efer to matters which may
seem of a purely personal nature. I will make these as brief as
possible, but it was entirely through such that I was brought into
closer touch with the Motor Pirate than, perhaps with one exception, any
other person in the world. If therefore I seem to be devoting too much
attention to what appears to be merely personal interest, I trust I may
be excused. To begin, then, at the beginning.

* * * * *

On the evening of March 31, 19--, I had arranged to dine in town with a
couple of friends, both of them neighbours of mine. I am not going to
mention the name of the restaurant. It was not one of the fashionable
ones, or probably neither the cuisine nor the wines would have been so
good as they were, though both would unquestionably have been more
expensive. I prefer, therefore, to keep the name to myself. It was in
the neighbourhood of Soho, however, and the reason I had invited my
friends was in order to disabuse their minds of the idea that everything
in that neighbourhood was of necessity cheap and nasty. I had
determined that their palates should be charmed by the dinner they were
to eat, so, in addition to sending a note to the proprietor, I thought
it as well to arrive at the restaurant a quarter of an hour before the
appointed time, in order to make assurance doubly sure that everything
was as I desired it. Had my guests been casual acquaintances, I must
confess that I should never have taken this trouble. But they were not.
One of them was the renowned Colonel Maitland. I never heard anything
about his war service, but I do know that as a gastronomist his
reputation is European. The cool way he will condemn an _entree_,
presented to him by an obsequious waiter, merely after casting a single
glance upon it, speaks volumes for his critical insight; and as for
wines--well, he can tell the vineyard and the vintage of a claret by the
scent alone. I verily believe that were he to be served with a corked
wine, the result would be instant dissolution between his gastronomic
soul and body. Naturally I had to make some preparations, in order that
such delicate susceptibilities should not be offended. In addition, I
had a special reason for seeking to please him. Colonel Maitland had a
daughter.

I have only to mention the name of my other guest to reveal his identity
to every one with any knowledge of the motoring world. It was Fred
Winter, _the_ Fred Winter, leadi