Cynthia's Chauffeur
give you a shilling each."
There is no saying what sum he would have given those urchins if some
magician had spoken by their mouths and bade him hasten to Hereford
with all the zest of all the horses pent beneath the Mercury's bonnet.
But he left the boys ciphering on a gate with a bit of lead pencil
which he lent them, and pulled up at the door of the Green Dragon
Hotel in Hereford just five minutes after the Sunday morning express
to London had snatched a fuming and indignant Earl of Fairholme from
off the platform of the Great Western railway station.
"Whose car?" inquired a hall-porter.
"Mine," said Medenham, rather surprised by the question.
"Sorry, sir. I thought you might be the party Lord Fairholme was
expecting."
"Did you say 'Lord Fairholme'?"
Medenham spoke with the slow accents of sheer astonishment, and the
man hastened to explain.
"Yes, sir. His lordship has been a-damnin' everybody since two o'clock
yesterday afternoon because a Miss Vanrenen, who had ordered rooms
here, didn't turn up. She's on a motor tour through England, so I
thought----"
"You have made no mistake. But are you quite sure that the Earl of
Fairholme asked for Miss Vanrenen?"
"Not exactly that, sir, but he seemed to be uncommon vexed when we
could give him no news of her."
"Where is his lordship now?"
"Gone to London, sir, by the 10.5. He damned me for the last time half
an hour ago."
"Oh, did he?"
Medenham glanced at his watch, twisted himself free of the wheel,
leaped to the pavement, and tapped one of the hall-porter's gold
epaulettes impressively.
"I am forced to believe that you are speaking the truth," he said.
"Now, tell me all about it, there's a good fellow. I am a bit rattled,
because, don't you see, Lord Fairholme is my father, and he is the
last man on earth whom I would have expected to meet in Hereford
to-day. During the less exciting intervals in his speech did you find
out why he came here?"
"Perhaps the manageress may be able to tell you something, sir. Beg
pardon, but may I ask your name?"
"Medenham."
The man tickled the back of his ear in doubt, since he was aware that
an Earl's son usually has a courtesy title.
"Lord Medenham?" he hazarded.
"Viscount."
"I thought, perhaps, you might have been a gentleman named Fitzroy, my
lord," he said.
"Well, I am that, too. If you feel that I ought to be presented to the
manageress in state, kindly announce me as George Augustus Fitzroy,
Viscount Medenham, of Medenham Hall, Downshire, and 91 Cavendish
Square, London."
The hall-porter's eyes twinkled.
"I didn't mean that, my lord, but there's a chauffeur, name of
Dale----"
"Ah, what of him?"
"_He_ knows _all_ about it, my lord, and he's hiding in a hayloft down
the stable yard at this minnit, because your lordship's father
threatened to give him in charge for stealing a couple of your
portmanteaux."
"Tell me he thieved successfully and I shall fork out handsomely."
The man grinned. He was shrewd enough to realize that, no matter what
mystery lay behind all this, the aid of the police would not be
requisitioned.
"I believe----" he began. Then he made off, with a cry of "Wait just a
few seconds, my lord. I'll bring Dale."
And Dale appeared, picking bits of hay off his uniform, and striving
vainly to compose his features into their customary expression of a
stolid alertness that hears nothing but his master's orders, sees
nothing that does not concern his duties. He gave one sharp glance at
the car, and his face grew chauffeurish, but the look of hang-dog
despair returned when he met Medenham's eyes.
"I couldn't get away to save me life, my lord," he grumbled. "It was a
fair cop at Bristol, an' no mistake. His lordship swooped down on me
an' Simmonds at the station, so wot could I do?"
Medenham laughed.
"I don't blame you, Dale. You could not have been more nonplussed than
I at this moment. Will you kindly remember that I know nothing
whatever of the Earl's appearance either at Bristol or Hereford----"
"Gord's trewth! Didn't they tell you I telephoned, my lord?"
Dale would not have spoken in that fashion were he not quite woebegone
and down-hearted; and not without reason, for the Earl had dismissed
him with contumely not once but a dozen times. Medenham saw that his
retainer would be more muddled than ever if he realized that Mrs.
Devar had intercepted the telephone message, so he slurred over that
element of the affair, and Dale quickly enlightened him as to the
course taken by events after the departure of the Mercury's tourists
from Bristol.
The Earl, too, had referred to Lady St. Maur's correspondent at
Bournemouth, and Medenham could fill in blanks in the story quite
easily, but the allusions to Marigny were less comprehensible.
Dale's distress arose chiefly from the Earl's vows of vengeance when
he discovered that his son's baggage had been spirited away during the
breakfast hour that morning, but Medenham reassured him.
"Don't bother your head about that," he said. "I'll telegraph and
write to my father a full explanation to-day. You have obeyed my
orders, and he must blame me, not you, if they ran counter to his.
Take charge of the car while I change my clothes and make a few
inquiries. To save any further mix-up, you had better come with me to
Symon's Yat."
Within five minutes he ascertained that Count Edouard Marigny had
occupied a room in the Mitre Hotel, just across the street, since the
previous afternoon. More than that, the Frenchman was traveling to
London by the same train as the Earl. Then Medenham felt really angry.
It was inconceivable that his father should have allowed himself to be
drawn into a pitiful intrigue by such doubtful agents as Marigny and
the Countess of Porthcawl.
"I'll write," he vowed, "and in pretty stiff terms, too, but I'm
jiggered if I'll wire. The old chap should have shown more confidence
in me. Why on earth didn't he announce his visit to Bristol? Jolly
good job he left Hereford to-day before I arrived--there might have
been ructions. Good Lord! He evidently takes Cynthia for an
adventuress!"
Yet, in spite of the chance of ructions, it would have been far better
had Medenham not missed his father that morning. He was too dutiful a
son, the Earl was too fair-minded a parent, that they should not be
able to meet and discuss matters without heat. By noon they would have
reached Symon's Yat; before lunch was ended the older man would have
been Cynthia's most outspoken admirer. As it was--well, as it
was--there used to be a belief in the Middle Ages that the Evil One's
favorite nook lay amid the deepest shadow of a cathedral, and modern
fact is ofttimes curiously akin to medieval romance.
CHAPTER XI
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS
When he came to think of it, Medenham decided to return at once to
Symon's Yat. It was advisable, however, to inform the proprietor of
the hotel that the Earl's denunciation of Dale as a pilferer of
luggage was based on a complete misunderstanding of the facts. With
that object in view he entered the office; another surprise awaited
him there.
A lady bookkeeper, casting an appraising eye over his motoring
garments, asked instantly:
"Are you Mr. Fitzroy, driver of a Mercury car, Number X L 4000?"
"Yes," said he, prepared now to see his name and description blazoned
across the west front of the cathedral.
"You are wanted on the telephone. Miss Vanrenen wishes you to ring her
up."
After a soul-chastening delay he heard Cynthia's voice:
"That you, Mr. Fitzroy?"
"Yes."
"I'm so glad I caught you before you hurried away again.... Er--that
is--I suppose you traveled rather fast, you and Mercury?"
He laughed. That was all. He did not intend to let her assume so
readily that he had missed the first thought which bubbled forth in
words. She well knew that he was not in Hereford from personal choice,
but she had not meant to tell him that she knew.
"What are you sniggering at?" she demanded imperiously.
"Only at your divination," he answered. "Indeed, if a tire had not
given out soon after I left Whitchurch I would now be well on my way
to the Yat."
Suddenly he recollected the singular outcome of the incident. There
was some reasonable probability that it might exercise a material
effect on the course of events during the next few days.
So, after a little pause, he added: "That is one reason; there are
others."
"Is something detaining you, then?" she asked.
"Yes, a trivial matter, but I shall be at the hotel long before
lunch."
"Mrs. Devar is much better.... She is so sorry I remained indoors this
morning."
"Mrs. Devar is cultivating angelic qualities," he said, but he
murmured under his breath: "The old cat finds now that she has made a
mistake."
"I want you to pay the hotel people for the rooms I reserved but have
not occupied. Then, perhaps, they will hand you any mail that may
have been sent after me. And please give them my address at Chester.
Will you do all that?"
"Certainly. There should be no difficulty."
"Is Hereford looking very lively?"
"It strikes me as peculiarly empty," he said with convincing candor.
"Shall we have time to see all the show places to-morrow?"
"We shall make time."
"Well, good-bye! Bring my letters. I have not heard from my father
since we left Bournemouth."
"Ah, there I have the better of you. I heard of, if not from, my
revered dad since reaching Hereford."
"Unexpectedly?"
"Oh, quite."
"Nothing wrong, I hope?"
"The old gentleman's temper seems to be a trifle out of gear; the
present attack is not serious; he will survive it--for many years, I
trust."
"You must not be flippant where your father is concerned. I believe he
is annoyed because you came away with me, and so failed to keep the
appointment fixed for Saturday in London. Eh? What did you say?"
"I said 'Well, I am surprised,' or words to that effect. As my name is
George I cannot tell a lie, so I must admit regretfully that you have
guessed right. Indeed, Miss Vanrenen, I may go so far as to suggest,
by letter, that before my father condemns me he should first meet you.
Of course, I shall warn him that you are irresistible."
"Good-by again," said Cynthia severely. "You can tell me all about it
after--oh, some time to-day, anyhow."
The Green Dragon proved to be most undragonish. No manner of doubt was
cast on Medenham's good faith; he pocketed half a dozen letters for
Cynthia, and one, unstamped, bearing the crest of the Mitre, for Mrs.
Devar. By the merest chance he caught sight of a note, addressed
"Viscount Medenham," stuck in a rack among some telegrams. The
handwriting was his father's. But how secure it without arousing quite
reasonable suspicion? He tried the bold course.
"I may as well take that, too," he said offhandedly.
"Is Viscount Medenham also in your party?" inquired the bookkeeper.
"Yes."
Again no demur was raised, since the Earl's repeated demands for
information as to Miss Vanrenen's whereabouts showed that some sort of
link must exist between him and the missing tourists.
Medenham sat in his car outside and read:
MY DEAR GEORGE--If this reaches you, please oblige me by
returning to town at once. Your aunt is making a devil of a
fuss, and is most unpleasant. I say no more now, since I am
not sure that you will be in Hereford before we meet.
Yours ever,
F.
"I can see myself being very angry with Aunt Susan," he growled in the
first flush of resentment against the unfairness of her attitude.
But that phase soon passed. His mind dwelt rather on Lady St. Maur's
bland amazement when she encountered Cynthia. He could estimate with