Chapter VI: Part 6

I found him a curious combination of Sherlock Holmes and Little Lord Fauntleroy. He might have "gone on" at a moment's notice as understudy either for Mr. William Gillette in the one part, or for that clever little What's-his-name who resurrected the latter in London lately; though as for his dramatic talent, I've yet to judge, and may be called upon to do so, as you shall hear.

He went on gassing about all sorts of impossible feats he'd accomplished on a Panhard car, which he alluded to as his. According to himself, Fournier wasn't in it with him. Having heard to the end the tale of a motor race in which Sherlock-Fauntleroy, in company with the Duke of Bedford, had beaten King Edward the Seventh, the other man, deeply impressed, inquired through his nose (which he, being frankly Far-Western, didn't mind using as a channel of communication) whether his magnificent acquaintance was at present travelling on the famous Panhard, and had it with him.

"No," was the answer; "fact is I got a bit tired of keeping the road, and lent my car to my old friend Montie--Lord Lane, don't you know, who's running it about the Riviera now."

Aha, my boy, does that make you sit up? I assure you it did me. And if, just before, I hadn't heard the gentleman discoursing on the pleasures of a certain trip taken with Burford at a date when you and Burford and I happened to be together, I should have sat still straighter. I might have said to myself, "So all is discovered. My Montie--or rather his Montie--has taken a leaf out of Brown's book, and instead of stuffing himself with fresh air and eggs at Davos, is flashing about the Riviera in his dear chum's Panhard, which he must have lately learnt to drive, as he didn't know gearing from belts when I saw him last." As it is, however, I assure you no such suspicions are at present keeping me awake; I've enough worries of my own to do that.

But Fauntleroy-Holmes was continuing, and I sat in my obscure corner inhaling his tobacco smoke and his equally ephemeral anecdotes.

"I am going on to Nice myself in a day or two, with some ladies, on their motor-car," said he. "Very good car, I believe; one of the ladies very handsome. She has a _chauffeur_, of course, but I shall drive and let him do the dirty work. I fancy I shall be able to show my friend something in the way of driving. She wants to learn, and ought to have good instruction to begin with; one never recovers form if taught bad ways at first."

I lay low, like Brer Rabbit, but my ears were burning. He'd named no names, and I had no reason to fit a cap on anybody's head. There were plenty of ladies and plenty of motor-cars in Pau, any of which might be going to Nice. I had never seen the man before, and didn't believe Miss Randolph knew him from Adam; still, I had a sensation of heat in my ears, and when I'd finished the letter I had begun (it was to Burford, by the way, but I refrained from telling him how his name had been taken in vain, less out of good nature than because I couldn't be bothered), I got up, went out, and asked the steward who the young man was who looked like Sherlock Holmes.

He knew at once who I meant, grinned, and informed me that the gentleman was a very rich American, named Payne, a great amateur automobilist, and a keen golfer. How he had obtained all these particulars it wasn't difficult to guess, when one reflected upon Mr. Payne's fondness for talking of himself. By the way, have you ever met the man at all?

A few minutes after questioning the steward, I was strolling on the lawn thinking over what I had heard, when Sherlock walked out of the club, his obtrusive eyeglass dangling from his buttonhole.

He advanced towards me, somewhat to my surprise, and hailed me from afar, seeing, I suppose, that I was inclined to move on. "I say, sir," he began, "if you want a game, will you take me on? I've a friend just gone, and there doesn't seem to be anyone here but you and me----"

By this time he had stuck the big monocle in his eye, where it had somewhat the effect of a biscuit. I fancied it was the addition of the eyeglass which discomposed his expression, but almost immediately I realised that the change was due to a cause more violent.

"B--ah Jove!" he ejaculated. And then, "'Pon my word, what damned impertinence!" He stood glaring at me through that eyeglass with such an "I am the Duke of Omnium, who the devil are you?" sort of expression that I thought he must be mad, and I stared also, in amazed silence.

After looking me up and down he began again, "What do you mean by it, I want to know, swaggering about here, among gentlemen, as if you were one of Us? I'll have you put out by the waiters." With this extraordinary outburst he turned on his heel, and was making off towards the club-house; but as you know, my temper is not of the sweetest, and mad or not mad, I didn't exactly yearn over Mr. Payne. I took advantage of the long legs about which "my friend Montie" has occasionally chaffed me and caught him up. I cannot conceal from you that I did more. I gripped him by the shoulder. I held him firmly, apparently somewhat against his will. I also shook him, and it now comes dimly back to me that his eyeglass jumped out of his eye.

"You damned cad!" I then remarked in a tone which some people might consider abrupt; "what in h---- do you mean?"

He took to stuttering--some men do in emergencies--and I knew from that instant that he couldn't drive a motor-car. "L--et go," he stammered like a schoolboy. "You--you--confounded _chauffeur_, you! I'll tell your mistress of you, and have you discharged. You--you're Miss Randolph's _chauffeur_, and you come here to pass yourself off as a member at a gentleman's club."

On the point of knocking him down, I decided I wouldn't, and dropped him instead like a hot chestnut. You see, he "had me on the hip"; for I am Miss Randolph's _chauffeur_, and there was no good denying it. In a small way it was one of the nastiest situations of my life. What "A." in _Vanity Fair_ would have done I don't know, and I didn't know what to do myself for a minute. You see, my prophetic soul tells me that the time hasn't come to confess all and throw myself on the Goddess's mercy, as I hope it may some day; and I couldn't afford to be plunged into hot water with her when the facts would look fishy and be impossible to explain. Still, I couldn't eat humble pie with that Bounder; sooner I would have quietly killed him, and stuffed him into a hole in the links. However, a sweet little cherub of inspiration looked out for the fate of poor Jack, and whispered an alternative in my ear.

"Do you dare deny it?" Payne demanded, plucking up courage.

"I 'dare' do a good deal," said I, looking him straight in the eyes. "But I don't intend to deny it. I am Miss Randolph's _chauffeur_." How he had found that out I couldn't imagine.

"Then, I can tell you, you won't long remain so," blustered the fellow, as cocksure as if he were her brother, or something nearer--hang him! "A man who is capable of practising such deception isn't fit to be trusted with a lady. I shall get you the sack."

"You ought to be a good judge of deception," said I. "Have you told Miss Randolph yet about that trip of yours with the Duke of Burford last summer?"

Sherlock-Fauntleroy got as red as a beet, and the Fauntleroy characteristics predominated. I thought tears were about to start from his eyes, but he merely relapsed into another fit of the stutters. "Wh--hat d--do you mean?" he chattered. "Y--you don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh yes, I do," I said, growing calmer as he grew excited, "a good deal more than you knew what you were talking about when you claimed the Duke as your friend. I happened to be with him at the time last summer, when you said you were driving him on your car."

"_You_ with the Duke!" sneered Sherlock. "Who would believe that?"

"Miss Randolph would," said I. "The Duke of Burford was driving his own car last summer. Now you can guess how I happened to be with him. There was just one other man on board; your friend Montie, Lord Lane, you know. Lord Lane was another of my old masters." (Hope you don't object to being referred to as an Old Master, and I _was_ your fag at Eton.) "I know him very well. He can do a good many things, can Lord Lane, but he can't drive a motor-car. And another little detail you've got wrong. He isn't running about on the Riviera. He is at Davos Platz. I've had a letter from him there the other day; he's very thoughtful of his old servants. Miss Randolph would think it queer if you said you expected to meet Lord Lane on the Riviera with your car, and I showed her a letter from him which proved he'd been at Davos for the last six weeks. Or he wouldn't mind telegraphing if I wired."

"You're a regular blackmailer," gasped Payne.

"Not at all," said I. "I suggest a bargain, but I don't want money. All I want is not to lose my job. Don't you give me away, and I won't give you away. Do you agree to that compromise and no more said?"

We had been holding each other by the eye, but suddenly his wandered, assisted by the monocle. So odd an expression sat on his face that I followed his straying glance, and saw what he saw--Miss Randolph! Miss Randolph at one of the long French windows of the club-house, with several other ladies. Without a second's hesitation I gripped Payne by the arm and dragged him across the lawn, using him as a screen. Once round the corner of the house, I let him go; but I dared not wait to chaffer. "Remember, it's a bargain," I reminded the fellow. "While you keep to your part I keep to mine, and not a moment longer." With this I darted into one of the waiting cabs. That was a narrow shave, but I congratulated myself that I had come out of it "on top," joyful in the hope that I should snatch Miss Randolph away in a day or two, and the episode would be closed. But mice and men should go slow in self-congratulation. Even a confirmed liar occasionally tells the truth by mistake. Next day (which means to-day) I learned this through bitter experience. Nothing had happened, and when I presented myself to Miss Randolph in the morning for orders, her manner was so pleasant, so exactly the same as usual, that I made sure Mr. Payne had chosen the better part of valour and held his peace. Evening came, however; my mistress sent for me, as I was informed through the invaluable hall-porter. Coward conscience, or some other intricate internal organ, gave a twinge. I asked myself blankly if I had been betrayed, if I were in for a scolding, if I should have to choose between being ignominiously chucked out of my precious berth, or prematurely owning up to the trick I have played, with the consequent risk of losing my lady forever. I felt pretty sick as I went up the servants' stairs to Miss Randolph's floor at the "Gassisn" and knocked at the door of her private sitting-room.

The door was on the latch, and as I tapped I heard Aunt Mary exclaim in a tone of extreme scorn, "Ask him '_if he objects_,' indeed! One would think _you_ were the servant and he the master. You shall do nothing of the kind."

My knocking evidently cut short the argument. Miss Randolph called "Come in!" and I obeyed, all black leather and humility. I hardly raised my eyes to the ladies, yet I saw that She was looking adorable in a white dress, with nothing but sparkling lacey stuff over the loveliest neck and arms on earth. She smiled, so I hoped that my sin had not found me out, but it was not precisely one of her own frank, starry smiles; there was something new and constrained, and my heart still misgave me.

"Brown," said she (and I observed that Aunt Mary had fixed her with a threatening eye), "Brown, I thought I'd send for you to say that we'll have another passenger to-morrow for a few days. Or that is we may have to ask him to drive sometimes, out of politeness, for I believe he's a good driver, and he might be hurt if we didn't; though I'm _sure_ he drives no better than you."

By this time I knew what was coming, and steeled myself to bear it, but there might have been a certain involuntary elongation of countenance, for the poor child rushed into explanations to save my battered feelings. "You see," she went on, "this gentleman, Mr. Payne, is a very old friend of the family, and he has been travelling in Europe a long time, for a rest. He overworked himself or something, and broke down. Now, he has lent his car to an English friend of his, Lord Lane, whom he arranged to rejoin on the Riviera. But he doesn't feel well, and railway travelling disagrees with him. His doctor here has just told him that he must be continually in the open air if he doesn't want to have a relapse; and Miss Kedison thinks my father would be annoyed if we didn't ask him to drive with us, as we are going the way he must go. The Napier is such a fine car, I suppose it can take four as well as three, and a little more luggage?"

"Oh yes, miss, there'll be no difficulty about that," I answered grudgingly.

"And you won't feel that it is lack of trust in you, if he drives part of the time?"

At this Aunt Mary glared, but that Angel paid not the slightest attention.

There is an unwritten law that a man shall not be a brute; and after her sweet consideration of my chauffery feelings I couldn't show myself ungracious. I assured her that I should not feel hurt, and that she was very kind to think of me at all. I would do my best for the party, unless, of course, my services would be superfluous, now that she was to be accompanied by a friend who was a competent driver.

I wonder what I _should_ have done in the unlikely event that she took me at my word? Picture my feelings, bereft of my Goddess, bereft of my Napier at one and the same time, constrained to resignation, while a confounded impostor drove off with both from under my very nose! Miss Randolph hastened to deny any such thought, and to impress upon me my value as a _chauffeur_. But things are bad enough as they are.

Here I am saddled with a fellow who hates me as a cur hates a man who has thrashed him, and will snap if he dares. Instead of turning my back upon him, I have to carry him away on it; and if a rod isn't in pickle for me, I'm not

Your old friend,

Jack Winston.

FROM JACK WINSTON TO LORD LANE

Toulouse, _December 16_.

Dear Montie,

I can't let you alone, you see. I must unburden myself, or something will happen--something apoplectic. If I have sinned, I am punished; and so far as I can see the worst still stretches before me in a long vista. It was good of you to scrawl off that second letter, at midnight, as an afterthought. It was forwarded, and has just reached me here, by grand good luck.

You say I would do better to make a clean breast of it; but that's easier said than done. You're not here, and you can't see the "lie of the land" as I can. I'll explain the position to you, from my point of view, for I think you don't quite understand it.

Not to mince matters, I am a Fraud, and Miss Randolph is the sort of girl to resent being imposed upon, If this Payne, who rejoices in the name of Jimmy, should find out the truth about me and tell her to-morrow, she would be exceedingly angry, as she would have a right to be, and would, I think, find it hard to forgive me. It is because I have felt this instinctively that I have let things slide. I have drifted down the stream of enjoyment, saying to the passing hour, like Goethe's hero, "Stay, thou art fair," though too often the thought would present itself that this could not go on for ever. Besides, there were drawbacks, big or little, according to my mood. I have always kept it before myself, more or less, that some day Miss Randolph would dispense with me and my car, in the natural course of affairs, even if the event were not hastened by some _contretemps_ or other; and that it might then be as difficult to adjust matters as it is now. But in truth I hope it won't be so. What I aim to do is to make myself so indispensable to her as Brown that she can't bring herself to get on without me as Jack Winston. I haven't done that yet, though it isn't for lack of trying; therefore I'm not ready for the crisis, and therefore I'm afraid of Payne. Yes, "afraid," that's the word. And my one consolation is that he's equally afraid of me.

Your ordinary, habitual liar can bear up if he's found out, and laugh it off somehow, but your snob and boaster can't. This man could hardly survive being stripped of his dukes and earls, with which he's covered his untitled nakedness as with a mantle, for the eyes of Miss Randolph. In this natural phenomenon lies my chance of gaining time, and other things that I want.

You would have had some pure enjoyment out of to-day if you had been the fifth person on my Napier. If you could have heard Aunt Mary (who, in common with a certain type of American, worships a title and rolls it on her tongue as if it were a plover's egg out of season) asking "Jimmy" questions about his grand English friends! Knowing that my cold and venomous eye was upon him, and writhing under it, he had to answer her questions. "What sort of looking man is the Duke of Burford, Jimmy? Did you ever stay at any of his country places? Is it true that he often entertains the Royalties? Were you ever asked to a house-party to meet the King and Queen?"

I could almost have found it in my heart to pity him; but my interests at stake were too big for me to have derived the serene pleasure from the situation that you might have enjoyed as an initiated outsider. But with my attempted explanations and my chortlings I've digressed too much, and I'll get back to "Hecuba."

We started from the "Gassion." Miss Randolph announced that she would drive at first. This was, I judged, a sop for me, as Cerberus. But Payne was given the seat of honour beside her, and I was relegated to the _tonneau_ with Aunt Mary and the other impedimenta. My day was over!

Miss Kedison considers it _infra dig._ to converse with a servant, though she has been content often enough to use me as a guide-book. She doesn't like sitting in front, so she was obliged to put up with my physical nearness, but she took pains to emphasise her soul's remoteness. I think her opinion of me has been for some time that I am "too big for my boots," and I was not surprised to learn that it was by her advice Mr. Payne had been invited to join the party. No doubt she thought it would put me in my proper place, and so it has. Besides, we had not been long _en route_ when I gleaned from several indications, small in themselves, that "Jimmy" is a great favourite with her, so great that she would not object to becoming his aunt by marriage. They are warm friends, and if he hasn't already poured into her ear confidences prejudicial to me, there, I fear, lies danger for the future.

We had not been gone long from Pau before Miss Randolph glanced round at me--a risky thing to do when you're driving; but the road was straight and clear as far as the eye could see. I was half in hopes she would request me to drive; but not so. "By the way, Brown," said she, "I forgot to ask; didn't I see you at the golf club the other day?"

From the form of the question I couldn't tell whether Payne had played the sneak or not, nor could I guess from her face, as she had turned to business again. As for him, he had ignored me haughtily since the start.

"_Me_, miss, at the golf club?" I promptly protested, regardless of grammar and not sure I wasn't in for an explosion which would blow poor Brown sky-high; "why, a _chauffeur_ wouldn't be admitted there."

"I suppose not," she answered over her shoulder. "But there was a man very like you when my friends took me--and walking with Mr. Payne, too."

"Now for it!" thought I. But then Jimmy's first words reassured me. "Oh, I don't know all the strangers one talks to at a club," he replied in haste; and then, by way of changing the subject, the bounder asked Miss Randolph if she wouldn't let him drive. "It's over a hundred miles to Toulouse, and you'll want a firm hand, for the days are short," he had the impudence to add.

At that I lost my head, and made a big mistake. I felt I couldn't stand sitting still while he tried experiments with my car, and almost before I knew what I was doing I blurted out, "Beg pardon, miss, but are you sure this gentleman understands driving a Napier? My master expected that _I_ was to drive his car when he let it out, and----"

Such a look of reproach as the Goddess threw me! "But _I_ understand that, while I hire the car it is mine to do as I like with, in reason," she cut me short. "Mr. Payne tells me that he has often driven his friend the Duke of Burford's Napier. And if anything happens to your master's car while I have it, I will pay for the damage up to its full value, so your mind may be at ease on his account."

With this well-deserved, but none the less crushing snub she brought the car to a standstill and inadvertently stopped the motor. After virtually agreeing the night before to let Payne drive, I ought to have kept my mouth shut; but you will admit that the temptation was strong. I descended, like a well-conducted _chauffeur_, to help my mistress change places with my hated rival, and of course it was my duty to start the motor again, which I did. Before I could get out of the way, Payne started--on the third speed, like the duffer he is, changing so quickly to the second that I had to race after the car and hurl myself into the _tonneau_ to avoid being left behind. In doing this I unfortunately trod on Aunt Mary's toes. She groaned, glared, and muttered only half below her breath, "Clumsy creature!" Thoroughly humiliated, and no longer in a mood to care whether their Jimmy wrecked the car and killed us (all but one) I took my seat. I do believe that Aunt Mary secretly thinks me capable of having misjudged and ill-treated Eyelashes, who laid himself out to "be nice" to her.

Hardly had we started when I heard Miss Randolph telling Payne that this car belonged to the Honourable John Winston, Lord Brighthelmston's son, and asking him if he had ever met Mr. Winston. I suppose that, in the excitement of managing a big machine which he knew little or nothing about, Payne forgot that, since I "went with the car," the owner must have been one of those (to him) fatal old masters of mine. He can't bear to deny the soft impeachment of knowing anyone whom he thinks may be a swell, and in the hurry of the moment habit got the better of prudence.

"Oh yes, I know Jack very well!" he exclaimed; then drew in his breath with a little gasp which he turned into a cough. In that moment he had probably remembered me.

"I suppose you know his mother, then?" said Miss Randolph. "I met her in Paris. She's at Cannes now, and so you will see her there."

"Ye--es," returned Jimmy. "Oh yes, I shall certainly see her. I know Lord Brighthelmston better than I do her; but I shall call, of course."

What with his fear of having committed himself anew, and the chill in his marrow produced by my critical eye on his vertebrae, he grew more and more nervous, wobbling whenever there was a delicate piece of steering to be done or a restive horse to be passed. He changed speeds so clumsily that the pinions went together with a crash each time, and shivers ran up and down my spine when I heard the noise and thought of the damage this conceited idiot might do to my poor gears. Could _you_ stand by like Patience on the lee cathead, smiling at a wet swab, while some duffer with a whip and spurs bestrode your favourite stallion, Roland? Perhaps that simile will help you to understand how I've been feeling all day.

Payne is a rank amateur. I doubt if he ever drove a Napier before, and would bet something he depended for his success to-day (such as it was) on keen observation of everything Miss Randolph did before he took the helm. He knows how to steer a moderately straight course and to change speeds--that's about all; and I wouldn't trust his nerve in an emergency. However, we bowled along without incident through Tarbes and Tournay, thanks more to the fine car than the driver; but when mounting a long stretch of steep road beyond a place called Lanespede, where a great railway viaduct crosses the valley, Payne missed his change, and then completely lost his head, failing to put on the brakes to prevent us running down the hill backwards. Luckily I was sitting on the brake side, and reaching out of the _tonneau_, I seized the lever of the hand-brake and jammed it on. Next instant (to make quite sure) I jumped out, ran to the front, and lowered the sprag. I don't think any of them knew what a narrow escape we'd had, and Payne covered himself by abusing the car. We started up again on the second, and came out on an undulating plain overlooking a little watering-place called Capvern-les-Bains, lying far below in a dimple of the Pyrenean foothills.

There was no other incident till we came to Montrejeau, where my road-book showed that there was an uncommonly steep hill. So I ventured to say over Payne's shoulder, "Better look out here, sir; a bad hill." The cad had not the civility to notice my warning, but charged through the long street of the town till he came to the verge of a dangerous descent, dipping steeply and suddenly for a little way, then turning abruptly to the left. He was taking the hill at a reckless pace, not because he was plucky, but because he knew no better; and half-way down, seeing a lumbering station-omnibus climbing slowly up, not leaving much room, he began to get wild in his steering. Again I hung out, and gently but firmly put on the hand-brake, steadying the car. The idiot didn't even see how I had saved him, for when we got safely down he said to Miss Randolph, "Took that hill flying, didn't I?" I can tell you I was glad when we pulled up for luncheon at St. Gaudens, knowing that the road here turns away from the Pyrenees to cross the great plain of Languedoc.

Blessed plain of Languedoc, which has been abused by some travellers for its monotony! Sitting silently in the _tonneau_ with Aunt Mary, I revelled in the long, straight level of wide, poplar-fringed road that stretched as far as the eye could reach, running up to a point in the distant perspective. "Here, at any rate," I reflected, "the duffer at the wheel can't do us much harm." It was a beautiful scene, had I been in tune to enjoy it, for the Pyrenees showed their blue outlines on the far horizon, and the Garonne gave us many pictures near at hand. There was in particular one sweet sylvan "bit" at a place called St. Martory, which, though it was but a fleeting glimpse, framed itself in my mind with all the precision of a stereoscopic view.

It was a relief to me, when this evening, we ran into Toulouse; its many buildings of brick lying along the bank of the broad and peaceful Garonne, looking curiously rose-hued in the level rays of the declining sun.

But poor car! when I set to work at cleaning it after its ill-treatment it seemed to reproach me for disloyalty. Its very lamps were like mournful, misunderstood eyes. And this is only the first day of many. How long, O friend, how long? I don't quite see what is to become of your unfortunate

Jack Winston.

Narbonne, _December 17_.

I didn't post the beginning of this letter. I felt I should want to add
something.

Another day has passed--a day of alarms and excursions. Payne has made an ass of himself, and I have scored off him, winning my way back to the front seat of the car, and relegating him to the _tonneau_ with Aunt Mary. But I have not shaken him off. He's still in our pocket, and to all appearance means to stick there. The situation, therefore, remains essentially what it was yesterday.

But for the incident of which I will tell you, this might have been one of the most delightful bits of the whole tour. Even though at first I was stuffed into the _tonneau_, I couldn't help finding pleasure in the pictures through which we flashed in the earlier part of the day.

There was a good deal of _pave_ to traverse before we were clear of Toulouse, and then we came into a fine, open world, chasing and passing many peasants' carts. These always occupy the middle of the road, and as their drivers are often asleep, there is much blowing of the horn and shouting before they pull over to their right side. Presently we found out the meaning of this stream of carts, for we ran into a large village with turkeys and geese all over the road, like carpet bedding, tied by the legs and cackling loudly. There were crowds of peasants--old and young; the old women with neat, black silk head-dresses framing their brown, wrinkled faces; and through, the midst of this animated scene we had to drive at a foot-pace, tootling on the horn. On the other side of the long village we found ourselves on a wide, level road, that for smoothness would shame a billiard-table, crossed the green Canal du Midi, and ran for a while by its side, passing a queer obelisk erected to Riquet, its constructor.

Suddenly, on mounting a hill, an enormous view spread out before us. The distant Pyrenees showed their serrated line far away to the right, their snowy tops spectral over an intervening range of hills; to the left stretched a vast, undulating tract of country, with towns and church spires distinctly outlined in the clear, crisp air--for it was a day of glorious lights. Beyond all was a range of vague, blue hills which I knew to be the Cevennes, sacred to the memory of Robert Louis Stevenson.

We sped through village after village--a long street; children in blouses playing strange games, disputing in shrill voices, wagging little eloquent fingers under each other's noses; handsome men clothed in blue, with red sashes and the universal _berret_ on their heads, guiding with their cruel goads patient teams of yoked oxen; a group of persons round a church door--a wedding, perhaps a funeral; old women knitting in the sun, young women smiling from windows--all these impressions follow each other like flickering pictures in a cinematograph; and then with the last flicker one is out again on the broad, white road, with the flying trees spinning by on either hand, and the white, filmy clouds floating in an azure sky. It is only on the motor-car that you get all these sensations. In a train you are in a box; on a motor you are in a chariot of fire with the wide heavens open above you.

At Castelnaudary there was another scene of animation, for here also it was market day; and though it was only twenty miles or so on to Carcassonne (our intended destination), my betters decided that they would take luncheon at the hotel in Castelnaudary. For the first time since Payne has been with us Miss Randolph seemed to wish to restore me to my old, lost footing. "You must lunch with us, Brown," she said, with a smile that goes straight to one's heart. But I was not in a gracious mood. I had had enough of Aunt Mary; I could not stand the haughty Payne. I answered, therefore, rather shortly. There were certain adjustments to be done on the car which would occupy some time, I said, and I would take my luncheon later. Her poor little friendly smile went out, like a lamp extinguished. For an instant she lingered, then turned away without a word, and I could have bitten out my own surly tongue.

To justify myself I pottered with the car, then went moping off to another hotel, and tried to restore my lost spirits with _pate de foie de canard_ and fresh walnuts, which would have delighted the palate of a happier man.

At it was I had neither the heart nor the stomach to linger over the feast, and consequently got back long before the others were ready for me. _They_ didn't hurry themselves. I promise you. While busying myself in flicking dust off the car, a courteous little crowd assembled and questioned me as to the make of the car (expressing surprise when they heard it was all English, even to the tyres) and as to how far I had come. When I said "From Dieppe _via_ Biarritz" a murmur of respect rippled to the outer edge of the group, and at this moment my party appeared.

Payne wore a swaggering air, and looked now like Little Lord Fauntleroy gone wrong. He was far too big a man to notice me, or any of the kindly, simple people who had been admiring the car, and came up with us, talking his loudest to Aunt Mary. He almost elbowed me aside, and got into the driver's seat as a matter of course. Perhaps he had looked upon the rich wine of the country when it was red, though I didn't think of that at the time, and attributed his exaggerated insolence to natural cussedness of soul.

We swept away from the hotel with a curve, which isn't a line of beauty for a motor-car, and as we left the town Jimmy's conception of his part as driver became so eccentric that Miss Randolph looked worried--that is, her pretty shoulders stiffened themselves; I couldn't often see her face--and Aunt Mary more than once gave vent to a frightened squeak. Once, in her extremity as we shaved the wheel of a passing cart, she unbent so far as to throw an appealing glance at me. But I sat in stony silence with crossed arms, looking oblivious to all that went on and somewhat resembling, I flattered myself, portraits of Napoleon beholding the burning of Moscow.

On the high road Jimmy began to recover his form--if it be worth the name--but, as if to show that he was all right, and never had been otherwise, he put the car at its quickest pace, which was so far from safe on a road dotted with carts that I began to expect trouble; and if it hadn't been for Miss Randolph, to see my expectation fulfilled would have pleased the baser part of me. Once or twice a cartload of peasants scowled savagely at us as we rushed past on our headlong career, and at length I had the satisfaction of hearing Miss Randolph rather stiffly suggest that Jimmy should moderate the pace. He obeyed with a laugh, which he meant to be recklessly brave, yet indulgent to the weaknesses of women; but in my ears it only sounded silly. At this moment a two-wheeled cart with five peasants in it--three men and two women--came in sight.

As soon as they saw us one of the men--a big, black-browed fellow--held up his hand imperatively in warning. Another fine, muscular chap jumped down and ran to the horse's head. Anyone with a grain of sense or consideration, on seeing these signals, would have slowed down, and if necessary have stopped the engine altogether; but though I heard Miss Randolph beg him to go slow, Sherlock-Fauntleroy held right on at a good twenty-five miles an hour.

In a moment or two we had come level with the cart, and the horse bolted. The man leading it was thrown violently to the ground, and the cart went over him. Luckily he tucked in his head and drew up his feet, or he would have been shockingly hurt, perhaps killed. He lay a moment or two, half stunned with the shock, while the horse galloped away, dragging after him the swaying cart, the two women screaming at the top of their voices. The man driving managed to pull up the frightened animals some way down the road, and the people in the cart scrambled out to help their fallen friend, who meanwhile had picked himself up, and pale with fright and passion, blood streaming down his face, was limping after the car gesticulating violently.

Payne had not turned his head, and the moment that a startled "Oh!" from Miss Randolph told him there had been an accident he put on speed, clearly with the intention of avoiding a row. The injured man stooped to pick up a stone. At the same instant Miss Randolph, in her most imperious manner (and she can be imperious), commanded Payne to stop instantly and go back. "But we shall have the whole pack of them on us like wolves," he objected. "_Go back!_" she repeated, stamping her little foot. "I won't hurt a man and drive away." Suddenly Payne pulled up, and putting in the reverse, we ran slowly into the midst of the horde of angry peasants, swollen now by many others who had been passing along the crowded road.

As we backed into that sea of scowling faces I thought of the various revolutions France has seen. It was like stirring up a wasps' nest. Everyone was yelling at once. In the front rank stood the man who had been knocked down, his trousers cut to tatters. He had lashed himself into such a fury that he had become almost incoherent, and the flood of speech which rushed from his white lips was more like the yells of an animal than the ordered utterance of a human being. By his side were the two women who had been in the cart, both sobbing and screaming, while everyone else in the angry mob shouted simultaneously. Aunt Mary went very pale; Payne looked upon his handiwork with a sulky grin; but Miss Randolph took the business in hand with the greatest pluck. She had whisked off her veil and faced the people boldly, her grey eyes meeting theirs, her face white, save for a bright pink spot on either cheek. At sight of her beauty the clamour died down, and in the lull she spoke to the man who had been thrown under the horse.

"I am very sorry you are hurt," she said, "and shall be pleased to give you something to buy yourself new clothes. Are you injured anywhere?"

At the sound of her correct but foreign-sounding French someone in the crowd shouted out, "_A bas les Anglais!_" The girl drew herself up proudly and looked in the direction of the voice. She didn't try to excuse herself by denying England and claiming a nationality more popular in France, and I loved her more than ever for this reticence.

"Pay!" shouted the man who had been hurt, with one hand wiping a trickle of blood out of his eye, with the other thumping the mud-guard of the car. "Of course you shall pay. God only knows what injuries I have received. _Mazette!_ I am all one ache. Ah, you pay well, or you do not go on!" He pressed closer to the car, and his friends closed in around him.

"Pay them, Molly! pay anything they ask!" quavered Aunt Mary, "or they will kill us! Oh, I always knew something like this was bound to happen! What a fool I was to leave my peaceful home and come to a country of thieves and murderers!"

"Don't be frightened, Aunt Mary," said the girl, with more patience for her relative's garrulous complaints than I had. Then she turned to me. "Brown, is that man much hurt?" she asked briskly.

"No," I replied. "He is merely scratched, and no doubt bruised. If he had any bones broken, any internal injury or severe strain, he couldn't rage about like a mad bull."

"Still, it was our fault," she said. "We ought to have stopped. His clothes are torn. How much ought we to pay?"

"Nothing at all," said Sherlock. "Don't you let yourself be blackmailed."

She didn't answer or look in his direction, thus emphasising the fact that she had asked her question of me, not of him.

"Fifty francs would be generous," I said, "to buy the fellow a new suit of clothes and pay for a bottle of liniment. With that to-morrow he would be thanking his stars for the accident. But as Mr. Payne was driving, hadn't you better let him talk to them? It isn't right that two men should stand by and let the burden fall on a lady."

"_You_ speak to them, Brown; I give you _carte blanche_," said she, and we faced the mob together.

"If you threaten us," I said, "you shall have nothing. We were going fast, but your horse is badly broken, and is more of a danger on the road than an automobile. If you behave yourself and tell your friends to do likewise, this lady wishes to give you fifty francs to buy new clothes in place of those which have suffered in this accident. But we don't intend to be bullied."

"Fifty francs!" shrieked the man. "Fifty francs for a man's life! Bah! You aristocrats! Five hundred francs; not a sou less, or you do not stir from this place. Fifty francs! _Mazette!_"

"You are talking nonsense, and you know it," said I roughly. "Stand out of our way, or we will send for the police."

Now this was bluff, for the last thing to be desired was the presence of the police. I had been careful to get in Paris the necessary _permis de conduire_ from the Department of Mines, without which it is illegal to drive a motor vehicle of any sort in France. But I had heard Payne boasting to Miss Randolph that he never bothered himself about a lot of useless red tape; it was only milksops and amateurs who did that. I, as Brown, had kept "my master's" papers, but it would do more harm than good to our cause, should it come to an investigation, if I attempted to pass over my permit to Payne. Were the police to appear on the scene their first demand would be for papers, and if the man who had been driving were unable to produce any, not all our just complaints of the peasants' unlawful threats would help us. Payne would be liable to arrest and imprisonment; not only would he be heavily fined, but we should all be detained, perhaps for weeks; and as French magistrates have as strong a prejudice against the automobile as their English brothers, especially when the offender is a foreigner, it might go hard with everyone concerned. This would be a dismal interruption of our tour, and if I hadn't felt sure that the enemy would be in as great a funk of the police as we were, I wouldn't have ventured on so bold a bluff. I trembled internally for an instant as to its success, but as usual in life and poker, it paid.

"No, you don't!" shouted not the one peasant, but many in chorus, as unlike the merry peasant-chorus of light opera as you can imagine. "We won't have the police. We attend to this affair ourselves."

And it began to look as if they meant to. "Give the five hundred francs, or you will be sorry!" they yelled, and again, in a second, they were all surging round us, threatening with their fists, snatching out their pocket-knives, and I saw things were getting hot. A French crowd barks a good deal before it bites, but this one had come to the biting stage. We were far from town and the police, even if the latter wouldn't have done us more harm than good. Here we had Miss Randolph and Miss Kedison. If Payne were as useless as I judged him, I was one man against forty.

The two ladies were still on the car. Payne had got off at first, but had slipped back when things began to be lively. I alone was on the ground, close to the bonnet, so that if needful I could protect the motor and Miss Randolph at the same time.

The crowd consulted an instant, then stampeded the car. Aunt Mary shrieked, and threw out her purse, as if she flung a live lamb to hungry wolves. The motor was going still, but to charge into the crowd might mean killing a dozen wretched peasants. It was out of the question, but something must be done, and now was the moment for doing it. One fellow tried to snatch a sable rug off Miss Kedison's knees; I struck his hand away, and sent him staggering. Then I yelled to Payne to get into the _tonneau_. There was no more pride left in him than in a rag, and he crawled over, like a dog. Meanwhile, I'd made up my mind what to do, and was going to try an experiment as our best chance to get out of the town without bloodshed.

I knew that a union which held the exhaust pipe in place on the silencer had been working loose. I grabbed a spanner out of the tool-box, and elbowing my way along the side of the car again, with two turns of the spanner loosened the union, pushed forward the throttle-lever in the steering-post, and gave the motor all its gas.

The thing was done in a quarter the time it's taken me to write of it, and you can guess the effect. Bang! bang! came a succession of explosions quick and pitiless as a Maxim gun. Those peasants gave way like wheat before the scythe. I don't doubt they thought they were shot and on the way to kingdom come; and before they'd time to find out their mistake I was up on the step, had seized the steering-wheel, and started the car. We were on a slight decline, and the good steed bounded forward at the rate of fifteen miles an hour. An instant later I slipped in the fourth, and we were going forty-five.

When the enemy saw how they'd been tricked, which they did in about six seconds, they were after us with a howl. A shower of stones fell harmlessly on the road behind us, angry yells were drowned in the hideous noise of the exhaust. We could afford to laugh at the thought of pursuit. But there was another side to the story. Now that there was no one on the spot to complain of their threats of violence, they could safely apply to the police and make a bold stroke for vengeance, just as we had for escape. However, there was no use in thinking of that for the moment; I had done the best I could and must go on doing it. No normal tympanum could stand the racket of the exhaust for long, and Miss Randolph and Miss Kedison were sitting with their hands over their ears, the lower part of Aunt Mary's face under her mask expressing a comical horror. I caught sight of her visage when I stopped the car (which I did as soon as we were beyond danger of pursuit) to fasten up the silencer again; and it was all I could do not to laugh.

The fastening-up business was an affair of two or three minutes, and at first the three sat in shocked silence, their heads dazed by the late ear-splitting din. Then, the cool peace of welcome silence was broken by Mr. Payne. "I consider," he said stiffly to Miss Randolph, "that your _mecanicien_ has behaved with unwarrantable insolence in ordering me----"

"And I consider that he saved the situation," cut in the _mecanicien's_ mistress.

"I acted for what I thought the best, miss; there wasn't much time to decide," said I, with a sleek humility which I assume on occasions. "If I have given offence, I am sorry," I went on, looking at her and not at Payne.

"You haven't given offence," she said. "I am sure Mr. Payne, when he comes to reflect, will see that you did yeoman's service. But what is to happen now? I suppose we're not safe from trouble yet, and we don't deserve to be."

I thought it rather sporting of her to say "we," when all the bother was due to the conceit and cocksureness of one person.

"No, miss, we don't deserve to be, if you'll excuse the liberty," I meekly replied. "We had no business charging along a crowded road the way we did. I'm sure, until to-day, we've never had anything but courtesy from people of all classes. It isn't often French peasants misbehave themselves, and to-day most of the wrong was on our side, though it's true that their horse was skittish; and being market-day, I daresay they'd taken a little more red wine than was good for them. The wine of this country is apt to go to the head."

I spoke to Miss Randolph, but _at_ Jimmy, especially when I gave that dig about the wine. I finished my tirade and my work on the silencer at the same time, and it was then that my triumph came. Instead of getting back on the car, I stood still in the road.

"What are you waiting for?" asked Miss Randolph.

"For Mr. Payne to take his place in the driver's seat," said I.

At this he half jumped up in the _tonneau_, but Miss Randolph hurriedly exclaimed, "Oh, I think you had better drive for a while, Brown. I want to talk to you, and ask you what to do, and what will happen next." Little Lord Fauntleroy, with every Sherlockian characteristic temporarily obliterated, sat down again in the _tonneau_ pouting.

We had not wasted five minutes, and now we sprang forward at a good speed for Carcassonne.

"What will happen next," I said, answering Miss Randolph's question, "may be this. If the peasants are angry enough to take the trouble and risk, all they have to do is to go to the police-station in the nearest village and give information against us, when a wire with a description of us and the car will raise the whole country so that we shall not be safe anywhere."

"Oh, my gracious!" the poor child exclaimed. "What are we to do? Aunt Mary and I have other hats and jackets and things in our car-luggage. Couldn't we change, so as to look quite different, and buy a lot of--of Aspinall, or something in the next village before they've had time to give the alarm, and paint the poor car a bright scarlet? Then we should get through and no one would know."