Part 26 (1/2)
They were sitting in the flat in the Rue Lafayette. Gilda was at the piano. Raife was reading some English newspapers. Malsano was present, and Denoir occupied a chair. To-morrow was the day, or rather the night, that had been decided upon for the great event. To-morrow Raife was to descend to the depths of complete crime. It was idiotic. There was no reason for this thing; but he was impelled by a super-dominant fate, which led him to a doom that he could not avoid. They talked together and discussed all the details of the affair.
Gilda left the piano and sat silently in a chair. Her mind was not her own. Simply obedient to the will of Malsano, she sat there and looked at Raife, the one person who could carry her from the throes of her present situation. Raife was inert. He, in turn, was influenced by the environment that had dragged him down from a high position to that of a common criminal. Malsano smiled with the confidence of a practised criminal. He and Denoir had made their compact, which Raife had overheard at the doctor's rooms in the Rue Malmaison. With the completeness that accompanied all his plans, Raife Remington's sacrifice was a.s.sured. A paragraph in the newspaper arrested his attention. It read: ”The mysterious disappearance of Sir Raife Remington, Bart., about a year ago has led to curious complications. It will be remembered that his hat and coat were found on the cliffs at Cromer. In a pocket was a letter apparently written by the demented man, from which it was inferred that Sir Raife Remington had committed suicide. A paragraph appeared in the Paris edition of the _New York Herald_ some time ago to the effect that Sir Raife had left Ma.r.s.eilles for the United States.
Detective-Inspector Herrion ascertained that this paragraph had been inserted by a member of a gang of continental thieves, and there seems little doubt that either the baronet has committed suicide or had been made away with. His estates are extensive, and there are complications as to the disposition of affairs. It is rumoured that Aldborough Park, which has been the residence of the Remingtons--or Reymingtounes--since the days of the Tudors, will be placed on the market for sale, as the ancient baronetage becomes extinct with the death of Sir Raife Remington.”
This paragraph brought consternation to, his mind, and he realised, for a while, the madness of his present actions. Malsano's presence was sufficient to alter the trend of his mind, and the result was a volte-face. He crossed the room, and, taking a number of liqueur gla.s.ses and a decanter from a sideboard, he filled the gla.s.ses. Having handed one to each person, he drank in a debonair manner, ”Success to the crime to be committed.”
Malsano smiled, Denoir sneered, and Gilda winced. There were four rings of 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 and made for the extra exit of the flat, which gave no indication from the outside as to the nature of the door. This danger signal had been well-planned by Malsano for emergencies, and all details of their actions had been rehea.r.s.ed.
Gilda was left alone, and in the briefest while was transformed from a beautiful, smartly-clad girl into an aged old crony, wearing the blue cotton frock and white ap.r.o.n of female servitude. She had barely completed the transformation when the outside bell rang three times.
s.n.a.t.c.hing up a broom she went to the door. Lesigne was there, breathless. In hurried accents he gasped: ”Are they here, or have they gone? That fellow, Herrion, the English detective, has chased me. Let me get through and away quickly, Mams'elle. I hope I have not frightened you, but it is serious.”
Gilda had closed the door quickly and accompanied Lesigne to the second exit. As he went out, leaving Gilda alone again ”to face the music,” he bowed gracefully, and, with his hand on his heart, whispered: ”Mams'elle, your disguise is perfect. Even so you still look beautiful--charmante!”
'Twas thus that Gilda fascinated all whom she met. Alone in the flat, and with danger threatened and imminent, she remained cool. Quickly she disturbed the furniture and made it evident that she was sweeping and dusting the room. Within a minute there was a ring of the bell. It was the ring she had expected and prepared for. The ”old crony” opened the door and was confronted by Detective-Inspector Herrion and another man.
The other man announced brusquely: ”I am an agent of the police. You have a man here--a man named Lesigne. Never mind what his other names are. I must enter. Where is he? Tell me at once, or it will be the worse 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 apartment of Monsieur Vach.e.l.le. I am alone cleaning things up. But enter, sir, and you shall see.”
The two police officers entered, and searched each room. In the front room Herrion noticed the four liqueur gla.s.ses and the decanter of cognac. Approaching the table on which they stood, he held one of the gla.s.ses in his hand and remarked: ”So, so! Monsieur Vach.e.l.le has had company. Who has been visiting Monsieur Vach.e.l.le? Tell me.”
Gilda protested. ”Indeed, sir, I do not know. Monsieur Vach.e.l.le left early this morning. I think he has gone to the country, but I do not know for certain. Why should he tell me? I am only here to clean and tidy his rooms. Monsieur is a gentleman. I am only a servant.”
Herrion stared hard at her, saying: ”So, Monsieur Vach.e.l.le is a gentleman, is he, and you are only a servant?”
Gilda felt the force of that penetrating glance and stooped to dust a chair. The two police officers were eventually satisfied that Lesigne was not there, and as for Monsieur Vach.e.l.le, they knew nothing of him, good or evil. So they departed. When they were gone, Gilda collapsed and wept bitterly.
The pleasures of Paris continue through the day and night. London is almost a silent city at night, except for the traffic of Fleet Street, the Post Office, and the Markets. Paris is the pleasure city of the world, and it does not attract notice that people should be wandering about in the small hours of the morning. There are not many dark hours in a June night in Paris. The Avenue of the Champs Elysees is wide, and well lit. On the night of the contemplated burglary there seemed to be more than the usual number of people about, and the four persons who sauntered up and down, awaiting opportunity, were kept on the tenterhooks of expectancy rather longer than they had expected. At length there was a lull in the traffic, and Raife entered the bas.e.m.e.nt and prepared a scaling ladder that was to take him to the window immediately over the great front door of the mansion. It was a corner house, and Raife's objective point could only be reached by means of a gutter-pipe which would lead him to a second window around the corner.
It was a dangerous undertaking and called for all those qualities that Doctor Malsano had flatteringly endowed Raife with. Hand over hand he crept, swaying to and fro from the insecure and creaking pipe, which threatened to give way under the weight of twelve stone of lithe and living humanity. As he progressed bit by bit, foot by foot, his mind reverted to Gilda's dexterous descent by the silk rope from the library at Aldborough Park into the shadow of the rhododendron bushes. Beneath him were spiked railings and stone pavement. The thought of Gilda, at that moment, unsteadied his nerve, and his grip of the pipe, loosened.
He glanced round, and, across the road, he descried Gilda, with hands clasped and a look of terror which was plain to him under the flickering light, in spite of the disguise she wore. Almost at his feet were Malsano and Denoir, and the expression on their upturned faces was even more manifest. It was malevolent, a cynical sneer. With a final effort Raife reached the window and lowered himself to the balcony outside. By a well considered arrangement the window yielded easily. The bolt slid aside and he entered.
This, then, was the situation. The owner of Aldborough Park and 20,000 pounds 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 of a woman who exercised a mysterious: and baneful influence over his career.
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 inst.i.tutions or customs more difficult for the Anglo-Saxon to understand than the vendetta, or blood feud. Southern blood and gipsy blood are hot, fierce, and pa.s.sionate to an extent inconceivable to those of the north. The ”dour” Scotchman may be vindictive, but he is not guilty of the vendetta, which pursues its revenge for an injury or insult through the generations, until one or other of the parties has completed the vengeance. The cause of the vendetta is frequently slight, and it is safe to a.s.sert that women are frequently the prime cause of the ”blood feud.”
That Raife Remington should have been pursued by the malevolent Malsano on account of an indiscretion of his father in his youthful days, would seem incredible to the northerner living in these enlightened days.
By an extraordinary coincidence, the causes that led to the series of calamities that destroyed the career of the handsome and otherwise brilliant 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 a visit, with his college friend, Mr Mountjoy, to Egypt. They were the wild, joyous days of youth, and adventure took them at night to a section 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 only intrude with grave risk to himself.
In a house of questionable repute, Sir Henry and Mr Mountjoy encountered an Oriental girl. With the impetuosity of youth, Sir Henry was immediately enamoured of this beautiful gipsy, with the large, oval, l.u.s.trous eyes, the olive skin tinged with a colour that alternated between a rosy pink, and a flush of scarlet.