CHAPTER VI

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S VAGARIES

Cynthia, notwithstanding that spirited _pas seul_, was rather pale

when Medenham stopped the car close beside her. She had been on

tenterhooks during the past quarter of an hour--there were silent

moments when she measured her own slim figure against the natty

Count's in half-formed resolution to take to her heels along the

Cheddar Road.

At first, she had enjoyed the run greatly. Although Dale spoke of

Smith as a mechanic, the man was a first-rate driver, and he spun the

Du Vallon along at its best speed. But the change from good macadam

to none soon made itself felt, and Cynthia was more troubled than she

cared to show when the French flier came to a standstill after panting

and jolting alarmingly among the ruts. Marigny's excited questions

evoked only unintelligible grunts from Smith; for all that, the

irritating truth could not be withheld--the petrol tank was empty; not

only had the chauffeur forgotten to fill it that morning, but, by some

strange mischance, the supply usually held in reserve had been left at

Bristol!

The Frenchman was very angry with Smith, and Smith was humbly

apologetic. The pair must have acted convincingly, because each knew

to a nicety how soon a gallon of petrol would vaporize in the Du

Vallon's six cylinders. Having taken the precaution to measure that

exact quantity into the tank before leaving Cheddar, they were

prepared for a breakdown at any point within a few hundred yards of

the precise locality where it occurred.

Cynthia, being generous-minded, tried to make little of the mishap. By

taking that line she strove to reassure herself.

"Fitzroy is always prepared for emergencies," she said. "He will

soon catch up with us. But what a road! I didn't really notice it

before. Surely this cannot be the only highway between Bristol and

Cheddar?--and in England, too, where the roads are so perfect!"

"There are two roads, but this is the nearest one," explained the

glib-tongued Count, seemingly much relieved by the prospect of

Fitzroy's early arrival. "You don't deserve to be pulled out of a

difficulty so promptly, Smith," he went on, eying the chauffeur

sternly.

"There's a village not very far ahead, sir," said the abashed Smith.

"Oh, never mind! We must wait for Miss Vanrenen's car."

"Wait?" inquired Cynthia. "What else can we do?"

"I take it he meant to walk to some village, and bring a stock of

spirit."

"Oh, dear! I hope no such thing will be necessary."

From that half hint of latent and highly disagreeable developments

dated Cynthia's uneasiness. She accepted Marigny's suggestion that

they should stroll to the top of the slight hill just descended,

whence they would be able to watch their rescuer's approach from a

considerable distance--she even remembered to tell him to smoke--but

she answered his lively sallies at random, and agreed unreservedly

with his voluble self-reproach.

The obvious disuse of the road, a mere lane providing access to sheep

inclosures on the hills, caused her no small perplexity, though she

saw fit not to add to her companion's distress by commenting on it. In

any other circumstances she would have been genuinely alarmed, but her

well-established acquaintanceship with the Count, together with the

apparently certain fact that Fitzroy and Mrs. Devar were coming nearer

each second, forbade the tremors that any similar accident must have

evoked if, say, they were marooned on some remote mountain range of

the continent, and no friendly car was speeding to their aid.

The two halted on the rising ground, and one of them, at least, gazed

anxiously into the purple shadows now mellowing the gray monotony of

the plateau. The point where the Du Vallon left the main road was

invisible from where they stood. Marigny had laid his plans with

skill, so his humorous treatment of their plight was not marred by any

lurking fear of the Mercury's unwelcome appearance.

"What a terrible collapse this would be if I were running away with

you, Miss Cynthia," he said slyly. "Let us imagine a priest waiting in

some ancient castle ten miles away, and an irate father, or a pair of

them, starting from Cheddar in hot pursuit."

"My imagination fails me there, Monsieur Marigny," she replied, and

the shade of emphasis on his surname showed that she was fully aware

of the boundary crossed by the "Miss Cynthia," an advance which

surprised her more than the Frenchman counted on. "At present I am

wholly absorbed in a vain effort to picture an automobile somewhere

down there in the gathering mists; still, it _must_ arrive soon."

Then Marigny put forth a tentative claw.

"I hate to tell you," he said, "_mais il faut marcher quand le diable

est aux trousses_.[A] I am unwillingly forced to believe that your

chauffeur has taken the other road."

[Footnote A: "But needs must when the devil drives."]

"The other road!" wailed Cynthia in sudden and most poignant

foreboding. It was then that she first began to estimate her running

powers.

"Yes, there are two, you know. The second one is not so direct----"

"If you think that, your man had better go at once to the village he

spoke of. Is it certain that he will obtain petrol there?"

"Almost certain."

"Really, Monsieur Marigny, I fail to understand you. Why should you

express a doubt? He appeared to be confident enough five minutes ago.

He was ready to start until we prevented him."

That the girl should yield to slight panic was precisely what Count

Edouard desired. True, Cynthia's sparkling eyes and firm lips were

eloquent of keen annoyance rather than fear, but Marigny was an adept

in reading the danger signals of beauty in distress, and he saw in

these symptoms the heralds of tears and fright. His experience did not

lead him far astray, but he had not allowed for racial difference

between the Latin and the Anglo-Saxon. Cynthia might weep, she might

even attempt to run, but in the last resource she would face him with

dauntless courage.

"I assure you I would not have had this thing happen on any account,"

he said in a voice that vibrated with sympathy. "Indeed, I pray your

pity in my own behalf, Miss Vanrenen. After all, it is I who suffer

the agony of failure when I meant only to please. You will reach

Bristol this evening, a little late, perhaps, but quite safely, and I

hope that you will laugh then at the predicament which now looks so

ill-starred."

His seeming sincerity appeased her to some extent. In rapid swing back

to the commonplace, she affected to laugh.

"It is not so serious, after all," she said, with more calmness than

she felt. "Just for a moment you threw me off the rails by your

lawyer-like vagueness."

Drawing a little apart, she looked steadily back along the deserted

road.

"I see nothing of my car," she murmured at last. "It will soon be

dusk. We must take no more chances. Please send for that benzine right

away."

Smith was dispatched forthwith on what he knew to be a fool's errand,

since both he and Marigny were practically sure of their ground. The

nearest petrol was to be found at Langford, two miles along the

Bristol road from the fork, and four miles in the opposite direction

to that taken by Smith, who, when he returned empty-handed an hour

later, must make another long journey to Langford. The Du Vallon was

now anchored immovably until eleven o'clock, and it was well that the

girl could not realize the true nature of the ordeal before her, or

events might have taken an awkward twist.

The Frenchman meant no real harm by his rascally scheme, for Cynthia

Vanrenen, daughter of a well-known American citizen, was not to be

wooed and won in the fashion that commended itself to unscrupulous

lovers in by-gone days. Yet his design blended subtlety and daring in

a way that was worthy of ancestors who had ruffled it at Versailles

with the cavaliers of old France. He trusted implicitly to the effect

of a somewhat exciting adventure on the susceptible feminine heart.

The phantom of distrust would soon vanish. She would yield to the

spell of a night scented with the breath of summer, languorous with

soft zephyrs, a night when the spirit of romance itself would

emparadise the lonely waste, and a belated moon, "like to a silver bow

new-bent in heaven," would lend its glamor to a sky already spangled

with glowing sapphires.

In such a night, all things were possible.

In such a night

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand

Upon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love

To come again to Carthage.

Marigny had indeed arranged a situation worthy of his nurturing among

the decadents of Paris. He believed that in these surroundings an

impressionable girl would admit him to a degree of intimacy not to be

attained by many days of prosaic meetings. At the right moment, when

his well-bribed servant was gone to Langford, he would remember a

bottle of wine and some sandwiches stored in the car that morning to

provide the luncheon that he might not obtain at a wayside inn.

Cynthia and he would make merry over the feast. The magnetism that had

never yet failed him in affairs of the heart would surely prove

potent now at this real crisis in his life. Marriage to a rich woman

could alone snatch him from the social abyss, and the prospect became

doubly alluring when it took the guise of Cynthia. He would restore

her to a disconsolate chaperon some time before midnight, and he was

cynic enough to admit that if he had not then succeeded in winning her

esteem by his chivalry, his unobtrusive tenderness, his devoted

attentions--above all, by his flow of interesting talk and well-turned

epigram--the fault would be his own, and not attributable to adverse

conditions.

It was not surprising, therefore, that he failed to choke back the

curse quick risen to his lips when the throb of the Mercury's engine

came over the crest of the hill. Never was mailed dragon more terrible

to the beholder, even in the days of knight-errantry. In an instant

his well-conceived project had gone by the board. He saw himself

discredited, suspected, a skulking plotter driven into the open, a

self-confessed trickster utterly at the mercy of some haphazard

question that would lay bare his pretenses and cover his counterfeit

rhapsody with ridicule.

If Cynthia had heard, and hearing understood, it is possible that a

great many remarkable incidents then in embryo would have passed into

the mists of what might have been. For instance, she would not have

deigned to notice Count Edouard Marigny's further existence. The next

time she met him he would fill a place in the landscape comparable to

that occupied by a migratory beetle. But her heart was leaping for

joy, and her cry of thankfulness quite drowned in her ears the

Frenchman's furious oath.

Mrs. Devar, having had time to gather her wits, made a gallant attempt

to retrieve her fellow-conspirator's shattered fortunes.

"My dearest Cynthia," she cried effusively, "do say you are not hurt!"

"Not a bit," was the cheerful answer. "It is not I, but the car, that

is out of commission. Didn't you see me do the Salome act when you

were thrown on the screen?"

"Ah! the car has broken down. I do not wonder--this fearful road----"

"The road seems to have strayed out of Colorado, but that isn't the

trouble. We are short of petrol. Please give some to Monsieur Marigny,

Fitzroy. Then we can hurry to Bristol, and the Count must pick up his

chauffeur on the way."

Without more ado, she seated herself by Mrs. Devar's side, and Marigny

realized that he had been robbed of a golden opportunity. No

persuasion would bring Cynthia back into the Du Vallon that evening;

it would need the exercise of all his subtle tact to induce her to

re-enter it at any time in the near future.

He strove to appear at his ease, even essayed a few words of

congratulation on the happy chance that brought the Mercury to their

relief, but the imperious young lady cut short his limping phrases.

"Oh, don't let us waste these precious minutes," she protested. "It

will be quite dark soon, and if there is much more of this wretched

track----"

Medenham broke in at that. Mrs. Devar's change of front had caused him

some grim amusement, but the discovery of Marigny's artifice roused

his wrath again. It was high time that Cynthia should be enlightened,

partly at least, as to the true nature of the "accident" that had

befallen her; he had already solved the riddle of Smith's

disappearance.

"The road to Bristol lies behind you, Miss Vanrenen," he said.

"One of the roads," cried the Frenchman.

"No, the only road," persisted Medenham. "We return to it some two

miles in the rear. Had you followed your present path much farther you

could not possibly have reached Bristol to-night."

"But there is a village quite near. My chauffeur has gone there for

petrol. Someone would have told us of our mistake."

"There is no petrol to be bought at Blagdon, which is a mere hamlet on

the downs. Anyhow, here are two gallons--ample for your needs--but if

your man is walking to Blagdon you will be compelled to wait till he

returns, Monsieur Marigny."

Though Medenham did not endeavor to check the contemptuous note that

crept into his voice, he certainly ought not to have uttered those two

concluding words. Had he ransacked his ample vocabulary of the French

language he could scarcely have hit upon another set of syllables

offering similar difficulties to the foreigner. It was quite evident

that his accurate pronunciation startled the accomplices. Each arrived

at the same conclusion, though by different channels; this man was no

mere chauffeur, and the fact rendered his marked hostility all the

more significant.

Nevertheless, for the moment, Marigny concealed his uneasiness: by a

display of good humor he hoped to gloss over the palpable absurdity of

his earlier statements to Cynthia.

"I seem to have bungled this business very badly," he said airily.

"Please don't be too hard on me. I shall make the _amende_ when I see

you in Bristol. _Au revoir, cheres dames!_ Tell them to keep me some

dinner. I may not be so very far behind, since you ladies will take

some time over your toilette, and I shall--what do you call it--scorch

like mad after I have found that careless scoundrel, Smith."

Cynthia had suddenly grown dumb, so Mrs. Devar tried once more to

relax the tension.

"Do be careful, Count Edouard," she cried; "this piece of road is

dreadfully dangerous, and, when all is said and done, another half

hour is now of no great consequence."

"If your chauffeur has really gone to Blagdon, he will not be back

under an hour at least," broke in Medenham's disdainful voice. "Unless

you wish to wreck your car you will not attempt to follow him."

With that he bent over the head lamps, and their radiance fell

unexpectedly on Marigny's scowling face, since the discomfited

adventurer could no longer pretend to ignore the Englishman's menace.

Still, he was powerless. Though quivering with anger and balked

desire, he dared not provoke a scene in Cynthia's presence, and her

continued silence already warned him that she was bewildered if not

actually suspicious. He forced a laugh.

"Explanations are like swamps," he said. "The farther you plunge into

them the deeper you sink. So, good-bye! To please you, Mrs. Devar, I

shall crawl. As for Miss Vanrenen, I see that she does not care what

becomes of me."

Cynthia weakened a little at that. Certainly she wondered why her

model chauffeur chose to express his opinions so bluntly, while

Marigny's unwillingness to take offense was admirable.

"Is there no better plan?" she asked quickly, for Medenham had started

the engine, and his hand was on the reversing lever.

"For what?" he demanded.

"For extricating my friend from his difficulty?"

"If he likes to come with us, he can leave his car here all night, and

return for it to-morrow."

"Perhaps----"

"Please do not trouble yourself in the least on my account," broke in

the Count gayly. "As for abandoning my car, such a stupid notion

would never enter my mind. No, no! I wait for Smith, but you may rely

on my appearance in Bristol before you have finished dinner."

Though it was no simple matter to back and turn the Mercury in that

rough and narrow road, Medenham accomplished the maneuver with a skill

that the Frenchman appreciated to the full. For the first time he

noted the number when the tail-lamp revealed it.

"X L 4000," he commented to himself. "I must inquire who the owner is.

Devar or Smith will know where to apply for the information. And I

must also ascertain that fellow's history. Confound him, and my luck,

too! If the Devar woman has any sense she will keep Cynthia well out

of his way until the other chauffeur arrives."

As it happened, the "Devar woman" was thinking the same thing at the

same moment, but, being nervous, dared not attempt to utter her

thoughts while the car was creeping cautiously over the ruts and

stones. At last, when the highroad was reached, the pace quickened,

and she regained the faculty of speech.

"We have had a quite eventful day," she said with an air of motherly

solicitude, turning to the distrait girl by her side. "I am sure you

are tired. What between an extra amount of sightseeing and poor Count

Edouard's unfortunate mistake, we have been in the car nearly twelve

hours."

"How did Fitzroy discover that we had taken the wrong road?" asked

Cynthia, rousing herself from a perplexed reverie.

"Well, he drove very fast from Cheddar, much too fast, to my thinking,

though the risk has been more than justified by circumstances. Of

course, it is always easy to be wise after the event. At any rate,

there being no sign of your car when we reached the top of a long

hill, we--er--we discussed matters, and decided to explore the

byroad."

"Did you remain long in Cheddar? If Fitzroy hit up the pace, why were

you so far behind?"

"I waited a few minutes to address some postcards. And that reminds

me--Fitzroy sent a most impertinent message by one of the

servants----"

"Impertinent!"

"My dear, there is no other word for it--something about going off

without me if I did not start instantly. Really, I shall be glad when

Simmonds takes his place. But there! We must not renew our Bournemouth

argument."

"And he caused a servant in the hotel to speak to you in that manner?"

"Yes--the very girl who waited on us at tea--a pert creature, who

seemed to find the task congenial."

Mrs. Devar was building better than she knew. Cynthia laughed, though

not with the whole-souled merriment that was music in Medenham's ears.

"She has been properly punished; I forgot to tip her," she explained.

"Count Edouard would see to that----"

"He didn't. I noticed what he paid--out of sheer curiosity. Perhaps I

ought to send her something."

"My dear Cynthia!"

But dear Cynthia was making believe to be quite amused by a notion

that had just suggested itself. She leaned forward in the darkness and

touched Medenham's shoulder.

"Do you happen to know the name of the waitress who brought you some

tea at Cheddar?" she asked. "None of us gave her anything, and I hate

to omit these small items. If I had her name I could forward a postal

order from Bristol."

"There is no need, Miss Vanrenen," said Medenham. "I handed her--well,

sufficient to clear all claims."

"_You_ did? But why?"

The temptation to explain that he had never seen the girl before that

day was strong, but he waived it, and contented himself with saying:

"I--er--can't exactly say--force of habit, I imagine."

"Is she a friend of yours?"

"No."

Cynthia subsided into the tonneau.

"Of all the odd things!" she murmured, little dreaming that her chance

question had sent a thrill of sheer delight through Medenham's every

vein.

"What is it now?" inquired Mrs. Devar vindictively, for she detested

these half confidences.

"Oh, nothing of any importance. Fitzroy footed the bill, it seems."

"Very probably. He must have bribed the girl to be impudent."

Cynthia left it at that. She wished these people would stop their

quarreling, which threatened to spoil an otherwise perfect day.

The Mercury ran smoothly into ancient Bristol, crossed the Avon by the

pontoon bridge, and whirled up the hill to the College Green Hotel.

There, on the steps, stood Captain James Devar. Obviously, he did not

recognize them, and Medenham guessed the reason--he expected to meet

his mother only, and bestowed no second glance on a car containing two

ladies. Indeed, his first words betrayed sheer amazement. Mrs. Devar

cried, "Ah, there you are, James!" and James's eyeglass fell from its

well-worn crease.

"Hello, mater!" he exclaimed. "But what's up? Why are you--where is

Marigny?"

"Miles away--the silly man ran short of petrol. Fortunately our car

came to the rescue, or it would have been most awkward, since Miss

Vanrenen was with the Count at the time. Cynthia, you have not met my

son. James, this is Miss Vanrenen."

The little man danced forward. Like all short and stout mortals, he

was nimble on his feet, and his mother's voluble outburst warned him

of an unforeseen hitch in the arrangements.

"Delighted, I'm shaw," said he. "But, by gad, fancy losing poo-aw

Eddie! What have you done with him? Dwiven a stake through him and

buwied him at a cwoss woad?"

Medenham dreaded that the too-faithful Simmonds, car and all, would be

found awaiting their arrival, and it was a decided relief when the

only automobile in sight proved to be the state equipage of some local

magnate dining at the hotel. Cynthia, apparently, had shared his

thoughts so far as they concerned Simmonds.

"I suppose your friend Simmonds will reveal his whereabouts during the

evening," she said, while disencumbering herself of her wraps. Mrs.

Devar had already alighted, but the girl was standing in the car and

spoke over Medenham's shoulder.

"Of course, he may not be here," was the answer, not given too loudly,

since Mrs. Devar had hastened to give details to the perplexed James,

and there was no need to let either of them overhear his words.

"Oh my! What will happen, then?"

"In that event, I should feel compelled to take his place again."

"But the compulsion, as you put it, tends rather to take you to

London."

"I have changed my mind, Miss Vanrenen," he said simply.

She tittered. There was just a spice of coquetry in her manner as she

stooped nearer.

"You believe that Simmonds would not have found me in that wretched

lane to-night," she whispered.

"I am quite sure of it."

"But the whole affair was a mere stupid error."

"I am only too glad that I was enabled to put it right," he said with

due gravity.

"Cynthia," came a shrill voice, "do make haste, I am positively

starving."

"Guess you'd better lose Simmonds," breathed the girl, and an

unaccountable fluttering of her heart induced a remarkably high color

in her cheeks when she sped up the steps of the hotel and entered the

brilliantly-lighted atrium.

As for Medenham, though he had carefully mapped out the exact line of

conduct to be followed in Bristol while watching the radiantly white

arc of road that quivered in front of the car during the run from the

Mendips, for a second or two he dared not trust his voice to ask the

hall-porter certain necessary questions. Unaided by the glamor of

birth or position he had won this delightful girl's confidence. She

believed in him now as she would never again believe in Count Edouard

Marigny; what that meant in such a moment, none can tell but a devout

lover. Naturally, that was his point of view; it did not occur to him

that Cynthia might already have regretted the impulse which led her to

utter her thoughts aloud. Her nature was of the Martian type revealed

to Swedenborg in one of his philosophic trances. "The inhabitants of

Mars," said he, "account it wicked to think one thing and speak

another--to wish one thing while the face expresses another." Happy

Martians, perhaps, but not quite happy Cynthia, still blushing hotly

because of her daring suggestion as to the disposal of Simmonds.

But she was deeply puzzled by the mishap to the Du Vallon. Unwilling

to think evil of anyone, she felt, nevertheless, that Fitzroy (as she

called him) would never have treated both Mrs. Devar and the Frenchman

so cavalierly if he had not anticipated the very incident that

happened on the Mendips. Why did he turn back? How did he really find

out what had become of them? What would Simmonds have done in his

stead? A hundred strange doubts throbbed in her brain, but they were

jumbled in confusion before that more intimate and insistent

question--how would Fitzroy interpret her eagerness to retain him in

her service?

Meanwhile, the Swedish seer's theory of Martian speech and thought

acting in unity was making itself at home on the pavement in front of

the hotel.

Medenham learnt from the hall-porter that a motor-car had reached

Bristol from London about five o'clock. The driver, who was alone, had

asked for Miss Vanrenen, and was told that she was expected but had

not yet arrived, whereupon he went off, saying that he would call

after dinner.

"Another shuffer kem a bit later an' axed the same thing," went on the

man, "but he didn't have no car, an' he left no word about callin'

again."

"Excellent!" said Medenham. "Now please go and tell Captain Devar that

I wish to see him."

"Here?"

"Yes. I cannot leave my car. He must be at liberty, as he is in

evening dress, and the ladies will not come downstairs under half an

hour."

Devar soon appeared. His mother had managed to inform him that the

substituted driver was responsible for the complete collapse of

Marigny's project, and he was puffing with annoyance, though well

aware that he must not display it.

"Well," said he, strutting up to Medenham and blowing a cloud of

cigarette smoke from his thick lips, "well, what is it, my man?"

For answer, Medenham disconnected a lamp and held it close to his own

face.

"Do you recognize me?" he asked.

Devar, in blank astonishment, affected to screw in his eyeglass more

firmly.

"No," he said, "nor am I particularly anxious to make your

acquaintance. You have behaved wather badly, I understand, but that is

of no consequence now, as Simmonds has bwought his car he-aw----"

"Look again, Devar. We last met in Calcutta, where you swindled me out

of fifty pounds. Unfortunately I did not hear of your presence in

South Africa until you were cashiered at Cape Town, or I might have

saved the authorities some trouble."

The man wilted under those stern eyes.

"Good gad! Medenham!" he stammered.

Medenham replaced the lamp in its socket.

"I am glad you are not trying any pretense," he said. "Otherwise I

would be forced to take action, with the most lamentable consequences

for you, Devar. Now, I will hold my hand, provided you obey me

implicitly. Send for your overcoat, go straight to the Central

Station, and travel to London by the next train. You can scribble some

excuse to your mother, but, if I have any cause even to suspect that

you have told her who I am, I shall not hesitate to put the police on

your track. You must vanish, and be dumb--for three months at least.

If you are hard up, I will give you some money--sufficient for a

fortnight's needs--and you can write to me for further supplies at my

London address. Even a rascal like you must be permitted to live, I

suppose, so I risk breaking the law myself by screening you from

justice. Those are my terms. Do you accept them?"

The red face had grown yellow, and the steel-gray eyes that were a

heritage of the Devar family glistened with terror, but the man

endeavored to obtain mercy.

"Dash it all, Medenham," he groaned, "don't be too hard on me. I'm

goin' stwaight now--'pon me honor. This chap, Marigny----"

"You fool! I offer you liberty and money, yet you try brazenly to get

me to fall in with your wretched designs against Miss Vanrenen! Which

is it to be--a police cell or the railway station?"

Medenham moved as if to summon the hall-porter. In a very frenzy of

fear Devar caught his arm.

"For Gawd's sake----" he whispered.

"You go, then?"

"Yes."

"I am prepared to spare you to the utmost extent. Tell the hall-porter

to bring your overcoat and hat, and to give you a sheet of note-paper

and an envelope. Show me what you write. If it is satisfactory I shall

start you with twenty pounds. You can send from London to-morrow for

your belongings, as your hotel bill will be paid. But remember! One

treacherous word from you and I telegraph to Scotland Yard."

Mrs. Devar had a bad quarter of an hour when a penciled note from her

son was delivered at her room and she read:

DEAR MATER--I hardly had time to tell you that I am obliged

to return to town this evening. Please make my apologies to

Miss Vanrenen and Count Marigny.

Yours ever,

J.

Medenham frowned a little at the reference to Cynthia, but something

of the sort was necessary if an open scandal was to be avoided. As for

"Dear Mater," she was so unnerved that she actually wept. Hard and

calculating though she might be, the man was her son, and the bitter

experiences of twenty years warned her that he had been driven from

Bristol by some ghost new risen from an evil past.

Medenham, however, believed that he had settled one difficulty, and

prepared blithely to tackle another. He ran the car to the garage

where he had arranged to meet Dale.

"Have you seen Simmonds?" was his first question.

"Yes, my l----, yes, sir."

"Where is he?"

"Just off for a snack, sir, before goin' to the hotel."

"Bring him here at once. We will attend to the snack afterwards. No

mistake, now, Dale. He must see no one in the hotel until he and I

have had a talk."

Simmonds was produced. He saluted.

"Glad to meet you again, my lord," he said. "I hope I haven't caused

any trouble by sending that telegram to Bournemouth, but Dale tells me

that you don't wish your title to be known."

"Forget it," said Medenham. "I have done you a good turn,

Simmonds--are you prepared to do me one?"

"Just try me, sir."

"Put your car out of commission. Stick a pin through the earth contact

of your magneto and jam it against a cylinder, or something of the

sort. Then go to Miss Vanrenen and tell her how sorry you are, but you

must have another week at least to pull things straight. She will not

be vexed, and I guarantee you against any possible loss. To put the

best face on affairs, you had better remain in Bristol a few days at

my expense. Of course, it is understood that I deputize for you during

the remainder of the tour."

Simmonds, no courtier, grinned broadly, and even Dale winked at the

North Star; Medenham had steeled himself against such manifestations

of crude opinion--his face was impassive as that of a graven image.

"Of course I'll oblige you in that way, my lord. Who wouldn't?" came

the slow reply.