The Broken Thread

by William Le Queux

where amidnight entertainment was in full swing, this lovely gipsy and youngSir Henry courted one another with the play of eyes instead of words,for neither could understand the language of the other. The sensuousbeauty of the girl enthralled the young English aristocrat, and theblood in his veins, already heated by the unwonted liquors that he hadconsumed, coursed rapidly. The girl's responsive glances told himplainly that his advances were not unwelcome. Around the girl's neckwas a silver chain of fine and delicate workmanship. Attached to thechain was a small Egyptian charm, in the form of a statuette of thegoddess Isis, wearing on her head the royal sign, the orb of the sun,supported by cobras on either side. On the back, from head to foot,were inscribed the tiny hieroglyphics, which recorded certain crypticwords associated with the worship of that mythical deity of thousands ofyears ago. Sir Henry noticed the trinket, and, raising it in his hands,examined it. The gipsy snatched it away with angry gesture, a fiercelight entering her large oval eyes, whilst the rosy pink that hadsuffused her olive cheeks swelled to the flush of scarlet that betrayedher savage nature.

  The azure blue of a young, handsome Anglo-Saxon's eyes, that looksteadfastly, fearlessly, yet passionately, into the dark and sparklingdepths of an untutored gipsy girl, are a proper antidote to that girl'sflash of anger. Sir Henry gazed at her, and the girl's eyes fellbeneath his searching, passionate gaze.

  With an impulse, as rapid as was her sudden rage, she took the chain andcharm from her neck, and, with a motion signifying secrecy, handed it tohim. Sir Henry kissed it, and, in doing so, kissed her hand.

  At intervals around this central, circular apartment, were severaldoorways, covered by rich and heavy curtains, of that rare orientalcolour, which our manufacturers strive, with mixed success, to imitate,at prices that suit the varying purses of a bank clerk or a greengrocer,a stockbroker or an art student.

  Before each doorway stood two huge Nubian Arabs, robed in kaftans ofyellow ochre-coloured silk, and wearing fezes of that deep, lusciousred, the colour of which does not find a name in the student's paintbox. The dark skins of their countenances were marked by the longslashes, which formed the cicatrices on each left cheek, and denotedtheir tribal marks. Scarlet slippers contrasted vividly with the darkbrown of their huge sinewy legs. Stolidly and impassively they stoodsentinels at these doorways, which led to passages, open to the skybetween high walls of mud and plaster, above which the stars twinkledbrilliantly in the deep-blue unfathomable vault above. The illimitablespace, and all that is unknown of eternity, suggested that these starswere a countless myriad of eyes, looking down on this weird collectionof humanity.

  Gambling in various forms was one of the allurements of the place,whilst music, more or less barbaric, and Oriental dancing added to thesupposed attractions. The whole scene would appear as a page from theArabian Nights, with the added incongruity of a few people in Europeancostume.

  At one of these doorways appeared a tall, swarthy woman, of lightercolour than any of these Arabs, yet betraying her southern blood. Shewas accompanied by a weak but good-looking young man, and a tall, darkman, with extraordinary eyes and a sinister appearance. The womannudged the sinister man, and both saw Sir Henry kiss the girl's hand.The trio crossed the apartment, and the woman seized the gipsy girlroughly by the hair, and hauled her through one of the doorways, whilstthe two dusky Nubians held the curtains aside. The hitherto impassiveblacks momentarily relapsed, and their stolid faces were lightened by abroad smile, revealing glittering white teeth, and their yellowish whiteeyeballs rolled in a fiendish manner.

  Who shall say what was the fate of the beautiful gipsy girl, who hadlightly parted with the treasured talisman of the goddess Isis to theblue-eyed and fair-haired English aristocrat? The English were at thattime, in Egypt, the most hated of all _feringhees_.

  Thus, in a gay and innocent spirit of youthful courtship, commenced thefeud, the vendetta, that was to lead to such a tragic influence on twogenerations of the "Reymingtounes."

  From this apparently trivial incident there followed the events that ledto the murder of Sir Henry, and the degradation of his son, pursued andattacked by the unrelenting hatred of the denizens of this Orientalinferno.

  In harsh but cultured tones, with a slight foreign accent, the sinisterman said to Sir Henry:

  "Return to me, at once, the charm that young woman handed to you."

  Sir Henry reclined on the richly-covered divan among the silkencushions, and leisurely surveyed the two men who confronted him.Slowly, and with the aggravated drawl of the period, he said: "By whatright do you make that request?"

  The retort came fiercely.

  "Give me the charm at once, or it will be the worse for you, sir."

  "I shall do nothing of the kind," and, rising from the divan, Sir Henrydisplayed the full six feet of his athletic frame, asking: "What do youpropose to do?"

  With an oath, the sinister man with the weird eyes, muttered: "Sacre!These Englishmen, with all their arrogant pride, are curs!"

  He said no more for a while, for Sir Henry's straight left shot betweenthose mysterious eyes and the sinister man fell back on the floorsenseless. The debauched but still good-looking Englishman exclaimedweakly: "Oh, I say! That won't do, you know."

  Two of the Nubians rushed from their sentinel posts, and a white-beardedold Arab, who appeared to spring from nowhere, gesticulated wildly. SirHenry was seized from behind--but for the briefest while.

  The art of boxing may be world-wide in its present application, but theEnglish taught the world this and many other sports. At the periodunder consideration offence and defence were mostly conducted withlethal weapons. The rapidity of a straight left, followed by a swiftupper cut, therefore had its advantage at the outset of a contest. Twoburly Nubians lay sprawling, from the process, over the body of thesinister white man. The debauched Englishman, knowing more of the game,and realising his own incapacity against this young giant, skirmished ata safe distance in the rear.

  The game was too hot to last long, for "the English arrogant pride" towhich the sinister white man had alluded, would not allow Sir Henry torun away. Instead, he drawled: "Are there any more?"

  Yes, indeed, there were many more, and this time he was more securelyseized, and the struggle appeared hopeless. These Orientals anddebauched Europeans hunted in packs. An Englishman on a spree needsonly a companion to join in the fun, and does not want a bodyguard.

  Sir Henry was tiring, and almost overpowered, when the thought of hischum, Mountjoy, flashed through the brain that lay behind his bruisedand half-battered head. For the first time in that inferno, there rosefrom lusty lungs, a hearty "Yoicks! Tally ho?" the musical call of theEnglish hunting field.

  The effect was immediate. Through one of those curtained doorways, pasta Nubian who had been left in charge by those more actively engaged inthe fray, there rushed a whirling ball of lithe humanity, charging forhis goal as he had never charged before on the Rugby football field.

  It was Mountjoy, late half-back of his school--Marlborough.

  Staggered by the impetus of this fierce and sudden onslaught, theNubians relaxed their hold on Sir Henry for a moment. "Back to back,Harry," called Mountjoy. "Now, then, both together! There may be somemore of our fellows here!"

  Then their two voices rose in approximate unison, "Yoicks! Tally ho!"and the unequal fight began again.

  At this period the tactics of boxing were unfamiliar and quitedisconcerting for a while.

  "Make for the door, Harry," shouted Mountjoy, and bit by bit theyreached the exit, as, in response to a "view hallo" two more Englishmenrushed through to the rescue.

  The mixed gang of Arabs, Nubians, and European scallawags did not wantto kill at first, but these reinforcements of hated "Ingleesi" struckpanic into them, and, in a flash, four or five knives were buried intothese last two men, who had so bravely responded to the call of theircountrymen in these hideous surroundings.

  During the lull, Sir Henry and Mountjoy staggered through the exit, and
fell to the ground unconscious, some distance away from the scene, towhich they had been lured from their hotel by a wily denizen of thequarter--"to see some fun." As they lay there, safe from furthermolestation from the satellites of the "casino," for these people didnot pursue their victims beyond their own portals, a lithe figure creptstealthily up to them. It was Thomas Tempest, the father of Gilda, theman who had skirmished safely in the rear during the fierce fight.Bending over Sir Henry, he felt in his pockets and extracted thetalisman of the goddess Isis. He would have taken more, but footstepson the plank walk scared him, and he faded away into the darkness.

  The man with the weird eyes, whom Sir Henry had knocked senseless, wasDoctor Malsano, then in early middle age. The gipsy girl was hisdaughter, and the gipsy woman was his wife. Gilda Tempest had norelationship to him. Her father, Thomas Tempest, had