The Broken Thread

by William Le Queux

himselfto ask for a lift. The cheery old landlord and landlady cried, "Yes!jump in." Both were slightly flushed with the wine and contents of thebasket they had brought with them. Gilda, as she realised that thishorrible person was actually sitting in the tonneau of the car behindher, almost shrieked with fear. The landlord poured out more wine andthe merriment soon bordered on excess, as the car bounded upward andswung around corners with a reckless, devilish swing. Gilda, trembling,yet with the well-feigned assumption of one of those mysterious ailmentsfamiliar to women who want to be left alone, waved aside the offers ofwine; but the chauffeur appeared to enjoy it. With one hand on thewheel, he drank copiously as each glass was handed to him with a merry_camaraderie_. Now and then a lunge or jolt made even the merrymakersbehind exclaim "Oh!" The chauffeur seemed to want the fair occupant ofthe seat next to him to admire his deeds of "derring-do" at the wheel.

  With a muffled roar they entered the long tunnel through the mountain.All but Gilda sang merrily as they bounded through the cavernous depthsof this giant undertaking. On they sped with a recklessness thatfascinated Gilda and at last, alarmed the landlady. With a final plungethey were out again into the open, but Gilda's mind was distracted inspite of the devilish excitement of this mad "joy-ride." How could sheget rid of that hated Apache man seated behind? He was so near to her.Had he recognised her yet? She hoped rather than felt that he had not.She was thankful for the reckless exploits of the now thoroughly excitedchauffeur. It distracted attention from her, and they were rapidlyapproaching the goal she had aimed for. Here and there the groups ofItalian and French guards had eyed, with indulgent smiles, the madcareer of this strange family party. Even Gilda's face was illuminedwith a wan smile, as she realised the incongruity of this scene. It wasmerry, in spite of the fact that it was fraught with such danger forher. A few more bends in the road on the steep side of the mountain,and they would be there, for good or evil, as destiny might decide.

  "Oh! la-la!" cheerily shouted the landlord. "One more glass of the goodwine."

  He poured it out. The chauffeur gazed in front of him with a bright yetglassy stare, as he realised the dangers of the precipitous road. Thelandlady passed him a glass, laying her hand on his shoulder. He turnedto take the glass. There was a sharp skid of the wheels that soundedlike a hiss. A moment of lull, an eternity of despair, a loud, shrillshriek from the landlady--the car and its occupants had mounted a steepbank and lay overturned on its side. All was now silence, and Gilda didnot know how long the silence had lasted. It was quite quiet when, withdifficulty, she extricated herself from the twisted mass of debris. Theother merry occupants remained silent, and the quiet of it wasappalling. She muttered to herself and stifled her sobs, which werehalf groans. With much labour and difficulty she mounted the fatefulbank and clambered to the roadway. The sun had gone down, a golden ballof fire, set in a bank of purple cloud edged with a brilliant orange.

  It was now dark and a sense of oppression seemed to pervade the place.

  Gilda's mind worked rapidly. The necessity for action was immediate.Where was that Apache man, and had he survived?

  The zealously guarded frontier road was not to be left long without apasser-by, and soon the measured tread of feet announced the approach ofa patrol.

  They halted when they discovered the ominous gash in the road, made bythe swiftly swerving wheels of the now ruined car. An examination ofthe wreck disclosed the sadness of the disaster. Huddled in a groupwere the dead bodies of the landlord, his wife, and the chauffeur.Where was the Apache man? He was not to be found. Had he lived--escaped to remain an agent for evil in this world--a further orcontinued source of trouble to the sadly stricken girl?

  The telephone was not far away, and the soldiers, who sympathised, withall the warmth of their Southern hearts with the beautiful anddistressed signorina, soon found means of escort for Gilda.

  Thus she reached Cuneo, a further step on the long, lone journey to theunknown. Beyond a shaking, she was none the worse for the accident.

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  THE SECOND BURGLARY AT ALDBOROUGH PARK.

  Stewards, bailiffs, solicitors, and the men of affairs who are called inon the occasion of the death of the head of the family, had finishedtheir work at Aldborough Park. Life had resumed its normal state. Thenew baronet had taken possession, and was entering into the duties ofhis position with commendable spirit and enterprise. Lady Remingtonwitnessed her son's interest in the affairs of the estates with muchpleasure.

  Her mind was greatly relieved that they had seen the last of themysterious Gilda Tempest and the forbidding Doctor Malsano. She wassatisfied that Raife had overcome his mad infatuation for the woman, andas for the doctor, no possible good could come from such an association.She sincerely hoped they would forget the impulsive invitation extendedto them whilst they were at Nice.

  The Baroness von Sassniltz was staying at the Park. She had brought theinevitable jewels, without which, and their attendant anxiety, herotherwise placid life was incomplete. Fraulein Schneider, thebaroness's maid, and the faithful custodian of the priceless trinkets,was there. Alert as ever, she wore the importance of her trust, as shewore those multitudinous coils of yellow hair. They were all a part ofthe institution that she represented.

  Edgson, the faithful old butler, ruled the servants' hall with a firmbut genial sway. The yellow coils were the subject of much discussionamong the other servants, but Edgson had ruled, with a fine decision,that it was both unladylike and ungentlemanly to discuss a lady's backhair in the servants' hall. The Fraulein Schneider, herself, maintainedan austerity becoming the importance of her position, and the subjectwas therefore not discussed directly with that lady. Only one personwas believed to have dared to a direct allusion to the crowning piece ofthe Fraulein's headgear. One James Gibson, called "Jim" by hisintimates, was possessed of a manly frame, well set off by Meltoncorduroys and leather gaiters. His curly beard was black, andwell-trimmed, whilst his sparkling black eyes, that twinkled above hisround, rosy cheeks, were counted irresistible by the lasses of thatKentish countryside.

  Report had it that Jim met the Fraulein in the town of Lewes, nine milesaway, and there purchased a fancy comb, which he induced her to wear fora brief while.

  Unwittingly the comb was in position when the Fraulein responded to asudden summons from the baroness. Not even the Fraulein Schneider couldstand the withering stare, assisted by a jewelled lorgnette, of anindignant baroness, whose maid had dared to wear a comb in her wellcoiled, and oiled hair. The comb was never seen again.

  For safe keeping the baroness's jewels were placed in the strong safe inthe wall of the library, during her stay at Aldborough Park.

  The shooting season was near at hand, and Raife had invited his oldcollege friend, Edward Mutimer, preparatory to the opening of the firstof September, when the party would be increased.

  Perhaps no festival was treated with greater respect and ceremony thanthat of "St Partridge." On the first of September, through thecenturies, the line of shooters with the dogs and gamekeepers, have setforth in search of the "birds" that until this day had been so jealouslyguarded. The Aldborough estates have always been strictly preserved andfamed for partridge and pheasant alike.

  At eventime, when the shooters had returned from the prolonged andsometimes tiring sport, the fine old Tudor mansion, snug and warm withinits ivy-covered walls, rang with the merriment that accompanied thehospitable festivities of such occasions.

  The privileged dogs did take their place before the fire. There were"Grouse," the setter; "Jo," the pointer; "Nellie" and "Judy," the twospaniels; "Prince," the black retriever; whilst three or four lessuseful, less trained, but generally more pampered and self-assertive,were grouped around.

  The toast of "St Partridge" was given with the brevity that most goodtoasts deserve. Champagne, followed by port, are the wines for thesecommemorations.

  In the servants' hall the gamekeepers and every man and woman of thelarge ho
usehold joined in the general festivity, and the usualliberality of the servants' hall was still further extended. On suchnights the genial old butler was at his best, for the task fell to himto propose the toast of "St Partridge," and do the honours generally.His well-studied and hoary witticisms came with such a hearty burst ofhis own laughter, that the infection spread around the depleted board,until joy was on every countenance.

  On such a night sleep would be heavier than usual. By general consentthe potations that followed dinner were not excessive, but a little moreliberal, as became the occasion.

  One by one the household, in its many varying branches, retired, each inhis or her direction up one of the many winding staircases, and alongcorridors to their respective rooms, with stifling yawns, and walkingwith a respectful silence until the last of the doors opened and closed.

  The guests also lingered longer than usual in billiard-room or library,and they, in turn, having received the ministrations of the servantsallotted to them, retired up the wide oak staircase, over the soft, deepcarpet.

  The most astute criminal, even burglars, will choose sometimes awrongly-timed occasion for his offence against society.

  It was a few nights after the "First," when Sir Raife and the rest ofthe household had sought the sleep that follows sweetly on a long day'sshooting. Lazily knocking the contents of his pipe into the fire, heclimbed into the four-posted bed with its pale-blue curtains hangingaround. The old-fashioned, and even the mediaeval, survived in manydirections at Aldborough Park, and this bed was one of the survivals.

  Although fatigued beyond the ordinary point, even after a long trampover stubble and turnips, up hill and down dale, Raife did not sleep.His mind was too active, and his thoughts trended in directions whichleft him sleepless and troubled.

  The recollection of his father's murder, and the dying words which, inspite of the intervening months and the exciting events that hadtranspired, still, on such an occasion as this, caused him anxiety.

  Insomnia may not be a disease, but it is a very serious complaint at themoment of suffering. There are some people who possess mentality of acalibre that permits them to lie awake during long and dark nights.Others, of a higher-strung fibre, cast bedclothes and resolution to thecorners of the room, and rise to smoke, to read--or do anything ratherthan endure the torture of wakefulness caused by a troubled mind. Raiferose from the high, old-fashioned bed and proceeded for a light and hisdressing-gown, when he heard sounds that arrested his movement andattention. Premonition of danger displays a very high sense in animals.The later stages of civilisation have made matters so safe for humanbeings, that the premonitive sense is becoming rare. Environmentundoubtedly affects such a sense, and the proximity of the library toRaife's bedroom may have affected his alertness, and kept him awake.Certainly there was something, somebody moving, and the noise was in thedirection of the library--the room of sad, tragic association. "Nerves"do not imply timidity, and Raife of the Reymingtounes was hardly likelyto be a timid man. At the moment he was possessed of a strong spirit ofrevenge. His father had been cruelly shot by a burglar in that verylibrary, where those stealthy sounds were proceeding from. He did notwait to don a dressing-gown. Hastily snatching his Browning revolverfrom under his pillow, he proceeded along the dark, oak-panelledcorridor. Gloomy old helmets, empty shells of armour that had protectedhis ancestors in many a fray, frowned upon him. As he crept quietly,but quickly, over the familiar soft carpets, he thought also of thebaroness's jewels, those gems that attracted trouble in their train.They were in the iron safe embedded in the wall of the library. Ifthere was to be a vendetta, he--Raife Remington--would see to it thatthe feud was well sustained on his side. The last few yards he coveredon tip-toe, gripping his Browning in his hand. At last, he was peepingthrough the door, determined to have the first shot in the contest thathad been forced on him. All such contests are cowardly. The midnightmarauder carries long odds in his favour--the greatest being theunwillingness of the man, who is protecting his own property, to firefirst. In this aggravated case his father's spirit, through the memoryof his dying words, impelled Raife to fire first and shoot straight.Justice was on his side and Raife brought the revolver to a level foraim, as he peered into the room. The sight that met him was sostaggering that he involuntarily gasped.

  Holding an electric torch in one hand, a case of the baroness's jewelsin the other, and kneeling before the open door of the safe, he saw theoutline of the figure of a woman. Raife's involuntary gasp wassufficient, for the woman, who had displayed wonderful craftsmanship inachieving her purpose, switched off the lamp. It was too late. With abound Raife had seized her by the throat and dragged her to the wall,switching on a powerful electrolier.

  His horror and consternation reached the highest human point when herecognised Gilda Tempest, the woman he loved--the woman of mystery--thewoman he had trusted! She had asked him to trust her--to be her friend.He had responded with the whole of his heart and enthusiasm, and this--this hideous nightmare was his reward.

  Raife slung her from him with force, and hissed: "You hideous fiend! Isthis womanhood--the womanhood that I--I had loved?"

  Gilda fell in front of the open door of the dismantled safe. For a fullminute her sobs filled the old library, till they became a moan, aprolonged wail.

  Raife placed the revolver in the pocket of his pyjamas and crossed theroom with bowed head and heaving chest. His face was contorted withrage, and his hands and fingers worked convulsively. He re-crossed theroom and gazed at her with a look of intense hatred. Slowly she rose toher knees and crawled towards him with clasped hands. Then, clutchingat his knees with upturned face, a still beautiful face, she ceased hersobbing. In low, mellifluous tones she pleaded: "Raife, Raife! I havewronged you. I have wronged you grossly, grievously. But listen to me,spare me! I, too, have been wronged. I have not been a willing agent.I have been forced, yes compelled, to do these foul, hateful things."

  Raife looked down on her with a contemptuous glance. "You have actedwell before. You are acting well now. Before I give you in charge ofthe police you can tell me, if you will, why you borrowed my keys at theHotel Royal, at Nice?"

  "No! No! Raife, Sir Raife! Believe me, I am not naturally bad. Myuncle--at least, he tells me he is my uncle--forces me to do thesethings. When he looks at me and tells me what to do I am afraid, but Imust obey. I simply must, I can't help it.

  "He made me get your keys and told me the story to tell you. He isclever, so clever." Here Gilda shuddered, and then trembled violentlyall over. Passionately she raised her voice a trifle, saying: "He ishorrid! He is hateful--yes, awful!" Then, relapsing almost into astate of coma, she continued: "I must obey. Yes, I must obey."

  At this moment there was a violent knock on the door, and Raife almostdragged Gilda to a curtain and hastily thrusting her behind, crossed tothe door and said lazily, in a tired key: "Yes, who is there?"

  Edgson's, the old butler's voice, came from without in trembling tones."Lud a mussy! Is that you, Sir Raife? You have given us a fright! Isaw a light in the library and thought there was burglars again. AndI've got all the men and the gardeners and we've surrounded the house."

  Sir Raife laughed a forced, hearty laugh, exclaiming: "Well done,Edgson! You were quite right, but there aren't any burglars this time.No, I'm just at work on some of my papers, that's all." Then, turningthe key and holding the door slightly ajar, he added: "Give them all adrink, and send them to bed again. I shan't be long myself, now."

  The old man replied respectfully: "Very good, Sir Raife." As he walkeddown the long corridor behind the other servants who had accompanied himon his well-planned police expedition, Edgson laughed softly to himself.He remembered some of the stories told to him of Master Raife'sescapades in the long white room at the "Blue Boar."

  It was not a very good explanation, but it served at the moment.

  When the sound of the last footsteps had died away, Raife returned toGilda and beckoned h
er from the curtains, saying:

  "Now, Gilda, tell me all that happened after you disappeared from thehotel at Nice. Tell me some of the worst of this man Malsano's crimes?"

  Gilda told how she had seen Raife and Lady Remington at Bordighera. Ofher flight from there in the motor-car, of the accident and her escape,and the long journey by a circuitous route to England, where she met heruncle. She told how he had planned this burglary, and was plotting tosteal the jewels whilst the baroness was at the Hotel Royal, Nice.

  In a low, musical voice, she related the long story of a young,beautiful girl's life, ruined by the unscrupulous machinations of ahuman fiend. She reclined in a deep, leather arm-chair, facing thestill open safe, with the baroness's jewels scattered about on thefloor.

  The simplicity with which she told her sad story, the sincerity of hermanner contrasted with the incongruous surroundings and recent events.

  Raife Remington's mind and heart were torn with confused passions. Hispride had received a shock so cruel, that it seemed utterly impossibleto condone the offence. He was still suffering from a sense of extremeexasperation. Was this girl telling the whole truth, or only a portion?

  He rose from the corner of the table on which he had been sitting, andproceeded to pick up the scattered jewels and the various articles onthe floor. He replaced them in the safe and closed the door with thefalse key that was in it. It was made from the wax model traitorouslyobtained from him by Gilda. At her uncle's enforced bidding? Yes, buthow true was that story? He placed the key in his pocket. Much of themystery of this extraordinary girl's actions had been