The Counts Chauffeur | Page 3

Carlo first; afterwards we'll decide upon our itinerary. Ever been to Monty?"
I replied in the negative. The prospect of going on the Riviera sounded delightful.
After our late luncheon we ran back from Hitchin to London, but, not arriving before lighting-up time, we had to turn on the head-lights beyond Barnet. We drove straight to the fine garage on the Embankment beneath the Cecil, and after I had put things square and received orders for ten o'clock next day, I was preparing to go to my lodgings in Bloomsbury to look through my kit in preparation for the journey, when my employer suddenly exclaimed:
"Come up to the smoking-room a moment. I want to write a letter for you to take to Boodle's in St. James's Street for me, if you will."
I followed him upstairs to the great tiled smoking-room overlooking the Embankment, and as we entered, two well-dressed men -- Englishmen, of aristocratic bearing -- rose from a table and shook him warmly by the hand.
I noticed their quick, apprehensive look as they glanced at me as though in inquiry, but my employer exclaimed:
"This is my new chauffeur, Ewart, an expert. Ewart, these are my friends -- Sir Charles Blythe," indicating the elder man, "and Mr. Henderson. These gentlemen will perhaps be with us sometimes, so you had better know them."
The pair looked me up and down and smiled pleasantly. Sir Charles was narrow-faced, about fifty, with a dark beard turning grey; his companion was under thirty, a fair-haired, rather foppishly-dressed young fellow, in a fashionable suit and a light fancy vest.
Then, as the Count went to the table to write, Sir Charles inquired where we had been, and whether I had driven much on the Continent.
When the Count handed me the letter, I saw that he exchanged a meaning glance with Sir Charles, but what it was intended to convey I could not guess. I only know that, for a few seconds, I felt some vague distrust of my new friends, and yet they treated me more as an equal than as a mere chauffeur.
The Count's friends were certainly a merry, easy-going pair, yet somehow I instinctively held them in suspicion. Whether it was on account of the covert glance which Sir Charles shot across at my employer, or whether there was something unusual about their manner, I cannot tell. I am only aware that when I left the hotel I went on my way in wonder.
Next day, at ten punctually, I ran the car from the Strand into the courtyard of the hotel and pulled up at the restaurant entrance, so as to be out of the way of the continuous cab traffic. The Count, however, did not make his appearance until nearly half an hour later, and when he did arrive he superintended the dispatch by cab of a quantity of luggage which he told me he was sending forward by grande vitesse to Monte Carlo.
After the four-wheeler had moved off, the hall-porter helped him on with his big fur coat, and he, getting up beside me, told me to drive to Piccadilly.
As we were crossing Trafalgar Square into Pall Mall, he turned to me, saying:
"Remember, Ewart, your promise yesterday. If my actions -- I mean, if you think I am a little peculiar sometimes, don't trouble your head about it. You are paid to drive -- and paid well, I think. My affairs don't concern you, do they?"
"Not in the least," I answered, nevertheless puzzled.
He descended at a tobacconist's in Bond Street, and bought a couple of boxes of cigars, and then made several calls at shops, also visiting two jewellers to obtain, he remarked, a silver photograph frame of a certain size.
At Gilling's -- the third shop he tried -- he remained inside some little time -- quite twenty minutes, I should think. As you know, it is in the narrowest part of Bond Street, and the traffic was congested owing to the road at the Piccadilly end being partially up.
As I sat in my place staring idly before me, and reflecting that I should be so soon travelling due south over the broad, well-kept French roads, and out of the gloom and dreariness of the English winter, I suddenly became conscious of a familiar face in the crowd of hurrying foot-passengers.
I glanced up quickly as a man bustled past. Was I mistaken? I probably had been, but the thin, keen, bearded countenance was very much like that of Sir Charles Blythe. But no. When I looked back after him I saw that his figure was much more bent and his appearance was not half so smart and well-groomed as the Count's friend.
At one moment I felt absolutely positive that the man had really been watching me, and was now endeavouring to escape recognition, yet at