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Updated: June 20, 2025
"And a bottle of wine Moet and Chandon white seal," broke in Brockton, "frappé you understand, and make it a rush order. I have to get away in a few minutes." Laura pursed her delicately chiseled lips together in a pout. She liked to do that on every possible occasion, because, having practiced it at home before the mirror, she thought it looked cunning.
Late that night, in his smoking-room at Meriton, Sir Miles Chandon knocked out the ashes of his pipe against the bars of the grate, rose, stretched himself, and looked about him. Matters had left a bedroom candle ready to hand on a side-table, as his custom was. But Sir Miles took up the lamp instead.
"Yes quite so Chandon." He picked up a pencil and a half-sheet of paper from the desk, and wrote the name. "Born at Kingsand I think you said Kingsand? Do you happen to know where Kingsand is? In what county, for instance?" But Tilda had begun to scent danger again, she hardly knew why, and contented herself with shaking her head. "Someone wants to see him. Who?"
In proof of that startling episode in the restaurant routine, he produced the desk book for that day behold it, the entry: Number 5 1 Moet & Chandon, 12s. 6d. "It is of a rare thing our customers call for wine so expensive," said the polite manager. "Light wines, you understand, sir, we mostly sell. Champagne at twelve and six an event!"
"Yes, and there's no doubting the parentage. I never saw that cross-hatched under-lip in any but a Chandon, though you do hide it with a beard: let alone that he carries the four lozenges tattooed on his shoulder. Ned Commins did that. There was a moment, belike, when they weakened either he or the woman. But you had best hear the story, and then you can judge the evidence for yourself."
Tilda's small body stiffened with a gasp, 'Miles Chandon' the name had sounded on her hearing distinct as the note of a bell. There was no mistake: it hummed in her ears yet. Or was it the blood rushing to her ears as she sat bolt upright in the darkness, listening, breathing hard? Sir Elphinstone, for some reason, had not answered his sister.
I'm going to have the time of my life at Bursfield in Glasson's absence. You saw Glasson depart? Well, he didn't tell; but you may pack me in another portmanteau if he's not posting off to Monte Carlo." "Well?" "Well, he won't find Miles Chandon there. Because why? Because I've written out this telegram, which I'll trouble you to send as soon as the post office opens to-morrow.
That's worrying me, I confess; for although Hucks is positive the girl would not start for Holmness without provisions and on my reading of her, he's right this is Tuesday, and they have been missing ever since Saturday night, or Sunday morning at latest." "If that is worrying you," said Chandon, "it may ease your mind to know that there is food and drink on the Island.
But while Miss Sally waved and laughed, of a sudden, amid the laughter and cheers and throbbing of the motor, a small child sprang out of the darkness and clung upon the step. "Lady! Lady!" Miss Sally stared down upon the upturned face. "Miles Chandon, lady? where does 'e live? For the Lord's sake " But already Sir Elphinstone had called the order. The car shot away smoothly.
"This Bennett came from the town below, where he ran a saloon and a brace game or two; but being as he rode into our camp and out again in the night, and as I didn't drink nor listen to the music of the little rolling ball, why, we never met, even after he began coming to Chandon.
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