"I have the honor to meet Signor Rayne?" he asked, with a distinctly Italian accent. "That is my name," replied Rudolph inquiringly. "Good! Then you will recognize me, and my name upon my letter in which I have asked for this private interview." "No. I certainly do not," he said. "I have no knowledge of ever meeting you before!" "Ah!" laughed the stranger. "The signore's memory is evidently at fault. I--I hesitate to refresh it--before this gentleman," and he glanced at me. "Oh! you need not mind. Mr. Hargreave is my secretary, and knows all my confidential affairs," said Rayne, assuming an air of _bonhomie_, though I knew he was greatly perturbed by his visitor. "Then may I be permitted to remind you of our meeting at the Bristol Cafe, in Copenhagen, on that July night two years ago, and what happened to Henri Gerard, the Marseilles shipowner, later that same night? True, we never spoke together, for you posed as a stranger to my friends. But you were pointed out to me. You surely cannot ignore it?" "I have never been to Copenhagen in my life," protested Rayne. "What do you suggest?" "The truth; one that you know well, signore, notwithstanding your denials. You are the man known as 'The Golden Face,'" declared the stranger bitterly, pointing his finger at him. "You neither forget me nor my name, Luigi Gori, for you have much cause to remember it--you and your friend Stevenson, otherwise Duperre." Rayne turned furiously upon his visitor, and said: "I am in no mood to discuss anything with you. So get out! You wished to see me privately, and I have granted you this interview. I don't know your name or your business, nor do I want to know them! You seem to be trying to claim acquaintance with me, and----" "Pardon me, but I do so, Signor Rayne," laughed the dark-eyed man. "It has taken me two years to trace you, and at last I find you here! I came at this hour because I thought I would find you apart from your honorable family." "What rubbish are you talking?" demanded Rayne. "Rubbish!" echoed the stranger. "I am talking no rubbish. I am simply reminding you of a very serious and secret matter, namely, the mysterious end of Monsieur Gerard, of the Chateau du Sierroz in the Jura, and of the Avenue des Champs Elysees. The Surete, in combination with the Danish detective service, are still trying to clear up the affair. You and I can do it," he said; and, after a pause, he looked Rayne straight in the face, and asked: "Shall we? It rests with you!" Rayne frowned darkly. Never before had I witnessed such an evil look upon the face of any man. I knew that his brain was working swiftly, and I also saw that our visitor was most unwelcome--evidently an accomplice who had managed by some unaccountable means to penetrate the veil of secrecy in which the super-crook had always so successfully enveloped his identity.