Cynthia's Chauffeur Part 9

"And you are not in the automobile business?"

"I am, for the time being."

"Well, I am glad to hear it. I was shy of telling you when we reached the hotel, but you understand, of course, that I pay your expenses during this trip. The arrangement with Simmonds was that my father ante'd for petrol and allowed twelve s.h.i.+llings a day for the chauffeur's meals and lodgings. Is that satisfactory?"

"Quite satisfactory, Miss Vanrenen," said Medenham, fully alive to the girl's effective ruse for the re-establishment of matters on a proper footing.

"So you don't need to worry about Mrs. Devar. In any event, since you refused my offer to hire you for the tour, you will not see a great deal of her," she went on, a trifle hurriedly.

"There only remains one other point," he said, trying to help her.

"Would you mind giving me Mr. Vanrenen's address in Paris?"

"He is staying at the Ritz--but why do you want to know that?" she demanded with a sudden lifting of eyebrows, for the hope was strong in her that he might be induced to change his plans so far as the next nine days were concerned.

"A man in my present position ought always to ascertain the whereabouts of millionaires interested in motoring," he answered promptly. "And now, pardon me for advising you not to walk towards the pier alone."

"Gracious me! Why not?"

"There is a certain cla.s.s of boisterous holiday-maker who might annoy you--not by downright ill-behavior, but by exercising a crude humor which is deemed peculiarly suitable to the seaside, though it would be none the less distressing to you."

"In the States that sort of man gets shot," she said, and her cheeks glowed with a rush of color.

"Here, on the contrary, he often takes the young lady's arm and walks off with her," persisted Medenham.

"I'm going to that pier," she announced. "Guess you'd better escort me, Mr. Fitzroy."

"Fate closes every door in my face," he said sadly. "I cannot go with you--in that direction."

"Well, of all the odd people!--why not that way, if any other?"

"Because Count Edouard Marigny, the gentleman whose name I could not help overhearing to-day, has just gone there--with another man."

"Have you a grudge against him, too?"

"I never set eyes on him before six o'clock this evening, but I imagine you would not care to have him see you walking with your chauffeur."

Cynthia looked up and down the broad sea front, with its thousands of lamps and droves of promenaders.

"At last I am beginning to size up this dear little island," she said.

"I may go with you to a racetrack, I may sit by your side for days in an automobile, I may even eat your luncheon and drink your aunt's St.

Galmier, but I may not ask you to accompany me a hundred yards from my hotel to a pier. Very well, I'll quit. But before I go, do tell me one thing. Did you really mean to bring your aunt to Epsom to-day?"

"Yes."

"A mother's sister sort of aunt--a nice old lady with white hair?"

"One would almost fancy you had met her, Miss Vanrenen."

"Perhaps I may, some day. Father and I are going to Scotland for a month from the twelfth of August. After that we shall be in the Savoy Hotel about six weeks. Bring her to see me."

Medenham almost jumped when he heard of the projected visit to the Highlands, but some demon of mischief urged him to say:

"Let's reckon up. July, August, September--three months----"

He stopped with a jerk. Cynthia, already aware of some vague power she possessed of stirring this man's emotions, did not fail to detect his air of restraint.

"It isn't a proposition that calls for such a lot of calculation," she said sharply. "Good-night, Mr. Fitzroy. I hope you are punctual morning-time. When there is a date to be kept, I'm a regular alarm clock, my father says."

She sped across the road, and into the hotel. Then Medenham noticed how dark it had become--reminded him of the tropics, he thought--and made for his own caravanserai, while his brain was busy with a number of disturbing but nebulous problems that seemed to be p.r.o.nounced in character yet singularly devoid of a beginning, a middle, or an end.

Indeed, so puzzling and contradictory were they that he soon fell asleep. When he rose at seven o'clock next morning the said problems had vanished. They must have been part and parcel with the glamor of a June night, and a starlit sky, and the blue depths of the sea and of a girl's eyes, for the wizard sun had dispelled them long ere he awoke.

But he did not telegraph to Simmonds.

Dale brought the car to the Grand Hotel in good time, and Medenham ran it some distance along the front before drawing up at the Metropole.

By that means he dissipated any undue curiosity that might be experienced by some lounger on the pavement who happened to notice the change of chauffeurs, while he avoided a prolonged scrutiny by the visitors already packed in chairs on both sides of the porch. He kept his face hidden during the luggage strapping process, and professed not to be aware of Cynthia's presence until she bade him a cheery "Good-morning."

Of course, Marigny was there, and Mrs. Devar gushed loudly for the benefit of the other people while settling herself comfortably in the tonneau.

"It was awfully devey of you, Count Edouard, to enliven our first evening away from town. No such good fortune awaits us in Bournemouth, I am afraid."

"If I am to accept that charming reference as applying to myself, I can only say that _my_ good fortune has exhausted itself already, madame," said the Frenchman. "When do you return to London?"

"About the end of next week," put in Cynthia.

"And your father--that delightful Monsieur Vanrenen," said the Count, breaking into French, "he will join you there?"

"Oh, yes. My father and I are seldom separated a whole fortnight."

"Then I shall have the pleasure of seeing you there. I go to-day to Salisbury--after that, to Hereford and Liverpool."

"Why, we shall be in Hereford one day soon. What fun if we met again!"

Marigny looked to heaven, or as far in the direction popularly a.s.signed to heaven as the porch of the Metropole would permit. He was framing a suitable speech, but the Mercury shot out into the open road with a noiseless celerity that disconcerted him.

Medenham at once slackened speed and leaned back.

"I'm very sorry," he said, "but I clean forgot to ask if you were quite ready to start."

Cynthia laughed.

"Go right ahead, Fitzroy," she cried. "Guess the Count is pretty mad, anyhow. He was telling us last night that his Du Vallon is the only car that can hit up twenty at the first buzz."

"Unpardonable rudeness," murmured Mrs. Devar.

"On the Count's part?" asked the girl demurely.

"No, of course not--on the part of this chauffeur person."

"Oh, I like him," was the candid answer. "He is a chauffeur of moods, but he can make this car hum. He and I had quite a long chat last night after dinner."