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Updated: June 4, 2025
Daughter of old Dumont, the jeweller in the Rue de la Paix. Bindo told me that much. Her father disappeared from the Charing Cross Hotel, as well as his clerk and a bagful of jewellery." "Exactly. I suspect Martin, the clerk, don't you?" He smiled, his eyes fixed upon me. "Perhaps," he remarked vaguely. "And you know more about the little affair, Blythe, than you intend to tell me?"
The two latter were dressed shabbily, while the Count himself was in dark-grey, with a soft felt hat the perfect counterfeit of the foreign courier. With enthusiasm I was welcomed into the corner. "Well?" asked Bindo, with a laugh, "and how do you like your new wife, Ewart?" and the others smiled. "Charming," I replied. "But I don't see exactly where the joke comes in."
"Perhaps you will take me for a long trip one day who knows?" she laughed. "Yesterday it was perfect." A few moments later we arrived before the Suisse, and from a seat on the Promenade Count Bindo rose to greet us. He had left his motor-coat and cap in the car, and stood before us in his grey flannels and white soft felt hat a smart, handsome figure, such as women mostly admire.
Over the dinner-table that evening, however, old Colonel Cooper, who had driven over from Polebrook, near Oundle, related to the guests a strange story that he had heard earlier in the day. "A mysterious affair has happened over at Buckworth, near the Great North Road, they say," he exclaimed, adjusting his monocle and addressing his hostess and Bindo, who sat on her right.
In the twilight of the short wintry day I at last ran into the dull little Italian town, where there is direct railway communication from Turin, and at the small, uninviting-looking Hotel Umberto I found Bindo, worn and travel-stained, impatiently awaiting me.
Of course, on the occasions I met him either at Beaulieu, on the Promenade des Anglais, or in the Rooms, I never acknowledged acquaintance with him. More than once I had met that long-nosed man, and it struck me that he was taking a very unnecessary interest in all of us. Where was Bindo?
I was surprised, and perhaps a little annoyed, at this; for, truth to tell, I admired Mademoiselle greatly, and she had on more than one occasion flirted openly with me. Bindo always declared that I was a fool where women were concerned. But I was, I know, not the perfect lover that the Count was. There were many points about the mysterious affair in progress that I could not account for.
Prior, however, to entering Marseilles, we had halted, changed our identification-plate, and made certain alterations, in order more thoroughly to disguise the car. After supper we all got in again, and Bindo directed me up and down several long streets until we were once more in the suburbs.
From the rear there was constant firing, and the streets in the vicinity were, I saw to my horror, already filled with dead and wounded. I wondered why Count Bindo should come there except, perhaps, that the Countess owned certain jewels that my master intended to handle. Women were wailing over husbands, lovers, brothers; men over their daughters and wives.
Round at the garage were a number of cars from London, Manchester, and elsewhere, and I soon grew friendly with several expert chauffeurs, two of whom were old friends. One day Bindo and I had been to Harrogate, dined at the Majestic, and returned. After taking the car to the garage, I went out for a turn along the Esplanade, in order to stretch my legs.
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