"What are you going to do, Piquette?" he asked, after awhile.

"Do? Jus' go on living,mon vieux. What else?" she replied calmly.

"I want to help you to get away fromhim, Piquette——"

"Sapristi! I need no 'elp for dat. Don' worry,mon ami. I s'all be 'appy——"

"Not with Monsieur——"

She laughed rather harshly.

"Oh, la la! You are not de on'y man in de worl'——"

And then, as she saw the look of pain in his eyes, she caught him by the arm again. "Youarede on'y man in de worl'—for 'er—mon vieux, but not for me. You t'ink of me?Eh bien. What you say? Forget it. I s'all be 'appy—and free."

At this moment Monsieur Simon entered bringing no less a personage than Monsieur de Vautrin, who had been apprehended as a witness the moment he had returned to Paris. And the details of the affair at Nice having been set down, Monsieur Simon went out to question Tricot, who had just been brought in under heavy guard.

The birth certificate and other papers were still in possession of theJuge d'Instruction, but the Duc had been permitted to examine them and questioned Horton and Piquette eagerly as to what had happened after his departure from Nice. And when he learned the facts, his gratitude expressed itself in a desire to kiss Horton on both cheeks, which Piquette only frustrated by quickly interposing her small person.

"And I, Olivier?" she asked in French with a spirit ofdiablerie. "What is my reward for helping in the great affair?"

"You, Piquette!" he laughed, "you are as ever my angelic child who can do no wrong. Come to my arms."

But Piquette laughed and tossed her chin.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you are still an angelic child," said de Vautrin. "I shall give you money—much money."

"And if I refuse that too?" she asked.

He started a pace back from her in amazement.

"You would desert me now,ma petite?"

Piquette's face grew suddenly solemn.

"Yes,Monsieur le Duc. We shall make no more pretenses, you and I. I go back to theQuartierwhere I am free. Perhaps one day I shall marry. Then you shall give me a present. But now——" And she extended a hand, "Adieu, mon ami."

He glanced at her and at Horton as though unwilling to believe what he had heard, then took a pace toward Piquette, his arms extended. But she only smiled at him.

"C'est fini, Olivier," she said quietly.

De Vautrin pulled at his long mustache and laughing turned away.

"À demain, Piquette——" he said confidently.

"Adieu, Olivier," she repeated.

The Duc stared at her again and then with a shrug, took up his hat and stick and swaggered out of the room.

"Piquette," whispered Horton eagerly. "Do you mean it?"

"Yes,mon brave," she returned lightly. "To be free—free——!" And she took a long breath, while she gazed past him out of the big window into the sunshine.

There was a commotion outside and they turned to the outer door, as two policemen entered, between them Tricot, securely manacled, and followed by theJuge, theCommissaire de Police, Madame Toupin, Moira, Madame Simon, the carpenter, Paul Joubert, and the other witnesses whose testimony had already been taken.

Moira's gaze and Jim Horton's met for a moment, full of meaning for them both, and then she turned away to the seat beside Monsieur Simon to which theJugedirected her. She was very pale and sat for a while with eyes downcast during the preliminaries which led to the confession of theapache.

Tricot stood with bowed head, listening to the evidence against him, his long arms hanging from his bent shoulders, his thin lips compressed, his small eyes concealed by the frowning thatch of his dark brows. He was surly but indifferent as to his fate, and answered the questions of Monsieur Simon in a low voice, but distinctly, evading nothing. His identification by the carpenter Joubert and two others as the man who had emerged from the room in the hallway when the crowd had surged upon the upper landing, caused him to shrug. The corroboration of Madame Toupin who saw him leave the courtyard after the murder only caused him to shrug again.

"I did it——" he growled. "I've confessed. What's the use?"

"Silence!" commanded theJuge. "You will answer only when questioned. Are these two persons," indicating Horton and Piquette, "the ones who first entered the studio?"

"They are."

"And whenMonsieur le Capitaineentered the studio, you thought he was his brother—yonder?" indicating Jim.

"I did. I made a mistake——"

"And your motive for this crime, Tricot?"

"I was paid," he muttered.

"How much?"

"Five thousand francs."

"By whom?"

Tricot paused, and then gasped the name.

"Monsieur Quinlevin."

"Do you know where Monsieur Quinlevin is now?"

"No."

"Would you tell if you knew?"

"Yes."

"Have you anything further to say?"

"No."

Monsieur Simon waved his hand in the direction of the door.

"Take him away. The proof is now complete." And then to the witnesses, "You will hold yourselves in readiness to attend the trial.Bonjour, messieurs."

And rising from his chair at the head of the table he came over to Jim and Piquette and shook them warmly by the hands, while Monsieur Matthieu, who had taken no part in the proceedings, quickly followed his example.

"You are now free, Monsieur Horton—Madame Morin, I thank you both, in the name of Justice, for your indulgence and apologize for the inconvenience that has been caused you. Had it not been for the keenness of Madame Horton yonder, you would still doubtless have been languishing in your cells."

"Thanks, Monsieur," said Horton gravely.

"Let me add, Monsieur Horton, that before the murderer arrived, I was in consultation withMonsieur le Capitaine Waringof the office of the Judge Advocate of the American Army. I told him what had happened in the case and he informed me that there was no disposition to make you suffer for an act which resulted in theCroix de Guerre. He empowers me to ask only for your parole to report to him to-morrow morning, at ten o'clock, to comply with the military law. I should say that in the end you will have nothing to fear."

"Thank God!" muttered Horton, half to himself.

"And now,Monsieur le Commissaire," said theJuge, with a smile, "Madame Simon, Madame Morin, perhaps we had better leave Monsieur the American to give his thanks to the lady who has helped us to liberate him—Madame Horton——"

"Piquette——"

Horton turned around to look for her but she had gone.

The others were already filing out of the door and suddenly Jim and Moira found themselves silent, face to face by the big window in the sunlight, amazed at the sudden termination of the case, and what it meant to them. Their glances met and a gentle flush stole along the pallor of Moira's face, suddenly flooding it from brow to chin. Scarcely daring to believe this evidence of his happiness, Jim stared at her awkwardly, and then took a pace forward.

"Moira," he whispered at last.

"Thank God," she murmured.

He took her in his arms, gently, as though she were a child, and held her silently in a moment of wordless communion. Beyond the river below them, the city of their tribulations murmured as before, but to them it held a note of solace and of joy.

"You did this, Moira—you!" he said at last.

"Something stronger than I, Jim. Faith, Hope——"

"And Charity," he added.

"I knew that I must succeed," she went on quickly. "I was driven by some inward force which gave me new courage, and strength. It was Faith, Jim, the Faith in you that my blindness had lost in the darkness of my uncertainty—the Faith that I found again. I had to succeed where others had failed. Faith gave me new vision—just in time," she finished with a gasp.

"You never believed that I could have——"

"No, never, Jim," she broke in in a hushed voice. "Not for a moment. It was too horrible!"

She hid her eyes with a hand for a moment as though to blot out the stain of the thought. "I've wondered why they didn't see as I saw. It's like a dream—all that afternoon after Fontainebleau. I hardly seem to remember why I didwhatI did. It seems so easy now that it's done. I only know that I prayed again and again—that you—not he—should triumph."

"Quinlevin——" he muttered.

She drew closer into his arms.

"He has escaped," she said with a shudder. "Perhaps it is best."

"Did you find out——?" he began, but she broke in quickly, reading his thought.

"He was—my uncle—my father's brother. Nora told me everything. You've blamed me in your thoughts, Jim——"

"No, Moira——"

"Yes, I know," she insisted, "but I couldn't forget the long years of his kindness—until I knew what—what had happened—the horror of it. I ran away—here. Even then I did not tell them everything. And when they went to take him, it was too late. He's gone."

"You poor child. You've suffered——"

"I wanted to go to you, Jim—that night when they came to the studio. I wanted to—and again at Nice. But I was afraid, Jim."

"Afraid——"

"Of myself—if I had gone to you then ... our love had been so sweet a thing, Jim—so pure and beautiful. Icouldn'tlet it be anything else. I had never known what love was before. I am afraid," she whispered.

"But not now, dear?"

"No. Not of myself or of you. Only afraid that it's all a dream—that I'll wake up imprisoned by vows that may not be broken——"

"You're released from them now, Moira," he said soberly.

"Yes, Jim."

"And you'll marry me, dear?"

"Yes, Jim. But it would be a sin for us to be too happy too soon."

"I can be patient——"

"You won't be needing to be too patient, Jim," she whispered, her warm lips on his.

He held her in the hollow of his arm, where she was meant to be, both of them muttering the phrases that had been so long delayed, while their eyes looked down toward the sun-lit river, when suddenly Jim felt the girl's fingers tighten in his and he followed the direction of her gaze. Across thePetit Pont, just below them, a figure passed, a female figure in a heavy coat with a small hat that they both recognized, set rakishly upon a dark head.

"Piquette!" said Moira.

Jim was silent and they watched for another moment. Piquette paused for a moment on the bridge and then, raising her head quickly, squared her shoulders and went quickly along the Quai toward the Boulevard Saint Michel, where she was engulfed in the crowded thoroughfare.

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