ific, Dale? You are hard to follow."

"Well, my lord, I _could_ do with a drink. It's a long road that
stretches between here an' Chester, an' I left there at ten o'clock
this morning, runnin' through any Gord's quantity of traps, an' all."

Medenham did not smile. He touched a bell, and found that Dale's
specific was a bottle of beer.

"I never set eyes on Miss Cynthia," continued the chauffeur, his wits
quickening under the soothing draught. "Another lady kem out an'
looked me up an' down. 'Yes, that is the car,' she said, an' with that
I remembered seein' her at San Remo. Mrs. Devar seemed as if she
wanted to say somethink, but she daren't, because Mr. Vanrenen's eye
was on her. He made no bones about it, but told me to hike back to
London the minnit Simmonds got the carrier off."

"I am quite clear on that point. What I really want to know is the
reason behind Simmonds's statement about Count Marigny's
tale-pitching, as you term it."

"Oh, of course Mr. Vanrenen didn't _say_ anythink. Simmonds was what
you call puttin' two an' two together. From what Mr. Vanrenen arsked
him it was easy enough to get at the Frenchman's dirty tricks."

"Tell me how Simmonds put it?" said Medenham, with the patience of a
great anger. Dale scratched the back of his ear.

"For one thing, my lord, Mr. Vanrenen wanted to know if you was reelly
a viscount. It was a long time before Simmonds could get him to
believe that the accident in Down Street wasn't a put up job. Then, he
was sure you stopped in Symon's Yat just in order to throw Mr. Marinny
off your track. Simmonds is no fool, my lord, an' he guesses that the
Frenchman brought Mr. Vanrenen hot-foot from Paris so as to--to----"

Dale grinned, and sought inspiration in the bottom of an empty glass.

"Well, my lord, excuse _me_," he said, "but you know what I mean."

Medenham completed the sentence.

"So as to prevent me from marrying Miss Cynthia."

"Exactly what Simmonds an' me said, my lord."

"He will not succeed, Dale."

"I never thought he would. Once your lordship is set on a thing, well,
that thing occurs."

"Thank you. Good-night!"

Medenham did not feel equal to facing the men in the smoking-room
again. He went out, walked up Oxford Street and across the park, and
reached his room about midnight. Next day he devoted himself to work.
In view of the new and strange circumstances that had arisen he
believed confidently that Cynthia would reply to his letter by r