The Broken Thread. Le Queux William

anything come to light over your governor’s dying words. It was something about a ‘trap,’ and there was a woman in it, wasn’t there?”

      “No! nothing came to light. It looks as though I’ve got a very first-class family skeleton in my cupboard.” Raife said this reflectively, rather sadly. Then, bracing himself up, he exclaimed: “It’ll take several skeletons to scare me, however. I don’t think I’m either timid or nervous.”

      “Ha! ha! Well, now for a trip to Nice,” he added, with a don’t-care-a-hang air, “and be bothered to the lawyers for a time. I’ll find Gilda Tempest. I swear I will, and her old uncle can be hanged for a meddlesome old ass.”

      It was in March when the young baronet, who in such tragic circumstances had just inherited large estates and twenty thousand pounds a year, arrived at the Hôtel Royal, on the Promenade des Anglais, at Nice.

      His mother, the widowed Lady Remington, accompanied him. Having disposed of her ladyship in a cosy corner among the palms, Raife started on his hot-headed search for Gilda. He was not long disappointed, for in the big lounge of the hotel, not crowded at this moment, he saw Gilda, exquisitely dressed, and accompanied by a distinguished-looking old man.

      The old gentleman was Doctor Danilo Malsano – the uncle of Gilda Tempest. Doctor Malsano was tall, and there was a certain air of distinction about him. A superficial graciousness of manner disguised from the casual observer the sinister cast of his countenance.

      He had long black hair, receding from a high forehead, leaving two circular, bald patches on either side. A powerful jaw, and somewhat hollow cheeks, with glittering white teeth and small ears, completed the clean-shaven appearance, with the exception of his eyes and bushy eyebrows.

      More has been written on the subject of eyes than of any other portion of human anatomy, but Doctor Malsano’s eyes were unique. At a glance they suggested a squint. Here was neither a squint nor an aggravated form of astigmatism. The right eye was of a steely blue, that pierced the observer with the sharpness of a gimlet. The left eye was a swivel eye, and served the purpose of preventing one from determining which eye was gazing at you. There is a certain type of Scotch sheep-dog which possesses eyes of the colour of the doctor’s left eye. It is almost colourless, and with a dark spot in the centre of the right iris.

      The doctor’s striking appearance contrasted strongly with the fragile beauty of the fair-haired young girl, with the eyes of deep-blue, who walked by his side: narrow-waisted, delicate and slim, with a well-poised head on a rounded neck of alabaster whiteness. Raife devoured this vision with his eyes before crossing the foyer to her. The whole charm of the striking personality of the young girl was enhanced by that distinguished grace of style that characterises the refined in temperament. Raife crossed over to her and, with a bow, claimed her acquaintance. Gilda politely but frigidly declined the acquaintance, informing Raife that he was mistaken.

      Raife was astounded – staggered. Accepting the situation that had just been dealt to him, and with flaming cheeks smarting from the blow, so sudden and unexpected, he left the hotel by the main entrance and joined the throng of promenaders.

      His thoughts lingered on the insult he had encountered. He fancied he had detected a sneer on Doctor Malsano’s countenance. Rage and wounded vanity possessed him. At the table d’hôte he was distrait, and sorely puzzled Lady Remington with his absent-minded attentions and disjointed conversation. Seeking the first opportunity of escaping his mother’s over-anxious regard for his health and spirits, he again found his way into the open air and avoided the crowd. Finding a secluded bench under a group of palms and surrounded by brilliant blossom, he sat down and sought repose in the solace of a choice Habana cigar. It was a secluded spot, and the depths of shadow from foliage were rendered more mysterious by the vivid yet luscious moonlight that flooded the countryside. Long he gazed in front of him, still smarting under that stinging snub that had, at the same time, wounded him sorely and enraged him. The latest heir of the Reymingtounes of Aldborough was not of the stuff to court a snub or endure it. Rage alternated with crumpled dignity, and he fumed, puffing his Habana viciously the while. He had sat there a long time, until the few strollers, who had found themselves near this secluded corner, seemed to have returned to the warmth of house or hotel.

      Raife threw the end of his cigar far in front of him, and, rising from the bench, crossed the promenade and leant against a railing. He shivered slightly, for a March night in Nice may be chilly, even treacherously so. Thus musing, he glanced at one of those daintily-illustrated little pamphlets that advertise the resorts of the Riviera. A thought flashed through his mind. His father’s last words, as he lay dying from the assassin’s revolver, came to him. “I was a fool, Edgson. I ought to have told my boy from the first. Every man has a skeleton in his cupboard. This is mine.” And the last haunting words of all came to him:

      “Beware of the trap – she – that woman.”

      Why had this beautiful young girl come into his life at such a tragic time? Could it be possible? No! Perish the thought. Nothing but good could come from that sweet countenance that had enthralled him from the first glance. But, then, who was this uncle, Doctor Malsano? The very name was evil-sounding, and, in spite of his distinguished air, that swivel eye, with much else of his striking countenance, was sinister.

      Raife now felt certain that he had recognised a sneer on the man’s face – a malicious sneer, when Gilda had snubbed him.

      These long minutes in that full flood of southern moonlight were fraught with much that might be good – or bad – for Sir Raife Remington, Bart. In spite of his passionate outburst in the long white room of the “Blue Boar,” at Tunbridge Wells; in spite of his vehemently-declared intention to win that beautiful girl for his wife – or die – he was possessed of a premonition of danger ahead. Again his father’s dying words rang in his ears, and the blood-stained chamber, the scene in his ancestral hall of his father’s cruel murder, came vividly before him, and he was tempted to “beware of the trap.”

      In such mood he turned on his heel and sauntered yet a little farther from the Hôtel Royal, where he was staying with his bereaved mother.

      The southern lands are the lands of intrigue and mystery. They are the lands of deepest nights and brightest days, and that alternating intensity enters into the characters of the peoples who inhabit them.

      As Raife was lighting a second cigar, he was vaguely conscious of a young boy or girl who dodged in the shadows behind him. The strongest man likes to meet his friends face to face, but a potential foe lurking in shadows on a moonlight night in a southern land, is disconcerting.

      Watching an opportunity, therefore, Raife wheeled suddenly around, and making a dash for the youngster, secured him. The young girl, who appeared to be about thirteen years of age, did not seem alarmed, but smiled seductively, saying: “Signor Raife! meet a preety signora. Meea take you there.”

      At the same time, the girl handed Raife a piece of paper on which was written:

      “Quite safe. Follow the girl.”

      Again those words of warning from his dying father.

      Was this the trap.

      In his present mood he did not care, and welcomed an adventure even if it should be dangerous.

      He followed the little girl.

      Chapter Seven

      Who was the Apache?

      Raife Remington followed the mysterious little girl, she dodging her way through the patches of silver light and gloomy shade. He strode in a gloomy, almost defiant manner, which implied that there was trouble ahead, and he was determined to meet it. As they approached the Hôtel Royal they passed a group of men who appeared to regard Raife with more than the ordinary interest that an obviously English, or perhaps American, visitor should attract. Now in the full light of the moon, enhanced by the brilliant street-lamps and the lights of the town glistening here and there, they dived into a side street. The little girl beckoned to Raife and he approached her. Then pointing to a café she 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. There