The Broken Thread Part 24

A week or more after the disappearance, a maid brought to Raife's mother a reticule which had been picked up in the conservatory in Mayfair. It was very handsome, and contained some visiting-cards on which were engraved, "Miss Gilda Tempest." There was no address, nor did the reticule contain any indication of an address.

The old lady at once sent for Hilda and when she entered the room exclaimed, "Hilda! at last here is some news, although I fear it is not of the best." She then told of the finding of the reticule and the cards contained therein. She quickly added, "We met this young person at Nice, and she has an uncle, a rather evil-looking person. But he can be quite charming on occasions, in spite of an extraordinary swivel eye that produces a most mystifying effect. I always mistrusted them, and now I feel confident they are at the bottom of this mystery."

Hilda at once thought of "the other woman" that Raife had spoken about in Cairo--the woman that had made him a woman-hater. Had she returned and recaptured her lost fancy? It could not be love. Hilda was the only woman, in her own estimation, who could love Raife. The terrifying thoughts that haunted her made her courageous mind act very quickly.

Her father's business had compelled his return to the United States, and she was alone in so far as initiative was concerned. Taking possession of the reticule, she left the room, and, in the next few minutes was talking on the telephone to Scotland Yard. It is not to be expected that a detective-inspector should be at the other end of a telephone every time he is wanted. Hilda had heard Raife speak of Herrion, and, with the extraordinary gift possessed by most Americans, she remembered his name and all about him.

"Is Detective-inspector Herrion there?" The reply came softly back, "No, he is not. Who is speaking?"

The t.i.tle came strangely to Hilda's lips as she spoke into the receiver: "I am Lady Remington. You may remember something about the disappearance of Sir Raife Remington some time ago." Then she added, and again the t.i.tle sounded strange: "Sir Raife Remington is my husband, you know. Well, I have got some news, what you call a clue, and I would like very much to see Mr Herrion, if possible. I shall be at the house in Green Street, Mayfair, all day. I wonder if he could call?" Then, as the receiver clicked into its position, she leant back and thought very hard.

It was late that evening when Mr Herrion was announced. Hilda received him in a small writing-room. The lithe, powerful little man was, for the occasion, immaculately clad, and there was more than a suggestion of the society lisp that deceived so many unsuspecting criminals. Hilda Remington was brief and business-like. She came to the point at once, producing the reticule and telling all she knew about "the other woman."

It was not much, but it was quite enough for Detective-Inspector Herrion. Too well he knew the full importance of that name, "Miss Gilda Tempest."

Then, in a low tone, he spoke. "Lady Remington, you have, indeed, found a useful clue. I know altogether too much about this mysterious woman, who has entered so much into the life of Sir Raife. Her so-called uncle is one of the most desperate criminals in Europe! He is so clever, and veils his operations under the more active work of his dupes in such a manner that it is very hard to run him to earth. This unfortunate woman is completely under his control, and acts as a decoy in a score of directions. I have never been able to fathom the matter completely, but there seems to be some sort of a feud--a vendetta--between this arch-fiend Malsano and Sir Raife's family. Malsano leaves no stone unturned to bring about his ruin. He seems to be afraid of murder, but he lays clever plans to entrap Sir Raife and smirch his name. You will excuse me saying so, Lady Remington, but I have a great admiration for Sir Raife. He is a magnificent man, and he holds a name respected in his country. I tried to help him some time ago, and thought I had succeeded when I persuaded him to go away on a big-game shooting expedition on the Blue Nile. Somehow, these fiendish people track him down and cause trouble."

Hilda Remington had never met a detective-inspector before, and Herrion was in no sense the type of man she had expected to meet. His charming manner and graceful speech gave her confidence. This man--this dainty Scarlet Pimpernel--was a friend, not a policeman. She felt he should, at least, be an Attache at a Court in Europe. She gazed at him with a combination of admiration and appreciation. Herrion was human, and he could not fail to be influenced by the beauty of this stricken woman, who gazed at him, seeking sympathy and help in her trouble.

With her eloquent eyes she appealed to him as she spoke: "Mr Herrion.

Somehow you inspire me with confidence. Do help me to find my husband."

Herrion rose from his seat, saying: "Lady Remington, if that blackguard, Malsano, is to be found in Europe, I will find him. If I can trace your husband, I will do so for his sake, and for your sake, and for the sake of his mother. I will go now and, look up the last records of the gang. Will you give me the number of your telephone? It may save time. And please hold yourself in readiness, as one never knows how long or how soon it may take to unearth a criminal fox in his burrow." When Mr Herrion left Green Street, he took a taxicab to Scotland Yard, and promptly set in motion all the machinery that was possible, in order to find out the whereabouts of Doctor Malsano. His active mind was hard at work, and, under the influence of this beautiful, frank American girl with the pleading eyes and soft voice, he was determined to find Raife and restore him to his bride of a day or so. He was satisfied that Raife was not in his sound mind, or he could not have acted in so scandalous a manner. What ruse had been adopted to lure him away? What fresh devilment was this master of crime at? This should be a matter of international importance. Apart from all these considerations, the pride of his craft had been stirred, and that was not a light matter.

Hilda and Raife's mother sat late talking of the only subject possible to them in the trying circ.u.mstances. Hilda had narrated the gist of her interview with Detective-Inspector Herrion. For the first time Raife's mother learnt a very bare outline of Raife's intrigue with Gilda Tempest. It explained many of his moods that had appeared strange. It reminded her of the conversation she had thought she had overheard as she climbed the staircase to the old white room of the "Blue Boar" Inn at Tunbridge Wells. She recalled the fact that the room had appeared empty, yet she felt confident she had heard voices barely a moment before. A rumour had spread, somehow, from somewhere, concerning the silk rope that had been found under the library window, on the night when the old butler, with a fine sense of strategy, had arranged for the house to be surrounded. All these rumours and speculations were disturbing the old lady's mind. Now, there was something almost tangible in what Hilda had learnt about Gilda Tempest, her uncle, and the reticule that had been picked up in the conservatory.

Now that there was a prospect of something definite being accomplished, Hilda's bravery redoubled, and she supported the old lady with her courage. Raife's mother had at length retired, and Hilda sat alone. It was late and she rang for her maid. When the girl appeared she rather startled her with a request for tea. Tea is an unconventional drink when it is nearly midnight, in an English household. All the conventions had been broken since Raife disappeared, and Hilda cared naught for convention. She was anxious for news that should at least help her to straighten out a situation that had become intolerable. It was impossible to return home to the United States and face the "sympathy" of friends. It was equally intolerable to endure the uncertainties of her present life.

At length the telephone rang. Hilda clutched the receiver. "Yes, this is Lady Remington. Who am I speaking to? Oh, yes, Mr Herrion! Any news? What's that? You think I'd better go to Paris, and you'll try and meet me there. Sure, I'll start right away, to-morrow. I have a house on the Champs Elysees! It won't be hard for you to find me, and I'll take Lady Remington, Sir Raife's mother, with me."

Here, at last, was action. There was hope in action, and she had suffered from inertia.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

HOW THE GRAND COUP WAS PLANNED.

Raife's flat in the Rue Lafayette, Paris, was, like most things in which Doctor Malsano was concerned, cunningly contrived. Two adjacent flats had been converted into one in such a manner that it was easy to enter by one door and leave by another, each out of view of the other. The people who foregathered there were not of the type that would have been welcome at Aldborough Park or Green Street, Mayfair. Here, for the first time, Raife met the Apache fellow at close quarters. His impulse was to thrash him, but Mr Lesigne had most ingratiating manners, and quickly a.s.sured Raife that he was on his side now, and, if it were necessary to do any spying, it would be in Raife's interests, and not on him. For diplomatic reasons, to avoid suspicion, Malsano lived by himself, and rarely appeared in public, as was his custom, preferring to direct operations rather than partic.i.p.ate in them. For the same reason it was considered advisable that Gilda Tempest should occupy an apartment by herself.

Raife and Gilda found time to make many excursions together, to Versailles, and various rural spots where there was, relatively, a small chance of being recognised. On these occasions there was a certain charm in Gilda's companions.h.i.+p which enthralled the young man, and he was quite content to suffer the ill-effects of her pernicious society.

At night, in varying disguises, they spent much time at cafes, sitting at the tables of the boulevards, sipping wine and liqueurs. That waywardness, that Raife's mother had been afraid of, a.s.serted itself, and his love of adventure led him to partic.i.p.ate in some of the minor divertiss.e.m.e.nts that the doctor planned for his own profit. In no circ.u.mstances did Raife share in the plunder of these coups, nor would he allow Gilda to act as decoy, or take active part in them. What he did was with a sense of abandoned devilment. The restraint that Raife was exercising over Gilda was weakening the doctor's power over her, and he determined that it was time for him to bring about a still more complete downfall of his enemy.

Among the members of the gang who called at Raife's flat when occasion required, was an ex-officer of dragoons, who had seen some service along the north coast of Africa. He was an extraordinary mixture of braggadocio, and a certain suavity of manner which had considerable charm until it was discovered that, whereas he could swear like a trooper, he did lie like a pickpocket. In the natural sequence of events he and Raife fell foul of one another. The quarrel culminated when Raife discovered him at the flat paying court to Gilda, who resented the attentions that were being forced upon her. The combat did not last long, for Monsieur Denoir was not versed in boxing, and his incompetence was soon made evident to him. It was a dangerous thing for Raife to quarrel with a man of this type, but the whole conditions of his recent life had made him quite reckless of consequences. Monsieur Denoir, with a fine exhibition of graciousness, made amends, and awaited time and opportunity. He did not have to wait long, for he found a ready ally in the doctor.

Gilda and Raife were seated at their favourite table at the Cafe Buonaventure, on a fine warm evening. Through a mirror Gilda's keen and practised eyes saw a little old gentleman with grey hair and spectacles surveying the tables. He was at the far end of the room. They were seated among a crowd of merry, talkative folk, outside the cafe.

"Quick, Raife, we must go at once," she said, suddenly. With an exhibition of that cat-like speed that she displayed when she slid down the silken rope from the library window at Aldborough Park, she threw a coin on the table, and slid around a corner, half dragging him with her.

"What's the matter, Gilda?" he asked.

"That little `old gentleman' at the end of the room was Herrion, and I expect he's looking for you."

It had not occurred to Raife before, that he was being hunted, not by an "Apache fellow," but by the smartest detective on the Continent. His pride returned to him for a while, and he felt inclined to go and shake Herrion by the hand--if Herrion would let him. That was indeed a question. Who would shake him by the hand now?

By a devious route they returned to the flat. Raife was very silent.

Gilda played and sang to him, but it was of no avail, his moodiness lasted for the rest of the evening. She rallied him on his silence and, crossing the room to where he sat on a lounge, said: "Raife, tell me why you are so silent. Did that man Herrion upset you?"

He answered, wearily: "Yes, he did. It has set me thinking, Gilda. I fear I have not done the right thing. It is not right that I should be `wanted' by a man like Herrion."

Then Gilda was alarmed. This man was all she wanted to atone for a life of misery. He must not be allowed to reflect. He was hers and must remain hers.

A knock at the door terminated the scene for a time. Lesigne entered and presented a note to Raife from Doctor Malsano. Whilst he was reading the note, which was lengthy and called for a reply, she beckoned Lesigne into another room. She spoke hurriedly, and with authority.

"Lesigne, you must get this notice into the _New York Herald_, Paris edition. I don't know how, but you must do it--pay for it--do it, somehow."

The little Lesigne bowed and smiled. "Mams'elle Gilda, what you tell me, that I will do, if it cost me--yes, if it cost me my life. I am devoted to your service."

Gilda was well aware of the little man's devotion. Whilst he was speaking, she was writing:

"Sir Raife Remington and party left Ma.r.s.eilles to-day, en route for the United States."

She smiled as she handed it to Lesigne, and gave him some money to meet any contingent expense. Herrion would not miss this announcement, and it would serve to put him on a wrong trail.

Doctor Malsano's letter was important. It planned a big coup at a house in the Avenue des Champs Elysees. Paris is a city of fine streets and avenues, and amongst the finest is the Avenue des Champs Elysees. With a clever mixture of flattery and badinage, Malsano lured his victim into taking a leading part in this crowning work of his folly. The houses of the Champs Elysees are rich, and this brave stroke called for all the organisation and resource of the band. Malsano himself would direct operations. Denoir would be there, and to complete--Gilda would be there. It was difficult and called for agility, courage and daring.

Raife, who possessed all these qualities, was to take the leading and more active part, but he would be well supported.

Detective-Inspector Herrion was in his room in the obscure little Hotel Villon. He was reading the Paris edition of the _New York Herald_, and his face wore a puzzled expression. The notice that attracted his attention read as follows:

"Sir Raife Remington and party left Ma.r.s.eilles to-day, en route for the United States."

He reflected: "It's fifty to one Remington didn't put that notice in. I wonder who did. It would take a lot of people in. It's clever enough for that blackguard, Malsano. After that note on the cliffs, at Cromer, he isn't going to tell us he's alive, at least, not in that way." He took the telephone and rang up the _New York Herald_ office. He told them who he was. Then he read the notice and asked: "Where did you get that notice from?"

An American voice replied asking him to hold the wire. "The man who took it in is not on duty, but the office-boy describes him as a little man, dark, with a broad-brimmed hat, and a big, black necktie. He looked like an artist from the Quartier Latin."

Herrion answered: "Thanks, that will do. I think I know the man."

Replacing the receiver he smiled rather than spoke to himself. "I thought so. It's Malsano's work, and the man who took it was Lesigne.

I must find an excuse to arrest that fellow Lesigne. Malsano's been too clever for me, up to now."

Mr Herrion took his hat, strolled along the boulevards, and made his way to the Prefecture of Police. Here he described Lesigne, and put it, tentatively, that he was a dangerous fellow, and that whereas he, Herrion, could not actually prove anything criminal against him, at the same time, he was satisfied that the man was an active agent among a bunch of criminals. His arrest would serve a useful purpose. The arrest was not made, for Doctor Malsano had other uses for Lesigne, and he had left Paris.

The plans for the burglary in the Champs Elysees were progressing, but they formed no part of Raife's work in the matter. He was to supply the "agility, courage and daring" on the night, and he readily consented to act such a part. In his present mood he was prepared with all those qualities. In the meantime, he had leisure to enjoy Gilda's company.

After the fright when Gilda had seen Detective-Inspector Herrion, in his disguise, at the Cafe Buonaventure, they avoided the boulevards, and took trips into the country. They preferred the country that has been made famous by the great French painters, Corot, Daubigny, and the other founders of the Barbison school. Here, among a simple peasantry, in wood and dale, they wandered together, this extraordinary couple, who, starting with all that beauteous man and womanhood could endow them with, were both involved in crime. The crime was not of their making, yet they were almost unconsciously made the active agents.

It was evening time on one of these happy days, and the sun had set, leaving the fierce glow of brilliant orange, merging into crimson and carmine, flecked with lilac clouds, until high in the heavens, the azure depth was tinged with emerald. Low in the foreground, subdued, yet vivid siennas, with scarlet poppy blossom here and there, welded into deep purples, silhouetted against the vivid sky. They sat on a knoll among the wild flowers, hand in hand, and, as is often the wont of lovers, they spoke little. Raife's past life was, for the present, a closed book. He thrust thought from him, and appeared content as long as he was in Gilda's company. She appeared to have no memory of the past as long as he was with her. A tiny cabaret was generally to be found conveniently near, and supplied all the refreshment they needed.

The mystery of this handsome couple, who seemed to be in a semi-trance, caused speculation, as the worthy woman, or sometimes her husband, brought the simple food and wine that made their meal. Then, outside the cabaret, they would sit at a table, sipping coffee and liqueurs until the moon shed her silver light and wrapped the world in the subdued glow that has ever been the chosen accompaniment of lovers.

Then, late back to the flat, where Gilda sang French love-songs, until the arrival of the braggadocio Denoir, or a missive from Malsano brought them back from the quiet delights of their prolonged love-dream.

At night, away from the influence of Gilda's fascinating presence, Raife's mind was subject to storms of emotion. Where was he trending?

To what further depths was he descending? His thoughts sometimes led to Hilda--his wife whom he had deserted. His mother's dignified and beautiful face would appear to him as in a vision. His happy boyhood days at school, college, and Aldborough Park, crowded before him.

Then he remembered the fateful day when he had met Gilda, with his friend Edward Mutimer, on the front, at Southport. The unexpected reunion at Nice. Then the nightmare haunted him. The nightmare of that night when he had discovered Gilda as a burglar in the library at Aldborough Park. These and a score more of incidents rushed to his mind. Surely no man's life in so short a time had been crowded with so much incident. Through it all, he was compelled, by some fate, to act against his convictions. What was this evil genius that haunted him?

He would break away whilst there yet was time.