The Broken Thread

by William Le Queux

To his mind it did not appear brutal to involve a beautiful young girl in a nest of criminal intrigue. A day or two after the sudden disappearance of uncle and niece, the quiet little town of Bordighera was made more attractive by the figure of a wistful-looking girl, who gazed across the deep-blue sea. Bordighera does not possess the fashionable and extravagantly gowned appearance of Nice. There is less of glitter, less of glare than in most of the towns of the Riviera. Gilda had come here hoping to attract no attention by reason of the comparative obscurity of the place. Instead of staying at an hotel, she had found lodgings in an obscure street.

For the first time she felt a sense of peace in her life and, away from her uncle’s baneful influence, a restored freshness was entering her very being. She sat gazing across that beautiful sea with its blue surface flecked by rippling streaks of turquoise, or purple, or deep emerald, as its wondrous depths were affected by a brilliant sun. Distant smoke trailed in the wake of some steamer that may have “tramped” the world around, or of an Orient liner that was conveying white rulers to the far-away portions of our Eastern Empire.

Gilda thought of Raife and his mad passion for her. She wished to tell him all—at least all she knew. She felt that she could hardly tell how much she knew, nor did she know how much she could tell. She did realise that she had treated him badly, but why had he followed and discovered her? Should she put an end to her perplexities by a short, sharp road to death? Rousing herself from this reverie, Gilda left the seat, with the wonderful view, and sauntered along a winding path embowered with foliage. As she turned the bend of the pathway she saw in front of her, on a jutting headland, an elderly lady and a young man. They, in turn, were gazing seaward.

The young man of to-day is more daring in his costume and displays more individuality than those of a generation ago. It was not hard, even at this distance of a few hundred yards, for Gilda to recognise Raife Remington standing on the jutting rock with his mother.

This young man, who had just inherited large estates and a handsome income, in tragic circumstances, was easy to identify. With a lineage dating from Henry the Seventh, and the later period when Sir Henry Reymingtoune was Chancellor to Queen Elizabeth, and men’s fashions rivalled in costliness those of the women, it was natural that Raife should possess judgment in such matters.

Queen Elizabeth has been counted the most extravagantly dressed woman of all time, unless it may be believed that the Queen of Sheba affected a similar extravagance. The pictorial souvenirs of the costumes of Elizabeth are more reliable than those of the days of Sheba, but it is not an important point to decide.

The centuries that have elapsed since the brave days of Drake, Frobisher and Hawkins, and the other bold admirals who founded the British empire, have induced a comparative drabness in men’s clothing, and a severity in style.

Much of this has been altered in these later years by imaginative young Americans, who have learnt to deck themselves out more elaborately in cravaterie, hosiery, and general lingerie, whilst newspapers devote columns to the cut of suitings, and the latest form of shoe string, or the brim and feathered tuft that should rule the form of an Alpine hat. These despised and minor considerations now, concern the youth of Britain and the continent of Europe.

Sir Raife Remington, Bart., possessed always the correct judgment in such matters. He allowed his tailor, hatter, hosier, bootmaker, and what not, just the correct latitude. They should, and did, only supply him with clothing that conformed sufficiently with the fashion of the moment, without displaying an outre taste.

If coloured socks were de rigueur, and a variety of tints in shirts and cravats were the order of the day, the general effect should be conformable to the fiat of his tradesmen, without being conspicuous. In short, Raife Remington was a well-dressed man, and his fine, athletic figure, displayed to perfection the clothes he adorned.