When Doctor Malsano and Gilda Tempest had so mysteriously and suddenly disappeared from the Hotel Royal, at Nice, Raife Remington received a note on the following morning. It was a characteristic note, and quite unsatisfactory. It merely served to add to the state of his mental perturbation. He could not, and would not, believe aught that was ill of the beautiful girl whom he loved with all the fire of his strong nature. The note ran: "My uncle and I have been called away on business suddenly. Will you present our regrets and apologies to Lady Remington?" Cold, terse, and quite inexplicable. It did not state where they had gone, or whether they would return. This extraordinary creature who fascinated him, had left his life again as strangely as she had entered into it. The circumstances were difficult to explain to his mother. Her training left more to be desired in such matters than was offered here by this strange young woman, and her mysterious uncle. Lady Remington spoke with a maternal austerity to her son. "It all seems very strange. They seem to come from nowhere, and with an even greater rapidity they return nowhere. The doctor, Doctor Malsano I mean, is very interesting sometimes when he talks. At other times those curious eyes of his do not inspire confidence. Miss Tempest is a beautiful girl, my dear, but are you sure she is the right kind of girl for a Remington to associate with?" Raife stammered: "Yes, mother. Gilda--I mean Miss Tempest, is quite all right. She, or he, will write and explain later." Lady Remington continued, "I think I was rather premature in introducing them to the baroness." "That was all right, mother. We shall hear soon, and all will be explained," replied the son. At heart he felt little more than his mother that all was right, and he was wondering very hard as to what was the meaning of these renewed mysteries. To change the subject and gain an excuse for time, he added: "By the by, shall we spend a few days at Bordighera before returning to Aldborough?" His mother readily concurred, feeling it would be good to change the scene of action for a while. Then she added: "Yes, but I expect there's a good deal for you to do still, at Aldborough." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Count's car pulled up in front of the door of the quaint little house in the side street, on the evening of the day when Fortune seemed to have snatched Gilda Tempest from the jaws of danger. She had dressed with an assumed jauntiness, hoping to match the costume of the benign and buxom landlady, who had so generously extended the invitation.