The Car of Destiny
and you can develop a moustache. Yes. I think we can work it as far as
that goes. But one’s always heard that Spanish roads are impossible.”
“They’ll be no worse for us than for Carmona,” I argued. “Besides, most of
the best known books about Spain are out of date. The King has made
motoring fashionable lately, and there must have been some attempts to get
the roads into passable condition.”
“I happened to hear an American who’s here with a sixty horse-power
Panhard, wanting to go to Seville, say to another fellow that he’d been
warned he couldn’t get beyond Madrid.”
“I’ve never bothered much about warnings in my life. I’ve generally gone
ahead, and found out things for myself.”
“We’ll continue on the same lines. And, anyhow, wherever we go, we’re sure
of a leader; our friend the enemy.”
It was next in order to find out whether the Duke really had brought an
automobile to Biarritz; but try as we might, we could learn nothing.
Inquiries were made at the railway stations, both at Bayonne and Biarritz,
as to whether an automobile had lately been shipped through; but as it
happened, no car of any description had arrived by rail in either
direction during the last fortnight.
All the principal garages of Bayonne and Biarritz were visited also, in
the hope of finding a mysterious car which might be the Duke of Carmona’s;
but there was not one of which we could not trace the ownership. We then
sent to Bordeaux, and even to St. Jean de Luz; but in both cases our
errand was vain. If Carmona had an automobile in the South of France, it
was well hidden.
As for the chauffeur who had inspected my car, and afterwards met Carmona
at another garage, he had disappeared, apparently, into thin air.
Nevertheless, Dick and I formed a theory that the new automobile, of which
we had heard so many rumours, was actually in Biarritz; that it had been
driven into the town after dark, and was now being kept by some friend of
Carmona’s in a private garage. And if we were right in our conjectures, we
felt we might take it as a sure sign that the Duke was not only planning
an important tour, but was not forgetting a detail of precaution which
could prevent my learning his intentions.
As we could not set a watch upon the chauffeur, we set a watch upon the
Duke; and it was Ropes who, with considerable relish, undertook the task.
I did not wish to bring a stranger into the affair; and Ropes I could
trust as I trusted myself. Therefore Ropes it was who unobtrusively dogged
Carmona’s footsteps from the time the Duke went out in the morning, up to
the time he went in again at night.
Meanwhile, Dick took steps to become correspondent for _The Daily
Despatch_ of London, and _The New York Recorder_, the editors of which
papers he knew personally. He spent a great deal of money in wiring long
messages, but his reward was success, and, as he said, he was “proud of
his job,” which he intended to carry out as faithfully as if writing
impressions for newspapers were the business of his life.
Also, we got the car repainted; bought lamps of a different sort; ordered
side baskets to be attached, of a red to match the new colour; had Dick
Waring’s monogram, in execrable taste, put on the doors; while last and
most important change of all, from being number A12,901, the automobile
became, illegally but convincingly, M14,317. Cunningest device of all,
Ropes changed the wheel-caps of my Gloria for those of a Frenzel, as like
a Gloria as a Fiat is like a Mercédès; so that only an expert of much
experience would know that the car was not a Frenzel.
A quick dryer was used, and in two days we were ready for anything. I
still hoped for a letter from Monica, with some hints as to her mother’s
plans, but nothing came; and when we had had a blank day, with no news of
activity in the enemy’s camp, it was a relief to have Ropes arrive at the
hotel in the morning just as I was dressed.
I knew the moment I saw his face that something exciting had happened.
“The Duke’s gone, my lord,” he reported; “gone in a dark grey, covered
car; I couldn’t get near enough to make sure what it was, but it looks
like a Lecomte. He’s this moment got off.”
“Not alone?”
“No, my lord. I’ll tell you exactly what took place. I was at the window
in the little room I hired over a shop three days ago, in sight of the
entrance gates of the Villa Isabella. It was just seven o’clock this
morning when a smart, big grey car drove in, might be a forty horse, and
of the Lecomte type. The chauffeur wore goggles, but his figure was like
the fellow’s who came the other day to our garage. About half an hour
later, out slipped the car again, the Duke driving, a lady sitting beside
him, two other ladies in the tonneau, the chauffeur at the Duke’s feet,
and a good deal of luggage on the roof. At the gate they turned as if to
go to San Sebastian; and I came to let you know.”
“That’s right. Get ready at once for a start, and have the car here as
soon as you can.”
“Car’s ready now, my lord, and so am I.”
“Good. But don’t ‘my lord’ me. Now that I’m Mr. George Smith that’s even
more important to remember than in Trevenna days. And don’t forget that
the car’s Mr. Waring’s car.”
“I won’t forget, sir.”
He was off to the garage, and I was knocking at Dick’s door.
Dick was tying his necktie. “Ready to start in five minutes,” said he.
“How did you guess what was up?”
“Your face, d’Artagnan.”
“Why d’Artagnan? Haven’t I a large enough variety of names already?”
“I’ve selected one suitable for the situation. D’Artagnan took upon
himself a mission. So have you; and you’ll have as many difficulties to
overcome before you fulfil it, if you do, as he had.”
“Nonsense. We’re starting out to keep in touch with another party of
motorists.”
“In a country forbidden to one of us.”
“That one can look out for himself. If a lady in another motor should need
someone to stand by her, we’re to be on the spot to stand by, that’s all.”
“Yes; that’s all,” said Dick, laughing. “And all that d’Artagnan had to do
was to get hold of a few diamond studs which a lady wanted to wear at a
ball. Sounds simple, eh? But d’Artagnan had some fun on the way, and I’d
bet the last dollar in my pile we will. Hang this necktie! There; I’m
ready. Have we time for coffee and a crust?”
VII
THE IMPUDENCE OF SHOWING A HANDKERCHIEF
Fifteen minutes later we were off.
I love driving my car, as I love the breath of life, and I’m conceited
enough to fancy that no one else, not even Ropes, can get out of her what
I can. Still, this was not destined to be precisely a pleasure trip, and
prudence bade me give the helm to Dick. He is a good enough driver; and
the car was his car now; I was but an insignificant passenger, with a case
of visiting cards in his pocket, newly engraved with the name of Mr.
George Smith. I sat on the front seat beside Dick, however, silently
criticising his every move; Ropes was in the tonneau; such luggage as we
had, on top.
It was scarcely eight o’clock, and there was so little traffic in the town
that we did not need to trouble about a legal limit. We slipped swiftly
along the rough white road to the railway station, past large villas and
green lawns, and took the sharp turn to the right that leads out from the
pleasant land of France straight to romantic Spain, the country of my
dreams. We sped past houses that looked from their deep sheltering woods
upon a silver lake, and away in the distance we caught glimpses of the
sea. Before us were graceful, piled mountains, the crenelated mass of Les
Trois Couronnes glittering with wintry diamonds. Against the morning sky,
stood up, clear and cold, the cone of far La Rune.
Looking ahead, in my ears sang the song of my blood, sweet with hope, as
the name of the girl I love and the land I love, mingled together in
music.
Gaining the first outskirts of straggling St. Jean de Luz my eyes and
Dick’s fell at the same time upon something before us; a big grey
automobile, its roof piled with luggage, stationary by the roadside, a
chauffeur busy jacking up the driving wheels, a tall man standing to watch
the work, his hands in the pockets of his fur coat. Instantly Dick slowed
down our car, to lean out as we came within speaking distance, while I sat
still, secure from recognition behind elaborately hideous goggles.
“Is there anything we can do?” asked Dick with the generosity of an
automobilist in full tide of fortune to another in ill fortune. I noticed
as he spoke, that he made his American accent as marked as possible; so
marked, that it was almost like hoisting the stars and stripes over the
transformed and repainted Gloria.
“No, thank you,” said Carmona; for it was he who stood in the road looking
on while his chauffeur worked. He had glanced up with anxiety and vexation
on his ungoggled, dark face, at the first sound of an approaching car, and
I knew well what thought sprang into his head. But a red car, with an
American driving, was not what he had half expected to see. He was visibly
relieved; nevertheless, he was slow enough in answering to bring us to a
standstill, while he peered at our wheel-caps.
The deceitful name, glittering up to his eyes, so evidently reassured him
that a temptation seized me, and I yielded without a struggle.
I had come prepared for a quick signal to Monica whenever an opportunity
should arise, and, as I was anxious to let her know that she was not
unprotected, it seemed to me that the first chance of doing so was better
than the second.
In an inner breast pocket of my coat I had the lace handkerchief which I
had stolen on the night of the ball. As Dick questioned Carmona, and
Carmona answered, I flashed out the wisp of lace and passed it across my
lips, not turning to look full at the slim, grey-coated figure on the
front seat, yet conscious by a side glance that a veiled face regarded us.
What I did was done so quickly, that I think it would have passed
unnoticed by the Duke; but Monica, taken completely by surprise, bent
suddenly forward; then, remembering the need for caution, hurriedly leaned
back against the cushions.
Carmona caught her nervous movement, saw how self-consciously, almost
rigidly, she sat when she had recovered herself, and, suspicion instantly
alert, turned a searchlight gaze on us.
The lace handkerchief had vanished. I was sitting indifferently, with arms
folded, my interest concentrated upon the busy chauffeur. Still I felt
there was no detail of my figure and motoring clothes that Carmona was not
noting as he explained to Dick the nature of his mishap.
“A simple puncture,” he said. “And we have all necessary means to mend it,
thank you.”
Dick and I lifted our caps to the ladies and went our way; but it was not
until we had passed the charming Renaissance house where Louis Quatorze
was born, that Waring made any comment on the incident.
“If that Moor-faced chap isn’t on to the game, he’s getting mighty ‘warm,’
as the children say,” he remarked dryly.
“He can’t possibly be certain,” said I. “Even if he saw my face, he
couldn’t swear to identifying it, as the only sight he ever had of me was
in that asinine, yellow Romeo wig. Besides, Romeo had no moustache, and,
thanks to your advice, I have. It’s the one thing that’s conspicuous under
the goggles.”
“A sort of ‘coming event casting its shadow before.’ I didn’t say he
_knew_. I said he guessed. See here, while he’s waiting for his tyre,
could we wire from this town to the frontier in time to have you stopped?”
“We ought to get there before any telegram he could send,” said I,
hopefully. “However, there’ll be a lot of formalities at the custom-house.
They might catch us before we finished. But, uncertain as he must be, it