Cynthia's Chauffeur
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.