"Oh, yes! Quite well-dressed, and he had money in his pockets and wore
jewellery."
"How strange," she added, with a slight quiver. "What sort of
jewellery?"
"Oh, the usual sort of things, you know--a watch and chain and a plain
signet ring! He also had a curious kind of charm hanging by a chain
around his neck. I took possession of that, hoping some day it might
serve as a clue. He was a strange-looking chap, and I would like to
find out who he was. In fact the guv'nor, before he died, said
something about a `trap,' and other things of that sort, and I'd like to
discover what it's all about. There's some deep mystery surrounding the
whole affair." Gilda shivered, and said: "Isn't it terrible!" and,
after a pause, added: "It's getting cool to-night. Shall we walk
towards the hotel?"
As they walked towards the Hotel Royal, Raife produced from his pocket
the charm he had removed from the assassin's neck, and, handing it to
Gilda for her inspection, said: "Here's the charm. It seems to be
Egyptian, a figure of the goddess Isis, and there are all sorts of queer
hieroglyphics on the back of it. Queer-looking thing for a burglar to
wear, isn't it?"
Gilda took the charm and her eyes sparkled as she held it tenderly, and
seemed almost to fondle it. Then, nervously, and sharply, she said:
"Oh, how interesting! I love any thing Egyptian, and I have quite a lot
of scarabs. Do give this to me as a token of your friendship. It will
bring me luck. Fancy it having been worn by a murderer. I shall go to
the tables at Monte Carlo, and if you give it to me, it will be my
mascot."
Raife was very much in love with Gilda, and he would give his life,
willingly, to serve her. The spirit of mystery seemed to enshroud this
delicate, fragile girl. Why should she be fascinated by this gruesome
relic of his father's murder? He did not reply for a minute or so.
Gilda handed back the charm, saying: "No, you don't want to give it to
me. And yet, how I feel I would like to own it. I don't know why, but
it fascinates me."
"Take it, Gilda," he eventually said, fondly calling her by her
Christian name, "and I hope it will bring you a lot of luck."
Gilda placed the quaint little charm with the thin gold chain in her
reticule.
They had now reached the entrance of the Hotel Royal, and together they
entered. Raife cast an eager glance around. To his great relief, Lady
Remington, for it was late, had retired to rest.
Gilda whispered: "Let's go up the staircase. There's a quiet alcove
there, and my uncle has gone to his room."
In the brilliantly-lit foyer of the hotel an orchestra was discoursing
music to a crowd of visitors, who lounged or promenaded at their sweet
will. Many eyes were turned to the handsome couple as they ascended the
richly-carpeted staircase in search of that quiet alcove which promised
much to Raife, and perhaps some pleasure to the mysterious young girl
who accompanied him.
The south of Europe belongs, in a sense, to no country. It is
cosmopolitan. There is a charm in the pleasure-land of Cosmopolis, for
it discourages speculation as to the lineage of your neighbour. One
handsome couple merges into another, and the shrewdest guesses as to
nationality are liable to be miscalculated. Therefore the glances that
were directed towards Raife and Gilda were less inquisitive than they
were of admiration. At the top of the staircase Raife assisted in the
removal of the long cloak which had effectively hidden the dainty figure
underneath. Hat and veil being also laid aside, Gilda's beauty revealed
itself and dazzled the young man, further enmeshing him in the net of
her mysterious charm.
She had, to a large extent, prevented a flow of conversation by
extracting his promise after those appealing requests: "Please don't ask
me questions. Just trust me. Will you be my friend?"
The aromatic fumes of oriental tobaccos, blending with the scents of
rare exotic blossoms, and the variety of perfumes, with which women
associate themselves, rose in a seductive, almost vaporous column to the
broad landing which overlooked the throng in the foyer below.
Raife Remington and Gilda Tempest had risen from their seat in the
alcove, and leant over the marble balustrade. Each gazed on this scene
of artificial gaiety with mixed emotions. For some minutes, neither
spoke. The languorous tones of violin and 'cello in subdued concert,
died away. The orchestra rose from their seats, to rest after the
ordeal of the prolonged musical medley of alternated rhapsody, tango,
and serenade. The movement became general, and the hum of conversation
in a babel of talk swelled upwards.
At last Gilda spoke.
"I must go now. Tell me again that you have forgiven me, and that you
trust me."
"Gilda, I tell you again that I trust you. If you are in trouble, send
for me, and I will endeavour to help you."
"Good-night, Raife!" and she started up the next flight of stairs.
Half-way up she stopped, and looking round, beckoned him. When he
approached she whispered: "What is the number of your room? One never
knows in these foreign hotels. I might need you."
"My number is 26," he said. Again they parted, he wondering what she
meant by placing so sudden a confidence in him.
As he descended to the foyer for a final smoke, and that refreshment we
have christened a "nightcap," he glanced upstairs again hoping to gain a
final glimpse of his beloved. Instead, he saw--or was it fancy?--a tall
figure looking down on him with a sardonic smile. For a moment only the
sense of mistrust pervaded him. Then with an impatient gesture he
muttered: "What's the matter with you, Raife Remington? You're all
nerves to-night. It's time you had that whisky and soda."