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." 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not fail to notice that Gilda's radiance had subsided, and, in the presence of her uncle, a subdued conventionalism had superseded.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."