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We left just as the premonitory signs of the rainy season were making themselves apparent. St. Nivel's friends, the American attachés, told him that we were well out of it, as the rains were torrential.
Anstruther," he added, "we have very little time to lose; give me that packet." "I haven't got it," I answered truthfully, for it was in St. Nivel's cigar-box. The big man turned to his lieutenant. "Send in a couple of the others; strip and search him," he said sharply.
I felt now thoroughly justified in providing myself with a first-rate man, and for that purpose I took my cousin's advice and put an advertisement in the Morning Post. "A gentleman requires a good valet, used to travelling. Excellent reference required." I gave my name and St. Nivel's address to ensure getting a good one.
Nivel's inclinations were apparently fixed in the direction of bachelorhood, I should have thought he had fallen in love; but I discovered later that he had, to use an expression of his own, "simply taken on another pal." He found her a congenial person in whose society to smoke cigars. But if he had fallen in love, certainly he would have had a most excellent excuse for doing so.
We motored over the next morning; Ethel with us. It was always understood that St. Nivel's invitations included her, in fact, she was a decided favourite in the royal circle, and being an expert photographer, handy with her snapshotter, always had something interesting to talk about when she came across the Greatest Lady.
"We're being 'held up' then?" I queried. "Yes; that's it," he answered shortly. At once all thought of my packet went out of my mind; I thought only of Dolores. I rose from my seat and, despite St. Nivel's remonstrance, passed rapidly to the rear of the brilliantly lighted train.
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