Raife was astounded staggered. Accepting the situation that had just been dealt to him, and with flaming cheeks smarting from the blow, so sudden and unexpected, he left the hotel by the main entrance and joined the throng of promenaders.
His thoughts lingered on the insult he had encountered. He fancied he had detected a sneer on Doctor Malsanos countenance. Rage and wounded vanity possessed him. At the table dhôte he was distrait, and sorely puzzled Lady Remington with his absent-minded attentions and disjointed conversation. Seeking the first opportunity of escaping his mothers over-anxious regard for his health and spirits, he again found his way into the open air and avoided the crowd. Finding a secluded bench under a group of palms and surrounded by brilliant blossom, he sat down and sought repose in the solace of a choice Habana cigar. It was a secluded spot, and the depths of shadow from foliage were rendered more mysterious by the vivid yet luscious moonlight that flooded the countryside. Long he gazed in front of him, still smarting under that stinging snub that had, at the same time, wounded him sorely and enraged him. The latest heir of the Reymingtounes of Aldborough was not of the stuff to court a snub or endure it. Rage alternated with crumpled dignity, and he fumed, puffing his Habana viciously the while. He had sat there a long time, until the few strollers, who had found themselves near this secluded corner, seemed to have returned to the warmth of house or hotel.
Raife threw the end of his cigar far in front of him, and, rising from the bench, crossed the promenade and leant against a railing. He shivered slightly, for a March night in Nice may be chilly, even treacherously so. Thus musing, he glanced at one of those daintily-illustrated little pamphlets that advertise the resorts of the Riviera. A thought flashed through his mind. His fathers last words, as he lay dying from the assassins revolver, came to him. I was a fool, Edgson. I ought to have told my boy from the first. Every man has a skeleton in his cupboard. This is mine. And the last haunting words of all came to him:
Beware of the trap she that woman.
Why had this beautiful young girl come into his life at such a tragic time? Could it be possible? No! Perish the thought. Nothing but good could come from that sweet countenance that had enthralled him from the first glance. But, then, who was this uncle, Doctor Malsano? The very name was evil-sounding, and, in spite of his distinguished air, that swivel eye, with much else of his striking countenance, was sinister.
Raife now felt certain that he had recognised a sneer on the mans face a malicious sneer, when Gilda had snubbed him.
These long minutes in that full flood of southern moonlight were fraught with much that might be good or bad for Sir Raife Remington, Bart. In spite of his passionate outburst in the long white room of the Blue Boar, at Tunbridge Wells; in spite of his vehemently-declared intention to win that beautiful girl for his wife or die he was possessed of a premonition of danger ahead. Again his fathers dying words rang in his ears, and the blood-stained chamber, the scene in his ancestral hall of his fathers cruel murder, came vividly before him, and he was tempted to beware of the trap.
In such mood he turned on his heel and sauntered yet a little farther from the Hôtel Royal, where he was staying with his bereaved mother.
The southern lands are the lands of intrigue and mystery. They are the lands of deepest nights and brightest days, and that alternating intensity enters into the characters of the peoples who inhabit them.
As Raife was lighting a second cigar, he was vaguely conscious of a young boy or girl who dodged in the shadows behind him. The strongest man likes to meet his friends face to face, but a potential foe lurking in shadows on a moonlight night in a southern land, is disconcerting.
Watching an opportunity, therefore, Raife wheeled suddenly around, and making a dash for the youngster, secured him. The young girl, who appeared to be about thirteen years of age, did not seem alarmed, but smiled seductively, saying: Signor Raife! meet a preety signora. Meea take you there.
At the same time, the girl handed Raife a piece of paper on which was written:
Quite safe. Follow the girl.
Again those words of warning from his dying father.
Was this the trap.
In his present mood he did not care, and welcomed an adventure even if it should be dangerous.
He followed the little girl.
Chapter Seven
Who was the Apache?
Raife Remington followed the mysterious little girl, she dodging her way through the patches of silver light and gloomy shade. He strode in a gloomy, almost defiant manner, which implied that there was trouble ahead, and he was determined to meet it. As they approached the Hôtel Royal they passed a group of men who appeared to regard Raife with more than the ordinary interest that an obviously English, or perhaps American, visitor should attract. Now in the full light of the moon, enhanced by the brilliant street-lamps and the lights of the town glistening here and there, they dived into a side street. The little girl beckoned to Raife and he approached her. Then pointing to a café she said: Signora meeta you there.
The child disappeared and Raife sauntered in the direction indicated. With an air of nonchalance he relit the cigar which had gone out. There seemed to be an air of mystery about the transaction. He waited for a minute or two but no one appeared, until he felt a sense of impatience mixed with irritation. The event of the afternoon still rankled within him, and he was simmering with a stifled rage and indignation. The suggestion of a trap appeared evident, and he determined to enter the rather dimly-lit café and call for a cognac. He approached the entrance, and his hand was upon the handle of the door, when, from apparently nowhere, the figure of a man appeared. He was dressed in a long coat, loose at the neck, displaying a flowing necktie or cravat of black. His wide-brimmed black hat covered his countenance, and his general appearance suggested a denizen of the Latin quarter of Paris. In a soft undertone he lisped: Pardon, monsieur! mademoiselle, or as he pronounced it, mamselle arrivera tout à lheure. Vous voulez attendre, monsieur?
Raifes knowledge of French was superior to his knowledge of Italian, and he turned to talk to this person who seemed to have sprung from nowhere. His movement must have been leisurely, for when he looked around the stranger had disappeared. The message was simple enough. Mademoiselle will arrive presently. Will you wait, sir? What did all this mystery mean? Why was a little Italian girl sent to lead him to a place of appointment with a lady who sent a cryptic message written without a signature. Who was the person, apparently an Apache, or from the Latin quarter of Paris, who sprang from nowhere and disappeared into space? As Raife contemplated these matters, the cloaked figure of a woman came round the corner of the street.
Ah! Sir Raife! I hope I have not kept you waiting long. I could not get here quicker. She was out of breath, and her words came quickly.
Raife at once recognised the voice and form of Gilda. Her form was disguised in the long rich cloak that she wore, and her face was hidden by a large hat, from which a deep veil was draped around her face, but her rich, low, contralto voice was evident especially to Raife.
All there was of mistrust, of suspicion, indignation or resentment disappeared, as she placed her hand upon his arm, looking up at him through the folds of her deep veil. Her eyes appealed to him.
All there was of mistrust, of suspicion, indignation or resentment disappeared, as she placed her hand upon his arm, looking up at him through the folds of her deep veil. Her eyes appealed to him.
I tried to get here before, but they wouldnt let me get away. Of course, you got my message.
In spite of her extraordinary behaviour that afternoon, a few hours ago only, everything seemed quite right and natural to Raife now he heard her voice, and saw those eyes, and felt the soft touch upon his arm. In an absent-minded way he said: Oh, yes! I got your message and I came at once. Where shall we go? I do want to talk to you. Then collecting his scattered senses, he asked a dozen questions rapidly. Who was the Apache fellow? Why did you snub me this afternoon? What was the meaning of the note you left for me at the Queens, Southport? Oh, Gilda, tell me what is the meaning of all this mystery! If there is any trouble let me help you.
The girl, with a sob, replied: Sir Raife, dont ask me any questions. Trust me. It is very hard for me but dont ask questions. Let us walk back along the Promenade des Anglais. Then, dreamily, as if to herself, she added: Yes the promenade of the English. We are English. At least, there is no doubt that you are. I sometimes wonder what I am.
They walked together until they reached the promenade again. There, under the light of a street-lamp, they renewed their talk. He, still interrogative, asked questions to which she would or could not reply. All she would say was, Please! Please, dont ask me questions. Just trust me, and, with a soft tremor in her tones, she added: Will you be my friend?
Raifes conquest was complete. All sense of mistrust had disappeared with the first seductive notes of the voice he had longed to hear again, and, to-night, that voice was his.
I trust you. I trust you implicitly, and I will be your friend.
For good or evil his word was given, and the word of a Remington was never lightly given. Passion or love, call it what you will, has led men and women into strangely incongruous and many dangerous situations. This promise, given with the impetuosity of youth aglow and veins afire, might lead to tragic disaster or the consummation of a pure and natural union.
The flow of lovers conversation is frequently intermittent, and sometimes erratic, and now there was a lull in the talk. At length Gilda said: I read in the newspapers that your father was killed or murdered by an armed burglar. Raife shuddered at the allusion. Continuing, she added: Did you see the body of the murderer?
Raife said: Oh, yes! I saw the body of the brute.
What was he like?
He didnt look much like a burglar. At least, not like the burglars weve read about in books and that sort of thing.
How sad it must have been for you all for you and your mother.
There was a ring of sympathy in her voice, and Raife felt grateful for the words of comfort.
Then Gilda asked, Was he well-dressed, then?
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 guvnor, before he died, said something about a trap, and other things of that sort, and Id like to discover what its all about. Theres some deep mystery surrounding the whole affair. Gilda shivered, and said: Isnt it terrible! and, after a pause, added: Its getting cool to-night. Shall we walk towards the hotel?
As they walked towards the Hôtel Royal, Raife produced from his pocket the charm he had removed from the assassins neck, and, handing it to Gilda for her inspection, said: Heres 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, isnt 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 fathers murder? He did not reply for a minute or so. Gilda handed back the charm, saying: No, you dont want to give it to me. And yet, how I feel I would like to own it. I dont 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 Hôtel 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: Lets go up the staircase. Theres 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.