to arrest that fellow Lesigne. Malsano's been tooclever for me, up to now."
Mr Herrion took his hat, strolled along the boulevards, and made hisway to the Prefecture of Police. Here he described Lesigne, and put it,tentatively, that he was a dangerous fellow, and that whereas he,Herrion, could not actually prove anything criminal against him, at thesame time, he was satisfied that the man was an active agent among abunch of criminals. His arrest would serve a useful purpose. Thearrest was not made, for Doctor Malsano had other uses for Lesigne, andhe had left Paris.
The plans for the burglary in the Champs Elysees were progressing, butthey formed no part of Raife's work in the matter. He was to supply the"agility, courage and daring" on the night, and he readily consented toact such a part. In his present mood he was prepared with all thosequalities. In the meantime, he had leisure to enjoy Gilda's company.After the fright when Gilda had seen Detective-Inspector Herrion, in hisdisguise, at the Cafe Buonaventure, they avoided the boulevards, andtook trips into the country. They preferred the country that has beenmade famous by the great French painters, Corot, Daubigny, and the otherfounders of the Barbison school. Here, among a simple peasantry, inwood and dale, they wandered together, this extraordinary couple, who,starting with all that beauteous man and womanhood could endow themwith, were both involved in crime. The crime was not of their making,yet they were almost unconsciously made the active agents.
It was evening time on one of these happy days, and the sun had set,leaving the fierce glow of brilliant orange, merging into crimson andcarmine, flecked with lilac clouds, until high in the heavens, the azuredepth was tinged with emerald. Low in the foreground, subdued, yetvivid siennas, with scarlet poppy blossom here and there, welded intodeep purples, silhouetted against the vivid sky. They sat on a knollamong the wild flowers, hand in hand, and, as is often the wont oflovers, they spoke little. Raife's past life was, for the present, aclosed book. He thrust thought from him, and appeared content as longas he was in Gilda's company. She appeared to have no memory of thepast as long as he was with her. A tiny cabaret was generally to befound conveniently near, and supplied all the refreshment they needed.The mystery of this handsome couple, who seemed to be in a semi-trance,caused speculation, as the worthy woman, or sometimes her husband,brought the simple food and wine that made their meal. Then, outsidethe cabaret, they would sit at a table, sipping coffee and liqueursuntil the moon shed her silver light and wrapped the world in thesubdued glow that has ever been the chosen accompaniment of lovers.Then, late back to the flat, where Gilda sang French love-songs, untilthe arrival of the braggadocio Denoir, or a missive from Malsano broughtthem back from the quiet delights of their prolonged love-dream.
At night, away from the influence of Gilda's fascinating presence,Raife's mind was subject to storms of emotion. Where was he trending?To what further depths was he descending? His thoughts sometimes led toHilda--his wife whom he had deserted. His mother's dignified andbeautiful face would appear to him as in a vision. His happy boyhooddays at school, college, and Aldborough Park, crowded before him.
Then he remembered the fateful day when he had met Gilda, with hisfriend Edward Mutimer, on the front, at Southport. The unexpectedreunion at Nice. Then the nightmare haunted him. The nightmare of thatnight when he had discovered Gilda as a burglar in the library atAldborough Park. These and a score more of incidents rushed to hismind. Surely no man's life in so short a time had been crowded with somuch incident. Through it all, he was compelled, by some fate, to actagainst his convictions. What was this evil genius that haunted him?He would break away whilst there yet was time.
On such a night he had retired early, and was restlessly tossing on hisbed when he heard a familiar voice outside the front door of the flat.The concierge was talking to some one, who was enquiring for a MonsieurDesigne. The concierge said: "There is no one of that name living here,sir, and I do not remember seeing any one such as you describe."
"Who lives in this flat?" asked the voice.
The concierge replied: "Monsieur Vachelle, sir, a very quiet gentleman,sir. I think he is from Brittany, sir. He speaks French, but with aslight provincial accent."
Monsieur Henri Vachelle was the assumed name under which Raife wasliving in the Rue Lafayette.
Springing from his bed, he hastily pushed aside a sliding panel, bymeans of which he was able to see, through a combination of mirrors, whowas in the passage. It was true. He was not mistaken. The conciergewas talking to Detective-inspector Herrion.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
THE BEGINNING OF THE REVENGE.
Raife's mind was already perturbed by the reflections it had undergone.The thought of Herrion searching for Lesigne outside his flat was morethan he could tolerate. Hastily dressing, he let himself out of thedoor of the second flat, and, calling a taxi, drove to Doctor Malsano'srooms.
No one can, for long, be the associate of thieves without acquiringtheir cunning. To play eavesdropper is a common precaution on the partof thieves. Raife overheard the doctor talking to Denoir, and the wordshad a sinister sound in his ears. It was the doctor speaking. "Youshall have your revenge all right. I will see to that."
Denoir's high-pitched voice responded. "Yes, doctor, that big brute ofan Englishman hit me. Hit me with his fists. I would like to shoothim." Raife rang a bell, and the doctor opened the door. There wassurprise on the face of the ex-officer when Raife confronted them. Toshow surprise was not part of the doctor's stock-in-trade. So, withurbanity, he greeted his guest. "Ah, Mr Vachelle! You are a latevisitor. Come in. To what do I owe the honour?"
Rather curtly, Raife replied: "I must talk to you to-night, doctor.Something has occurred."
"Does it concern Mr Denoir?"
"No. It does not concern him."
"Very well, I bid you good-night, Mr Denoir," said the doctor, turningto that gentleman.
Mr Denoir retired, bowing low to both the other men.
"Come in, Mr Vachelle, or, as I may call you in here, Sir Raife," addedthe doctor.
Raife was not in the mood to be trifled with and snapped out: "I'm notso sure of that. I heard what you said to that fellow Denoir just now."
"_Suaviter in modo, fortiter in re_" was the doctor's motto in business,and unctuously he replied: "Ah! that was nothing. The fellow was in arage. You thrashed him and, naturally, he doesn't like it. I only saidthat to soothe him. He knows a good deal, and can be dangerous, youknow. So I thought it best to soothe him. You quite understand, don'tyou, Sir Raife?"
Somehow, when the doctor undertook to explain a thing away, it allseemed so reasonable. Raife's anger vanished in a smile. When theywere seated and some of the doctor's best cognac had been produced,Raife told how he had heard and seen the detective, Herrion, outside hisdoor, and overheard him ask for Lesigne.
The doctor raised his eyebrows and smiled.
Raife continued: "I must give it up. I can't have that clever littlefellow hounding me down. It will never do. You can bet he's beenhunting for me all over Europe. He'll find me, too."
The doctor soothed the young man, as he would soothe a child. "Now, SirRaife, don't you fear. They call him a Scarlet Pimpernel, don't they?He's been trying to catch me for a dozen years. He hasn't succeeded,and he won't. Ha! ha!" Raife left late and returned in a taxi to hisflat. Once he was in his room his spirit returned to him, and hedetermined, at all costs, to abandon his hateful life and return to hisown form of civilisation.
In the morning he was busy packing a bag, and the floor was strewn witharticles of clothing, when Gilda entered, exclaiming: "Hullo, Raife!Packing up? Where are you going?"
His mood remained determined, and he almost snarled: "Going? I've gone,it seems to me. Gone clean to the devil! I'm going away."
Then came the appeal from Gilda. The appeal that he never could resist,and to which he had fallen so many times. She did not use many words.Her utter helplessness was the strong point of it all, and her completelove and
trust in him. He sat in a huge chair with his head between hishands gazing vacantly in front of him. She knelt and looked up intothose eyes that could glare with the fierce hate of passion, or shed thesoft lovelight. She looked for the lovelight she had met there before,and she did not look in vain.
What Doctor Malsano had, for once, failed to accomplish, Gilda had againachieved. Raife was again conquered by the mysterious influence of thisbeautiful girl. He sprang to his feet and caught her in his arms,showering kisses on her forehead. "Gilda! Gilda! It's got to be.Whilst you live I am yours. Yours to live and die for--to sink or swimfor you."
Then, hysterically, he almost shouted: "To hell with Herrion! I havestarted, and I will finish." He slung each article of