Through the Wall Part 76

It was the lost dolly!

CHAPTER x.x.x

MRS. LLOYD KITTREDGE

The details of the hours that followed remained blurred memories in the minds of Alice and her rescuer. There was, first, a period of utter blank when Coquenil, overcome by the violence of his struggle and the agony of his burns, fell unconscious near the unconscious girl. How long they lay thus in the dark playground of the fairies, so near the raging fire, yet safe from it, was never known exactly; nor how long they wandered afterwards through a strange subterranean region of pa.s.sages and cross pa.s.sages, that widened and narrowed, that ascended and descended, that were sometimes smooth under foot, but oftener blocked with rough stones and always black as night. The fairies must have been sorry at their plight, for, indeed, it was a pitiable one; bruised, blistered, covered with grime and with little else, they stumbled on aimlessly, cutting their bare feet, falling often in sheer weakness, and lying for minutes where they fell before they could summon strength to stumble on. Surely no more pathetic pair than these two ever braved the mazes of the Paris catacombs!

Perhaps the fairies finally felt that the odds were too great against them, and somehow led them to safety. At any rate, through the ghastly horror of darkness and weakness and pain there presently came hope--flickering torches in the distance, then faint voices and the presence of friends, some workingmen, occupied with drainage repairs, who produced stimulants and rough garments and showed them the way to the upper world, to the blessed sunshine.

Then it was a matter of temporary relief at the nearest pharmacy, of waiting until Pougeot, summoned by telephone, could arrive with all haste in an automobile.

An hour later M. Paul and Alice were in clean, cool beds at a private hospital near the commissary's house, with nurses and doctors bending over them. And on a chair beside the girl, battered and blackened, sat Esmeralda, while under the detective's pillow was the scorched but unharmed diary of De Heidelmann-Bruck!

"Both cases serious," was the head doctor's grave judgment. "The man is frightfully burned. The girl's injuries are not so bad, but she is suffering from shock. We'll know more in twenty-four hours." Then, turning to Pougeot: "Oh, he insists on seeing you alone. Only a minute mind!"

With a thrill of emotion the commissary entered the silent, darkened room where his friend lay, swathed in bandages and supported on a water bed to lessen the pain.

"It's all right Paul," said M. Pougeot, "I've just talked with the doctor."

"Thanks, Lucien," answered a weak voice in the white bundle. "I'm going to pull through--I've got to, but--if anything should go wrong, I want you to have the main points. Come nearer."

The commissary motioned to the nurse, who withdrew. Then he bent close to the injured man and listened intently while Coquenil, speaking with an effort and with frequent pauses, related briefly what had happened.

"G.o.d in heaven!" muttered Pougeot. "He'll pay for this!"

"Yes, I--I think he'll pay for it, but--Lucien, do nothing until I am able to decide things with you. Say nothing to anyone, not even to the doctor.

And don't give our names."

"No, no, I'll see to that."

"The girl mustn't talk, tell her she--_mustn't talk_. And--Lucien?"

"Yes?"

"She may be delirious--_I_ may be delirious, I feel queer--now. You must--make sure of these--nurses."

"Yes, Paul, I will."

"And--watch the girl! Something has happened to--her mind. She's forgotten or--_remembered!_ Get the best specialist in Paris and--get Duprat. Do whatever they advise--no matter what it costs. Everything depends on--her."

"I'll do exactly as you say, old friend," whispered the other. Then, at a warning signal from the nurse: "Don't worry now. Just rest and get well."

He rose to go. "Until to-morrow, Paul."

The sick man's reply was only a faint murmur, and Pougeot stole softly out of the room, turning at the door for an anxious glance toward the white bed.

This was the first of many visits to the hospital by the devoted commissary and of many anxious hours at that distressed bedside. Before midnight Coquenil was in raging delirium with a temperature of one hundred and five, and the next morning, when Pougeot called, the doctor looked grave. They were in for a siege of brain fever with erysipelas to be fought off, if possible.

Poor Coquenil! His body was in torture and his mind in greater torture.

Over and over again, those days, he lived through his struggle with the fire, he rescued Alice, he played with the fairies, he went back after the doll. Over and over again!

And when the fever fell and his mind grew calm, there followed a period of nervous exhaustion when his stomach refused to do its work, when his heart, for nothing at all, would leap into fits of violent beating. Pougeot could not even see him now, and the doctor would make no promise as to how soon it would be safe to mention the case to him. Perhaps not for weeks!

For weeks! And, meantime, Lloyd Kittredge had been placed on trial for the murder of Martinez and the evidence seemed overwhelmingly against him; in fact, the general opinion was that the young American would be found guilty.

What should the commissary do?

For a week the trial dragged slowly with various delays and adjournments, during which time, to Pougeot's delight, Coquenil began to mend rapidly.

The doctor a.s.sured the commissary that in a few days he should have a serious talk with the patient. A few days! Unfortunately, the trial began to march along during these days--they dispose of murder cases expeditiously in France--and, to make matters worse, Coquenil suffered a relapse, so that the doctor was forced to retract his promise.

What should the commissary do?

In this emergency Coquenil himself came unexpectedly to Pougeot's relief; instead of the apathy or indifference he had shown for days, he suddenly developed his old keen interest in the case, and one morning insisted on knowing how things were going and what the prospects were. In vain doctor and nurse objected and reasoned; the patient only insisted the more strongly, he wished to have a talk with M. Pougeot at once. And, as the danger of opposing him was felt to be greater than that of yielding, it resulted that M. Paul had his way, Pougeot came to his bedside and stayed an hour--two hours, until the doctor absolutely ordered him away; but, after luncheon, the detective took the bit in his teeth and told the doctor plainly that, with or without permission, he was going to do his work. He had learned things that he should have known long ago and there was not an hour to lose. A man's life was at stake, and--his stomach, his nerves, his heart, and his other organs might do what they pleased, he proposed to save that life.

Before this uncompromising att.i.tude the doctor could only bow gracefully, and when he was told by Pougeot (in strictest confidence) that this gaunt and irascible patient, whom he had known as M. Martin, was none other than the celebrated Paul Coquenil, he comforted himself with the thought that, after all, a resolute mind can often do wonders with a weak body.

It was a delightful September afternoon, with a brisk snap in the air and floods of sunshine. Since early morning the streets about the Palais de Justice had been, blocked with carriages and automobiles, and the courtyard with clamorous crowds eager to witness the final scene in this celebrated murder trial. The case would certainly go to the jury before night. The last pleas would be made, the judge's grave words would be spoken, and twelve solemn citizens would march out with the fate of this cheerful young American in their hands. It was well worth seeing, and all Paris that could get tickets, especially the American Colony, was there to see it. p.u.s.s.y Wilmott, in a most fetching gown, with her hair done ravishingly, sat near the front and never took her eyes off the prisoner.

In spite of all that he had been through and all that he was facing, Kittredge looked surprisingly well. A little pale, perhaps, but game to the end, and ready always with his good-natured smile. All the ladies liked him. He had such nice teeth and such well-kept hands! A murderer with those kind, jolly eyes? Never in the world! they vowed, and smiled and stared their encouragement.

A close observer would have noticed, however, that Lloyd's eyes were anxious as they swept the spread of faces before him; they were searching, searching for one face that they could not find. Where was Alice? Why had she sent him no word? Was she ill? Had any harm befallen her? _Where was Alice?_

So absorbed was Kittredge in these reflections that he scarcely heard the thundering denunciations hurled at him by the public prosecutor in his fierce and final demand that blood be the price of blood and that the extreme penalty of the law be meted out to this young monster of wickedness and dissimulation.

Nor did Lloyd notice the stir when one of the court attendants made way through the crush for a distinguished-looking man, evidently a person of particular importance, who was given a chair on the platform occupied by the three black-robed judges.

"The Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck!" whispered eager tongues, and straightway the awe-inspiring name was pa.s.sed from mouth to mouth. The Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck! He had dropped in in a dilettante spirit to hear the spirited debate, and the judges were greatly honored.

Alas for the baron! It was surely some sinister prompting that brought him here to-day, so coldly complacent as he nodded to the presiding judge, so quietly indifferent as he glanced at the prisoner through his single eyegla.s.s. The G.o.ds had given Coquenil a spectacular setting for his triumph!

And now, suddenly, the blow fell. As the prosecuting officer soared along in his oratorial flight, a note was pa.s.sed un.o.btrusively to the presiding judge, a modest little note folded on itself without even an envelope to hold it. For several minutes the note lay unnoticed; then the judge, with careless eye, glanced over it; then he started, frowned, and his quick rereading showed that a spark of something had flashed from that sc.r.a.p of paper.

The presiding judge leaned quickly toward his a.s.sociate on the right and whispered earnestly, then toward his a.s.sociate on the left, and, one after another, the three magistrates studied this startling communication, nodding learned heads and lowering judicial eyebrows. The public prosecutor blazed through his peroration to an inattentive bench.

No sooner had the speaker finished than the clerk of the court announced a brief recess, during which the judges withdrew for deliberation and the audience buzzed their wonder. During this interval the Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck looked frankly bored.

On the return of the three, an announcement was made by the presiding judge that important new evidence in the case had been received, evidence of so unusual a character that the judges had unanimously decided to interrupt proceedings for a public hearing of the evidence in question. It was further ordered that no one be allowed to leave the courtroom under any circ.u.mstances.

"Call the first witness!" ordered the judge, and amidst the excitement caused by these ominous words a small door opened and a woman entered leaning on a guard. She was dressed simply in black and heavily veiled, but her girlish figure showed that she was young. As she appeared, Kittredge started violently.

The clerk of the court cleared his throat and called out something in incomprehensible singsong.

The woman came forward to the witness stand and lifted her veil. As she did so, three distinct things happened: the audience murmured its admiration at a vision of strange beauty, Kittredge stared in a daze of joy, and De Heidelmann-Bruck felt the cold hand of death clutching at his heart.

It was Alice come to her lover's need! Alice risen from the flames! Alice here for chastening and justice!