"Yes. You s'all 'elp 'er, mon ami. I know."
He smiled gently, and then thoughtfully lighted a pipe.
"You've got Cassandra beaten by a mile, my little Piquette."
"Cassandra?"
"The greatest little guesser in all history. But she guessed right——"
"An' I guess right too, mon ami. You see."
He smiled. "Then I wish you'd guess what's happened to your silly friend de Vautrin."
"Silly!" she laughed. "Dat's a good word, mon ami" and then shrugged. "'E will come one day——"
"In a week—and here we sit cooling our heels with our evidence all O.K., burning in our fingers. If he doesn't arrive to-morrow I'm going to find his avocat."
They had examined the birth certificate with a magnifying glass and there was not a doubt that the final "a" of "Patricia" had been added to "Patrice," also that the word "male" had been changed to "female" by the addition of the prefix. With Nora Burke as Quinlevin's only witness and Horton and Piquette to oppose her, there would not be the slightest difficulty in disposing of Barry Quinlevin's pretensions. But Horton still worried much about the fate of Moira, for it was difficult for him to conceive of her resumption of the old relations with the Irishman. And yet it could not be long before Quinlevin returned to Paris, and what would be Moira's fate unless she accompanied him to the Rue de Tavennes? Perhaps she was there now. Already four days had elapsed since the flight from the Riviera and of course there had been ample time for Quinlevin and his illy-assorted company to return. Horton wanted to go to the Rue de Tavennes and try to learn what had happened, but Piquette advised against it. Until the responsibility for the papers was shifted to de Vautrin, she did not think it wise for him to take any risk of danger. Jim Horton demurred, but when he saw how much in earnest she was, he consented to remain in hiding a few days longer.