d if she could have
recalled that letter an hour later. But His Majesty's mails are
inexorable as fate. A twopence-ha'penny stamp had linked Symon's Yat
and Paris, and not all Mrs. Devar's world-worn ingenuity could sunder
that link.

CHAPTER IX

ON THE WYE

For this is what happened. To Mrs. Devar, gazing darkly at Cynthia's
too innocent discovery of Medenham standing on the tiny quay, came the
Welsh maid, saying:

"Beg pardon, mam, but iss your chauf-feur's name Fitz-roy?"

"Yes."

"Then he iss wan-ted on the tel-e-phone from Her-e-ford, mam."

"There he is, below there, near the river."

Mrs. Devar smiled sourly at the thought that the interruption was
well-timed, since Medenham was just raising his cap with a fine
assumption of surprise at finding Miss Vanrenen strolling by the
water's edge. The civil-spoken maid was about to trip off in pursuit
of him, when Mrs. Devar changed her mind. The notion suddenly occurred
to her that it would be well if she intervened in this telephonic
conversation, and Fitzroy could still be summoned a minute later if
desirable.

"Don't trouble," she cried, "I think that Miss Vanrenen wishes to go
boating, so I will attend to the call myself. Perhaps Fitzroy's
presence may be dispensed with."

The felt-lined telephone box was well screened off; as first
impressions might be valuable, she adjusted the receivers carefully
over both ears before she shouted "Hallo!"

"That you, my lord?" said a voice.

"Hallo!--who wants Fitzroy?" she asked in the gruffest tone she could
adopt.

"It's Dale, my---- But who is talking? Is that you, sir?"

"Go on. Can't you hear?"

"Not very well, my lord, but I'm that upset.... It wasn't my fault,
but your lordship's father dropped on to me at Bristol, an' he's here
now. What am I to do?"

"My lordship's father! What are you talking about? Who are you?"

"Isn't that Lord---- Oh, dash it, aren't you Miss Vanrenen's
chauffeur, Fitzroy?"

"No. This is the Symon's Yat Hotel. The party is out now, and Fitzroy
as well, but I can tell him anything you wish to say."

Mrs. Devar fancied that the speaker, whose words thus far had excited
her liveliest curiosity, would imagine that he was in communication
with the proprietors of the hotel. She was not mistaken. Dale fell
into the trap instantly, though, indeed, he was not to be blamed,
since he had asked most earnestly that "Mr. Fitzroy, Miss Vanrenen's
chauffeur" should be brought to