r there are so many corners, it is mostly narrow, and it abounds
in police-traps. That twenty miles of flat, straight road, with perfect
surface, from Lincoln to New Holland, opposite Hull, is one of the best
places in England to see what a car is worth.

Nevertheless, the run to Hitchin satisfied me perfectly that the car was
not a "roundabout," as so many are, but a car well "within the meaning
of the Act."

"And what is your opinion of her, Ewart?" asked the Count, as we sat
down to cold beef and pickles in the long, old-fashioned upstairs room
of the Sun Inn at Hitchin.

"Couldn't be better," I declared. "The brakes would do with re-lining,
but that's about all. When do we start for the Continent?"

"The day after to-morrow. I'm staying just now at the Cecil. We'll run
the car down to Folkestone, ship her across, and then go by Paris and
Aix to Monte Carlo first; afterwards we'll decide upon our itinerary.
Ever been to Monty?"

I replied in the negative. The prospect of going on the Riviera sounded
delightful.

After our late luncheon we ran back from Hitchin to London, but, not
arriving before lighting-up time, we had to turn on the head-lights
beyond Barnet. We drove straight to the fine garage on the Embankment
beneath the Cecil, and after I had put things square and received
orders for ten o'clock next day, I was preparing to go to my lodgings in
Bloomsbury to look through my kit in preparation for the journey when my
employer suddenly exclaimed--

"Come up to the smoking-room a moment. I want to write a letter for you
to take to Boodle's in St. James's Street, for me, if you will."

I followed him upstairs to the great blue-tiled smoking-room overlooking
the Embankment, and as we entered, two well-dressed men--Englishmen, of
aristocratic bearing--rose from a table and shook him warmly by the
hand.

I noticed their quick, apprehensive look as they glanced at me as though
in inquiry, but my employer exclaimed--

"This is my new chauffeur, Ewart, an expert. Ewart, these are my
friends--Sir Charles Blythe," indicating the elder man, "and Mr.
Henderson. These gentlemen will perhaps be with us sometimes, so you had
better know them."

The pair looked me up and down and smiled pleasantly. Sir Charles was
narrow-faced, about fifty, with a dark beard turning grey; his companion
was under thirty, a fair-haired, rather foppishly dressed young fellow,
in a fashionable suit and a light fancy vest.

Then, as