He answered, wearily: “Yes, he did. It has set me thinking, Gilda. I fear I have not done the right thing. It is not right that I should be ‘wanted’ by a man like Herrion.”
Then Gilda was alarmed. This man was all she wanted to atone for a life of misery. He must not be allowed to reflect. He was hers and must remain hers.
A knock at the door terminated the scene for a time. Lesigne entered and presented a note to Raife from Doctor Malsano. Whilst he was reading the note, which was lengthy and called for a reply, she beckoned Lesigne into another room. She spoke hurriedly, and with authority.
“Lesigne, you must get this notice into the New York Herald, Paris edition. I don’t know how, but you must do it—pay for it—do it, somehow.”
The little Lesigne bowed and smiled. “Mams’elle Gilda, what you tell me, that I will do, if it cost me—yes, if it cost me my life. I am devoted to your service.”
Gilda was well aware of the little man’s devotion. Whilst he was speaking, she was writing:
“Sir Raife Remington and party left Marseilles to-day, en route for the United States.”
She smiled as she handed it to Lesigne, and gave him some money to meet any contingent expense. Herrion would not miss this announcement, and it would serve to put him on a wrong trail.
Doctor Malsano’s letter was important. It planned a big coup at a house in the Avenue des Champs Elysées. Paris is a city of fine streets and avenues, and amongst the finest is the Avenue des Champs Elysées. With a clever mixture of flattery and badinage, Malsano lured his victim into taking a leading part in this crowning work of his folly. The houses of the Champs Elysées are rich, and this brave stroke called for all the organisation and resource of the band. Malsano himself would direct operations. Denoir would be there, and to complete—Gilda would be there. It was difficult and called for agility, courage and daring. Raife, who possessed all these qualities, was to take the leading and more active part, but he would be well supported.
Detective-Inspector Herrion was in his room in the obscure little Hôtel Villon. He was reading the Paris edition of the New York Herald, and his face wore a puzzled expression. The notice that attracted his attention read as follows: