s."

"I should warn you it is a new road to me and I've had my car nearly a
year; it's due to go wrong somehow, and I drive rather fast."

"I expect you set sufficient value on your own life to insure mine."

"It will be cold. You can't ride in that thin coat."

"You pass the Carlton; I'm staying there. It won't delay us two
minutes. What luck."

He walked round and got into the car, oblivious of the trifling fact
its owner had neither acquiesced nor expressed an enthusiasm over the
luck.

"I hope he is nervous," thought Christopher vindictively, "though
there's not much chance of it. He hasn't much hair to stand on end,
but I'll do my best to make it."

Peter Masters rolled himself contentedly in the spare rug. "Ready," he
said cheerfully.

Christopher, however, made no attempt to start. He beckoned to the
footman.

"Fetch me the blue paper-covered book you'll find on the second
left-hand shelf of the low book-case in my room, Burton."

He waited immovable while the man went on the errand, being quite
determined to start unprompted by Mr. Masters if he started at all.
The old butler came out and acknowledged Mr. Masters's presence with a
deferential bow. He addressed himself to Christopher.

"Mr. Christopher, will you tell Mr. Aymer we've raised the Raphael in
his room, as he said, four inches, but the paper is a little faded and
it shows. What will he like us to do?"

Christopher nodded. "All right, I'll tell him. I shall probably be up
again next week."

"We shall be glad to see you again, sir."

Burton returned in indecorous hurry with the book. Christopher bade
them good-bye in a friendly way and the car glided quietly down the
drive out into the busy thoroughfare.

"You are quite at home there," remarked Mr. Masters affably.

"It happens to be my home."

It was a very busy hour and the driver of the car might reasonably be
excused if he were silent. At all events if Mr. Masters spoke,
Christopher did not hear him. They slipped in and out of the traffic,
glided round corners, slid with smooth swiftness along free stretches
of road, crept gingerly across a maze of cross-ways and drew up at the
Carlton.

Peter Masters, who appreciated the situation and found humour in it,
plunged into that Palace of Travellers and reappeared in an incredibly
short time, coated for the occasion.

"Now," he said cheerily, "we are ready for the fray--when you are
ready, Master Christopher," he added with a twin