*CHAPTER X*
*THE SAMARITAN*
When Jim Horton came to his senses after his rescue, he found himself ina small room overlooking a pleasant facade of gray stone, tinted softlyby the pale morning sunlight. It was some moments before he managed togather his scattered wits together and out of the haze and darkness inwhich he had been groping for two nights and a day, recall the incidentsof his escape. Piquette! He remembered.... But what was this room?There had been a cab-drive late in the night--he had been carried up aflight of stairs ... As he turned in the bed he was aware of a figurewhich rose from the corner of the room and approached him. It was anoldish woman in the neat uniform of a maid.
She smiled. "Monsieur is awake?" And then, moving toward the door,"Madame shall come at once."
But when Piquette entered the small room, attired in a gorgeous pinklounging robe of silk and lace and wearing a boudoir-cap embroideredwith silken flowers and golden thread, she dazzled him for a moment withher splendor, and he did not recognize her. She came forward to himquickly and laid her cool hand on his brow.
"Ah, _mon petit, c'est mieux_." And then, in English, "'Ow do youfeel?"
"Better. But everything doesn't seem--very clear to me yet."
"_Naturellement_. You mus' 'ave some food and de doctor will be 'eresoon."
Jim Horton glanced about the small room.
"Would you mind telling me where I am?" he asked.
"Dis room is in de hallway adjoining my apartment----"
"You brought me here----?"
"Las' night," she said, with a smile, "an' a beautiful time we hadgetting you up de stair----"
"I--I remember--a man with a lantern--and then a struggle--with youhelping--through a passage--to the river--a boat----"
"A _voiture_ an' den--here," she added as he paused.
He put out his hand and fingered the lace of her sleeve.
"Why--why did you do this for me, Piquette?"
She caught his hand, pressed it in hers, and then rose abruptly.
"What does it matter? You s'all talk no more until after de doctor 'asseen you. Sh----"
Later in the day after Jim Horton had slept again, Piquette visited him,dressed for the street. In a few words she told him how she had guessedat the double identity--then confirmed it, and then how she haddiscovered the means Harry Horton had employed to get his brother out ofthe way. She dwelt lightly on his rescue from the house in the RueCharron and explained quite frankly her own relations with thecriminals.
"_C'est la grande vie, Monsieur l'Americain_," she said with anexpressive gesture. "You remember perhaps what Monsieur Valcourt 'assaid. I am still de _vrai gamine_. I know dat _vilain_ Pochard since Iam so high."
"But why have you done this for me, Piquette? When you found out that Iwas not my brother----"
"Oh, la, la! Who can tell? Perhaps I like' you a little de night inJavet's. De thought of de adventure--perhaps, but more dat Tricot and_Le Singe Anglais_--dey would 'ave t'rown you in de river, Monsieur."
"You saved my life----"
"Yes. You see, Monsieur--Monsieur," she paused in search of a name.
"My name is Jim Horton."
"Jeem! _C'est bon ca_. Jeem 'Orton, dere wasn' anyt'ing else for me todo. You were a good Americain--who 'ad fought at La Boissiere forFrance and for me. An' _he_ had not. It could not be dat you shoulddie. But dere are many t'ings I do not yet on'erstand. If you wouldtell me----?"
Jim Horton was silent a moment, thinking deeply.
"You were a friend of my brother's."
He put it more in the form of a statement than a question.
"Yes, Jeem 'Orton," she said, "before 'e went to de front. Dat does notmatter now, I can assure you. What 'appen' at Boissiere Wood, _monami_? Pochard tol' me what 'Arry 'Orton said----" And she related itas nearly as possible in Pochard's own words.
Jim Horton listened, smiling slightly, until she had finished. Andthen,
"I had intended to keep silent about this thing, Piquette. But I'm notgoing to keep silent now. I'm going to tell the truth, whatever happensto Harry or to me. He would have killed me----"
"No," she broke in. "I t'ink 'Arry was frighten' at what he 'addone----"
"He wasn't too frightened to get those chaps to knock me in the head,"he put in dryly, then broke off with a sudden sense of the situation."I hope, Madame, that you do not care for him."
She had been watching him intently and now put her hand over his.
"No--no, Jeem 'Orton," she said carelessly. "But tell me de truth----"
He looked at her for a long moment.
"No one has a better right to know it than you."
And then, without ornamentation, he related the facts from theunfortunate moment that night when he had put on Harry's uniform andgone into the fight until he had met his brother in the Rue de Tavennes.She heard him through to the end.
"You 'ave not told me everyt'ing, Jeem 'Orton," And then, significantly,"About Madame--Madame 'Orton?"
He frowned and then went on with an assumption of carelessness.
"The situation was impossible, as you will see. I would have goneaway----" he shrugged, "if Harry hadn't saved me the need of it. Butnow----"
He paused and clenched a fist. "He has much to answer to me for."
She was silent for a while, watching him.
"A coward! I might 'ave known," she murmured after a moment.
In the conversation that followed many things were revealed to JimHorton, many things to Piquette. He learned from her own lips everydetail of the story of Quinlevin's plot against the Duc and what was tobe Moira's share in it, and he listened in anger and amazement. As toher relations with de Vautrin, she spoke with the utmost frankness. Hewas not a pleasant person, and to her mind, for all his money andposition, possessed fewer virtues even than the outrageous Pochard andhis crew, who at least were good-natured villains and made no pretenses.The Duc was stingy--cruel, self-obsessed and degenerate. _Que cam'embete ca_! Why she had not cut loose from him and gone back to livein the _Quartier_ she did not know, except that it was comfortable inthe Boulevard Clichy and she was tired of working hard.
He found himself regarding Piquette with interest. The type was new tohim, but he liked her immensely. She might betray her Duc, but in herown mind she would have perfectly adequate reasons for doing so.
As to Moira, little enough was said. If she suspected anything of histenderness in that quarter she gave not a sign of it. But he could seethat the facts as to his brother's marriage had come as a surprise toher.
"An' now, Jeem 'Orton," said Piquette the next morning, when he hadstrength enough to sit in a chair by the window, "what are you going todo about it?"
He thought for a moment.
"You have given me my life. I should dislike to do anything that wouldgive you unhappiness."
"As to that, _mon petit_," she said carelessly, "you s'all do what yout'ink bes'. You know perhaps dat to-morrow in de Place de la Concorde,your brother 'Arry is to receive de Croix de Guerre?"
He had forgotten, but the announcement had no effect upon him.
"It does not matter," he muttered. What he had been thinking in hismoments of wakefulness was of Harry going to the studio in the Rue deTavennes. Moira was his wife. Would she, like Piquette, learn at onceof the deception? Or would she accept him...?
"You do not care for de honors you have won?" asked Piquette, breakingon his thought.
"They weren't my honors----"
"But you bear de wounds----"
"Yes, and they're proofs my brother will find it hard to answer. Buttell me, Piquette, what you have heard. Do they suspect you of havingcarried me off?"
Piquette laughed. "No. I saw Emile Pochard las' night. 'E does notdare speak. Tricot, 'Arry, _Le Singe_--I saw dem at Pochard's. Deyt'ink you are a devil. It is de police worries dem mos'."
"The police?"
&
nbsp; "Some one followed 'Arry 'Orton to de house in de Rue Charron and tol'de police. Dey came jus' as we escape'. Your brother was lucky to getaway."
"Who could this have been?"
"I don' know. But what does it matter since you are safe?" And then,after a long pause, "No harm 'as been done except to your poor head. Wemus' let de matter drop, Jeem 'Orton. It is better so."
"If that is your wish, Piquette----"
"Yes. It will be safer for us both, for you because you mus' keep inhiding--for me--because I 'ave a reputation at stake."
His eager look inquired her meaning.
"Emile Pochard would never trus' me again."
He laughed. "And you value the friendship of Monsieur Tricot?"
"No. But I know de law of de _apache_. It would not be pleasant to'ave one's t'roat cut an' be t'rown in de Seine."
The true meaning of the danger that she had run for him gave Jim Hortona new and lively sense of his obligations and responsibilities to thisstrange creature. He caught her hand to his lips and kissed it warmly.
"How can I ever repay you?" he blurted out.
Her face flushed gently and she regarded him with eyes almost maternal.
"What a boy you are!" she laughed.
"But a stranger to you. To have run such risks--to have made such astruggle just because you knew I was helpless."
"It amuse' me, Jeem 'Orton. Sometimes I t'ink it is fear dat is de_grande passion_--when one has tasted everyt'ing else in life. Fear.To succeed in an adventure like this--_Et nous voila_! Quite safe andcomfortable--an' each of us 'as made a friend. Is not dees wort' all detrouble?"
"Piquette!" he said, "you're a wonder! I'll never forget----"
"Ah, yes, you will, _mon petit_," she broke in with a shrug, "you aredifferent from 'Arry. You are always _le grand serieux_. It was what Inoticed at Javet's. You will love much, but you will never lie jus' tomake a woman 'appy. And me--you will forget, Jeem 'Orton."
"Never," he said stoutly, "never, Piquette. You're the bravest,squarest woman in the world."
She laughed again. "_Allons_! For dat--I shall kees you, _mon ami_."
And she did, with a friendly frankness, upon the mouth.
It was a very pleasant sanctuary, this, into which fortune had thrownhim, but deep in his heart Jim Horton knew that Piquette had read himtruly. He was no panderer to women's caprices, and he could not forgetthe tragedy of the woman he loved, which might almost be laid at hisdoor.
"You do not mind my keesing you, _mon petit_?" she asked.
"No. I like it," said Horton with a laugh.
But Piquette knew. Life in the streets of Paris had given her a senseof the fourth dimension. And curiously enough her prescience onlyquieted her, made her a little graver, matching her mind--her mood tohis. He provided a new sensation, this outcast hero who owed her hislife and yet was to pay her only in gratitude.
* * * * *
Jim Horton was penniless, for with an irony not lost on him, the moneyhe had gotten from the bank had gone to pay Tricot and _Le Singe_ theirprice for his knock on the head. The clothing he found himself in hadbeen none too good when Harry had worn it, and the incarceration in thefilthy cellar had done nothing to improve it. Outcast he might be, buthe meant while he had money in bank at least to look presentable. SoPiquette got him a blank check from the bank which he made out andPiquette cashed, and the next day when he was able to go out, he boughthimself a suit. He came back in the afternoon and with much prideexhibited his purchase.
She gave the clothing her approval and then shrugged.
"An' now, _mon_ Jeem, you will be going away, _n'est ce pas_?"
"Is it not better, Piquette? I have not the honor of Monsieur deVautrin's acquaintance."
"Oh, _ca_!" she said with a quick gesture. "_Il est bete_. He wouldnever know."
Jim Horton put his hands on her shoulders and made her look in his eyes.
"That's not the way, Piquette. You are too fine not to see. I can't bean object of your charity any longer--because it's _his_ charity. I oweyou my life. I want to pay--but not like this. I want you to see mygratitude in my eyes, the depth of my friendship, I want you to knowthat what you've done for me has given a new meaning to courage andunselfishness."
She turned her head away as he paused, and then gently took his handsfrom her shoulders.
"I can pay, Piquette," he insisted quietly. "You do not love the Duc deVautrin. Come away from here with me. I have a little money. I canget more from America. We will find you a place in the _Quartier_ whereyou will be happy until you have the home you deserve----"
"And you----," she faltered.
"What I do doesn't matter. An outcast----"
She started.
"You will leave Paris?"
"I do not know."
She released her fingers quickly and went to the window, looking overthe rooftops in a long significant moment of silence.
"And de oder woman----"
She spoke the words distinctly, and yet he thought he must havemisunderstood.
"Piquette, I----"
"What 'appens between you an' your brother's wife?" she asked quietly.
He had no reply and while he hesitated she turned slowly and faced him.
"I know, _mon petit_," she said with a smile. "I 'ave known it from defirs'. You love 'er. _C'est dommage_. It is a pity. She is ver'beautiful, dey say."
"I am a fool, Piquette."
"You are not de firs' in de worl'----"
He sank on the edge of the bed, wondering at his own confession.
"I was sorry for her--for her innocence, married to a man like that.She was kind to me. I played the part and kept silence. They weregoing to use her--palm her off as de Vautrin's child----"
He paused and looked up at Piquette, aware that the topic that he hadnot dared to broach now suddenly loomed between them.
Piquette faced him gravely.
"Yes, _mon ami_," she said, and the rising inflection was very gentle.
"I do not know what you wish to do, Piquette, and it is not for me tosay. But before I was hurt, I had planned to find out all the facts ofthis conspiracy and tell both Harry's wife and the Duc de Vautrin. Youhave given me the facts. Do you want me to use them?"
Piquette was silent a moment, regarding him with a smile.
"Well, _mon ami_, 'as anyt'ing 'appen' to make you change your mind?"
He looked up at her in wonder.
"Piquette, I thought----" he began. But she broke in lightly.
"You s'all do what you wish, but it is a difficult game you play an'_dangereux_. You do not know Monsieur Quinlevin. If Tricot is de wolfan' Emile Pochard de fox, it is Barry Quinlevin who is de tiger. 'Arry'Orton knows. 'E is afraid--what you call--eat out of his 'and."
"I've got to beat him, Piquette."
"Eh, bien! But remember, 'e is not a man to be easily vanquished. 'Eis ver' quiet, ver' cool, _le vrai gentilhomme_, but 'e 'as sharp claws,Jeem 'Orton."
"A thief----"
"And de Vautrin?" she broke in. "Monsieur le Duc is no better dan he.He did not care 'ow 'e got de money."
Horton paced the room slowly, in deep abstraction, but in a momentstopped before her and caught her hands in his.
"Piquette," he said gravely, "you were in this thing--I don't know whyor how, because a woman with a soul as big as yours oughtn't to bestooping to this kind of rottenness."
For a long while she made no reply, but she turned her head away andlooked out of the window.
"I can't change de way I was born, Jeem 'Orton," she said quietly.
He was silent, aware of the false situation, and thinking deeply.
"I've got to tell her the truth, Piquette," he said at last.
Another moment of silence and then Piquette turned toward him, both armsoutstretched.
"You are right, _mon petit_ Jeem. You s'all go to 'er and tell 'er----"
"Piquet
te----!"
"_Je ne me fiche pas_. Go. It's nothing to me."
Jim Horton had risen and put his arms around her, turning her face up tohis and kissing her gently. She made no resistance, but she did notreturn his caress.
"You are too good for him, Piquette."
She stirred uneasily in his arms and then released herself.
"Go, Jeem----", she said. "Go."
"Will you meet me to-night at Javet's?"
"Yes. _Au revoir, mon brave_."
She watched him go down the stair and then turned in at the door of herown apartment.
* * * * *
Jim Horton was no squire of dames, but he couldn't be unaware of theattractions of this lovely pagan. Like her he was an outcast and theirways perhaps lay along the same paths to oblivion, but before he starteddown that road he had a duty still to perform, a wrong to set right, andhe meant to do it without delay. If Harry had succeeded in ingratiatinghimself with Moira he knew that she must despise him for his betrayal ofher credulity. But he meant to seek her out just the same and tell herthe truth about Barry Quinlevin as he knew it. He wanted to see heragain--just this once, in order to try and justify himself in her eyesfor his imposture, and then he would go--he didn't much care where.
But he realized as he crossed the river that it was not going to be aneasy matter to reach her unobserved. He knew that Harry must be passingsome uneasy moments and it was better that Harry didn't see him justyet. But there was the watchful Madame Toupin to pass and it was stillhalf an hour until dusk when he hoped to slip through the gate and upthe stairs. Meanwhile he found himself a lodging in an obscure streetand then with his hat-brim pulled down walked into the Rue de Tavennesand boldly approached the familiar gate.
"Madame Horton?" he asked.
"_Oui, Monsieur_. She is in. Do you know the way?"
Nothing could have been more simple. Madame Toupin had pulled the latchwithout even looking up at him.