Cynthia's Chauffeur
"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.
CHAPTER VII
WHEREIN CYNTHIA TAKES HER OWN LINE
When the Mercury, shining from Dale's attentions, halted noiselessly
opposite the College Green Hotel on the Saturday morning, Count
Edouard Marigny was standing there; the Du Vallon was not in evidence,
and its owner's attire bespoke other aims than motoring, at any rate
for the hour.
Evidently he was well content with himself. A straw hat was set on the
back of his head, a cigarette stuck between his lips, his hands were
thrust into his trousers pockets, and his feet were spread widely
apart. Taken altogether, he had the air of a man without a care in the
world.
He smiled, too, in the most friendly fashion, when Medenham's eyes met
his.
"I hear that Simmonds is unable to carry out his contract," he said
cheerfully.
"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 to
his, while I may be regarded as an equally competent driver, so the
contract is kept in all essentials."
Marigny still smiled. The Frenchman of mid-Victorian romance would
have shelved this point by indulging in "an inimitable shrug"; but
nowadays Parisians of the Count's type do not shrug--with John Bull's
clothing they have adopted no small share of his stolidness.
"It is immaterial," he said. "I have sent my man to offer him my Du
Vallon, and Smith will go with him to explain its humors. You, as a
skilled motorist, understand that a car is of the feminine gender.
Like any other charming demoiselle, it demands the exercise of
tact--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. "As
for the rest, give me your address in Paris, and when next I visit the
French capital I shall be delighted to analyze these subtleties with
you."