Then, with a strange, strained tone in her voice, she said: "Here comes
my uncle."
Wherever Doctor Danilo Malsano entered people turned to look. His
striking personality was of such a nature that it seemed more than ever
strange that he could move about so easily, unobserved, when he was
carrying out his nefarious schemes.
Raife rose from his chair as the doctor approached the table, and,
gracefully, Gilda introduced: "My uncle, Doctor Malsano--Sir Raife
Remington."
With Saxon rigidity Raife bowed, but the older man with a warmth and
graciousness extended his hand, compelling acceptance. Raife took the
old man's hand, and the contact caused him to shudder.
They took their seats at the table and the incongruous trio indulged in
the vague generalities that are frequently associated with a
breakfast-table. This was not a _dejeuner a la fourchette_. By common
consent, coffee and dainty Vienna bread, with perfect butter,
constituted the meal.
Raife could not fail to notice that Gilda's radiance had subsided, and,
in the presence of her uncle, a subdued conventionalism had superseded.
Once more, in spite of his brief sense of complete trust in this girl,
who had not only entered but monopolised the moments of his life,
whether awake or asleep--once more the fateful words of his dying father
rang in his ears.
"Beware of the trap--she--that woman."
He was roused from this reverie by the doctor's words, uttered with a
cordiality and accompanied by a smile that ill accorded with the
sinister chuckles of the previous night.
Doctor Malsano, taking wax impressions in the dead of the night of the
keys of his niece's wooer, was a different person from the cheery old
gentleman who said: "You are staying with your mother, who is a widow, I
understand, Sir Raife?"
"Yes," responded Raife. "My mother is with me here. She takes
breakfast in her room. Since my father's death she is fragile and
delicate."
"Ah, yes! I heard of your father's death. Let me see. He was
murdered, wasn't he? Murdered by some blackguard of a burglar?"
Gilda winced. The doctor's face was earnestly sympathetic.
Raife replied: "Yes, he was murdered by some blackguard of a burglar.
Thank God, the burglar died too."
The doctor crooned rather than spoke. "We won't talk of sad things on
this bright, sunny morning. Nice is charming, isn't it, and so full of
smart people? The Baroness von Sassniltz is staying here--in this
hotel, I'm told."
"Yes," responded Raife, "she is a friend of my mother's, and sometimes
stays with us at Aldborough Park."
"Aldborough Park! Dear me, I've heard of that some time. It's a fine
old Tudor place near Tunbridge Wells, isn't it?"
Raife said: "Yes. It's a fine old place. It belongs to me. There have
been happy days at Aldborough, but yet I cannot help thinking that some
people seem to thrive on the misery of others."
"That's true," the doctor crooned again, "It's sad, but it's true."
Then, cheerfully, Raife said; "I hope, doctor, that you and Miss Tempest
will honour me with a visit there some day soon, and we'll try and make
merry again. If we can, we'll forget that villainous assassin."
Again Gilda winced, and, dropping her serviette, stooped to pick it up,
thus hiding a scarlet flush that suffused her cheeks.
Without replying to the invitation and, with a suddenness that appeared
to be anent nothing, Doctor Malsano said:
"Oh, Sir Raife, I've forgotten to express my thanks to you for the
charming talisman you have presented to my niece, which I see she is
wearing around her neck!"
Raife and Gilda both started at this extraordinary sally. Neither knew
that the doctor was aware of the gift. The slight gold chain to which
the talisman was attached was barely visible, whilst the figure of Isis
was entirely screened from view. It heaved on Gilda's palpitating
breast, behind the bodice of her charming and dainty morning gown.
Without apparently heeding the embarrassment of the young couple, he
proceeded:
"There is a delightful mysticism about Egyptian mythology that charms
me. Let me see, Isis was a goddess, wasn't she? To be sure she was a
goddess, and the record of her does not always make pleasant reading."
Raife gazed steadfastly at this mysterious man, and marvelled at the
meaning of his cryptic utterances, which came from him graciously, and
with a smile that was bland, until the swivel eye destroyed the
illusion.
Gilda was trained to the startling nature of her uncle's methods, and
collected her senses rapidly, remarking: "Yes, wasn't it kind of Raife--
Sir Raife I mean, to give it to me. I told him you would be pleased."
Raife was more mystified than ever. She had not said anything of the
kind to him. And what was the meaning of that lapse--the omission of
the title in speaking before her uncle? Truly, the depths of these
personalities were unfathomable. In spite of it all he had sworn to
trust Gilda and remain her friend. He was a Reymingtoune and he would
keep his word. Apart from that, he loved her, and love remains as blind
to-day as when Cupid became fully fledged and wore wings.
The revolutions of an excited mentality are rapid, and a thought flashed
through Sir Raife Remington's mind. Who was that mysterious-looking,
slouch-hatted, and cloaked Apache type of person, who bade him wait for
Gilda when she was late for her appointment? Was he a secret agent of
Doctor Malsano? What would be the outcome of this hotbed of mystery?
It mattered not. Only one thing mattered. He loved this frail,
beautiful young girl. He had sworn to trust her and to be her friend.