by Louis Tracy
CHAPTER X
THE HIDDEN FOUNTS OF EVIL
It was a flushed and somewhat breathless Cynthia who ran into thequiet country hotel at an hour when the Licensing Laws of Britain haveordained that quiet country hotels shall be closed. But even the lawsof the Medes and Persians, which altered not, must have bulged alittle at times under the pressure of circumstances. The daughter ofan American millionaire could not be reported as "missing" without abuzz of commotion being aroused in that secluded valley. As a matterof fact, no one in the house dreamed of going to bed until herdisappearance was accounted for, one way or the other.
Mrs. Devar, now really woebegone, screamed shrilly at sight of her.The lady's nerves were in a parlous condition--"on a raw edge" was herown phrase--and the relief of seeing her errant charge again was sogreat that the shriek merged into a sob.
"Oh, my dear, my dear!" she wept, "what a shock you have given me! Ithought you were gone!"
"Not so bad as that," was the contrite answer. Cynthia interpreted"gone" as meaning "dead," and naturally read into the other woman'sanxiety her own knowledge of the disaster to the boat. "We had a bitof an upset--that is all--and the bread always flops to the floorbuttered side down, doesn't it? So we had to struggle ashore on thewrong bank. It couldn't be helped--that is, the accident couldn't--butI ought not to have been on the river at such a late hour. Do forgiveme, dear Mrs. Devar!"
By this time the girl's left arm was around her friend's portly form;in her intense eagerness to assuage Mrs. Devar's agitation she beganto stroke her hair with the disengaged hand. A deeply sympatheticlandlady, a number of servants, and most of the feminine guests in thehotel--all the men were down on the quay--had gathered to murmur theircongratulations; but Mrs. Devar, dismayed by Cynthia's action, whichmight have brought about a catastrophe, revived with phenomenalsuddenness.
"My dear child," she cried, extricating herself from the encirclingarm, "_do_ let me look at you! I want to make sure that you are notinjured. The boat upset, you say. Why, your clothes must be wringingwet!"
Cynthia laughed. She had guessed why her chaperon wished to keep herliterally at arm's length. She spread her skirts with a quick gesturethat relieved an awkward situation.
"Not a drop on my clothes," she said gleefully. "The water justtouched the soles of my boots, but before you could say 'JackRobinson' Fitzroy had whisked me out of the skiff--and landed me ondry land."
"You were in shallow water, then?" put in the smiling proprietress.
"Oh no, fairly deep. Fitzroy was up to his waist in the stream."
"And the boat upset?" came the amazed chorus.
"I didn't quite mean that. What actually happened was this. Idiscovered that the hour was rather late, and Fitzroy was rowing downstream at a great pace when some sunken thing, a tree-root he thinks,caught the side of the boat and started a plank. I was so taken bysurprise that I should have sat right there and gone to the bottomwith the boat, but Fitzroy jumped overboard straight away and hiked meout."
Ready-tongued Cynthia was beginning to find detailed explanationrather difficult, and her speech reverted to the picturesque idioms ofher native land. It was the happiest ruse she could have adopted.Everyone laughed at the notion of being "hiked out." None of herhearers knew quite what it meant, yet it covered the requisite ground,which was more than might have been achieved by explicit English.
"Where did the accident take place?" asked the landlady.
Cynthia was vague on this point, but when she told how the returnjourney was made, the pretty Welsh waitress hit on a theory.
"In-deed to goot-ness, miss," she cried, "you wass be-tween theGarren River an' Huntsham Bridge. It iss a bad place, so it iss,however. Me an' my young man wass shoaled there once, we wass."
Cynthia felt that her face and neck had grown positively scarlet, andshe could have kissed the well-disposed landlady for entering on avoluble disquisition as to the tricks played by the Wye on thoseunaware of its peculiarities, especially at night. A generalconversation broke out, but Mrs. Devar, rapidly regaining her spiritsafter enduring long hours of the horrible obsession that Medenham hadrun off with her heiress, noted that telltale blush. At present herobject was to assist rather than embarrass, so with a fine air ofmotherly solicitude she asked:
"Where did you leave Fitzroy?"
"He saw preparations being made to send boats in search of us, and hewent to stop them. Oh, here he is!"
Medenham entered, and the impulsive Mrs. Devar ran to meet him. Thoughhe had been in the river again only five minutes earlier, the walk upa dust-laden path had covered his sopping boots with mud, and in thenot very powerful light of the hall, where a score or more of anxiouspeople were collected, it was difficult to notice that his clotheswere wet. But "Wiggy" Devar did not care now whether or not the storytold by Cynthia was true. With reaction from the nightmare that hadpossessed her since ten o'clock came a sharp appreciation of theextraordinarily favorable turn taken by events so far as she wasconcerned. If a French count were to be supplanted by an Englishviscount, what better opportunity of approving the change couldpresent itself?
"Mr. Fitzroy," she said in her shrill voice, "I can never thank yousufficiently for the courage and resource you displayed in rescuingMiss Vanrenen. You have acted most nobly. I am only saying now whatMr. Vanrenen will say when his daughter and I tell him of yourmagnificent behavior."
He reddened and tried to smile, though wishing most heartily thatthese heroics, if unavoidable, had been kept for some other timeand place. He could not believe that Cynthia had exalted a notvery serious incident into a "rescue," yet she might be vexed if hecheapened his own services. In any event, it was doubtful whether shewould wish her father to hear of the escapade until she told himherself at the close of the tour.
"I am sure Miss Vanrenen felt safe while in my care," was all he daredto say, but Cynthia promptly understood his perplexity and came to hisaid.
"Mrs. Devar thinks far more of our adventure than we do," she brokein. "Our chief difficulty lay in finding the road. The only time Ifelt worried was when you crossed the river to retrieve the ferryboat.But surely I have caused enough excitement for to-night. You ought totake some hot lemonade and go to bed."
A man who had walked up the hill from the boathouse with Medenhamlaughed and slapped him on the shoulder.
"Come along, old chap!" he cried. "You certainly want a hot draught ofsome sort, and you must not hang about in those wet clothes."
"Yes," purred Mrs. Devar, "don't run the risk of catching cold,Fitzroy. It would spoil everything if _you_ were laid up."
Her gracious manner almost deceived Medenham. During his years ofwandering he had come across unexpected good qualities in men fromwhom he looked for naught but evil--was it the same with women? Hehoped so. Perhaps this scheming marriage-broker had shed her worldlyscales under the stress of emotion.
"You need have no fear that the car will not be waiting for you in themorning, Mrs. Devar," he said, smiling frankly into her steel-grayeyes. "Did you say half-past nine, Miss Vanrenen?" he asked, turningto snatch one last look at Cynthia.
"Yes. Good-night--and thank you."
She offered her hand to him before them all. The touch of her coolfingers was infinitely sweet, but when he strove to surprise some hintof her thought in those twin pools of limpid light that were wont togaze at him so fearlessly he failed, for all the daring had fled fromCynthia, and he knew--how Heaven and lovers alone can tell--that herheart was beating with a fright she had not felt when he staggeredunder the relentless pressure of the river while holding her in hisarms.
To the lookers-on the girl's outstretched hand was a token ofgratitude; to Medenham it carried an acknowledgment of that equalitywhich should reign between those who love. His head swam in a suddenvertigo of delight, and he hurried away without uttering a word. Therewere some, perhaps, who wondered; others who saw in his brusquenessnothing more than the confusion of an inferior overwhelmed by thekindly condescension of a young and charming
mistress; but the onewho did fully and truly interpret the secret springs of his actionwent suddenly white to the lips, and her voice was curiously low andstrained as she turned to Mrs. Devar.
"Come, dear," she murmured, "I am tired, it would seem; and you, youmust be quite worn out with anxiety."
"My darling child," gushed Mrs. Devar, "I should have been nearly deadif I had not known that Fitzroy was with you, but he is one of thosemen who inspire confidence. I refused to admit even to myself thatanything of evil consequence could happen to you while he was present.How fortunate we were that day in town----"
The man who had suggested that the hotel pharmacist could dispense hotdrinks other than lemonade nudged an acquaintance.
"Our chauffeur friend has a rippin' nice job," he whispered."Wouldn't mind taking his billet myself--it 'ud be a change fromeverlastin' goff. Hello! Where is he? I meant to----"
Medenham had gone, striding away up the hillside in a very frenzyof happiness. Four days, and Cynthia as good as won! Was it possible,then, that the disguised prince of the fairytale could be areality--that such romances might still be found in this gray oldworld? Four days! He could not be deeper in love with Cynthia had heknown her four years, or forty, and he was certain now that he hadreally loved her before he had been in her company four minutes.
But these rhapsodies were cut short by his arrival at the hotelgarage, with the displeasing discovery that no one named Dale hadreached Symon's Yat that evening, while the stolid fact stared himin the face that his cherished Mercury demanded several hours ofhard-working attentions if it were to glisten and hum in its usualperfection next morning.
"Queer thing," he said, thinking aloud rather than addressing thestableman who had given this disconcerting news. "I have never beforeknown him fail; and I wired to Hereford early enough."
"Oh, he's in Hereford, is he?" inquired the man.
"He ought not to be, but he is, I fear."
"Then it'll be him who axed for ye on the telephone?"
"When?"
"It 'ud be somewheres about a quarter or half past eight. Lizzie toleme after the old leddy kem up to see if you'd taken the car out."
Medenham's wits were alert enough now.
"I don't fully understand," he said. "What old lady, and why did shecome?"
"That's wot bothered me," was the reply. "Everybody knew that theyoung leddy an' you were on the Wye: 'deed to goodness, some of usthought you were in it. Anyways, it was long after ten when she----"
"You mean Mrs. Devar, I suppose--the older lady of the two who arrivedin my car?"
"Yes, that's her. She wanted to be sure the car wasn't gone, andnothing would suit her but the key must be brought from the orfis an'the coach-house door unlocked so's she could see it with her own eyes.Well, Lizzie sez to me, 'That's funny, it is, because she watched theytwo goin' on the river, and was in the box a long time telephonin' toa shuffer called Dale, at Hereford.' Thinks I, 'It's funnier that theshuffer who's here should be expectin' a chap named Dale,' but I saidnothink. I never does to wimmen. Lord luv yer, they'll twist a taletwenty ways for Sundays to suit their own pupposes afterwards."
Lightning struck from a cloudless sky a second time that night atSymon's Yat, and in its gleam was revealed the duplicity of Mrs.Devar. Medenham could not guess the double significance of Dale'smessage and failure to appear, but he was under no delusion now asto the cause of those honeyed words. Dale had been indiscreet, hadprobably blurted out his employer's title, and Mrs. Devar knew atlast who the chauffeur was whose interference had baffled her plans.
He laughed bitterly, but did not pursue the inquiry any further.
"Can you clean coachwork and brass?" he asked, stooping to unlock thetoolbox.
The stableman shuffled uneasily from one foot to the other. The hourwas past midnight, and the alarm raised at the hotel had alreadyrobbed him of two hours' sleep.
"Hosses is more in my line," he answered gruffly.
"But if I give you half a sovereign perhaps you will not mind helpingme. I shall attend to the engine myself."
"'Arf a suv-rin did you say, mister?" came the panting question.
"Yes. Be quick! Off with your coat, and get busy. A man who can grooma horse properly ought to be able to use a rubber and hose."
By two o'clock the Mercury was shining above and below. Thoroughlyweary, yet well satisfied with the day's record, Medenham went tobed. He was up at seven, and meant to talk severely to Dale afterbreakfast; then he found, by consulting a directory, that the smallhotel where his man had arranged to stay did not possess a telephone.It was annoying, but he had the consolation of knowing that anhour's slow run would bring him to Hereford and reunite him with hissorely-needed baggage. He was giving a few finishing touches to thecar's toilette, when the Welsh waiting-maid hurried to the garage;Miss Vanrenen wanted him at once.
She awaited him in the veranda of the hotel, which fronted thesoutheast. A shower of June roses, pink and crimson and white,bespangled the sloping roof and hid the square posts that supportedit, and a flood of vivid sunshine irradiated Cynthia as she leanedover the low rail of the balcony and smiled a greeting. She presenteda picture that was a triumph of unconscious art, and her beautyaffected Medenham more than a deep draught of the strongest wineever vinted by man. Yesterday she was a charming girl, radiantlygood-looking, and likely to attract attention even in circles wherepretty women were plentiful as blackberries in a September thicket,but to-day, in Medenham's eyes, she was a woodland sprite, an etherealcreature cast in no mortal mold. So enthralled was he by the visionthat he failed to note her attire. She wore the muslin dress of theprevious night, and this, in itself, might have prepared him for whatwas to come.
"Good-morning, Mr. Fitzroy," she said, with a fine attempt atre-establishing those friendly relations which might reasonably existbetween the owner of a motor-car and its hirer, "how are you afteryour strenuous labors of yesterday? I have heard all about you. Fancyremaining out of bed till two o'clock! Couldn't that precious car ofyours be cleaned this morning, and by someone else?"
He found his tongue at that.
"Mercury obeys none but Jupiter," he said.
Her eyes met his fairly, and she laughed.
"That is the first conceited thing I have heard you say," she cried,"and, by Jove, aren't you flying high?"
"Jupiter assumed disguises," he reminded her. "Once, when he peeredinto an Olympian grove, he saw Io, and took the form of a youth sothat he might talk with her. He found her so lovable that he passedmany a pleasant hour in her company wandering on the banks of theclassic stream that flowed through the wood, and in those hours he wasnot Jupiter but a boy, a boy very much in love. Every man has, orought to have, something of Jupiter, a good deal of the boy, in hismake-up."
He turned and looked at the Wye and its tree-shaded banks. Then hefaced Cynthia again, and his hands rested on the barrier that dividedthem. For one mad instant he thought of vaulting it, and Cynthia readhis thought; she drew back in a panic. A less infatuated wooer thanMedenham might have noted that she seemed to fear interruption morethan any too impulsive action on his part.
"I sent for you to tell you that Mrs. Devar is ill," she said in aflurry of words. "I am afraid she suffered more from the fright than Iimagined last night. Anyhow, she has asked me to let her remain hereto-day. You won't mind, I am sure, though it must be a bother not tohave your luggage. Can't you run in to Hereford and get it? I am quitecontent to rest in this pretty place and write letters."
"I do honestly believe that Mrs. Devar is more frightened than ill,"he said.
"Oh, she isn't making a fuss about it. Indeed, she was willing to goto Hereford this afternoon if I particularly wanted to attend serviceat the cathedral. I did, as a matter of fact, but it would be realmean to insist on it after scaring the poor thing into a nervousheadache."
"The affair arranges itself admirably," he said. "At most cathedralsthere is an anthem, followed by a sermon by some eminent preacher,about three o'clock. Write yo
ur letters this morning, or, betterstill, climb to the top of the Yat and see the glorious view from thetop. Come back for lunch at one, and----"
"I'll see what Mrs. Devar thinks of it," broke in Cynthia, whosecheeks were borrowing tints from the red roses and the white withastonishing fluctuations of color. She ran off, more like Io, thesylph, than ever, and Medenham stood there in a brown study.
"This sort of thing can't go on," he argued with himself. "At anyminute now I shall be taking her in my arms and kissing her, and thatwill not be fair to Cynthia, who is proud and queenly, and who willstrive against the dictates of her own heart because it is not seemlythat she should wed her father's paid servant. So I must tell her,to-day--perhaps during the run home from Hereford, perhaps to-night.But, dash it all! that will break up our tour. One ought to considerthe world we live in; Cynthia will be one of its leaders, and it willnever do to have people saying that Viscount Medenham became engagedto Cynthia Vanrenen while acting as the lady's chauffeur during athousand-mile run through the West of England and Wales. Now, what_am_ I to do?"
The answer came from a bedroom window that overlooked the veranda.
"Mr. Fitzroy!"
He knew as he looked up that Cynthia dared not face him again, for hervoice was too exquisitely subtle in its modulations not to betray itsowner's disappointment before she uttered another word.
"I am very sorry," she said rapidly, "but I feel I ought not to leaveMrs. Devar until she is better, so I mean to remain indoors all day. Ishall not require the car before nine o'clock to-morrow. If _you_ liketo visit Hereford, go at any time that suits your convenience."
She seemed to regret the curtness of her speech, though indeed she wasraging inwardly because of certain barbed shafts planted in her breastby Mrs. Devar's faint protests, and tried to mitigate the blow she hadinflicted by adding, with a valiant smile:
"For this occasion only, Jupiter must content himself with Mercury asa companion."
"If I had Jove's power----" he began wrathfully.
"If you were Cynthia Vanrenen, you would do exactly what she isdoing," she cried, and fled from the window.
It is not to be denied that he extracted some cold comfort from thatlast cryptic remark. Cynthia wanted to come, but Mrs. Devar hadevidently burked the excursion. Why? Because Cynthia's escort wouldbe Viscount Medenham and not Arthur Simmonds, orthodox and highlyrespectable chauffeur. But Mrs. Devar plainly declared herself on theside of Viscount Medenham last night. Why, then, did she stop a shortjourney by motor, with the laudable objective of hearing an anthem anda sermon in a cathedral, when overnight she permitted the far lessdefensible trip on the river with the hated Fitzroy? It needed nogreat penetration to solve this puzzle. Mrs. Devar was afraid of somedevelopment that might happen if the girl visited Hereford that day.She counted on Medenham being chained to Symon's Yat while Cynthia wasthere--consequently she had heard something from Dale that rendered iteminently necessary that neither he nor Cynthia should be seen inHereford on the Sunday. Probably, too, she did not anticipate thatCynthia would don the haircloth of self-discipline and avoid himduring the whole of the day, since that was what the girl meant by herallusion to Monday's starting-time.
Perhaps, using a woman's privilege, she might change her mind towardssunset; meanwhile, it behooved him to visit Hereford and pry intothings there.
Nevertheless, he was a wise lover. Cynthia might dismiss himgraciously to follow his own behests, but it might not please her ifshe discovered that he had taken her permission too literally. Heentered the hotel and wrote a letter:
"My dear Miss Vanrenen----" no pretense of "Madam" or other socialformula, but a plain and large "My dear," with the name appended as aconcession to the humbug of life, even in regard to the woman heloved--"I am going to Hereford, but shall return here for luncheon.Mrs. Devar's illness is not likely to be lasting, and the view fromthe Yat is, if possible, better in the afternoon than in the morning.In addition to my obvious need of a clean collar, I believe that ourpresence in Hereford to-day is not desired. Why? I shall make it mybusiness to find out. Yours ever sincerely----"
Then he reached a high and stout stone wall of difficulty. Was he tofall back on the subterfuge of "George Augustus Fitzroy," which, ofcourse, was his proper signature in law? He disliked this veil ofconcealment more and more each instant, but it was manifestly out ofthe question that he should sign himself "Medenham," or "George,"while he had fought several pitched battles at Harrow with classmateswho pined to label him "Augustus," abbreviated. So, greatly daring,he wrote: "Mercury's Guv'nor," trusting to luck whether or notCynthia's classical lore would remind her that Mercury was the son ofJupiter.
He reread this effusion twice, and was satisfied with it as the heraldof others. "My dear" sounded well; the intimacy of "our presence" wasnot overdone; while "yours ever sincerely" was excellent. He wonderedif Cynthia would analyze it word for word in that fashion. Well, someday he might ask her. For the present he sealed the letter with a sighand gave it to a waiter for safe delivery; he fancied, but could notbe quite sure, that a good deal of unnecessary play with the motor'sGabriel horn five minutes later brought a slender muslined figure to awindow of the then distant hotel.
From Symon's Yat to Hereford is about fifteen miles, and Medenham drewout of the narrow lane leading from the river to Whitchurch about aquarter-past nine. Thenceforth a straight and good road lay clearbefore him, and he meant to break the law as to speed limit bytraveling at the fastest rate compatible with his own safety and thatof other road-users. It was no disgrace to the Mercury car, therefore,when a dull report and a sudden effort of the steering-wheel to swerveto the right betokened the collapse of an inner tube on the off side.From the motorist's point of view it was difficult to understand thecause of the mishap. The whole four tires were new so recently as theprevious Monday, and Medenham was far too deeply absorbed in his ownaffairs to grasp the essential fact that Fate was still taking anintelligent interest in him.
Of course, he did not hurry over the work as though his life dependedon it. Even when the cover was replaced and the tire pumped to theproper degree of air-pressure he lit a cigarette and had a look at themagneto before restarting the engine. Two small boys had appeared fromspace, and he amused himself by asking them to reckon how long itwould take two men to mow a field of grass which one of the men couldmow in three days and the other in four. He promised a reward ofsixpence if the correct answer were forthcoming in a minute, andraised it to a shilling during the next minute. This stimulated theirwits to suggest "a day and three-quarters" instead of the firstfrantic effort of "three days and a half."
"No," said he. "Think it over, ponder it with ardor, and if you havethe right answer ready when I pass this way again about midday I'llgive you a shilling each."
There is no saying what sum he would have given those urchins if somemagician had spoken by their mouths and bade him hasten to Herefordwith all the zest of all the horses pent beneath the Mercury's bonnet.But he left the boys ciphering on a gate with a bit of lead pencilwhich he lent them, and pulled up at the door of the Green DragonHotel in Hereford just five minutes after the Sunday morning expressto London had snatched a fuming and indignant Earl of Fairholme fromoff the platform of the Great Western railway station.
"Whose car?" inquired a hall-porter.
"Mine," said Medenham, rather surprised by the question.
"Sorry, sir. I thought you might be the party Lord Fairholme wasexpecting."
"Did you say 'Lord Fairholme'?"
Medenham spoke with the slow accents of sheer astonishment, and theman hastened to explain.
"Yes, sir. His lordship has been a-damnin' everybody since two o'clockyesterday afternoon because a Miss Vanrenen, who had ordered roomshere, didn't turn up. She's on a motor tour through England, so Ithought----"
"You have made no mistake. But are you quite sure that the Earl ofFairholme asked for Miss Vanrenen?"
"Not exactly that, sir, but he seemed to be uncommon vexed when wecould give
him no news of her."
"Where is his lordship now?"
"Gone to London, sir, by the 10.5. He damned me for the last time halfan hour ago."
"Oh, did he?"
Medenham glanced at his watch, twisted himself free of the wheel,leaped to the pavement, and tapped one of the hall-porter's goldepaulettes impressively.
"I am forced to believe that you are speaking the truth," he said."Now, tell me all about it, there's a good fellow. I am a bit rattled,because, don't you see, Lord Fairholme is my father, and he is thelast man on earth whom I would have expected to meet in Herefordto-day. During the less exciting intervals in his speech did you findout why he came here?"
"Perhaps the manageress may be able to tell you something, sir. Begpardon, but may I ask your name?"
"Medenham."
The man tickled the back of his ear in doubt, since he was aware thatan Earl's son usually has a courtesy title.
"Lord Medenham?" he hazarded.
"Viscount."
"I thought, perhaps, you might have been a gentleman named Fitzroy, mylord," he said.
"Well, I am that, too. If you feel that I ought to be presented to themanageress in state, kindly announce me as George Augustus Fitzroy,Viscount Medenham, of Medenham Hall, Downshire, and 91 CavendishSquare, London."
The hall-porter's eyes twinkled.
"I didn't mean that, my lord, but there's a chauffeur, name ofDale----"
"Ah, what of him?"
"_He_ knows _all_ about it, my lord, and he's hiding in a hayloft downthe stable yard at this minnit, because your lordship's fatherthreatened to give him in charge for stealing a couple of yourportmanteaux."
"Tell me he thieved successfully and I shall fork out handsomely."
The man grinned. He was shrewd enough to realize that, no matter whatmystery lay behind all this, the aid of the police would not berequisitioned.
"I believe----" he began. Then he made off, with a cry of "Wait just afew seconds, my lord. I'll bring Dale."
And Dale appeared, picking bits of hay off his uniform, and strivingvainly to compose his features into their customary expression of astolid alertness that hears nothing but his master's orders, seesnothing that does not concern his duties. He gave one sharp glance atthe car, and his face grew chauffeurish, but the look of hang-dogdespair returned when he met Medenham's eyes.
"I couldn't get away to save me life, my lord," he grumbled. "It was afair cop at Bristol, an' no mistake. His lordship swooped down on mean' Simmonds at the station, so wot could I do?"
Medenham laughed.
"I don't blame you, Dale. You could not have been more nonplussed thanI at this moment. Will you kindly remember that I know nothingwhatever of the Earl's appearance either at Bristol or Hereford----"
"Gord's trewth! Didn't they tell you I telephoned, my lord?"
Dale would not have spoken in that fashion were he not quite woebegoneand down-hearted; and not without reason, for the Earl had dismissedhim with contumely not once but a dozen times. Medenham saw that hisretainer would be more muddled than ever if he realized that Mrs.Devar had intercepted the telephone message, so he slurred over thatelement of the affair, and Dale quickly enlightened him as to thecourse taken by events after the departure of the Mercury's touristsfrom Bristol.
The Earl, too, had referred to Lady St. Maur's correspondent atBournemouth, and Medenham could fill in blanks in the story quiteeasily, but the allusions to Marigny were less comprehensible.
Dale's distress arose chiefly from the Earl's vows of vengeance whenhe discovered that his son's baggage had been spirited away during thebreakfast hour that morning, but Medenham reassured him.
"Don't bother your head about that," he said. "I'll telegraph andwrite to my father a full explanation to-day. You have obeyed myorders, and he must blame me, not you, if they ran counter to his.Take charge of the car while I change my clothes and make a fewinquiries. To save any further mix-up, you had better come with me toSymon's Yat."
Within five minutes he ascertained that Count Edouard Marigny hadoccupied a room in the Mitre Hotel, just across the street, since theprevious afternoon. More than that, the Frenchman was traveling toLondon by the same train as the Earl. Then Medenham felt really angry.It was inconceivable that his father should have allowed himself to bedrawn into a pitiful intrigue by such doubtful agents as Marigny andthe Countess of Porthcawl.
"I'll write," he vowed, "and in pretty stiff terms, too, but I'mjiggered if I'll wire. The old chap should have shown more confidencein me. Why on earth didn't he announce his visit to Bristol? Jollygood job he left Hereford to-day before I arrived--there might havebeen ructions. Good Lord! He evidently takes Cynthia for anadventuress!"
Yet, in spite of the chance of ructions, it would have been far betterhad Medenham not missed his father that morning. He was too dutiful ason, the Earl was too fair-minded a parent, that they should not beable to meet and discuss matters without heat. By noon they would havereached Symon's Yat; before lunch was ended the older man would havebeen Cynthia's most outspoken admirer. As it was--well, as itwas--there used to be a belief in the Middle Ages that the Evil One'sfavorite nook lay amid the deepest shadow of a cathedral, and modernfact is ofttimes curiously akin to medieval romance.