Cynthia's Chauffeur Part 33

"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 fas.h.i.+on 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 rea.s.sured 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 a.s.sume 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 sn.i.g.g.e.ring 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 Sat.u.r.day 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.