Cynthia's Chauffeur

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER II

  THE FIRST DAY'S RUN

  Though Medenham was no turf devotee, he formed distinctly unfavorableconclusions as to the financial stability of the bawling bookmakersnear at hand.

  "If you wish to do any betting, Miss Vanrenen," he said, "give me themoney and I will invest it for you. There is no hurry. The Derby willnot be run till three o'clock. We have an hour and a half in which tostudy form."

  For the life of him he could not imitate the complete annihilation ofself practiced by the well-bred English servant. The American girlmissed the absence of this trait far less than the other woman, but,by this time, even Mrs. Devar began to accept Medenham's good-humoredassumption of equality as part of the day's amusement.

  Cynthia handed him a card. She had bought three while they werecrawling up the hill behind a break-load of jeering Cockneys.

  "What will win the first race?" she asked. "Father says you men oftenhear more than the owners about the real performances of horses."

  Medenham tried to look knowing. He thanked his stars for Dale'sinformation.

  "I am told Eyot has a chance," he said.

  "Well, put me a sovereign on Eyot, please. Are _you_ playing theponies, Mrs. Devar?"

  That lady, being quick-witted, took care not to offend Cynthia bypretending not to understand, though it set Medenham's teeth on edgeto hear a racehorse called a pony. She opened a gold purse andproduced a coin.

  "I don't mind risking a little," she tittered.

  Medenham found, however, that she also had handed him a sovereign, andhis conscience smote him, for he guessed already, with accuracy as ithappened, that she was Miss Vanrenen's paid chaperon during theabsence of the girl's father on the Continent.

  "Personally, I am a duffer in matters connected with the turf," heexplained. "A friend of mine--a chauffeur--mentioned Eyot----"

  "Oh, that is all right," laughed Cynthia. "I like the color--Eau deNil and white. Look! There he goes!"

  She had good eyes, as well as pretty ones, else she could not havedistinguished the silk jacket worn by the rider of a horse canteringat that moment along the cleared course. Crowded coaches, four rowsdeep, lined the rails near the judge's box, and the gay-hued parasolsof their feminine occupants almost completely blocked the view, adistant one in any case, owing to the width of the interveningvalley.

  Medenham raised no further protest. He walked to a stand where a pressof people betokened the presence of a popular layer of odds, foundthat Eyot's price was chalked up at five to one, and backed him forfour pounds. He had to push and elbow his way through a strugglingcrowd; immediately after the bet was made, Eyot's quotation wasreduced by two points in response to signals tick-tacked from theinclosures. This, of course, argued a decided following for Dale'sselection, and these eleventh hour movements in the turf market areilluminative. Before he got back to the car there was a mighty shoutof "They're off!" and he saw Cynthia Vanrenen stand on the seat towatch the race through her glasses.

  Mrs. Devar stood up, too. Both women were so intent on the troop ofhorses now streaming over the crest of the six-furlong course that hewas able to stare his fill without attracting their attention.

  "I like Cynthia," he said to himself, "though I shall be in a deuce ofa mess if I meet her anywhere after this piece of masquerading. Notmuch chance of that, I expect, seeing that Dad and I go to Scotlandearly in July. But what a bore to tumble across Jimmy's mater! I hopeit is not a case of 'like mother like son,' because Jimmy is thelimit."

  A strange roar, gathering force and volume each instant, rose from ahundred thousand throats. Soon the shout became insistent, and CynthiaVanrenen yielded to its magnetism.

  "Eyot wins!" she cried delightedly. "Yes, none of them can catch himnow. Go on, jockey--don't look round! Oh, if I were your master I'dgive you such a talking to. Ah-h-h! We've won, Mrs. Devar--we've won!Just think of it!"

  "How much, I wonder?" Mrs. Devar, though excited, had the calculatinghabit.

  "Five pounds each," said Medenham, who had approached unnoticed duringthe tumult.

  Cynthia's eyes sparkled.

  "Five pounds! Why, I heard some betting person over there offeringonly three to one."

  It was a task beyond his powers to curb an unruly tongue in thepresence of this emancipated schoolgirl. He met her ebullient moodhalfway.

  "I have evidently beaten the market--that is, if I get the money.Horrible thought! I may be welshed!"

  He strode back rapidly to the bookmaker's stand.

  "What do you think of our chauffeur now?" cried Cynthia radiantly, forthe winning of those few sovereigns was a real joy to her, and theshadow of the welsher had no terrors, since she did not know whatMedenham meant.

  "He improves on acquaintance," admitted Mrs. Devar, thawing a littleunder the influence of a successful tip.

  He soon returned, and handed them six sovereigns apiece.

  "My man paid up like a Briton," he said cheerfully. "I have noreliable information as to the next race, so what do you ladies sayif we lunch quietly before we attack the ring for the Derby?"

  There was an awkward pause. The air of Epsom Downs is stimulating,especially after one has found the winner of the first race.

  "We have not brought anything to eat," admitted Cynthia ruefully. "Weordered some sandwiches before leaving the hotel, and we mean to stopfor tea at some old-world hotel in Reigate which Mrs. Devarrecommends."

  "Unfortunately I was not hungry at sandwich time," sighed Mrs. Devar.

  "If it comes to that, neither was I, whereas I have a most unromanticappetite now. But what can do, as the Babus say in India. I am ratherinclined to doubt the quality of anything we can buy here."

  Medenham's face lit up.

  "India!" he cried. "Have you been to India?"

  "Yes, have you? My father and I passed last cold weather there."

  Warned by a sudden expansion of Mrs. Devar's prominent eyes, he gave aquick turn to a dangerous topic, since it was in Calcutta that thegallant ex-captain of Horton's Horse had "borrowed" fifty pounds fromhim. Naturally, the lady omitted the telltale prefix to her son'srank, but it was unquestionably true that the British army haddispensed with his services.

  "I was only thinking that acquaintance with the East, Miss Vanrenen,would prepare you for the mysterious workings of Kismet," saidMedenham lightly. "When I came across Simmonds this morning I wasbewailing the fact that my respected aunt had fallen ill and could notaccompany me to-day. May I offer you the luncheon which I provided forher?"

  He withdrew the wicker basket from its nook beneath the front seat;before his astonished guests could utter a protest, it was opened, andhe was deftly unpacking the contents.

  "But that is _your_ luncheon," protested Cynthia, finding it incumbenton her to say something by way of polite refusal.

  "And his aunt's, my dear."

  In those few words Mrs. Devar conveyed skepticism as to the aunt andready acceptance of the proffered fare; but Medenham paid no heed; hehad discovered that the napkins, cutlery, even the plates, bore thefamily crest. The silver, too, was of a quality that could not fail toevoke comment.

  "Well, here goes!" he growled under his breath. "If I come a purler itwill not be for the first time where women are concerned."

  He laughed as he produced some lobster in aspic and a chicken.

  "It is jolly useful to have as a friend a butler in a big house," hesaid. "I didn't know what Tomkinson had given me, but theseconfections look all right."

  Mrs. Devar's glance dwelt on the crest the instant she took a plate.She smiled in her superior way. While Medenham was wrestling with thecork of a bottle of claret she whispered:

  "This is screamingly funny, Cynthia. I have solved the riddle at last.Our chauffeur is using his master's car and his master's eatables aswell."

  "Don't care a cent," said Cynthia, who found the lobster admirable.

  "But if any inquiry is made and our names are mixed up in it, Mr.Vanrenen may be angry."

  "Fat
her would be tickled to death. I shall insist on paying foreverything, of course, and my responsibility ends there. No, thankyou--" this to Medenham who was offering her a glass of wine. "I drinkwater only. Have you any?"

  Mrs. Devar took the wine, and Medenham fished in the basket for theSt. Galmier, since Lady St. Maur cultivated gout with her biliousness.

  "Dear me!" she murmured after a sip.

  "What is it now?" asked Cynthia.

  "Perfect, my dear. Such a bouquet! I wonder what house it came from,"and she pondered the crest again, but in vain, for heraldry is anexact science, and the greater part of her education had been given bya hard world. She did not fail, therefore, to notice that threepersons were catered for by the packer of the basket. An unknown upperhousemaid was already suspect, and now she added mentally "someshop-girl friend." The climax was reached when Medenham staged thestrawberries. Cynthia, to whom the good things of the table werecommonplaces, ate them and was thankful, but Mrs. Devar made anothernote: "Ten shillings a basket, at the very least; and _threebaskets_!"

  A deep, booming yell from the mob proclaimed that the second race wasin progress.

  "I can't see a thing unless I am perched on the seat, and if I standup I shall upset the crockery," announced Cynthia. "But I am notinterested yet awhile. If Grimalkin wins I shall shout myself hoarse."

  "He hasn't a ghost of a chance," said Medenham.

  "Oh, but he has. Mr. Deane told my father----"

  "But Tomkinson told me," he interrupted.

  "Tomkinson. Is that your butler friend?"

  "Yes. He says the King's horse will win."

  "Surely the owner of Grimalkin must know more about the race than abutler?"

  "You would not think so, Miss Vanrenen, if you knew Tomkinson."

  "Where is he butler?" asked Mrs. Devar suavely.

  "I forget for the moment, madam," replied Medenham with equal suavity.

  The lady waived the retort. She was sure of her ground now.

  "In any case, I imagine that both Mr. Deane and this Tomkinson may bemistaken. I am told that a horse trained locally has a splendidchance--let me see--yes, here it is: the Honorable Charles Fenton'sVendetta."

  It was well that those bulging steel-gray eyes were bent over thecard, or they could not have failed to catch the flicker of amazementthat swept across Medenham's sun-browned face when he heard the nameof his cousin. He had not been in England a full week as yet, and hehappened not to have read a list of probable starters for the Derby.He had glanced at the programme during breakfast that morning, butsome remark made by the Earl caused him to lay down the newspaper,and, when next he picked it up, he became interested in an article onthe Cape to Cairo railway, written by someone who had not the remotestnotion of the difficulties to be surmounted before that very desirableline can be constructed.

  Cynthia, however, was watching him, and she laughed gleefully.

  "Ah, Fitzroy, you hadn't heard of Vendetta before," she cried."Confess now--your faith in Tomkinson is shaken."

  "Vendetta certainly does sound like war to the knife," said he.

  "It is twenty to one," purred Mrs. Devar complacently. "I shall riskthe five pounds I won on the first race, and it will be very nice if Ireceive a hundred."

  "I stick to Old Glory," announced the valiant Cynthia.

  "The King for me," declared Medenham, though he realized, without anyknowledge of the merits of the horses engaged, that the HonorableCharles was not the sort of man to run a three-year-old in the Derbymerely for the sake of seeing his racing colors flashing in the sun.

  Mrs. Devar kept to her word, and handed over the five pounds. Cynthiastaked seven, the five she had won and the ten dollars of her originalintent: whereupon Medenham said that he must cross the course and makethese bets in the ring--would the ladies raise any objection to hisabsence, as he could not return until after the race? No, they werequite content to remain in the car, so he repacked the luncheon basketand left them.

  Vendetta won by three lengths.

  Medenham had secured twenty-five to one, and the bookmaker who paidhim added the genial advice: "Put that little lot where the fliescan't get at it." The man could afford to be affable, seeing thatthe bet was the only one in his book against the horse's name. TheKing's horse and Grimalkin were the public favorites, but both werehopelessly shut in at Tattenham Corner, and neither showed in thefront rank at any stage of a fast run race. When Medenham climbed thehill again, hot and uncomfortable in his leather clothing, Mrs. Devaractually welcomed him with an expansive smile.

  "What odds did you get me?" she cried, as soon as he was withinearshot.

  "A hundred and twenty-five pounds to five, madam," he said.

  "Oh, what luck! You must keep the odd five pounds, Fitzroy."

  "No, thank you. I hedged on Vendetta, so I am still winning."

  "But really, I insist."

  He handed her a bundle of notes.

  "You will find a hundred and thirty pounds there," he said, andshe understood that his refusal to accept her money was final. Shewas intensely surprised that he had given her so much more thanshe expected, and the first unworthy thought was succeeded by asecond--how dared this impudent chauffeur decline her bounty?

  Cynthia pouted at him.

  "Your Tomkinson is a fraud," she said.

  "Your Grimalkin was well named," said he.

  "That remark is very cutting, I suppose, Fitzroy."

  "Oh, no. I merely meant to convey that a cat is not a racehorse."

  "Poor fellow," mused Cynthia, "he is vexed because he lost. I mustmake it up to him somehow, but he is such an extraordinary person, Ihardly dare suggest such a thing."

  She began to adjust her veil and dust coat.

  "If you are ready, Mrs. Devar," she said, "I think we ought to hit thepike for Brighton."

  Mrs. Devar laughed. Fitzroy evidently understood, as he had taken hisseat and the engine was humming.

  "Americanisms are most fascinating," she vowed. "I wish you would usemore of them, Cynthia. I love them."

  Cynthia was slightly ruffled, though if pressed for a reason she couldhardly have given one.

  "Slang is useful occasionally, but I am trying to cure myself of thehabit," she said tartly.

  "A picturesque phrase is always pardonable. Oh, is this quitesafe?----"

  The Mercury, finding an opening, had shot down the hill with a smoothcelerity that alarmed the older woman. Cynthia leaned back composedly.

  "Fitzroy means to reach the road before the police stop the trafficfor the next race," she said. Then, after a pause, she added: "I wishwe could keep this car for the rest of our tour, yet I suppose I oughtnot to interfere in the arrangement father made with Simmonds."

  Mrs. Devar frowned. Her momentary tremor had fled, and she had everycause to regard with uneasiness the threatened substitution during theforthcoming ten days, of this quite impossible Fitzroy for that verychauffeur-like person, Simmonds. Her acquaintance with Peter Vanrenenand his daughter was sufficiently intimate to warn her that Cynthia'sleast desire was granted by her indulgent parent; in fact, Cynthiawould have been hopelessly spoilt were it not for a combination ofthose happy chances which seem to conspire at times in the creation ofthe American girl at her best. She was devoted to her father, hernature was bright and cheerful, and she had a heart that bubbled overwith kindliness. Mrs. Devar chose the right line of attack. Sheresolved to appeal to the girl's sympathies.

  "I am afraid it would be a rather cruel thing to deprive Simmonds ofhis engagement," she said softly. "He has bought a car, I understand,on the strength of the contract with Mr. Vanrenen----"

  "That doesn't cut any ice--I mean there would be no ill effect forSimmonds," explained Cynthia hurriedly. "Father will meet us in Londonat the end of our run, and Simmonds could come to us then."

  The steel-gray eyes narrowed. Their owner was compelled to decidequickly. As opposition was useless, she laughed, with the carelessease of one who was in no way concerned.

 
"Don't you think," she said, "that if your father sees this carSimmonds will be dispensed with somehow?"

  Cynthia nodded. The argument was unanswerable.

  They were crossing the course at a walking pace; at that point a sortof passage was kept clear by the police for the convenience of thoseoccupants of the stands who wished to visit the paddock. The ownerof Vendetta, having been congratulated by royalty, was taking somefriends to admire the horse during the rubbing-down process, when hisglance suddenly fell on Medenham. Though amazed, he was not renderedspeechless.

  "Well, I'm----" he began.

  But the Mercury possessed a singularly loud and clear motor-horn, andthe voice of the Honorable Charles was drowned. Still, his gestureswere eloquent. Quite obviously, he was saying to a man whose arm hecaught:

  "Did you ever in your life see anybody more like George than thatchauffeur? Why, damme, it is Medenham!"

  So Mrs. Devar lost a golden opportunity. She knew Fenton by sight, andher shrewd wits must have set her on the right track had she witnessedhis bewilderment. Being a pretentious person, however, and not able toafford the up-keep of a motor, she was enjoying the surprise of twowell-dressed women who recognized her. Then the car leaped forwardagain, and she scored a dearly won triumph.

  At this crisis Medenham's scrutiny of the road map provided bySimmonds for the tour was well repaid. He turned sharp to the rightpast the back of the stands, and was fortunate in finding enough clearroad to render pursuit by his elderly cousin a vain thing, even if itwere thought of. The Mercury had to cross the caravan zone carefully,but once Tattenham Corner was reached the way lay open to Reigate.

  Through a land of gorse and heather they sped until they came to thefamous hill. They ran down in a noiseless flight that caused Cynthiato experience the sensation of being borne on wings.

  "I imagine that aeroplaning is something like this," she confided toher companion.

  "If it is, it must be enjoyable. I don't suppose, at my time oflife, I shall ever try to navigate the air in one of those frailcontrivances pictured in the newspapers. But I was nearly tempted togo up in a balloon two years ago."

  Cynthia stole a glance at Mrs. Devar's rotund figure, and laughed. Shecould not help it, though she flushed furiously at what she deemed aninvoluntary rudeness on her part.

  "Oh, it sounds funny, I have no doubt," said the other, placidlygood-tempered, "but I really meant it at the moment. You have metCount Edouard Marigny, I fancy?"

  "Yes, in Paris last month. In fact----"

  Cynthia hesitated. She had scarcely recovered from the excitement ofthe racing and was not choosing her words quite happily. Mrs. Devar,still sugary, ended the sentence.

  "In fact, it was he who recommended me to Mr. Vanrenen as yourchaperon. Yes, my dear, Monsieur Marigny and I are old friends. He andmy son are inseparable when Captain Devar is in Paris. Well, as I wassaying, the Count offered to take me up in his balloon, L'Etoile, andI was ready to go, but the weather became stormy and an ascent fromthe Velo was impossible, or highly dangerous, at any rate."

  Mrs. Devar cultivated the high-pitched voice that she regarded asthe hall-mark of good breeding, and, in that silent rush downhill,Medenham could not avoid hearing each syllable. It was eminentlypleasing to listen to Cynthia's praise of his car, and he was wrothwith the other woman for wrenching the girl's thoughts away sopromptly from a topic dear to his heart. Therein he erred, for thegods were being kind to him. Little recking how valuable was theinformation he had just been given, he slackened speed somewhat, andleaned back in the seat.

  "We are nearing Reigate now," he remarked with half-turned head. "Thetown begins on the other side of that tunnel. Which inn do you wish tostop at for tea?"

  "It seems to me that I have barely ended lunch," said Cynthia. "Shallwe cut out your old-world Reigate inn, Mrs. Devar, and take tea atCrawley or Handcross?"

  "By all means. How well you know the names of the towns and villages.Yet you have never before visited this part of England."

  "We Americans are nothing if not thorough," answered the girl. "Iwould not be happy if I failed to look up our route on the map. Morethan that, I note the name of each river we cross and try to identifyevery range of hills. You must test me and count my mistakes."

  Mrs. Devar spread her hands in a gesture copied from her Frenchacquaintances.

  "My dear, I am the most ignorant person geographically. I remember howthat delightful Count Edouard laughed when I asked him if the Loirejoined the Seine above or below Paris. It seems that I was thinking ofthe Oise all the time. The Marchioness of Belfort told me of my errorafterwards."

  Cynthia laughed merrily, but made no reply.

  Medenham bent over the levers and the car danced on through Reigate.Mrs. Devar impressed him as a despicable type of tuft-hunter. Hisacquaintance with the species was not extensive; he had read ofelderly dowagers who eked out their slender means by introducing thedaughters of rich Americans to English society, and the thing was notin itself wholly indefensible; but he felt sure that Cynthia Vanrenenneeded no such social sponsor, while the mere bracketing of CountEdouard Marigny with "Jimmy" Devar caused him to regard this unknownFrenchman with a suspicion that was already active enough so far asMrs. Devar was concerned. And the Marchioness of Belfort, too! Adecrepit old cadger with an infallible system for roulette!

  Perhaps his mood communicated itself to the accelerator. At any rate,the Mercury seemed to sympathize, and it was a lucky hazard that keptthe glorious stretch of road between Reigate and Crawley free ofpolice traps on that memorable Wednesday. The car simply leaped outof Surrey into Sussex, the undulating parklands on both sides of thesmooth highway appearing to float past in stately procession, andthere was a fine gleam in Cynthia's blue eyes when the first check toa splendid run came in the outskirts of Crawley.

  She leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder.

  "Tea here, please," she said. Then she added, as if it were anafterthought: "If you promise to let her rip in that style after wereach the open country again I shall sit on the front seat."

  The words were almost whispered into his ear. Certainly they were notmeant to enlighten Mrs. Devar, and Medenham, turning, found his facevery near the girl's.

  "I'm bribed," he answered, and not until both were settled back intheir seats did they realize that either had said anything unusual.

  Medenham, however, took his cup of tea _a la chauffeur_, helpinghimself to bread and butter from a plate deposited on the bonnet by awaiting-maid.

  When the ladies reappeared from the interior of a roadside restauranthe was in his place, ready to start. He did not offer to put them inthe car, adjust their wraps, and close the door. If Miss Vanrenenliked to keep her promise, that was her affair, but no action on hispart would hint of prior knowledge that she intended to ride in front.

  Nevertheless, he could not repress a smile when he heard Mrs. Devar'sdistinctly chilly, "Oh, not at all!" in response to Cynthia's politeapology for deserting her until they neared Brighton.

  Somehow, the car underwent a subtle change when the girl took her seatby his side. From a machine quivering with life and power it became atriumphal chariot. By sheer perfection of mechanical energy it hadbridged the gulf that lay between the millionaire's daughter and thehired man, since there could be no question that Cynthia Vanrenenplaced Viscount Medenham in no other category. Indeed, his occasionallapses from the demeanor of a lower social grade might well haveearned him her marked disfavor, and, as there was no shred of personalvanity in his character, he gave all the credit to the sentientcreature of steel and iron that was so ready to respond to his touch.

  Swayed by an unconscious telepathy, the girl almost interpreted hisunspoken thought. She watched his deft manipulation of levers andbrakes, and fancied that his hands dwelt on the steering-wheel with acaress.

  "You have a real lovely automobile, Fitzroy," she said, "and I have asort of notion that you are devoted to it. May I ask--is it your owncar?"

  "Yes. I bought it s
ix months ago. I learnt to drive in France, and, assoon as I heard of the new American engine, I--er--couldn't rest untilI had tried it."

  He was on the point of saying something wholly different, but managedto twist the second half of the sentence in time. What would MissVanrenen have thought had he continued: "I sent my chauffeur toEngland, and, on receipt of his report, I had this car shipped withina week?"

  There are problems too deep for speculation when a man is guiding aton of palpitating metal along a hedge-lined road at forty miles anhour. This was one.

  Cynthia, knowing nothing of any "new American engine," would dierather than confess her ignorance. Moreover, she was pondering aproblem of her own. If it was not his master's car he might be opento a bargain.

  "Simmonds is an old friend of yours, I suppose?" she said.

  "Yes, I have known him some years. We were in South Africa together."

  "In the war, do you mean?"

  "Yes."

  "How dreadful! Have you ever killed anybody?"

  "Not with petrol, I am happy to state."

  There was an eloquent pause. Cynthia examined his reply, anddiscovered that it covered a good deal of ground. Perhaps, too, itconveyed the least little bit of a snub. Hence, her tone stiffenedperceptibly.

  "I mentioned Simmonds," she explained, "because I think my fathermight arrange--to the satisfaction of all parties, of course--that youshould carry through this present tour, while Simmonds would come intoour service when we return to London."

  Medenham laughed. In its way, the compliment was graceful and wellmeant, but the utter absurdity of his position was now thrust upon himwith overwhelming force.

  "I am very much obliged to you, Miss Vanrenen," he said, venturingto look once more into those alluring eyes, so shy, so daring, sodivinely wise and childishly candid. "If circumstances permitted,there is nothing I would like better than to take you through thisParadise of a June England; but it is quite impossible. Simmonds mustbring his car to Bristol, as I positively cannot be absent from townlonger than three days."

  Cynthia did not pout. She nodded appreciation of the weighty ifundescribed business that called Fitzroy and his Mercury back toLondon, but in her heart she mused on the strangeness of things, andwondered if this smiling land produced many chauffeurs who lauded itin such phrases.

  Up and down Handcross Hill they whirred, treating that respectableeminence as if it were a snow bump in the path of a flying toboggan.Medenham had roamed the South Downs as a boy, and he was able now topoint out Chanctonbury Ring, the Devil's Dyke, Ditchling Beacon, andthe rest of the round-shouldered giants that guard the Weald. In themellow light of a superlatively fine afternoon the Downs wore theirgayest raiment of blue and purple, red and green--decked, too, withribands of white roads and ruffs of rose-laden hedges.

  Cynthia forgot many times, and he hardly ever remembered, that hewas a chauffeur, and the miles, too, were disregarded until the seasparkled in their eyes as they emerged from the great gap which theDevil forebore to use when he planned to swamp a land of churches bycutting the famous dyke.

  Then the girl awoke from a day-dream, and the car was stopped on thepretense that this marvelous landscape must be viewed in silence andat rest. She rejoined Mrs. Devar, and began instantly to expatiate onthe beauties of Sussex, so Medenham ran slowly down the hill throughPatcham and Preston into Brighton.

  And there, sitting in the wide porch of the Hotel Metropole, was aslim, handsome Frenchman, who sprang up with all the vivacity of hisrace when the Mercury drew up at the foot of the steps, dusty afterits long run, but circumspect as though it had just quitted thegarage.

  "Mrs. Devar, Miss Vanrenen! what a delightful surprise!" cried thestranger with an accompaniment of wide smiles and hat flourishing."Who would have thought of meeting you here? _Voyez_, _donc_, I wasmoping in solitude when suddenly the sky opens and you appear."

  "_Deae ex machina_, in fact, Monsieur Marigny," said Cynthia, shakinghands with this overjoyed gentleman.

  Mrs. Devar, not understanding, cackled loudly.

  "We've had a lovely run from town, Count Edouard," she gushed, "and itis just too awfully nice of you to be in Brighton. Now, _don't_ sayyou have made all sorts of engagements for the evening."

  "Such as they are they go by the board, dear lady," said the gallantCount, who had good teeth, and showed them in a succession of grins.

  "Ten to-morrow morning, Fitzroy," said Cynthia, turning on the stepsas she was about to enter the hotel. He lifted his cap.

  "The car will be ready, Miss Vanrenen," said he.

  He got down, and scowled, yes, actually scowled, at a porter who washauling too strongly at the straps and buckles of the dust-coveredtrunks.

  "Damage the car's paint and I'll raise bigger blisters on yours," waswhat he said to the man. But his thoughts were of Count EdouardMarigny, and, like the people's discussion of the Derby, they took theform of question and answer.

  "When is a coincidence not a coincidence?" he asked himself.

  "When it is prearranged," was the answer.

  Then he drove round to the yard at the rear of the hotel, where Daleawaited him, for Medenham would intrust the cleaning of the car to noother hands.

  "You've booked my room at the Grand Hotel and taken my bag there?" heinquired.

  "Yes, my lord."

  "Make these people give you the key when the door is locked for thenight, and bring the car to my hotel at nine o'clock."

  He hurried away, and Dale looked after him.

  "Something must ha' worried his lordship," said the man. "First timeI've ever seen him in a bad temper. An' what about Eyot? Three to onethe paper says. P'raps he'll think of it in the morning."