e rallied bravely.

"I thought, from what Count Edouard said----"

"Miss Vanrenen has lost faith in me, even in my beautiful automobile,"
broke in Marigny with a quickness that spoiled a pathetic glance meant
for Cynthia.

The American girl, however, was weary of the fog of innuendo and
hidden purpose that seemed to be an appanage of the Frenchman and his
car.

"For goodness' sake," she cried, "let us regard it as a settled thing
that Fitzroy takes Simmonds's place until we reach London again.
Surely we have the best of the bargain. If the two men are satisfied
why should we have anything to say against it?"

Cynthia was her father's daughter, and the attribute of personal
dominance that in the man's case had proved so effective in dealing
with Milwaukees now made itself felt in the minor question of
"transportation" presented by Medenham and his motor. Her blue eyes
hardened, and a firm note rang in her voice. Nor did Medenham help to
smooth the path for Mrs. Devar by saying quietly:

"In the meantime, Miss Vanrenen, the information stored in those
little red books is growing rusty."

She settled the dispute at once by asking her companion which side of
the car she preferred, and the other woman was compelled to say
graciously that she really had no choice in the matter, but, to avoid
further delay, would take the left-hand seat. Cynthia followed, and
Medenham, still ready to deal harshly with Marigny if necessary,
adjusted their rugs, saw to the safe disposal of the camera, and
closed the door.

At that instant, the hall-porter hurried down the steps.

"Beg pardon, mum," he said to Mrs. Devar, thrusting an open telegram
between Medenham and Cynthia, "but there's one word here----"

She snatched the form angrily from his outstretched hand.

"Which one?" she asked.

"The word after----"

"Come round this side. You are incommoding Miss Vanrenen."

The man obeyed. With the curious fatality which attends such
incidents, even among well-bred people, not a word was spoken by any
of the others. To all seeming, Mrs. Devar's cramped handwriting might
have concealed some secret of gravest import to each person present.
It was not really so thrilling when heard.

"That is 'Raven,' plain enough I should think," she snapped.

"Thank you, mum. 'The Raven, Shrewsbury,'" read the hall-porter.

Medenham caught Marigny's eye. He was minded to laugh outright, but
forebore. Then he sprang into his seat, and the car c