Through the Wall Part 68

"I don't know, I don't know," reflected Coquenil, and a shadow of sadness fell over his pale, weary face. "Perhaps I could, but--I'm not going to try."

"You--you're not going to try?"

"No, I'm through, I wash my hands of the case. The Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck can sleep easily as far as I am concerned."

Tignol bounded to his feet and his little eyes flashed indignantly. "I don't believe it," he cried. "I won't have it. You can't tell me Paul Coquenil is afraid. _Are_ you afraid?"

"I don't think so," smiled the other.

"And Paul Coquenil hasn't been bought? He _can't_ be bought--can he?"

"I hope not."

"Then--then what in thunder do you mean," he demanded fiercely, "by saying you drop this case?"

M. Paul felt in his coat pocket and drew out a folded telegram. "Read that, old friend," he answered with emotion, "and--and thank you for your good opinion."

Slowly Tignol read the contents of the blue sheet.

M. PAUL COQUENIL, Villa Montmorency, Paris.

House and barn destroyed by incendiary fire in night. Your mother saved, but seriously injured. M. Abel says insurance policy had lapsed. Come at once.

ERNESTINE.

"_Quel malheur! Quel malheur!_" exclaimed the old man. "My poor M. Paul!

Forgive me! I'm a stupid fool," and he grasped his companion's hand in quick sympathy.

"It's all right, you didn't understand," said the other gently.

"And you--you think it's _his_ doing?"

"Of course. He must have given the order in that cipher dispatch to Dubois.

Dubois is a secret agent of the government. He communicated with the Prime Minister, but the Prime Minister was away inaugurating a statue; he didn't return until after midnight. That is why the man wasn't set at liberty sooner. No wonder he kept looking at the clock."

"And Dubois telegraphed to have this h.e.l.lish thing done?"

"Yes, yes, they had warned me, they had killed my dog, and--and now they have struck at my mother." He bent down his head on his hands. "She's all I've got, Tignol, she's seventy years old and--infirm and--no, no, I quit, I'm through."

In his distress and perplexity the old man could think of nothing to say; he simply tugged at his fierce mustache and swore hair-raising oaths under his breath.

"And the insurance?" he asked presently. "What does that mean?"

"I sent the renewal money to this lawyer Abel," answered Coquenil in a dull tone. "They have used him against me to--to take my savings. I had put about all that I had into this home for my mother. You see they want to break my heart and--they've just about done it."

He was silent a moment, then glanced quickly at his watch. "Come, we have no time to lose. My train leaves in an hour. I have important things to explain--messages for Pougeot and the girl--I'll tell you in the carriage."

Five minutes later they were speeding swiftly in an automobile toward the Eastern railway station.

There followed three days of pitiful anxiety for Coquenil. His mother's health was feeble at the best, and the shock of this catastrophe, the sudden awakening in the night to find flames roaring about her, the difficult rescue, and the destruction of her peaceful home, all this was very serious for the old lady; indeed, there were twenty-four hours during which the village doctor could offer small comfort to the distracted son.

Madam Coquenil, however, never wavered in her sweet faith that all was well. She was comfortable now in the home of a hospitable neighbor and declared she would soon be on her feet again. It was this faith that saved her, vowed Ernestine, her devoted companion; but the doctor laughed and said it was the presence of M. Paul.

At any rate, within the week all danger was past and Coquenil observed uneasily that, along with her strength and gay humor, his mother was rapidly recovering her faculty of asking embarra.s.sing questions and of understanding things that had not been told her. In the matter of keen intuitions it was like mother like son.

So, delay as he would and evade as he would, the truth had finally to be told, the whole unqualified truth; he had given up this case that he had thought so important, he had abandoned a fight that he had called the greatest of his life.

"Why have you done it, my boy?" the old lady asked him gently, her searching eyes fixed gravely on him. "Tell me--tell me everything."

And he did as she bade him, just as he used to when he was little; he told her all that had happened from the crime to the capture, then of the a.s.sa.s.sin's release and his own baffling failure at the very moment of success.

His mother listened with absorbed interest, she thrilled, she radiated, she sympathized; and she shivered at the thought of such power for evil.

When he had finished, she lay silent, thinking it all over, not wishing to speak hastily, while Paul stroked her white hand.

"And the young man?" she asked presently. "The one who is innocent? What about _him?_"

"He is in prison, he will be tried."

"And then? They have evidence against him, you said so--the footprints, the pistol, perhaps more that this man can manufacture. Paul, he will be found guilty?"

"I--I don't know."

"But you think so?"

"It's possible, mother, but--I've done all I can."

"He will be found guilty," she repeated, "this innocent young man will be found guilty. You know it, and--you give up the case."

"That's unfair. I give up the case because your life is more precious to me than the lives of fifty young men."

The old lady paused a moment, holding his firm hand in her two slender ones, then she said sweetly, yet in half reproach: "My son, do you think your life is less precious to me than mine is to you?"

"Why--why, no," he said.

"It isn't, but we can't shirk our burdens, Paul." She pointed simply to the picture of a keen-eyed soldier over the fireplace, a brave, lovable face.

"If we are men we do our work; if we are women, we bear what comes. That is how your father felt when he left me to--to--you understand, my boy?"

"Yes, mother."

"I want you to decide in that spirit. If it's right to drop this case, I shall be glad, but I don't want you to drop it because you are afraid--for me, or--for anything."

"But mother----"

"Listen, Paul; I know how you love me, but you mustn't put me first in this matter, you must put your honor first, and the honor of your father's name."