Cynthia's Chauffeur
"Ah, most admirable! But the really vital question before us to-day is
your address in London, Mr. Fitzroy."
Marigny dwelt on the surname as if it were a succulent oyster, and, in
the undeniable surprise of the moment, Medenham was forced to believe
that "Captain" Devar, formerly of Horton's Horse, had dared all by
telling his confederate the truth, or some part of the truth. The two
men looked squarely at each other, and Marigny did not fail to
misinterpret 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 well
calculated to reassure a startled evildoer. "In this matter I am
anxious to treat you as a gentleman. _Allons, donc!_ Hurry off
instantly, and tell Simmonds to bring the Du Vallon here. Leave me to
explain everything to Miss Vanrenen. Surely you agree that she ought
to be spared the unpleasantness of a wrangle--or, shall we say, an
exposure? You see," he continued with a trifle more animation, and
speaking 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, by
reaching London to-night, you may be able to pacify the Earl of
Fairholme. I can help, perhaps. I will say all that is possible, and
my testimony ought to carry some weight."
Medenham was thoroughly mystified. That the Frenchman was not yet
aware of his identity was now clear enough, though, with Devar's
probable duplicity still running in his mind, he could not solve the
puzzle presented by this vaunted half-knowledge.
Again the other attributed his perplexity to anything except its real
cause.
"I am willing to befriend you," he urged emphatically. "You have acted
foolishly, but not criminally, I hope. In your anxiety to help a
colleague 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 the
carrier, and strap the other on top of it--the locks outwards. Then
you will find that they fit exactly."
"Don't be a headstrong idiot," muttered the Count, with a certain heat
of annoyance making itself felt in his patronizing tone. "Miss
Vanrenen 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 by
Mrs. Devar," he commented dryly.
"But why persist in this piece of folly?" growled Marigny, to whose
reluctant consciousness the idea of failure suddenly presented itself.
"You must realize by this time that I know who owns your car. A
telegram from me will put the authorities on your track, your arrest
will follow, and Miss Vanrenen will be subjected to the gravest
inconvenience. _Sacre nom d'un pipe!_ If you will not yield to fair
means I must resort to foul. It comes to this--you either quit Bristol
at once or I inform Miss Vanrenen of the trick you have played on
her."
Medenham turned and picked up from the seat the pair of stout
driving-gloves which had caught Smith's inquiring eye by reason of
their quality and substance. He drew on the right-hand glove, and
buttoned it. When he answered, he spoke with irritating slowness.
"Would it not be better for all concerned that the lady in whose
behalf you profess to be so deeply moved should be permitted to
continue her tour without further disturbance? You and I can meet in
London, monsieur, and I shall then have much pleasure in convincing
you that I am a most peaceable and law-abiding person."
"No," came the angry retort. "I have decided. I withdraw my offer to
overlook your offense. At whatever cost, Miss Vanrenen must be
protected until her father learns how his wishes have been disregarded
by a couple of English bandits."
"Sorry," said Medenham coolly.
He alighted in the roadway, as the driving seat was near the curb. A
glance into the vestibule of the hotel revealed Cynthia, in motor coat
and veil, giving some instructions, probably with regard to letters,
to a deferential hall-porter. Walking rapidly round the front of the
car, he caught Marigny's shoulder with his left hand.
"If you dare to open your mouth in Miss Vanrenen's presence, other
than by way of some commonplace remark, I shall forthwith smash your
face to a jelly," he said.
A queer shiver ran through the Frenchman's body, but Medenham did not
commit the error of imagining that his adversary was afraid. His grip
on Marigny's shoulder tightened. The two were now not twelve inches
apart, and the Englishman read that involuntary tension of the muscles
aright, for there is a palsy of rage as of fear.
"I have some acquaintance with the _savate_," he said suavely. "Please
take my word for it, and you will be spared an injury. A moment ago
you offered to treat me like a gentleman. I reciprocate now by being
willing to accept your promise to hold your tongue. Miss Vanrenen is
coming.... What say you?"
"I agree," said Marigny, though his dark eyes blazed redly.
"Ah, thanks!" and Medenham's left hand busied itself once more with
the fastening of the glove.
"You understand, of course?" he heard, in a soft snarl.
"Perfectly. The truce ends with my departure. Meanwhile, you are
acting wisely. I don't suppose I shall ever respect you so much
again."
"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 place
to you, Monsieur Marigny. Once bitten, twice shy, you know, and I
would insist on checking each mile by the map if you were at the
wheel."
"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 your
friend Simmonds?"
Cynthia lifted those demure blue eyes of hers, and held Medenham's
gaze steadfast.
"I trust you are not challenging contradiction, Miss Vanrenen?" he
said, with deliberate resolve not to let her slip back thus easily
into 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 last
night, and I assumed that you and he had settled matters
satisfactorily between you."
"As for that," broke in the Count, "I have just offered my car as a
substitute, but Fitzroy prefers to take you as far as Hereford, at any
cost."
"Hereford! I understood from Simmonds that Mr. Fitzroy would see us
through the remainder of the tour?"
"Monsieur Marigny is somewhat vague in our island topography: you saw
that last evening," said Medenham.
He smiled. Cynthia, too, glanced from one to the other with a frank
merriment 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 language
again. "My blunder of yesterday has shown me the need of caution, so I
go no farther than Hereford in my thoughts."
"It is more to the point to tell us how far you are going in your
car," cried the girl lightly.
"I, too, hope to be in Hereford to-night. Mrs. Devar says you mean to
spend Sunday there. If that is a fixed thing, and you can bear with me
for 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 make
formal engagements. I love to think that I am drifting at will through
this land of gardens and apple blossom. And, just think of it--three
cathedrals in one day--a Minster for breakfast, lunch, and dinner,
with Tintern Abbey thrown in for afternoon tea. Such a wealth of
medievalism makes my head reel.... I was in there for matins," and she
nodded to the grave old pile rearing its massive Gothic within a few
paces of the hotel. "At high noon we shall visit Gloucester, and
to-night we shall see Hereford. All that within a short hundred miles,
to say nothing of Chepstow, Monmouth, the Wye Valley! Ah, me! I shall
never overtake my correspondence while there are so many glories to
describe. See, I have bought some darling little guidebooks which tell
you just what to say in a letter. What between judicious extracts and
a sheaf of picture postcards scribbled at each place I'll try and keep
my friends in good humor."
She produced from a pocket three of the red-covered volumes so
familiar to Americans in Britain--and to Britons themselves, for that
matter, when the belated discovery is made that it is not necessary to
cross the Channel in order to enjoy a holiday--and showed them
laughingly to Medenham.
"Now," she cried, "I am armed against you. No longer will you be able
to paralyze me with your learning. If you say 1269 at Tintern I shall
retort with 1387 at Monmouth. When you point out Nell Gwynne's
birthplace in Hereford, I shall take you to the Haven Inn, where David
Garrick was born, and, if you aren't very, very good, I shall tell you
how 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 a
novel and quite delightful sensation to be thus admitted to the inner
shrine of her emotions, as it were. She was chattering at random in
order to smooth away the awkwardness of meeting him after that
whispered indiscretion at their parting overnight. Here, at least,
Marigny was hopelessly at sea--_desoriente_, as he would have put
it--because he could not possibly know that Cynthia herself had
counseled the disappearance of Simmonds. Indeed, he attributed her
high spirits to mere politeness--to her wish that he should believe
she had forgotten the fiasco on the Mendips.
This imagined salving of his wounded vanity served only to inflame him
the more against Medenham. He was still afire with resentment, since
no Frenchman can understand the rude Saxon usage that enforces
submission under a threat of physical violence. That a man should be
ready to defend his honor--to convince an opponent by endeavoring to
kill him--yes, he accepted without cavil those tenets of the French
social code. But the brutal British fixity of purpose displayed by
this truculent chauffeur left him gasping with indignation. He was
quite sure that the man meant exactly what he had said. He felt that
any real departure from the compact wrung from him by force would
prove disastrous to his personal appearance, and he was sensible of a
certain weighing underlook in the Englishman's eyes when his seemingly
harmless chatter hinted at a change of existing plans as soon as
Hereford was reached.
But that was a mere feint, a preliminary flourish, such as a practiced
swordsman executes in empty air before saluting his opponent. He had
not the slightest intention of testing Medenham's pugilistic powers
just then. The reasonable probability of having his chief features
beaten to a pulp was not inviting, while the crude efficacy of the
notion, in its influence on Miss Vanrenen's affairs, was not the least
stupefying element in a difficult and wholly unforeseen situation. He
realized fully that anything in the nature of a scuffle would alienate
the girl's sympathies forever, no matter how strong a case for
interference he might present afterwards. The chauffeur would be
dismissed on the spot, but with the offender would go his own prospect
of winning the heiress to the Vanrenen millions.
So Count Edouard swallowed his spleen, though the requisite effort