Cynthia's Chauffeur Part 19

"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 blus.h.i.+ng 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 antic.i.p.ated 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 subst.i.tuted 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 eyegla.s.s 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 cas.h.i.+ered 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 t.i.tle 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 impa.s.sive as that of a graven image.

"Of course I'll oblige you in that way, my lord. Who wouldn't?" came the slow reply.