oo well kept. His boots were of
too good a quality. His reindeer driving gloves, discarded and lying
on the front seat, were far too costly. The disreputable linen coat
might hide many details, but not these. Every now and then Smith
wanted to say "sir," and he wondered why.

Medenham was sure that at the back of Smith's head lay some scheme,
some arranged trick, some artifice of intrigue that would find
its opportunity between Cheddar and Bristol. The distance was not
great--perhaps eighteen miles--by a fairly direct second-class road,
and on this fine June evening it was still safe to count on three long
hours of daylight. It was doubly irritating, therefore, to think
that by his own lack of diplomacy he had almost forfeited Smith's
confidence. Twice had the man been on the very brink of revelation,
for he was one of those happy-go-lucky beings not fitted for the
safeguarding of secrets, yet on each occasion his tongue faltered in
subconscious knowledge that he was about to betray his master's
affairs.

Feeling that Dale would have managed this part of the day's adventures
far better than himself, Medenham took his seat and touched the
switch.

"We have to make Bristol by seven o'clock, so I shall pull out in
front; I suppose Count Marigny will give the ladies the road?" he
remarked casually.

Smith was listening to the engine.

"Runs like a watch, don't it?" was his admiring cry.

"And almost as quietly, so you heard what I said."

"Oh, I hear lots, but I reckon it a good plan to keep my mouth shut,"
grinned the other.

"Exactly what you have failed to do," thought Medenham, though he
nodded pleasantly, and, with a "So long!" passed out of the yard.
Smith went to the exit and looked after him. The man's face wore a
good-humored sneer. It was as though he said:

"You wait a bit, my dandy shuffer--you ain't through with his
Countship yet--not by any manner o' means."

And Medenham did wait, till nearly seven o'clock. He saw Cynthia and
her companions come out of Gough's Cave and enter Cox's. These fairy
grottoes of nature's own contriving were well worthy of close
inspection, he knew. Nowhere else in the world can stalactites that
droop from the roof, stalagmites that spring from the floor, be seen
in such perfection of form and tint. But he fretted and fumed because
Cynthia was immured too long in their ice-cold recesses, and when, at
last, she reappeared from the second cavern and halted near a stall to