Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Broken ThreadBy William Le QueuxPublished by Ward, Lock and Co, Limited, London, Melbourne, and Toronto.This edition dated 1917.
The Broken Thread, by William Le Queux.
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________________________________________________________________________THE BROKEN THREAD, BY WILLIAM LE QUEUX.
CHAPTER ONE.
CONCERNS A GIRL IN BLACK.
"No. I mean the girl in black. The one leading the pom."
"By jove! Yes. She's uncommonly smart, isn't she?"
"Her friend isn't half bad-looking, either?"
"I don't think so very much of her, Raife. But Southport at this timeof year is always full of pretty girls."
"Not one of them can compare with the girl in black--she's ripping!"declared Raife Remington, a tall, well-set up, dark-haired, hatlessundergraduate, who, in grey flannels, was walking beside his collegechum, Edward Mutimer, at whose father's house he was staying during thevac. Both were at Trinity, Cambridge, and both, being in their lastyear, were reading hard for their degrees.
Each morning in those warm August days by the summer sea they came outfor a stroll on the seafront; bright with movement and gaiety, taking anairing before settling down to their studies for the day.
On this particular morning, about ten o'clock, the seafront was alreadyfull of men in flannels and lounge-suits, and women in garments ofmuslin and other such flimsy materials usually affected at the seaside,for stifled and jaded Londoners had flocked down there, as usual, toenjoy the sea air and all the varied attractions which Southport neverfails to offer.
Raife Remington and his friend were strolling along, chatting abouttheir old college days, idly smoking cigarettes, when they came upbehind two well yet neatly-dressed girls, one about twenty, in a whitepique coat and skirt with large pearl buttons, cut smartly; the other,about a couple of years her junior, who was fair-haired, very beautiful,and led a little black pom by a silver chain, was in dead black with aneat, close-fitting hat, with a turquoise blue band. Her skirt wasshort and well adapted for walking, displaying neat ankles encased inblack silk stockings, and she wore white kid gloves; yet the only touchof colour was the hat band and the bow of bright cherry ribbon upon thecollar of the little black pom.
In every movement, in her gait, in the swing of her carriage and the wayshe carried her well-poised head, there was ineffable, unaffected grace.Narrow-waisted, slim, delicate, she was the very incarnation ofexquisite daintiness and high refinement. Little wonder, therefore,that Raife Remington should have singled her out as the prettiest girlhe had ever seen.
He and his friend took several hasty strides forward, in order to glanceat her countenance, and in it he was not disappointed. Her soft fairhair was dressed with that smart neatness which characterised her wholeattire, and her big, innocent eyes were of that deep child-like blue soseldom seen in a girl after she has reached her teens.
"By jove! What a ripping girl!" Raife again exclaimed in a low whisperof admiration. "I wonder who she can be, Teddy?"
"Ah, I wonder!" echoed his companion, and the two smart, athletic youngundergraduates followed the girls unnoticed, for they were chattingtogether, and laughing merrily, entirely absorbed in their conversation.
Many persons were passing to and fro, as there always are on Southportseafront upon a summer's morning, and so many smart motor-cars whirlingup and down, even though the month of August is not the smartest season.
Raife Remington, eldest son of Sir Henry Remington, Baronet, was notusually impressionable where the fair sex were concerned. Yet from themoment his eyes had first fallen upon this pretty, fair-haired girl inblack, he appeared to fall beneath the spell of her remarkable beauty.
Within himself he was longing for an introduction to her, while Mutimer,because they were smart and stylish, had inwardly set them both down asmembers of some theatrical company. Yet their clothes and shoes were ofpalpably better quality than those worn by members of musical companieswhich visited Cambridge. Therefore he, like Raife, was much puzzled.Most girls are aware, by natural feminine intuition, when they areadmired, but the pair walking before them were utterly unconscious ofhaving attracted the attention of any one. Mutimer noticed this, andargued that they certainly could not be actresses.
"I wonder where they're going?" remarked Raife in a whisper, butscarcely had the words left his mouth when a black and tan fox-terriersuddenly darted out from behind a man and, without provocation, attackedthe dainty little pom and rolled it over ere any one was aware of it.
The tiny dog's mistress screamed, and, bending, cried in alarm andappeal:
"Snookie! Oh, my poor little Snooks!"
In an instant Raife was on the spot, and with his cane beat off thesavage terrier; then, picking up the little pom, which lay on the groundmore frightened than hurt, he restored it to the arms of its franticmistress.
"He's not injured I think," Raife exclaimed.
For the first time the fair-haired girl raised her blue eyes to his,startled and confused.
"I--I'm so very much obliged to you," she stammered. "That man reallyought to keep his horrid dog under control."
"He ought--the brute!" chimed in Teddy Mutimer. "What a darling littledog," he added admiringly, stroking the fluffy little animal admiringly.
"Poor little Snookie!" exclaimed his mistress, stroking her pet's head,while the little animal wagged his bushy tail and turned up the whitesof his big round eyes with an expression so pitiful as to cause all fourto laugh.
The owner of the terrier, an over-dressed, caddish-looking man, hadstrolled on in utter unconcern, though well aware of what had happened.
"That fellow must be a fearful outsider," declared Raife, "or he wouldapologise. He looks like a ratcatcher--or perhaps a dog-stealer. Alldog-stealers wear straw hats and yellow boots, like his!"
Whereat the three others laughed.
Snookie, duly examined by his dainty little mistress, was declared tohave suffered no damage, therefore after Raife had asked permission towalk with them--as they were going in the same direction--they all fourfound themselves chatting merrily as they strolled along, Raife at theside of the pom's mistress, and his chum with her foreign-lookingcompanion.
Already Raife and his fair unknown, to whom his introduction had comeabout so suddenly and unusually, were chatting without reserve, for, asan undergraduate, he had the habit of contracting quick friendships, andhis careless, easy-going manner she found attractive.
In the pleasant morning sunshine they sat for about half an hour, whenat last Mutimer and the other girl rose from their chairs to walktogether, leaving Raife, to his evident satisfaction, alone with hisdivinity in black.
"Do you live here?" Raife inquired, after they had been gossiping forsome time.
"Oh dear, no," was his companion's reply, in that voice he found sorefined and musical. "We're staying at the Queen's. Do you live here?"she inquired in turn.
"No; I'm staying with my friend. He's up at Cambridge with me, so I'mspending part of the vac. with his people."
"Oh, you're at Cambridge!" she exclaimed, "I was at the `UniversityArms' with my uncle, about two months ago. We went round and saw thecolleges. I was delighted with them."
"Where do you generally live?" he asked, after she had told him that hername was Gilda Tempest.
"My uncle and I live a great deal abroad," was her reply; "indeed, morethan I care to--to be frank. I love England. But my uncle travels somuch that we have no home nowadays, and live nearly all the year roundin hotels. I get horribly tired of the eternal table d'hote, the musicand the chatter."
"Rather pleas
ant, I should fancy. I love travelling," remarked theyoung man.
"I grow sick to death of it," she declared, with a sigh. "We wander allover Europe. My uncle is a wanderer, ever on the move and mosterratic."
"Are you staying in Southport long?" he enquired eagerly.
"I really don't know. We may stay for a day--or for a month. I neverknow where we're going. I have not been home for nearly two years now."
"Home? Where do you live?"
"Father has a house in France--in a quaint little village called By--onthe edge of the Forest of Fontainebleau. Do you know Fontainebleau?"
"Oh, yes," he replied. "I went there from Paris once, with the guv'nor.We stayed at the Hotel de France--I think it was--at Fontainebleau. Wewent