Raife's mind was already perturbed by the reflections it had undergone.
The thought of Herrion searching for Lesigne outside his flat was more
than he could tolerate. Hastily dressing, he let himself out of the
door of the second flat, and, calling a taxi, drove to Doctor Malsano's
rooms.
No one can, for long, be the associate of thieves without acquiring
their cunning. To play eavesdropper is a common precaution on the part
of thieves. Raife overheard the doctor talking to Denoir, and the words
had a sinister sound in his ears. It was the doctor speaking. "You
shall have your revenge all right. I will see to that."
Denoir's high-pitched voice responded. "Yes, doctor, that big brute of
an Englishman hit me. Hit me with his fists. I would like to shoot
him." Raife rang a bell, and the doctor opened the door. There was
surprise on the face of the ex-officer when Raife confronted them. To
show surprise was not part of the doctor's stock-in-trade. So, with
urbanity, he greeted his guest. "Ah, Mr Vachelle! You are a late
visitor. 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, turning
to 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," added
the doctor.
Raife was not in the mood to be trifled with and snapped out: "I'm not
so 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 a
rage. You thrashed him and, naturally, he doesn't like it. I only said
that to soothe him. He knows a good deal, and can be dangerous, you
know. So I thought it best to soothe him. You quite understand, don't
you, Sir Raife?"
Somehow, when the doctor undertook to explain a thing away, it all
seemed so reasonable. Raife's anger vanished in a smile. When they
were seated and some of the doctor's best cognac had been produced,
Raife told how he had heard and seen the detective, Herrion, outside his
door, 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 little
fellow hounding me down. It will never do. You can bet he's been
hunting for me all over Europe. He'll find me, too."
The doctor soothed the young man, as he would soothe a child. "Now, Sir
Raife, 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 his
flat. Once he was in his room his spirit returned to him, and he
determined, at all costs, to abandon his hateful life and return to his
own form of civilisation.
In the morning he was busy packing a bag, and the floor was strewn with
articles 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 complete
love and trust in him. He sat in a huge chair with his head between his
hands gazing vacantly in front of him. She knelt and looked up into
those eyes that could glare with the fierce hate of passion, or shed the
soft 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 again
achieved. Raife was again conquered by the mysterious influence of this
beautiful 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 swim
for you."
Then, hysterically, he almost shouted: "To hell with Herrion! I have
started, and I will finish." He slung each article of clothing back in
its receptacle, and, turning to Gilda, said more restrainedly, "We will
go into the country to-day, and revel in our flowers and trees, our sky
and clouds. I am giving you my life. It is yours. My reason tells me
that it can only end in trouble. I don't care. Life is only possible
to me when you are around. Now let us hie into the country and `make
the most of what we yet may have to spend, before we, too'--"
Gilda threw herself into his arms and closed his lips with her hands--
those clever, skilful hands, clever in crime, yet dainty as the hands of
a queen of beauty. "Don't quote those lines. They make me sad, and I
want to be so happy with you to-day, Raife. Where shall we go?"
Raife considered for a moment and then said: "It will be running a risk,
but I feel like running risks to-day. Let us go to Versailles. Let us
watch all the splendour of those glorious days when men and women were
brave in love and war, and dared to fight for honour."
A pang went through him as he made this last allusion to "honour." What
was honour to him now? He had surrendered to a code, that did not count
for honour among his equals, or those even who once might have been his
inferiors. Quick disguise was a part of the craft of the career he had
entered upon. He felt that he was less a buccaneer than a privateer.
He was plundering the enemy, less for his personal profit than from the
spirit of sheer devilment and adventure. There was no profit to him
outside Gilda's companionship.
On the brightest day of early summer they walked in the gardens of the
Palace of Versailles. The most perfect palace of the days when regal
prodigality made France at the same time the most luxurious and the most
poverty-stricken country in Europe, displayed its splendour in the full
flood of warm sunshine. The fountains played and sparkled in a torrent
of spray that suggested myriads of tiny precious stones. The air was
perfumed with thousands of blossoms from the ornamental flower beds.
The groups of statuary stood in bold relief, here against the warm blue
sky or silver cloud, there against a bank of stately trees, rich in
luxuriant foliage. Gay throngs of smartly-dressed women and children,
mingled with the more sombre-clad men, who promenaded with all "la joie
de vivre" that belongs to the Parisian on his own happy hunting ground.
Raife and Gilda, safe in their skilled disguises, mixed with the crowd,
and revelled in the beauty and movement around them.
The day of the grand coup was approaching, when the house in the Avenue
des Champs Elysees was to be plundered. This was to be the day when
Raife was to exhibit those qualities of "agility, courage and daring"
for which, in the language of Malsano's insidious flattery, his
countrymen were famous. Both Raife and Gilda felt that their next
adventure was fraught with danger, and Raife had consented that Gilda on
this occasion should assist in the operations. They therefore made the
most of this joyous day at Versailles. It was evening when they decided
to seek one of the more obscure little cabarets for their dinner. They
were sauntering down an avenue with the long line of trees throwing
shadows across the close-cropped grass, when a motor-car passed slowly
by in the heavy rows of traffic. Raife looked at the occupant and
recognised the Baroness von Sassniltz, his mother's friend, whose jewels
Gilda almost succeeded in stealing from the safe in the library at
Aldborough Park. The baroness looked hard at Raife, but apparently did
not see through his disguise.
The conflict of emotions which had disturbed him during the night and
morning were now renewed. Gilda did not notice the car which carried
the Baroness von Sassniltz, but, with the intuition of a lover, she did
notice that Raife's manner had drifted into an abstracted mood. He was
thinking of his own anomalous position. He was worshipping at the
shrine of a woman, whom he had detected in the act of "burgling" the
jewels of his mother's friend. This took place in his own house, and
not only had he allowed her to escape, but he was here to-day with her
expecting to participate with her in a crime of a similar nature. The
situation was hideous, and all the glory of the day in Versailles had
departed.
They walked along in silence for a while, until a passing taxicab
arrested his attention, and he responded to the interrogative look of
the driver by hailing it. They entered the taxi, and in response to the
driver's query, "Where shall I drive, monsieur?" he said: "Drive to the
cabaret of `Le Sans Souci,' at the end of the avenue, then to the left
and about three miles along the main road. You will see it by a group
of poplars, with a garden and a small lake in front."
They had been to this little inn before, many times, and the
blue-skirted and white-aproned old landlady was accustomed to their
visits, and understood not only their simple requirements, but their
desire for quietude. They sat in the simple, clean little room, with
its dainty curtains, white napery and shining cutlery. The old lady
fussed around for a while, chatting gaily, as is the wont of French
landladies, whilst the bouillabaisse, cutlets, and superlative omelette
were being prepared.
An old punt lay moored at the foot of some moss-covered steps leading to
the lake. Pond lilies and chickweed covered the surface of the shallows
that led from the steps to the deeper waters, which flickered in the
moonlight. Clumps of willows and ash threw their shadows and reflected
in the silent pool. Raife took the pole of this ancient, dilapidated
punt and steered Gilda, who sat on a narrow seat of rough wood that
constituted the only seat. Her neat, grey costume, rich in material but
unobtrusive, contrasted with the ashen grey-greens of the old
roughly-hewn punt. Thus, he standing up piloting the strange craft,
took her over the warm waters, until reaching a deep pool which his pole
failed to fathom they came to a rest. Here and there a ghostly bat,
after the manner of a miniature vampire, flickered through the air,
chasing the lesser night insects whose hum harmonised with the rest of
that which was silence.
It was sylvan and, to an extent, idyllic, but it is dangerous to be
associated with crime. The convert to crime, religion or politics, is
ever the more impressionable, and his actions are liable to outstrip the
prudence of those who have inherited the traditions of their creed. The
gloom of the situation and the memory of his lost hopes and ambitions
attacked Raife, and, in a despairing mood, he perceived the ease with
which all could be ended by a quick death in this silent pool. He and
Gilda together could complete the tragedy of their lives. He had no
doubt that she would consent to suicide, but why should he consult her
in the matter? To overturn the punt would be easy, for it was a crazy
old craft, and thus, entwined, they would sink to the depths, to
oblivion.
A voice came across the water. It travelled clearly, as sound will
travel across still water on a quiet night. "Monsieur, votre diner!
C'est servi!" It was a cheery, pleasant voice, and it announced that
dinner was served.
Neither seemed to hear the call. Gilda was in one off her trance moods,
and Raife was contemplating his last crime. Again the voice floated
over the lake. "Sir, your dinner is served." Raife awakened from his
own trance and leisurely paddled the punt from the deep pool to shallow
water. From the depths of his determination to the shallows of the
commonplace he was aroused by the old landlady of the cabaret, who was
calling him back to life. His resonant voice responded, as he poled the
punt vigorously to the moss and lichen-covered steps. "Eh bien, madame,
nous arriverons au moment." His voice was quite cheery now, and he
hailed her again. "All right, we shall be there in a moment." He
moored the punt to the rusty iron ring attached to the steps. Gilda
seemed to be still in a trance mood. Raife answered the old lady's
pleasant railleries. The taxi-driver, who had been ordered to wait,
peeped into the room unobserved from the kitchen. His wants had been
served. To himself he reflected: "Queer couple. They're handsome
enough, but there's some trouble, I wager."
Dinner was served, and death was forgotten.