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He left wholly out of reckoning the mysterious element in human affairs that allots adventures to the adventurous, though close association with Viscount Medenham during the past nine months ought to have taught him the wisdom of caution.
In a few hours, at the least, you will be in the hands of the police, whereas, by reaching London to-night, you may be able to pacify the Earl of Fairholme. I can help, perhaps. I will say all that is possible, and my testimony ought to carry some weight." Medenham was thoroughly mystified.
"Now," said she, looking, not at Medenham, but at the Titanic cleft cut by a tiny river, "now, please, tell me all about it." "Just as at Cheddar, the rocks are limestone " he began. "Oh, bother the rocks! How did you get rid of Simmonds? And why is Count Marigny mad? And are you mixed up in Captain Devar's mighty smart change of base? Tell me everything. I hate mysteries.
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.
Marigny nodded, pulled a chair round so that he was straddled across it, facing Medenham, with his arms resting on the back. He lit a cigarette, and seemed to draw inspiration from the first dense cloud of smoke, for his eyes dwelt on it rather than sought the Englishman's frown.
He seemed to bark each staccato phrase; a vindictive fire gleamed in his black eyes, and the olive tint showed beneath the pink and white of his skin. Medenham laughed, almost good-humoredly. "The notion is worthy of you," he said. "I might have expected it, but I fancied you were more sensible. Surely you know enough of my world to realize that such a thing is impossible."
She is it a pukka Gibson girl, quite ducky, with the dearest bit of an accent, and Mamma Devar is gadding around with her in a mo-car. Do come!" Medenham was able to pick and choose where he listed in answering this hail of words. "I'm awfully sorry," he said, "but the telegram I have just received affects all my plans. I must hurry away this instant. When will you be in town?
As it was well, as it was there used to be a belief in the Middle Ages that the Evil One's favorite nook lay amid the deepest shadow of a cathedral, and modern fact is ofttimes curiously akin to medieval romance. When he came to think of it, Medenham decided to return at once to Symon's Yat.
Apparently it belonged to a man whose stature warranted his appointment as controller of monsters, but when Medenham called in person for the permit he found that the voice came from a lean and wizened scrap of humanity about five feet high.
Perhaps he had blundered on a well-founded theory, but he certainly lacked discrimination as to the cru. Medenham did some shopping, lunched at a club, surprised his tailor by a prolonged visit and close inspection of tweeds and broadcloths, and successfully repressed a strong desire to write a letter.
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