THE WHODUNIT COLLECTION: British Murder Mysteries (15 Novels in One Volume). Charles Norris Williamson

is to become of me?"

      "Why, you're to have your lunch, of course," he replied. "I thought you said you were hungry."

      "So I am, starving. But—"

      "Well?"

      "Aren't you going to have a proper lunch?"

      "A sandwich and a piece of cheese will do for me, because there are one or two little things to tinker up on the car, and an hour and a quarter isn't long. I think I shall bring my grub out of doors, and—But is anything the matter?"

      "I can't go in and have lunch alone. I simply can't," I confessed to the young man whose society I had intended to avoid like a pestilence. "You see, I—I never—this is the first time."

      A look of comprehension flashed over his face.

      "Yes, I see," he said. "Of course, the moment I heard your voice I realized that this wasn't your sort of work, but I didn't know you were quite so new to it as all that. You've never taken a meal in the couriers' room of an hotel?"

      "No," I confessed. "At the Majestic Palace Lady Kil—that is, I decided to have everything brought up to my room, there."

      "By Jove, we are a strange pair! This is my first job, too, and so far I've been able to feed where I chose; but that's too good to last on tour. One must accommodate oneself to circumstances, and a man easily can. But you—I know how you feel. However, it's the first step that costs. Do you mind much?"

      "It's the stepping in alone that costs the most," I said.

      "Well, I'm only too delighted if I can be of the least use. Let the car rip! I'll see to her afterward. Now I'm going to take care of you. You need it more than she does."

      What would Lady Kilmarny have said if she had heard my deliberate encouragement of the chauffeur, and his reckless response? What would she have thought if she could have seen us walking into the couriers' dining-room, side by side, as if we had been friends for as many years as we'd really been acquaintances for minutes, leaving the car he was paid to cherish in his bosom sulking alone!

      That sweet lady's face, surprised and reproachful, rose before my eyes, but I had no regrets. And instead of trembling with apprehension when I saw that the couriers' room was empty, I rejoiced in the prospect of lunching alone with the redoubtable chauffeur.

      It was too early for the regular feeding hour of the pensionnaires, maids, and valets, and we sat down opposite each other at the end of a long table. A bored young waiter, with little to hope for in the way of pourboires, ambled off in quest of our food. I began to unfasten my head covering, and after a search for various fugitive pins I emerged from obscurity, like the moon from behind a cloud.

      With a sigh of relief, I smiled at my companion; and it was only his expression of surprise which reminded me that he had been seeing me "as through a glass darkly."

      I suppose, unless you are a sort of Sherlock Holmes of physiognomy, you can't map out a woman's face by a mere glimpse of eyes through a triangular bit of talc, already somewhat damaged by exposure to sun and wind.

      It mayn't be good manners to look a gift motor-veil in the talc, but I must admit that, glad as I was of its protection, mine was somewhat the worse for certain bubbles, cracks, and speckles; so whether or no Mr. Bane or Dane may combine the science of chauffeuring with that of physiognomy, it's certain that he had the air of being taken aback.

      Of course, I know that I'm not exactly plain, and that the contrast between my eyes and hair is a little out of the common; so, as soon as I remembered that he hadn't seen me before, I guessed more or less what his almost startled look meant. Still, I suppose most girls—anyway, half-French, half-American girls—would have done exactly what I proceeded to do.

      I looked as innocent as a fluffy chicken when it first sidles out of its eggshell into the wide, wide world; and said: "Oh, I do hope I haven't a smudge on the end of my nose?"

      "No," replied the chauffeur, instantly becoming expressionless. "Why do you ask?"

      "Only I was afraid, from your face, that there was something wrong."

      "So far as I can see, there's nothing wrong," said he, calmly, and broke a piece of bread. "Very good butter, this, that they give to nous autres," he went on, in the same tone of voice, and my respect for him increased.

      (Men are really rather nice creatures, take them all in all!)

      As he had sacrificed his duty to the car for me, I sacrificed my duty to my digestion for him, and bolted my luncheon. Then, when released from guard duty, he returned to his true allegiance, and I ventured to walk on the terrace to admire the view.

      Far away it stretched, over garden, and pineland, and flowery meadow-spaces, to the blue, silver-sewn sea, which to my fancy looked Homeric. Nothing modern caught the eye to break the romance of the illusion. All was as it might have been twenty or thirty centuries ago, when on the Mediterranean sailed "Phoenicians, mariners renowned, greedy merchantmen with countless gauds in a black ship."

      I had just begun to play that I was a young woman of Tyre, taken on an adventurous excursion by an indulgent father, when presto! Lady Turnour's voice brought me back to the present with a jump. There's nothing Homeric about her!

      She and Sir Samuel had finished their luncheon, and so had several other people. There was an exodus of well-dressed, nice-looking women from dining-room to terrace, and conscious that I ought to have been herding among their maids, I fled with haste and humility. What right had I, in this sweet place divinely fit to be a rest-cure for goddesses tired of the social diversions of Olympus?

      I scuttled off to the car, and stood ready to serve my mistress when it should please her to be tucked under her rugs.

      Despite delays, the chauffeur had finished whatever had to be done, and soon we were spinning away from Valescure, far away, into a world of flowers.

      Black cypresses soared skyward, so clean cut, so definite, that I seemed to hear them, crystal-shrill, like the sharp notes in music, as they leaped darkly out from a silver monotone of olives and a delicate ripple of pearly plum or pear blossom. Mimosas poured floods of gold over the spring landscape, blazing violently against the cloudless blue. Bloom of peach and apple tree garlanded our road on either side; the way was jewelled with roses; and acres of hyacinths stretched into the distance, their perfume softening the keenness of the breeze.

      "Are they going to let you pass Fréjus without pausing for a single look?" I asked mournfully. But at that instant there came a peal of the electric bell which is one of the luxurious fittings of the car. It meant "stop!" and we stopped.

      "Aren't there some ruins here—something middle-aged?" asked Sir Samuel, meaning mediæval.

      "Roman ruins, sir," replied his chauffeur, without changing countenance.

      "Are they the sort of things you ought to say you've seen?"

      "I think most people do stop and see them, sir."

      "What is your wish, my dear?" Sir Samuel gallantly deferred to his bride. "I know you don't like out-of-door sightseeing when it's windy, and blows your hair about, but—"

      "We might try, and if I don't like it, we can go on," replied Lady Turnour, patronizing the remains of Roman greatness, since it appeared to be the "thing" for the nobility and gentry to do.

      The chauffeur obediently turned the big blue Aigle, and let her sail into the very centre of the vast arena where Cæsar saw gladiators fight and die.

      It was very noble, very inspiring, and from some shady corner promptly emerged a quaintly picturesque old guardian, ready to pour forth floods of historic information. He introduced himself as a soldier who had seen fighting in Mexico under Maximilian, therefore the better able to appreciate and fulfil his present task. But her ladyship listened for awhile with lack-lustre eyes, and finally, when dates were flying about her ears like hail, calmly interrupted to say that she was "glad she hadn't lived in the days when you had to go to the theatre out of doors."