The Broken Thread

smiled with the confidence of a practisedcriminal. He and Denoir had made their compact, which Raife hadoverheard at the doctor's rooms in the Rue Malmaison. With thecompleteness that accompanied all his plans, Raife Remington's sacrificewas assured. A paragraph in the newspaper arrested his attention. Itread: "The mysterious disappearance of Sir Raife Remington, Bart., abouta year ago has led to curious complications. It will be remembered thathis hat and coat were found on the cliffs at Cromer. In a pocket was aletter apparently written by the demented man, from which it wasinferred that Sir Raife Remington had committed suicide. A paragraphappeared in the Paris edition of the _New York Herald_ some time ago tothe effect that Sir Raife had left Marseilles for the United States.Detective-Inspector Herrion ascertained that this paragraph had beeninserted by a member of a gang of continental thieves, and there seemslittle doubt that either the baronet has committed suicide or had beenmade away with. His estates are extensive, and there are complicationsas to the disposition of affairs. It is rumoured that Aldborough Park,which has been the residence of the Remingtons--or Reymingtounes--sincethe days of the Tudors, will be placed on the market for sale, as theancient baronetage becomes extinct with the death of Sir RaifeRemington."

  This paragraph brought consternation to, his mind, and he realised, fora while, the madness of his present actions. Malsano's presence wassufficient to alter the trend of his mind, and the result was avolte-face. He crossed the room, and, taking a number of liqueurglasses and a decanter from a sideboard, he filled the glasses. Havinghanded one to each person, he drank in a debonair manner, "Success tothe crime to be committed."

  Malsano smiled, Denoir sneered, and Gilda winced. There were four ringsof an electric bell in the room in which they sat. They were sudden,sharp, and in rapid succession. The three men leapt to their feet andmade for the extra exit of the flat, which gave no indication from theoutside as to the nature of the door. This danger signal had beenwell-planned by Malsano for emergencies, and all details of theiractions had been rehearsed.

  Gilda was left alone, and in the briefest while was transformed from abeautiful, smartly-clad girl into an aged old crony, wearing the bluecotton frock and white apron of female servitude. She had barelycompleted the transformation when the outside bell rang three times.Snatching up a broom she went to the door. Lesigne was there,breathless. In hurried accents he gasped: "Are they here, or have theygone? That fellow, Herrion, the English detective, has chased me. Letme get through and away quickly, Mams'elle. I hope I have notfrightened you, but it is serious."

  Gilda had closed the door quickly and accompanied Lesigne to the secondexit. As he went out, leaving Gilda alone again "to face the music," hebowed gracefully, and, with his hand on his heart, whispered:"Mams'elle, your disguise is perfect. Even so you still lookbeautiful--charmante!"

  'Twas thus that Gilda fascinated all whom she met. Alone in the flat,and with danger threatened and imminent, she remained cool. Quickly shedisturbed the furniture and made it evident that she was sweeping anddusting the room. Within a minute there was a ring of the bell. It wasthe ring she had expected and prepared for. The "old crony" opened thedoor and was confronted by Detective-Inspector Herrion and another man.

  The other man announced brusquely: "I am an agent of the police. Youhave a man here--a man named Lesigne. Never mind what his other namesare. I must enter. Where is he? Tell me at once, or it will be theworse for you. Yes, understand me, for you!"

  Gilda trembled with well-simulated apprehension, stammering: "Mais non,monsieur. There is no one here, sir. This is the flat, the apartmentof Monsieur Vachelle. I am alone cleaning things up. But enter, sir,and you shall see."

  The two police officers entered, and searched each room. In the frontroom Herrion noticed the four liqueur glasses and the decanter ofcognac. Approaching the table on which they stood, he held one of theglasses in his hand and remarked: "So, so! Monsieur Vachelle has hadcompany. Who has been visiting Monsieur Vachelle? Tell me."

  Gilda protested. "Indeed, sir, I do not know. Monsieur Vachelle leftearly this morning. I think he has gone to the country, but I do notknow for certain. Why should he tell me? I am only here to clean andtidy his rooms. Monsieur is a gentleman. I am only a servant."

  Herrion stared hard at her, saying: "So, Monsieur Vachelle is agentleman, is he, and you are only a servant?"

  Gilda felt the force of that penetrating glance and stooped to dust achair. The two police officers were eventually satisfied that Lesignewas not there, and as for Monsieur Vachelle, they knew nothing of him,good or evil. So they departed. When they were gone, Gilda collapsedand wept bitterly.

  The pleasures of Paris continue through the day and night. London isalmost a silent city at night, except for the traffic of Fleet Street,the Post Office, and the Markets. Paris is the pleasure city of theworld, and it does not attract notice that people should be wanderingabout in the small hours of the morning. There are not many dark hoursin a June night in Paris. The Avenue of the Champs Elysees is wide, andwell lit. On the night of the contemplated burglary there seemed to bemore than the usual number of people about, and the four persons whosauntered up and down, awaiting opportunity, were kept on thetenterhooks of expectancy rather longer than they had expected. Atlength there was a lull in the traffic, and Raife entered the basementand prepared a scaling ladder that was to take him to the windowimmediately over the great front door of the mansion. It was a cornerhouse, and Raife's objective point could only be reached by means of agutter-pipe which would lead him to a second window around the corner.It was a dangerous undertaking and called for all those qualities thatDoctor Malsano had flatteringly endowed Raife with. Hand over hand hecrept, swaying to and fro from the insecure and creaking pipe, whichthreatened to give way under the weight of twelve stone of lithe andliving humanity. As he progressed bit by bit, foot by foot, his mindreverted to Gilda's dexterous descent by the silk rope from the libraryat Aldborough Park into the shadow of the rhododendron bushes. Beneathhim were spiked railings and stone pavement. The thought of Gilda, atthat moment, unsteadied his nerve, and his grip of the pipe, loosened.He glanced round, and, across the road, he descried Gilda, with handsclasped and a look of terror which was plain to him under the flickeringlight, in spite of the disguise she wore. Almost at his feet wereMalsano and Denoir, and the expression on their upturned faces was evenmore manifest. It was malevolent, a cynical sneer. With a final effortRaife reached the window and lowered himself to the balcony outside. Bya well considered arrangement the window yielded easily. The bolt slidaside and he entered.

  This, then, was the situation. The owner of Aldborough Park and 20,000pounds a year, had entered the mansion in the Avenue des Champs Elysees,in the dead of night as a common burglar, impelled by the fascination ofa woman who exercised a mysterious: and baneful influence over hiscareer.

  Always in the background was the malevolent figure of Doctor Malsano,that evil-omened person, who thrived on villainy and lived on crime.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

  THE ORIGIN OF THE VENDETTA.

  There are few institutions or customs more difficult for the Anglo-Saxonto understand than the vendetta, or blood feud. Southern blood andgipsy blood are hot, fierce, and passionate to an extent inconceivableto those of the north. The "dour" Scotchman may be vindictive, but heis not guilty of the vendetta, which pursues its revenge for an injuryor insult through the generations, until one or other of the parties hascompleted the vengeance. The cause of the vendetta is frequentlyslight, and it is safe to assert that women are frequently the primecause of the "blood feud."

  That Raife Remington should have been pursued by the malevolent Malsanoon account of an indiscretion of his father in his youthful days, wouldseem incredible to the northerner living in these enlightened days.

  By an extraordinary coincidence, the causes that led to the series ofcalamities that destroyed the career of the handsome and otherwisebrilliant young baronet, dated from a
visit paid by his father to Egypt,the land of antiquity and mystery.

  Raife's father, Sir Henry Remington, in the days of his youth, paid avisit, with his college friend, Mr Mountjoy, to Egypt. They were thewild, joyous days of youth, and adventure took them at night to asection of Alexandria, which, at that time, was dangerous to strangers.There remain to-day in most southern and eastern towns and cities,certain quarters where the hated "_feringhee_" or foreigner, can onlyintrude with grave risk to himself.

  In a house of questionable repute, Sir Henry and Mr Mountjoyencountered an Oriental girl. With the impetuosity of youth, Sir Henrywas immediately enamoured of this beautiful gipsy, with the large, oval,lustrous eyes, the olive skin tinged with a colour that alternatedbetween a rosy pink, and a flush of scarlet.

  Seated apart in the reeking apartment, lit by oil lamps,