It was late when the doctor had completed his task. The first grey streaks of dawn crept through the long curtained windows, as he stealthily opened the door of his room. Surveying the silent corridor with care, he stole stealthily to Gilda’s room and tapped gently. The frightened girl, accustomed to the strange demands of her uncanny uncle, replied with surprising promptitude.
He hastily thrust Raife’s keys into her hand, muttering: “Give these back to the young fool, and see to it you don’t lose your head. I will meet you in the coffee-room at ten o’clock, and you can introduce him to me.”
At ten o’clock on the morning following these occurrences which appeared of such evil portent, Gilda Tempest, daintily clad in a light gown of soft material in which chiffon seemed to predominate, walked into the coffee-room of the hotel and took her seat at a table, laid for three, next to a window which commanded a view of the Promenade des Anglais. The doctor had planned the arrangement of this table with that prescience which characterised all his movements. She had not been seated many minutes, and was sipping some coffee—the coffee that, in spite of modern facilities, seems to be only obtainable on the continent of Europe, when Sir Raife Remington entered the room. He crossed to the table at which Gilda was seated and greeted her.
To his pleasure and astonishment she said, heartily: “Good morning. Sir Raife. Won’t you take a seat at our table? I expect my uncle, presently, and he will be very pleased to see you. First of all, let me thank you for the loan of your keys. It was so distressing, I could not find my keys anywhere, and, in desperation, I thought of your kind offer to help me if I needed it.”
Raife laughed heartily, and, taking a seat opposite to her, said: “Please don’t thank me for a small thing like that. I meant, more especially, I would like to help you in something big, as the Americans would say—something real large, should the occasion arise.”
Gilda appeared positively radiant on this bright, sunny morning, and her soft, pleasing voice thrilled him as she said: “Did you get the keys back? I sent them to your room by the chambermaid, and, do you know, one of them just fitted the little trunk I wanted to open. It contained this gown I’m wearing, and I’ve put it on in recognition of your kindness to me in my distress.”
Again he laughed, saying: “Oh, yes, I got the keys all right!”
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.”