We've had some fun in this old roomwhen we were kids, haven't we? Twisegood's a rare good sort, too. Henever gave us away."
"Well, I say, Raife, I didn't altogether come here to disturb you fornothing," said Mutimer. "I think I've got some news for you. Icouldn't help noticing how keen you were on that girl we met one day atSouthport."
"Yes! yes! Go on! Gilda Tempest is her name. Where is she?" almostshouted Raife, as he leapt from his chair, grasping Mutimer's arms witha grip that made his friend wince.
"Easy all, old chap, a little bit softer. I think I know where she is.You know she was staying with her uncle at the `Queen's.' Well, theyleft there quite suddenly, just after your governor died. I was at therailway station and saw her and her uncle. They had not much luggage.As I was at the booking-office window, I heard the old man whisper toher: `When we get to town we must wire for rooms. Nice is a busy place,and the Hotel Royal is liable to be crowded.'"
"Thanks for what you've told me. Mutimer, I'm just crazy over thatgirl. I'll follow her to the ends of the earth, but she shall be mine.Yes, by jove! Gilda Tempest shall be mine. Mutimer! I'm not amurderer by nature, but I could slay the man who gets between me andthat woman."
"By the by, Raife," said his friend, apparently disregarding theconfession of love, "did anything come to light over your governor'sdying words. It was something about a `trap,' and there was a woman init, wasn't there?"
"No! nothing came to light. It looks as though I've got a veryfirst-class family skeleton in my cupboard." Raife said thisreflectively, rather sadly. Then, bracing himself up, he exclaimed:"It'll take several skeletons to scare me, however. I don't think I'meither timid or nervous."
"Ha! ha! Well, now for a trip to Nice," he added, with adon't-care-a-hang air, "and be bothered to the lawyers for a time. I'llfind Gilda Tempest. I swear I will, and her old uncle can be hanged fora meddlesome old ass."
It was in March when the young baronet, who in such tragic circumstanceshad just inherited large estates and twenty thousand pounds a year,arrived at the Hotel Royal, on the Promenade des Anglais, at Nice.
His mother, the widowed Lady Remington, accompanied him. Havingdisposed of her ladyship in a cosy corner among the palms, Raife startedon his hot-headed search for Gilda. He was not long disappointed, forin the big lounge of the hotel, not crowded at this moment, he sawGilda, exquisitely dressed, and accompanied by a distinguished-lookingold man.
The old gentleman was Doctor Danilo Malsano--the uncle of Gilda Tempest.Doctor Malsano was tall, and there was a certain air of distinctionabout him. A superficial graciousness of manner disguised from thecasual observer the sinister cast of his countenance.
He had long black hair, receding from a high forehead, leaving twocircular, bald patches on either side. A powerful jaw, and somewhathollow cheeks, with glittering white teeth and small ears, completed theclean-shaven appearance, with the exception of his eyes and bushyeyebrows.
More has been written on the subject of eyes than of any other portionof human anatomy, but Doctor Malsano's eyes were unique. At a glancethey suggested a squint. Here was neither a squint nor an aggravatedform of astigmatism. The right eye was of a steely blue, that piercedthe observer with the sharpness of a gimlet. The left eye was a swiveleye, and served the purpose of preventing one from determining which eyewas gazing at you. There is a certain type of Scotch sheep-dog whichpossesses eyes of the colour of the doctor's left eye. It is almostcolourless, and with a dark spot in the centre of the right iris.
The doctor's striking appearance contrasted strongly with the fragilebeauty of the fair-haired young girl, with the eyes of deep-blue, whowalked by his side: narrow-waisted, delicate and slim, with awell-poised head on a rounded neck of alabaster whiteness. Raifedevoured this vision with his eyes before crossing the foyer to her.The whole charm of the striking personality of the young girl wasenhanced by that distinguished grace of style that characterises therefined in temperament. Raife crossed over to her and, with a bow,claimed her acquaintance. Gilda politely but frigidly declined theacquaintance, informing Raife that he was mistaken.
Raife was astounded--staggered. Accepting the situation that had justbeen dealt to him, and with flaming cheeks smarting from the blow, sosudden and unexpected, he left the hotel by the main entrance and joinedthe throng of promenaders.
His thoughts lingered on the insult he had encountered. He fancied hehad detected a sneer on Doctor Malsano's countenance. Rage and woundedvanity possessed him. At the table d'hote he was distrait, and sorelypuzzled Lady Remington with his absent-minded attentions and disjointedconversation. Seeking the first opportunity of escaping his mother'sover-anxious regard for his health and spirits, he again found his wayinto the open air and avoided the crowd. Finding a secluded bench undera group of palms and surrounded by brilliant blossom, he sat down andsought repose in the solace of a choice Habana cigar. It was a secludedspot, and the depths of shadow from foliage were rendered moremysterious by the vivid yet luscious moonlight that flooded thecountryside. Long he gazed in front of him, still smarting under thatstinging snub that had, at the same time, wounded him sorely and enragedhim. The latest heir of the Reymingtounes of Aldborough was not of thestuff to court a snub or endure it. Rage alternated with crumpleddignity, and he fumed, puffing his Habana viciously the while. He hadsat there a long time, until the few strollers, who had found themselvesnear this secluded corner, seemed to have returned to the warmth ofhouse or hotel.
Raife threw the end of his cigar far in front of him, and, rising fromthe bench, crossed the promenade and leant against a railing. Heshivered slightly, for a March night in Nice may be chilly, eventreacherously so. Thus musing, he glanced at one of thosedaintily-illustrated little pamphlets that advertise the resorts of theRiviera. A thought flashed through his mind. His father's last words,as he lay dying from the assassin's revolver, came to him. "I was afool, Edgson. I ought to have told my boy from the first. Every manhas a skeleton in his cupboard. This is mine." And the last hauntingwords 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 tragictime? Could it be possible? No! Perish the thought. Nothing but goodcould come from that sweet countenance that had enthralled him from thefirst glance. But, then, who was this uncle, Doctor Malsano? The veryname was evil-sounding, and, in spite of his distinguished air, thatswivel eye, with much else of his striking countenance, was sinister.
Raife now felt certain that he had recognised a sneer on the man'sface--a malicious sneer, when Gilda had snubbed him.
These long minutes in that full flood of southern moonlight were fraughtwith much that might be good--or bad--for Sir Raife Remington, Bart. Inspite of his passionate outburst in the long white room of the "BlueBoar," at Tunbridge Wells; in spite of his vehemently-declared intentionto win that beautiful girl for his wife--or die--he was possessed of apremonition of danger ahead. Again his father's dying words rang in hisears, and the blood-stained chamber, the scene in his ancestral hall ofhis father's cruel murder, came vividly before him, and he was temptedto "beware of the trap."
In such mood he turned on his heel and sauntered yet a little fartherfrom the Hotel Royal, where he was staying with his bereaved mother.
The southern lands are the lands of intrigue and mystery. They are thelands of deepest nights and brightest days, and that alternatingintensity enters into the characters of the peoples who inhabit them.
As Raife was lighting a second cigar, he was vaguely conscious of ayoung boy or girl who dodged in the shadows behind him. The strongestman likes to meet his friends face to face, but a potential foe lurkingin shadows on a moonlight night in a southern land, is disconcerting.
Watching an opportunity, therefore, Raife wheeled suddenly around, andmaking a dash for the youngster, secured him. The young girl, whoappeared to be about thirteen years of age, did not seem alarmed, butsmiled seductively, saying: "Signor Ra
ife! meet a preety signora. Meeatake you there."
At the same time, the girl handed Raife a piece of paper on which waswritten:
"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 ifit should be dangerous.
He followed the little girl.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
WHO WAS THE APACHE?
Raife Remington followed the mysterious little girl, she dodging her waythrough the patches of silver light and gloomy shade. He strode in agloomy, almost defiant manner, which implied that there was troubleahead, and he was determined to meet it. As they approached the HotelRoyal they
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