d between Reigate and Crawley free of
police traps on that memorable Wednesday. The car simply leaped out
of Surrey into Sussex, the undulating parklands on both sides of the
smooth highway appearing to float past in stately procession, and
there was a fine gleam in Cynthia's blue eyes when the first check to
a splendid run came in the outskirts of Crawley.

She leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Tea here, please," she said. Then she added, as if it were an
afterthought: "If you promise to let her rip in that style after we
reach the open country again I shall sit on the front seat."

The words were almost whispered into his ear. Certainly they were not
meant to enlighten Mrs. Devar, and Medenham, turning, found his face
very near the girl's.

"I'm bribed," he answered, and not until both were settled back in
their seats did they realize that either had said anything unusual.

Medenham, however, took his cup of tea _a la chauffeur_, helping
himself to bread and butter from a plate deposited on the bonnet by a
waiting-maid.

When the ladies reappeared from the interior of a roadside restaurant
he was in his place, ready to start. He did not offer to put them in
the car, adjust their wraps, and close the door. If Miss Vanrenen
liked to keep her promise, that was her affair, but no action on his
part would hint of prior knowledge that she intended to ride in front.

Nevertheless, he could not repress a smile when he heard Mrs. Devar's
distinctly chilly, "Oh, not at all!" in response to Cynthia's polite
apology for deserting her until they neared Brighton.

Somehow, the car underwent a subtle change when the girl took her seat
by his side. From a machine quivering with life and power it became a
triumphal chariot. By sheer perfection of mechanical energy it had
bridged the gulf that lay between the millionaire's daughter and the
hired man, since there could be no question that Cynthia Vanrenen
placed Viscount Medenham in no other category. Indeed, his occasional
lapses from the demeanor of a lower social grade might well have
earned him her marked disfavor, and, as there was no shred of personal
vanity in his character, he gave all the credit to the sentient
creature of steel and iron that was so ready to respond to his touch.

Swayed by an unconscious telepathy, the girl almost interpreted his
unspoken thought. She watched his deft manipulation of levers and
brakes, and fancied that his hands dwelt