Part 9 (1/2)

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 a.s.sisted 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 enmes.h.i.+ng 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 a.s.sociate 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 bal.u.s.trade. 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.”

CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE DOCTOR'S DOUBLE PERSONALITY.

Raife Remington finished his cigar and returned rather lazily to his room, thinking all the while of the vision of loveliness that had so entranced him--his mind--his soul--his very being.

The little Yale key opened his door, and the lock yielded gracefully to its turn.

Even on the Riviera, the wide expanse of beautiful country which begins on the northern sh.o.r.e of the Mediterranean Sea and extends northwards somewhere towards the Alps--there are Yale keys.

Yale keys may come from anywhere. They do not all arrive from the United States, the land of their invention. Wherever they are found, or wherever they may come from, they serve a useful purpose. They are small and flat, and it is possible to get more Yale keys into a given s.p.a.ce on a ring, than any other keys with a reputation for security.

The other keys that Raife Remington carried were not of this nature.

The key of the white room at the old ”Blue Boar,” in Tunbridge Wells was much more ponderous. Those of Aldborough Park were invented before the days of Yale and Harvard. The locksmiths who forged and hammered the keys of Aldborough preceded the foundation of American universities.

They were c.u.mbersome, and they lay heavily in the pockets of the light suit of clothes which is customary on a spring night at Nice. Raife also sat heavily in the chair, which faced the fire in his room in the Hotel Royal, after his last cigar and ”nightcap” below.

He dreamt of the events which had crowded a long day. His mind was obsessed. A thousand recollections of mysterious occurrences attacked him from without and within. The sleep, which is a half-sleep, bordering on a doze, gave him no rest. He awoke from this state of semi-somnolence. There was a tap--a very distinct tap or rap at the door. Half-clad, and yawning, he rose from his chair and opened the door. A neatly-clad chambermaid stood without, and with an accent which is charming to us of the North, said: ”Sir Raife, Miss Tempest send me to you. She say, she lose her keys. Perhaps, Sir Raife, your keys will open her valise. Will you, Sir Raife, lend your keys for the occasion?”

Most young men are human, and the obvious is natural to humanity. Raife promptly replied to this neatly-clad, soft-voiced young woman: ”Yes. To be sure. Tell Miss Tempest I am sorry if she has suffered any inconvenience from her loss. If any of my keys will open her valise, I am glad to have been of service.”

The maid retired. Sir Raife lazily went to bed, now to sleep, for a short while, that tired sleep that comes to youth which is only in love, and has no greater anxiety than a torn heart recently healed.

The maid returned to Gilda's room and handed the bunch of keys to her, saying: ”The Signor send you his keys with ze great pleasure-- Signorina.”