CHAPTER VII
WHEREIN CYNTHIA TAKES HER OWN LINE
When the Mercury, shining from Dale's attentions, halted noiselesslyopposite the College Green Hotel on the Saturday morning, CountEdouard Marigny was standing there; the Du Vallon was not in evidence,and its owner's attire bespoke other aims than motoring, at any ratefor the hour.
Evidently he was well content with himself. A straw hat was set on theback of his head, a cigarette stuck between his lips, his hands werethrust into his trousers pockets, and his feet were spread widelyapart. Taken altogether, he had the air of a man without a care in theworld.
He smiled, too, in the most friendly fashion, when Medenham's eyes methis.
"I hear that Simmonds is unable to carry out his contract," he saidcheerfully.
"You are mistaken, a second time, monsieur," said Medenham.
"Why, then, are _you_ here this morning?"
"I am acting for Simmonds. If anything, my car is slightly superior tohis, while I may be regarded as an equally competent driver, so thecontract is kept in all essentials."
Marigny still smiled. The Frenchman of mid-Victorian romance wouldhave shelved this point by indulging in "an inimitable shrug"; butnowadays Parisians of the Count's type do not shrug--with John Bull'sclothing they have adopted no small share of his stolidness.
"It is immaterial," he said. "I have sent my man to offer him my DuVallon, and Smith will go with him to explain its humors. You, as askilled motorist, understand that a car is of the feminine gender.Like any other charming demoiselle, it demands the exercise oftact--it yields willingly to gentle handling----"
Medenham cut short the Count's neatly turned phrases.
"Simmonds has no need to avail himself of your courtesy," he said. "Asfor the rest, give me your address in Paris, and when next I visit theFrench capital I shall be delighted to analyze these subtleties withyou."
"Ah, most admirable! But the really vital question before us to-day isyour address in London, Mr. Fitzroy."
Marigny dwelt on the surname as if it were a succulent oyster, and, inthe undeniable surprise of the moment, Medenham was forced to believethat "Captain" Devar, formerly of Horton's Horse, had dared all bytelling his confederate the truth, or some part of the truth. The twomen looked squarely at each other, and Marigny did not fail tomisinterpret the dubious frown on Medenham's face.
He descended a step or two, and crossed the pavement leisurely,dropping his voice so that it might not reach the ears of a porter,laden with the ladies' traveling boxes, who appeared in the doorway.
"Why should we quarrel?" he asked, with an engaging frankness wellcalculated to reassure a startled evildoer. "In this matter I amanxious to treat you as a gentleman. _Allons, donc!_ Hurry offinstantly, and tell Simmonds to bring the Du Vallon here. Leave me toexplain everything to Miss Vanrenen. Surely you agree that she oughtto be spared the unpleasantness of a wrangle--or, shall we say, anexposure? You see," he continued with a trifle more animation, andspeaking in French, "the game is not worth the candle. In a few hours,at the least, you will be in the hands of the police, whereas, byreaching London to-night, you may be able to pacify the Earl ofFairholme. I can help, perhaps. I will say all that is possible, andmy testimony ought to carry some weight."
Medenham was thoroughly mystified. That the Frenchman was not yetaware of his identity was now clear enough, though, with Devar'sprobable duplicity still running in his mind, he could not solve thepuzzle presented by this vaunted half-knowledge.
Again the other attributed his perplexity to anything except its realcause.
"I am willing to befriend you," he urged emphatically. "You have actedfoolishly, but not criminally, I hope. In your anxiety to help acolleague you forgot the fine distinction which the law draws between_meum_ and _tuum_----"
"No," said Medenham, turning to the porter. "Put the larger box on thecarrier, and strap the other on top of it--the locks outwards. Thenyou will find that they fit exactly."
"Don't be a headstrong idiot," muttered the Count, with a certain heatof annoyance making itself felt in his patronizing tone. "MissVanrenen will come out at any minute----"
Medenham glanced at the clock by the side of the speed indicator.
"Miss Vanrenen is due now unless she is being purposely detained byMrs. Devar," he commented dryly.
"But why persist in this piece of folly?" growled Marigny, to whosereluctant consciousness the idea of failure suddenly presented itself."You must realize by this time that I know who owns your car. Atelegram from me will put the authorities on your track, your arrestwill follow, and Miss Vanrenen will be subjected to the gravestinconvenience. _Sacre nom d'un pipe!_ If you will not yield to fairmeans I must resort to foul. It comes to this--you either quit Bristolat once or I inform Miss Vanrenen of the trick you have played onher."
Medenham turned and picked up from the seat the pair of stoutdriving-gloves which had caught Smith's inquiring eye by reason oftheir quality and substance. He drew on the right-hand glove, andbuttoned it. When he answered, he spoke with irritating slowness.
"Would it not be better for all concerned that the lady in whosebehalf you profess to be so deeply moved should be permitted tocontinue her tour without further disturbance? You and I can meet inLondon, monsieur, and I shall then have much pleasure in convincingyou that I am a most peaceable and law-abiding person."
"No," came the angry retort. "I have decided. I withdraw my offer tooverlook your offense. At whatever cost, Miss Vanrenen must beprotected until her father learns how his wishes have been disregardedby a couple of English bandits."
"Sorry," said Medenham coolly.
He alighted in the roadway, as the driving seat was near the curb. Aglance into the vestibule of the hotel revealed Cynthia, in motor coatand veil, giving some instructions, probably with regard to letters,to a deferential hall-porter. Walking rapidly round the front of thecar, he caught Marigny's shoulder with his left hand.
"If you dare to open your mouth in Miss Vanrenen's presence, otherthan by way of some commonplace remark, I shall forthwith smash yourface to a jelly," he said.
A queer shiver ran through the Frenchman's body, but Medenham did notcommit the error of imagining that his adversary was afraid. His gripon Marigny's shoulder tightened. The two were now not twelve inchesapart, and the Englishman read that involuntary tension of the musclesaright, for there is a palsy of rage as of fear.
"I have some acquaintance with the _savate_," he said suavely. "Pleasetake my word for it, and you will be spared an injury. A moment agoyou offered to treat me like a gentleman. I reciprocate now by beingwilling to accept your promise to hold your tongue. Miss Vanrenen iscoming.... What say you?"
"I agree," said Marigny, though his dark eyes blazed redly.
"Ah, thanks!" and Medenham's left hand busied itself once more withthe fastening of the glove.
"You understand, of course?" he heard, in a soft snarl.
"Perfectly. The truce ends with my departure. Meanwhile, you areacting wisely. I don't suppose I shall ever respect you so muchagain."
"Now, you two--what are you discussing?" cried Cynthia from the porch."I hope you are not trying to persuade my chauffeur to yield his placeto you, Monsieur Marigny. Once bitten, twice shy, you know, and Iwould insist on checking each mile by the map if you were at thewheel."
"Now, you two--what are you discussing?" _Page 148_]
"Your chauffeur is immovable, mademoiselle," was the ready answer,though the accompanying smile was not one of the Count's best efforts.
"He looks it. Why are you vexed, Fitzroy? Can't you forgive yourfriend Simmonds?"
Cynthia lifted those demure blue eyes of hers, and held Medenham'sgaze steadfast.
"I trust you are not challenging contradiction, Miss Vanrenen?" hesaid, with deliberate resolve not to let her slip back thus easilyinto the role of gracious employer.
She did not flinch, but her eyebrows arched a little.
"Oh, no," she said offhandedly. "Simmonds told me his misfortunes lastnight, and I assumed that you and he had settled matterssatisfactorily between you."
"As for that," broke in the Count, "I have just offered my car as asubstitute, but Fitzroy prefers to take you as far as Hereford, at anycost."
"Hereford! I understood from Simmonds that Mr. Fitzroy would see usthrough the remainder of the tour?"
"Monsieur Marigny is somewhat vague in our island topography: you sawthat last evening," said Medenham.
He smiled. Cynthia, too, glanced from one to the other with a frankmerriment that showed how fully she appreciated their mutual dislike.As for Marigny, his white teeth gleamed now in a sarcastic grin.
"Adversity is a strict master," he said, lapsing into his own languageagain. "My blunder of yesterday has shown me the need of caution, so Igo no farther than Hereford in my thoughts."
"It is more to the point to tell us how far you are going in yourcar," cried the girl lightly.
"I, too, hope to be in Hereford to-night. Mrs. Devar says you mean tospend Sunday there. If that is a fixed thing, and you can bear with mefor a few hours, I shall meet you there without fail."
"Come, by all means, if your road lies that way; but don't let us makeformal engagements. I love to think that I am drifting at will throughthis land of gardens and apple blossom. And, just think of it--threecathedrals in one day--a Minster for breakfast, lunch, and dinner,with Tintern Abbey thrown in for afternoon tea. Such a wealth ofmedievalism makes my head reel.... I was in there for matins," and shenodded to the grave old pile rearing its massive Gothic within a fewpaces of the hotel. "At high noon we shall visit Gloucester, andto-night we shall see Hereford. All that within a short hundred miles,to say nothing of Chepstow, Monmouth, the Wye Valley! Ah, me! I shallnever overtake my correspondence while there are so many glories todescribe. See, I have bought some darling little guidebooks which tellyou just what to say in a letter. What between judicious extracts anda sheaf of picture postcards scribbled at each place I'll try and keepmy friends in good humor."
She produced from a pocket three of the red-covered volumes sofamiliar to Americans in Britain--and to Britons themselves, for thatmatter, when the belated discovery is made that it is not necessary tocross the Channel in order to enjoy a holiday--and showed themlaughingly to Medenham.
"Now," she cried, "I am armed against you. No longer will you be ableto paralyze me with your learning. If you say 1269 at Tintern I shallretort with 1387 at Monmouth. When you point out Nell Gwynne'sbirthplace in Hereford, I shall take you to the Haven Inn, where DavidGarrick was born, and, if you aren't very, very good, I shall tell youhow much the New Town Hall cost, and who laid the foundation stone."
Medenham alone held the key to the girl's lively mood, and it was anovel and quite delightful sensation to be thus admitted to the innershrine of her emotions, as it were. She was chattering at random inorder to smooth away the awkwardness of meeting him after thatwhispered indiscretion at their parting overnight. Here, at least,Marigny was hopelessly at sea--_desoriente_, as he would have putit--because he could not possibly know that Cynthia herself hadcounseled the disappearance of Simmonds. Indeed, he attributed herhigh spirits to mere politeness--to her wish that he should believeshe had forgotten the fiasco on the Mendips.
This imagined salving of his wounded vanity served only to inflame himthe more against Medenham. He was still afire with resentment, sinceno Frenchman can understand the rude Saxon usage that enforcessubmission under a threat of physical violence. That a man should beready to defend his honor--to convince an opponent by endeavoring tokill him--yes, he accepted without cavil those tenets of the Frenchsocial code. But the brutal British fixity of purpose displayed bythis truculent chauffeur left him gasping with indignation. He wasquite sure that the man meant exactly what he had said. He felt thatany real departure from the compact wrung from him by force wouldprove disastrous to his personal appearance, and he was sensible of acertain weighing underlook in the Englishman's eyes when his seeminglyharmless chatter hinted at a change of existing plans as soon asHereford was reached.
But that was a mere feint, a preliminary flourish, such as a practicedswordsman executes in empty air before saluting his opponent. He hadnot the slightest intention of testing Medenham's pugilistic powersjust then. The reasonable probability of having his chief featuresbeaten to a pulp was not inviting, while the crude efficacy of thenotion, in its influence on Miss Vanrenen's affairs, was not the leaststupefying element in a difficult and wholly unforeseen situation. Herealized fully that anything in the nature of a scuffle would alienatethe girl's sympathies forever, no matter how strong a case forinterference he might present afterwards. The chauffeur would bedismissed on the spot, but with the offender would go his own prospectof winning the heiress to the Vanrenen millions.
So Count Edouard swallowed his spleen, though the requisite effortmust have dissipated some of his natural shrewdness, or he could nothave failed to read more correctly the tokens of embarrassment givenby Cynthia's heightened color, by her eager vivacity, by herbreathless anxiety not to discuss the substitution of one driver forthe other.
Medenham was about to disclaim any intention of measuring his loreagainst that in the guidebooks when Mrs. Devar bustled out.
"Awfully sorry," she began, "but I had to wire James----"
Her eyes fell on Medenham and the Mercury. Momentarily renderedspeechless, she rallied bravely.
"I thought, from what Count Edouard said----"
"Miss Vanrenen has lost faith in me, even in my beautiful automobile,"broke in Marigny with a quickness that spoiled a pathetic glance meantfor Cynthia.
The American girl, however, was weary of the fog of innuendo andhidden purpose that seemed to be an appanage of the Frenchman and hiscar.
"For goodness' sake," she cried, "let us regard it as a settled thingthat Fitzroy takes Simmonds's place until we reach London again.Surely we have the best of the bargain. If the two men are satisfiedwhy should we have anything to say against it?"
Cynthia was her father's daughter, and the attribute of personaldominance that in the man's case had proved so effective in dealingwith Milwaukees now made itself felt in the minor question of"transportation" presented by Medenham and his motor. Her blue eyeshardened, and a firm note rang in her voice. Nor did Medenham help tosmooth the path for Mrs. Devar by saying quietly:
"In the meantime, Miss Vanrenen, the information stored in thoselittle red books is growing rusty."
She settled the dispute at once by asking her companion which side ofthe car she preferred, and the other woman was compelled to saygraciously that she really had no choice in the matter, but, to avoidfurther delay, would take the left-hand seat. Cynthia followed, andMedenham, still ready to deal harshly with Marigny if necessary,adjusted their rugs, saw to the safe disposal of the camera, andclosed the door.
At that instant, the hall-porter hurried down the steps.
"Beg pardon, mum," he said to Mrs. Devar, thrusting an open telegrambetween Medenham and Cynthia, "but there's one word here----"
She snatched the form angrily from his outstretched hand.
"Which one?" she asked.
"The word after----"
"Come round this side. You are incommoding Miss Vanrenen."
The man obeyed. With the curious fatality which attends suchincidents, even among well-bred people, not a word was spoken by anyof the others. To all seeming, Mrs. Devar's cramped handwriting mighthave concealed some secret of gravest import to each person present.It was not really so thrilling when heard.
"That is 'Raven,' plain enough I should think," she snapped.
"Thank you, mum. 'The Raven, Shrewsbury,'" read the hall-porter.
Medenham caught Marigny's eye. He was minded to laugh outright, butforebore. Then he sprang into his seat, and the car curled in quicksemicircle and climbed the hill to the left, while the Frenchman,surprised by this rapid movement, signaled frantically to Mrs. Devar,nodding farewell, that th
ey had taken the wrong road.
"Not at all," explained Medenham. "I want you to see the CliftonSuspension Bridge, which is a hundred feet higher in the air than theBrooklyn Bridge."
"I'm sure it isn't," cried Cynthia indignantly. "The next thing youwill tell me is that the Thames is wider than the Hudson."
"So it is, at an equal distance from the sea."
"Well, trot out your bridge. Seeing is believing, all the time."
But Cynthia had yet to learn the exceeding wisdom of Ezekiel when hewrote of those "which have eyes to see, and see not," for never wasoptical delusion better contrived than the height above water level ofthe fairylike structure that spans the Avon below Bristol. The reasonis not far to seek. The mind is not prepared for the imminence of theswaying roadway that leaps from side to side of that tremendous gorge.On either crest are pleasant gardens, pretty houses, tree-shadedpaths, and the opposing precipices are so prompt in their sheer fallthat the eye insensibly rests on the upper level and refuses to dwellon the river far beneath.
So Cynthia was charmed but not convinced, and Medenham himself couldscarce believe his recollection that the tops of the towers of the farlarger bridge at Brooklyn would be only twenty-six feet higher thanthe roadway at Clifton. Mrs. Devar, of course, showed an utter lack ofinterest in the debate. Indeed, she refused emphatically to walk tothe middle of the bridge, on the plea of light-headedness, and Cynthiainstantly availed herself of the few minutes' tete-a-tete thusvouchsafed.
"Now," said she, looking, not at Medenham, but at the Titanic cleftcut by a tiny river, "now, please, tell me all about it."
"Just as at Cheddar, the rocks are limestone----" he began.
"Oh, bother the rocks! How did you get rid of Simmonds? And why isCount Marigny mad? And are you mixed up in Captain Devar's mightysmart change of base? Tell me everything. I hate mysteries. If we goon at the present rate some of us will soon be wearing masks andcloaks, and stamping our feet, and saying 'Ha! Ha!' or 'Sdeath!' orsomething equally absurd."
"Simmonds is a victim of science. If the earth wire of a magneto makesa metallic contact there is trouble in the cylinders, so Simmonds isswitched off until he can locate the fault."
"The work of a minute."
"It will take him five days at least."
Then Cynthia did flash an amused glance at him, but he was watching asmall steamer puffing against the tide, and his face was adamant.
"Go on," she cried quizzically. "What's the matter with the Count'scylinders?"
"He professed to believe that I had stolen somebody's car, andgraciously undertook to shield me if I would consent to run away atonce, leaving you and Mrs. Devar to finish your tour in the DuVallon."
"And you refused?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"Very little; he agreed."
"But he is not the sort of person who turns the other cheek to thesmiter."
"I didn't smite him," Medenham blurted out.
Cynthia fastened on to the hesitating denial with the hawklike pounceof some barrister famous for merciless cross-examination of a hostilewitness.
"Did you offer to?" she asked.
"We dealt with possible eventualities," he said weakly.
"I knew it.... There was such a funny look in your eyes when I firstsaw you...."
"Funny is the right word. The crisis _was_ rather humorous."
"Poor man, he only wished to be civil, perhaps--I mean, that is, inlending his car; and he may really have thought you--you were not achauffeur--like Simmonds, or Smith, for example. You wouldn't have hithim, of course?"
"I sincerely hope not."
She caught her breath and peered at him again, and there was a lightin her eyes that would have infuriated Marigny had he seen it. It waswell, too, that Medenham's head was averted, since he simply dared notmeet her frankly inquisitive gaze.
"You know that such a thing would be horrid for me--for all of us,"she persisted.
"Yes," he said, "I feel that very keenly. Thank goodness, theFrenchman felt it also."
Cynthia thought fit to skip to the third item in her list.
"Now as to Captain Devar?" she cried. "His mother is dreadfullyannoyed. She hates dull evenings, and the four of us were to playbridge to-night at Hereford. Why was he sent away?"
"Sent away?" echoed Medenham in mock amazement.
"Oh, come, you knew him quite well. You said so in London. I am notexactly the silly young thing I look, Mr. Fitzroy, and Count Marigny'scoincidences are a trifle far-fetched. Both he and Captain Devar fullyunderstood what they were doing when they arranged to meet in Bristol,and somebody must have fired a very big gun quite close to the fatlittle man that he should be scared off the instant he set eyes onme."
Then Medenham resolved to end a catechism that opened up illimitablevistas, for he did not want to lose Cynthia just yet, and there was noknowing what she might do if she suspected the truth. Although, if thesituation were strictly dissected, Mrs. Devar's chaperonage was asuseful to him as the lady herself intended it to be to Marigny, therewas a vital difference between the two sets of circumstances. He hadbeen pitchforked by fate into the company of a charming girl whom hewas learning to love as he had never loved woman before, whereas themembers of the money-hunting gang whose scheme he had accidentallyoverheard at Brighton were engaged in a deliberate intrigue, outlinedin Paris as soon as Mr. Vanrenen planned the motor tour for hisdaughter, and perfected during Cynthia's brief stay in London.
So he appealed for her forbearance on a plea that he imagined was sureto succeed.
"I don't wish to conceal from you that Captain Devar and I have fallenout in the past," he said. "But I am genuinely sorry for his mother,who certainly does not know what a rascal he is. Don't ask me forfurther details now, Miss Vanrenen. He will not cross your path in thenear future, and I promise to tell you the whole story long beforethere is any chance of your meeting him again."
For some reason, deep hidden yet delicately distinct, Cynthiaextracted a good deal more from that simple speech than the mere wordsimplied. The air of the downs was peculiarly fresh and strong in thecenter of the bridge, a fact which probably accounted for the vividcolor that lit her face and added luster to her bright eyes. At anyrate, she dropped the conversation suddenly.
"Mrs. Devar will be growing quite impatient," she said, with anadmirable assumption of ease, "and I want to buy some pictures of thispretty toy bridge of yours. What a pity the light is altogether wrongfor a snapshot, and it _is_ so stupid to use films when one knows thatthe sun is in the camera!"
Whereat Medenham breathed freely again, while thanking the gods forthe delightfully effective resources that every woman--even a candid,outspoken Cynthia--has at her fingers' ends.
The simplest means of reaching the Gloucester road was to run backpast the hotel, but the goddess of happy chance elected, for her ownpurposes, that Medenham should ask a policeman to direct him toCabot's Tower, and, the man having the brain of a surveyor, he wassent through by-streets that saved a few yards, perhaps, but cost himmany minutes in stopping to inquire the way. Hence, he missed anamazing sight. The merest glimpse of Count Edouard Marigny's newacquaintance would surely have pulled him up, if it did not put an endto the tour forthwith. But that was not to be. Blissfully unconsciousof the fact that the Frenchman was eagerly explaining to a dignifiedyet strangely perturbed old gentleman that the car Number X L4000--containing a young American lady and her friend, and driven by aconceited puppy of a chauffeur who suffered badly from _tetemontee_--had just gone up the hill to the left, Medenham at lastreached the open road, and the Mercury leaped forward as if Gloucesterwould hardly wait till it arrived there.
The old gentleman had only that minute alighted from a station cab,and a question he addressed to the hall-porter led that civilfunctionary to refer him to Marigny "as a friend of the partiesconcerned."
But the newcomer drew himself up somewhat stiffly when the foreignpersonage spoke of Medenham as a "puppy."
 
; "Before our conversation proceeds any farther I think I ought to tellyou that I am the Earl of Fairholme and that Viscount Medenham is myson," he said.
Marigny looked so blank at this that the Earl's explanation took freshshape.
"I mean," he went on, perceiving that his hearer was none the wiser,"I mean that the chauffeur you allude to is Viscount Medenham."
Marigny, though born on the banks of the Loire, was a SouthernFrenchman by descent, and the hereditary tint of olive in his skinbecame prominent only when his emotions were aroused. Now the pink andwhite of his complexion was tinged with yellowish-green. Never beforein his life had he been quite so surprised--never.
"He--he said his name was Fitzroy," was all he could gasp.
"So it is--the dog. Took the family name and dropped his title inorder to go gallivanting about the country with this young person....An American, I am told--and with that detestable creature, Mrs. Devar!Nice thing! No wonder Lady Porthcawl was shocked. May I ask, sir, who_you_ are?"
Lord Fairholme was very angry, and not without good reason. He hadtraveled from London at an absurdly early hour in response to theurgent representations of Susan, Lady St. Maur, to whom her intimatefriend, Millicent Porthcawl, had written a thrilling account of thegoings-on at Bournemouth. It happened that the Countess of Porthcawl'sbedroom overlooked the carriage-way in front of the Royal Bath Hotel,and, when she recovered from the stupor of recognizing Medenham inthe chauffeur of the Vanrenen equipage, she gratified her spite bysending a lively and wholly distorted version of the tour to his aunt.
The letter reached Curzon Street during the afternoon, and exercised aremarkably restorative effect on the now convalescent lover of forcedstrawberries. Lady St. Maur ordered her carriage, and was driven in ajiffy to the Fairholme mansion in Cavendish Square, where she and herbrother indulged in the most lugubrious opinions as to the future of"poor George." They assumed that he would fall an easy prey to thewiles of a "designing American." Neither of them had met many citizensof the United States, and each shared to the fullest extent the commonBritish dislike of every person and every thing that is new andstrange, so they had visions of a Countess of Fairholme who wouldspeak in the weird tongue of Chicago, whose name would be "Mamie," whowould call the earl "poppa number two," and prefix every utterancewith "Say," or "My land!"
Both brother and sister had laughed many a time at the stage versionof a Briton as presented in Paris, but they forgot that the averageEnglishman's conception of the average American is equally ludicrousin its blunders. In devising means "to save George" they flew into apanic. Lady St. Maur telegraphed a frantic appeal to Lady Porthcawlfor information, but "dear Millicent" took thought, saw that she wasalready sufficiently committed, and caused her maid to reply that shehad left Bournemouth for the weekend.
A telegram to the hotel manager produced more definite news. Cynthia,providing against the receipt of any urgent message from her father,had given the College Green Hotel as her address for the night; butthis intelligence arrived too late to permit of the Earl's departuretill next morning. Lady Porthcawl's hint that the "devoted George wastraveling incognito" prevented the use of wire or post. If theinfatuated viscount were to be brought to reason there was nothing forit but that the Earl should hurry to Bristol by an early train nextmorning. He did hurry, and arrived five minutes too late.
Marigny, of course, saw that lightning had darted from a summer sky.If the despised chauffeur had proved such a tough opponent, what wouldhappen now that he turned out to be a sprig of the aristocracy? Heguessed at once that the Earl of Fairholme appraised Cynthia Vanrenenby the Devar standard. He knew that five minutes in Cynthia's companywould alter this doughty old gentleman's views so greatly that hispresent fury would give place to idolatry. No matter what the cost,they two must not meet, and it was very evident that if Hereford werementioned as the night's rendezvous, the Earl would proceed there bythe next train.
What was to be done? He decided promptly. Lifting his hat, andoffering Lord Fairholme his card, he made up his mind to lie, and liespeciously, with circumstantial detail and convincing knowledge.
"I happened to meet the Vanrenens in Paris," he said. "Businessbrought me here, and I was surprised to see Miss Vanrenen without herfather. You will pardon my reference to your son, I am sure. Hisattitude is explicable now. He resented my offer of friendlyassistance to the young lady. Perhaps he thought she might availherself of it."
"Assistance? What is the matter?"
"She had arranged for a car to meet her here. As it was notforthcoming, she altered her plans for a tour of Oxford, Kenilworth,and Warwick, and has gone in Viscount--Viscount----"
"Medenham's."
"Ah, yes--I did not catch the name precisely--in your son's car toLondon."
By this time Lord Fairholme had ascertained the Frenchman'sdescription, and he was sufficiently well acquainted with the Valleyof the Loire to recollect the Chateau Marigny as a house of someimportance.
"I beg your pardon, Monsieur le Comte, if I seemed to speak brusquelyat first," he said, "but we all appear to be mixed up in a comedy oferrors. I remember now that my son telegraphed from Brighton to saythat he would return to-day. Perhaps my journey from town wasunnecessary, and he may be only engaged in some harmless escapade thatis now nearing its end. I am very much obliged to you, and--er--I hopeyou will call when next you are in London. You know my name--my placeis in Cavendish Square. Good-day."
So Marigny was left a second time on the steps of the hotel, while thecab which brought the Earl of Fairholme from the railway station tookhim back to it.
The Du Vallon came panting from the garage, but the Frenchman sent itaway again. Hereford was no great distance by the direct road, and hehad already determined not to follow the tortuous route devised byCynthia for the day's run. Moreover, he must now reconsider hisschemes. The long telegrams which he had just dispatched to Devar inLondon and to Peter Vanrenen in Paris might demand supplements.
And to think of that accursed chauffeur being a viscount! His gorgerose at that. The thought almost choked him. It was well that thehall-porter did not understand French, or the words that were mutteredby Marigny as he turned on his heel and re-entered the hotel mighthave shocked him. And, indeed, they were most unsuited for the ears ofa hall-porter who dwelt next door to a cathedral.