The Counts Chauffeur | Page 2

was further aroused when he added:
"To be plain, there is a certain young lady in very high society in the case. I need not tell you more, need I? You will be discreet, eh?"
I smiled and promised. What did it all mean? I wondered. My employer was mysterious; but in due course I should, as he prophesied, obtain knowledge of this secret -- a secret love affair, no doubt.
The Count's private affairs did not, after all, concern me. My duty was to drive on the Continent, and for what he was to pay me I was to serve him loyally, and see that his tyre and petrol bills were not too exorbitant.
He went to the writing-table and wrote out a short agreement which he copied, and we both signed it -- a rather curiously worded agreement by which I was to serve him for three years, and during that time our interests were "to be mutual." That last phrase caused me to wonder, but I scribbled my name and refrained from comment, for the payment was already double that which I was receiving from the firm.
"My car is outside," he remarked, as he folded his copy of the agreement and placed it in his pocket. "Did you notice it?"
I had not, so we went out into Piccadilly together, and there, standing at the kerb, I saw a car that caused my heart to bound with delight -- a magnificent six-cylinder forty horse-power "Napier," of the very latest model. The car was open, with side entrance, a dark green body with coronet and cipher on the panels, upholstered in red, with glass removable screen to the splash-board -- a splendid, workmanlike car just suitable for long tours and fast runs. Of all the cars and of all the makes, that was the only one which it was my ambition to drive.
I walked around it in admiration, and saw that every accessory was the best and very latest that money could buy -- even to the newly invented gas-generator which had only a few weeks ago been placed upon the market. I lifted the long bonnet, looked around the engine, and saw those six cylinders in a row -- the latest invention of a celebrated inventor.
"Splendid!" I ejaculated. "There's nothing yet to beat this car. By Jove! we can get a move on a good road!"
"Yes," smiled the Count. "My man Mario could make her travel, but he's a fool and has left me in a fit of temper. He was an Italian, and we Italians are, alas! hot-headed," and he laughed again. "Would you like to try her?"
I assented with delight, and, while he returned inside the Club to get his fur coat, I started the engine and got in at the steering-wheel. A few moments later he seated himself beside me, and we glided down Piccadilly on our way to Regent's Park -- the ground where, day after day, it had been my habit to go testing. The car ran perfectly, the engines sounding a splendid rhythm through the Regent Street traffic into broad Portland Place, and on into the Park, where I was afforded some scope to see what she could do. The Count declared that he was in no hurry, therefore we went up through Hampstead to Highgate Station, and then on the Great North Road, through East End Whetstone, Barnet, and Hatfield, to Hitchin -- thirty-five miles of road which was as well known to me as the Strand.
The morning was dry and cold, the roads in excellent condition bar a few patches of new metal between Codicote and Chapelfoot, and the sharp east wind compelled us to goggle. Fortunately, I had on my leather-lined frieze coat, and was therefore fully equipped. The North Road between London and Hitchin is really of little use for trying the speed of a car, for there are so many corners, it is mostly narrow, and it abounds in police-traps. That twenty miles of flat, straight road, with perfect surface, from Lincoln to New Holland, opposite Hull, is one of the best places in England to see what a car is worth.
Nevertheless, the run to Hitchin satisfied me perfectly that the car was not a "roundabout," as so many are, but a car well "within the meaning of the Act."
"And, what is your opinion of her, Ewart?" asked the Count, as we sat down to cold beef and pickles in the long old-fashioned upstairs room of the Sun Inn at Hitchin.
"Couldn't be better," I declared. "The brake would do with re-lining, but that's about all. When do we start for the Continent?"
"The day after to-morrow. I'm staying just now at the Cecil. We'll run the car down to Folkestone, ship her across, and then go by Paris and Aix to Monte