The Splendid Outcast

"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 the Juge, the Commissaire 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 the Juge directed her. She was very pale and sat for a while with eyes downcast during the preliminaries which led to the confession of the apache.

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

"They are."

"And when Monsieur le Capitaine entered 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 with Monsieur le Capitaine Waring of 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 the Croix 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 the Juge, 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 did what I 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.