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

a pony cart full of children.

      No wonder the poor dear Aigle had gritted her teeth! Several of them turned out to be broken in the gear box.

      "We're done!" said Jack. "She'll have to be towed to the nearest garage. Pity we couldn't have got on to Paris."

      "Can't you put in some false teeth?" suggested Lady Turnour, at which Bertie laughed, and was thereupon reproached for the accident, as he well deserved to be.

      Then the question was what should be the next step for the passengers. I expected to be trotted reluctantly on to Paris by train, leaving Jack behind to find a "tow," and see the dilemma through to an end of some sort, but to my joyful surprise Bertie used all his wiles upon the family to induce them to stop at Fontainebleau. It was a beautiful place, he argued, and they would like it so much, that they would come to think the breakdown a blessing in disguise. In any case, he had intended advising them to pause for tea, and to stay the night if they cared for the place. They would find a good hotel, practically in the forest; and he had an acquaintance who owned a château near by, a very important sort of chap, who knew everybody worth knowing in French society. If the Governor and "Lady T." liked, he would go dig his friend up, and bring him round to call. Maybe they'd all be invited to the château for dinner. The man had a lot of motors and would send one for them, very likely—perhaps would even lend a car to take them on to Paris to-morrow morning.

      I listened to these arguments and suggestions with a creepy feeling in the roots of my hair, for I, too, have an "acquaintance" who owns a château near Fontainebleau: a certain Monsieur Charretier. He, also, has a "lot of motors" and would, I knew, if he were "in residence" be delighted to lend a car and extend an invitation to dinner, if informed that Lys d'Angely was of the party. Could it be, I thought, that Mr. Stokes was acquainted with Monsieur Charretier, or that, not being acquainted, he had heard something from the Duchesse de Melun, and was making a little experiment with me?

      Perhaps I imagined it, but it seemed that he glanced my way triumphantly, when Lady Turnour agreed to stay in the hope of meeting the nameless, but important, friend; and I felt that, whatever happened, I must have a word of advice from Jack.

      The discussion had taken place in the road, or rather, at the side of the road, where the combined exertions of Jack and Bertie had pushed the wounded Aigle. The chauffeur, having examined the car and pronounced her helpless, walked back to interview a carter we had passed not long before, with the view of procuring a tow. Now, just as the discussion was decided in favour of stopping over night at Fontainebleau, he appeared again, in the cart.

      We were so near the hotel in the woods that we could be towed there in half an hour, and, ignominious as the situation was, Lady Turnour preferred it to the greater evil of walking. I remained in the car with her, the chauffeur steered, the carter towed, and Sir Samuel and his stepson started on in advance, on foot.

      At the hotel Jack was to leave us, and be towed to a garage; but, in desperation, I murmured an appeal as he gave me an armful of rugs. "I must ask you about something," I whispered. "Can you come back in a little less than an hour, and look for me in the woods, somewhere just out of sight of the hotel?"

      "Yes," he said. "I can and will. You may depend on me."

      That was all, but I was comforted, and the rugs became suddenly light.

      Rooms were secured, great stress being laid upon a good sitting-room (in case the important friend should call), and I unpacked as usual. When my work was done, I asked her ladyship's permission to go out for a little while. She looked suspicious, clawed her brains for an excuse to refuse, but, as there wasn't a buttonless glove, or a holey stocking among the party, she reluctantly gave me leave. I darted away, plunged into the forest, and did not stop walking until I had got well out of sight of the hotel. Then I sat down on a mossy log under a great tree, and looked about for Jack.

      A man was coming. I jumped up eagerly, and went to meet him as he appeared among the trees.

      It was Mr. Herbert Stokes.

Chapter XXX

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      "I followed you," he said.

      "I thought so," said I. "It was like you."

      "I want to talk to you," he explained.

      "But I don't want to talk to you," I objected.

      "You'll be sorry if you're rude. What I came to say is for your own good."

      "I doubt that!" said I, looking anxiously down one avenue of trees after another, for a figure that would have been doubly welcome now.

      "Well, I can easily prove it, if you'll listen."

      "As you have longer legs than I have, I am obliged to listen."

      "You won't regret it. Now, come, my dear little girl, don't put on any more frills with me. I'm gettin' a bit fed up with 'em."

      (I should have liked to choke him with a whole mouthful of "frills," the paper kind you put on ham at Christmas; but as I had none handy, I thought it would only lead to undignified controversy to allude to them.)

      "I had a little conversation about you with the Duchesse de Melun night before last," Bertie went on, with evident relish. "Ah, I thought that would make you blush. I say, you're prettier than ever when you do that! It was she began it. She asked me if I knew your name, and how Lady T. found you. Her Ladyship couldn't get any further than 'Elise,' for, if she knew any more, she'd forgotten it; but thanks to your friend the shuvver, I could go one better. When I told the duchess you called yourself d'Angely, or something like that, she said 'I was sure of it!' Now, I expect you begin to smell a rat—what?"

      "I daresay you've been carrying one about in your pocket ever since," I snapped, "though I can't think what it has to do with me. I'm not interested in dead rats."

      "This is your own rat," said Bertie, grinning. "What'll you give to know what the duchess told me about you?"

      "Nothing," I said.

      "Well, then, I'll be generous and let you have it for nothing. She told me she thought she recognized you, but until she heard the name, she supposed she must be mistaken; that it was only a remarkable resemblance between my stepmother's maid and a girl who'd run away under very peculiar circumstances from the house of a friend of hers. What do you think of that?"

      "That the duchess is a cat," I replied, promptly.

      "Most women are."

      "In your set, perhaps."

      "She said there was a man mixed up with the story, a rich middle-aged chap of the name of Charretier, with a big house in Paris and a new château he'd built, near Fontainebleau. She gave me a card to him."

      "He's sure not to be at home," I remarked.

      Bertie's face fell; but he brightened again. "Anyhow you admit you know him."

      "One has all sorts of acquaintances," I drawled, with a shrug of my shoulders.

      "You're a sly little kitten—if you're not a cat. You heard me say I thought of calling at the château."

      "And you heard me say the owner wasn't at home."

      "You seem well acquainted with his movements."

      "I happened to see him, on his way south, at Avignon, some days ago."

      "Did he see you?"

      "Isn't that my affair—and his?"

      "By Jove—you've got good cheek, to talk like this to your mistress's stepson! But maybe you think you won't have difficulty in finding a place that pays you better—what?"

      "I couldn't find one to pay me much worse."

      "Look here, my dear, I'm not out huntin' for repartee. I want to have an understanding with you."