The Broken Thread

by William Le Queux

passed a group of men who appeared to regard Raife with morethan the ordinary interest that an obviously English, or perhapsAmerican, visitor should attract. Now in the full light of the moon,enhanced by the brilliant street-lamps and the lights of the townglistening here and there, they dived into a side street. The littlegirl beckoned to Raife and he approached her. Then pointing to a cafeshe said: "Signora meeta you there."

  The child disappeared and Raife sauntered in the direction indicated.With an air of nonchalance he relit the cigar which had gone out. Thereseemed to be an air of mystery about the transaction. He waited for aminute or two but no one appeared, until he felt a sense of impatiencemixed with irritation. The event of the afternoon still rankled withinhim, and he was simmering with a stifled rage and indignation. Thesuggestion of a "trap" appeared evident, and he determined to enter therather dimly-lit cafe and call for a cognac. He approached theentrance, and his hand was upon the handle of the door, when, fromapparently nowhere, the figure of a man appeared. He was dressed in along coat, loose at the neck, displaying a flowing necktie or cravat ofblack. His wide-brimmed black hat covered his countenance, and hisgeneral appearance suggested a denizen of the Latin quarter of Paris.In a soft undertone he lisped: "Pardon, monsieur! mademoiselle," or ashe pronounced it, "mams'elle arrivera tout a l'heure. Vous voulezattendre, monsieur?"

  Raife's knowledge of French was superior to his knowledge of Italian,and he turned to talk to this person who seemed to have sprung fromnowhere. His movement must have been leisurely, for when he lookedaround the stranger had disappeared. The message was simple enough."Mademoiselle will arrive presently. Will you wait, sir?" What did allthis mystery mean? Why was a little Italian girl sent to lead him to aplace of appointment with a lady who sent a cryptic message writtenwithout a signature. Who was the person, apparently an Apache, or fromthe Latin quarter of Paris, who sprang from nowhere and disappeared intospace? As Raife contemplated these matters, the cloaked figure of awoman came round the corner of the street.

  "Ah! Sir Raife! I hope I have not kept you waiting long. I could notget here quicker." She was out of breath, and her words came quickly.

  Raife at once recognised the voice and form of Gilda. Her form wasdisguised in the long rich cloak that she wore, and her face was hiddenby a large hat, from which a deep veil was draped around her face, buther rich, low, contralto voice was evident--especially to Raife.

  All there was of mistrust, of suspicion, indignation or resentmentdisappeared, as she placed her hand upon his arm, looking up at himthrough the folds of her deep veil. Her eyes appealed to him.

  "I tried to get here before, but they wouldn't let me get away. Ofcourse, you got my message."

  In spite of her extraordinary behaviour that afternoon, a few hours agoonly, everything seemed quite right and natural to Raife now he heardher voice, and saw those eyes, and felt the soft touch upon his arm. Inan absent-minded way he said: "Oh, yes! I got your message and I cameat once. Where shall we go? I do want to talk to you." Thencollecting his scattered senses, he asked a dozen questions rapidly."Who was the Apache fellow? Why did you snub me this afternoon? Whatwas the meaning of the note you left for me at the `Queen's,' Southport?Oh, Gilda, tell me what is the meaning of all this mystery! If thereis any trouble let me help you."

  The girl, with a sob, replied: "Sir Raife, don't ask me any questions.Trust me. It is very hard for me--but don't ask questions. Let us walkback along the Promenade des Anglais." Then, dreamily, as if toherself, she added: "Yes--the promenade of the English. We are English.At least, there is no doubt that you are. I sometimes wonder what Iam."

  They walked together until they reached the promenade again. There,under the light of a street-lamp, they renewed their talk. He, stillinterrogative, asked questions to which she would or could not reply.All she would say was, "Please! Please, don't ask me questions. Justtrust me," and, with a soft tremor in her tones, she added: "Will you bemy friend?"

  Raife's conquest was complete. All sense of mistrust had disappearedwith the first seductive notes of the voice he had longed to hear again,and, to-night, that voice was his.

  "I trust you. I trust you implicitly, and I will be your friend."

  For good or evil his word was given, and the word of a Remington wasnever lightly given. Passion or love, call it what you will, has ledmen and women into strangely incongruous and many dangerous situations.This promise, given with the impetuosity of youth aglow and veins afire,might lead to tragic disaster or the consummation of a pure and naturalunion.

  The flow of lover's conversation is frequently intermittent, andsometimes erratic, and now there was a lull in the talk. At lengthGilda said: "I read in the newspapers that your father was killed--ormurdered by an armed burglar." Raife shuddered at the allusion.Continuing, she added: "Did you see the body of the murderer?"

  Raife said: "Oh, yes! I saw the body of the brute."

  "What was he like?"

  "He didn't look much like a burglar. At least, not like the burglarswe've read about in books and that sort of thing."

  "How sad it must have been for you all--for you--and your mother."

  There was a ring of sympathy in her voice, and Raife felt grateful forthe words of comfort.

  Then Gilda asked, "Was he well-dressed, then?"

  "Oh, yes! Quite well-dressed, and he had money in his pockets and worejewellery."

  "How strange," she added, with a slight quiver. "What sort ofjewellery?"

  "Oh, the usual sort of things, you know--a watch and chain and a plainsignet ring! He also had a curious kind of charm hanging by a chainaround his neck. I took possession of that, hoping some day it mightserve as a clue. He was a strange-looking chap, and I would like tofind out who he was. In fact the guv'nor, before he died, saidsomething about a `trap,' and other things of that sort, and I'd like todiscover what it's all about. There's some deep mystery surrounding thewhole affair." Gilda shivered, and said: "Isn't it terrible!" and,after a pause, added: "It's getting cool to-night. Shall we walktowards the hotel?"

  As they walked towards the Hotel Royal, Raife produced from his pocketthe charm he had removed from the assassin's neck, and, handing it toGilda for her inspection, said: "Here's the charm. It seems to beEgyptian, a figure of the goddess Isis, and there are all sorts of queerhieroglyphics on the back of it. Queer-looking thing for a burglar towear, isn't it?"

  Gilda took the charm and her eyes sparkled as she held it tenderly, andseemed almost to fondle it. Then, nervously, and sharply, she said:"Oh, how interesting! I love any thing Egyptian, and I have quite a lotof scarabs. Do give this to me as a token of your friendship. It willbring me luck. Fancy it having been worn by a murderer. I shall go tothe tables at Monte Carlo, and if you give it to me, it will be mymascot."

  Raife was very much in love with Gilda, and he would give his life,willingly, to serve her. The spirit of mystery seemed to enshroud thisdelicate, fragile girl. Why should she be fascinated by this gruesomerelic of his father's murder? He did not reply for a minute or so.Gilda handed back the charm, saying: "No, you don't want to give it tome. And yet, how I feel I would like to own it. I don't know why, butit fascinates me."

  "Take it, Gilda," he eventually said, fondly calling her by herChristian name, "and I hope it will bring you a lot of luck."

  Gilda placed the quaint little charm with the thin gold chain in herreticule.

  They had now reached the entrance of the Hotel Royal, and together theyentered. Raife cast an eager glance around. To his great relief, LadyRemington, for it was late, had retired to rest.

  Gilda whispered: "Let's go up the staircase. There's a quiet alcovethere, and my uncle has gone to his room."

  In the brilliantly-lit foyer of the hotel an orchestra was discoursingmusic to a crowd of visitors, who lounged or promenaded at their sweetwill. Many eyes were turned to the handsome couple as they ascended therichly-carpeted staircase in search of that quiet alcove which promisedm
uch to Raife, and perhaps some pleasure to the mysterious young girlwho accompanied him.

  The south of Europe belongs, in a sense, to no country. It iscosmopolitan. There is a charm in the pleasure-land of Cosmopolis, forit discourages speculation as to the lineage of your neighbour. Onehandsome couple merges into another, and the shrewdest guesses as tonationality are liable to be miscalculated. Therefore the glances thatwere directed towards Raife and Gilda were less inquisitive than theywere of admiration. At the top of the staircase Raife assisted in theremoval of the long cloak which had effectively hidden the dainty figureunderneath. Hat and veil being also laid aside,