mbled for coffee. It was a
fine, lofty, oak-panelled old place, once the refectory of the monks,
with great Gothic windows of stained glass, antique cabinets, and stands
of armour. Against the dark oak, from floor to ceiling, the dresses of
the women showed well, and, amid the laughter and chatter, I saw the
gay, careless Bindo--a well-set-up, manly figure in his evening
clothes--standing beside his hostess, chatting and laughing with her,
while Sir Charles was bending over the chair of a pretty, fair-haired
girl in turquoise, whom I recognised as the same girl I had seen with
Paul at Scarborough. Her name was Ethel Gilling, Saunders said, and told
me that young Clayton was, in secret, deeply in love with her. Would
her father arrive and put a premature end to our conspiracy? I feared
that he might.

Saunders asked me a good deal about my berth and position, and I fancy
he envied me. He did not know that I had become a "crook" like my
master, but believed me to be a mere chauffeur whose duties took him
hither and thither across Europe. No chauffeur can bear private service
with a cheap car in a circumscribed area. Every man who drives a
motor-car--whether master or servant--longs for wide touring and a
high-power car.

Contrary to Bindo's declaration, he proved to be a very good shot, while
Sir Charles provoked the admiration of all the men when, next morning,
they went forth in search of birds. That same afternoon Bindo drove the
Mercedes containing Mrs. Clayton and three ladies of the party, while I
drove one of the men--a Captain Halliday--in our own car, and we all
went over to the ruins of Crowland Abbey. Saunders had told me that he
had never driven the Mercedes to her full power, as his mistress was so
nervous. But, with Bindo driving, the old lady now seemed to want to go
faster and faster. Our car was, of course, the more powerful, and ere we
had gone ten miles I put on a move, and passed my master with ease,
arriving at Crowland fully twenty minutes before him.

It was, however, very apparent that Bindo, the good-looking adventurer,
had wormed himself entirely into the Chameleon's good graces. Both he
and Halliday escorted the ladies over the ruins, and after tea at the
old-fashioned "George," we made a quick and enjoyable run home in the
sunset by way of Eye, Peterborough, Castor, and Wansford.

The autumn days went by, and, amid such pleasant surroundings, our visit
was proving a most merry one. Yet, try