p.

"The car will be ready, Miss Vanrenen," said he.

He got down, and scowled, yes, actually scowled, at a porter who was
hauling too strongly at the straps and buckles of the dust-covered
trunks.

"Damage the car's paint and I'll raise bigger blisters on yours," was
what he said to the man. But his thoughts were of Count Edouard
Marigny, and, like the people's discussion of the Derby, they took the
form of question and answer.

"When is a coincidence not a coincidence?" he asked himself.

"When it is prearranged," was the answer.

Then he drove round to the yard at the rear of the hotel, where Dale
awaited him, for Medenham would intrust the cleaning of the car to no
other hands.

"You've booked my room at the Grand Hotel and taken my bag there?" he
inquired.

"Yes, my lord."

"Make these people give you the key when the door is locked for the
night, and bring the car to my hotel at nine o'clock."

He hurried away, and Dale looked after him.

"Something must ha' worried his lordship," said the man. "First time
I've ever seen him in a bad temper. An' what about Eyot? Three to one
the paper says. P'raps he'll think of it in the morning."

CHAPTER III

SOME EMOTIONS--WITHOUT A MORAL

Not until he was dressing, and the contents of his pockets were spread
on a table, did Medenham remember Dale's commission. It was quite
true, as he told Mrs. Devar, that he had backed Vendetta for a small
stake on his own account. But that was an afterthought, and the bet
was made with another bookmaker at reduced odds. Altogether, including
the few sovereigns in his possession at the beginning of the day, he
counted nearly fifty pounds in gold, an exceptionally large amount to
be carried in England, where considerations of weight alone render
banknotes preferable.

He slipped Dale's money into an envelope, and took thirty pounds to be
exchanged for notes by the hotel's cashier. At the same time he wrote
a telegram to his father, destroying two drafts before he evolved
something that left his story untold while quieting any scruples as to
lack of candor. It was not that the Earl would resent his unexpected
disappearance after nearly four years' absence from home, because
father and son had met in South Africa during the war, and were
together in Cannes and Paris subsequently. His difficulty was to
explain this freak journey satisfactorily. The Earl of Fairholme held
feudal views anent the place occupied in the w