The Counts Chauffeur | Page 9

in life -- at least, I've never found any. Why, your honest business man who goes to church or chapel each Sunday, and is a model of all the virtues, is, in the City, the very man who'll drive a hard bargain, pay a starvation wage, and button his pockets against the widow! Who are your successful men in business? Why, for the most part, the men who, by dint of sharp practice or unscrupulousness, have been able to get in front of their competitors. Therefore, after all, am I very much worse than the successful City man? I live on my brains -- and I'm happy to say I've lived very well -- up to the present. But enough of this philosophy," laughed the easy-going young scoundrel. "I want to give you instructions. You stand in with us, Ewart. Your share of the Gilling affair is to your credit, and you'll have it before long. At present, we have another little matter in hand -- one which requires extremely delicate handling, but will be successful providing Mademoiselle Gabrielle doesn't change her mind. But women are so often fickle, and the morning brings prudence far too frequently. You'll see some strange happenings to-morrow or the next day. Keep your eyes and ears closed; that's all you have to do. You understand -- eh?"
"Perfectly," was my reply, for my curiosity was now thoroughly whetted.
There was a desperate project in the air, and the spirit of adventure had now entered thoroughly into me.
Early next morning I drove the Count back to Nice where, at a quiet spot beyond the Magnan, he met the pretty Gabrielle clandestinely.
When we drew up to where she was apparently awaiting us, I saw that she was annoyed at my presence.
"Ewart, my chauffeur," he explained, introducing me, "will say nothing about this meeting. He knows how to be discreet."
I raised my peaked motor-cap, as our eyes met. I thought I detected a curiously timid glance in them, for in an instant she dropped her gaze.
That she was an intimate friend of the Count was shown by the instructions he gave her.
"You two walk along the Promenade des Anglais, and I'll meet you at the other end by the Hotel Suisse. I'll take the car myself on to the garage."
This meant that I was to walk with her a full three-quarters of an hour along the whole of the beautiful sea-front of Nice. Why, I wondered?
"But, Bindo, can't you come?"
"I'll meet you outside the Suisse. It's better to do that," was his answer. "Go along; you'll find Ewart a clever fellow. He'll tell you how to drive a motor-car."
She laughed lightly, and then, as Bindo mounted into the car again and turned away, we strolled together on the broad asphalte back towards the town.
The morning was delightful, with bright sunshine and blue sea. The sweet-smelling wallflowers were already out, and the big palms waved lazily in the soft breeze.
I quickly found my companion most charming, and envied the Count his acquaintanceship. Was she marked down as a victim? Or was she an accomplice? I could not grasp the motive for being sent to walk the whole length of the promenade with her. But the Count and his companions were, they admitted, working a "big thing," and this was part of it, I supposed.
"This is the first time you have been in Nice, eh?" she asked in her pretty broken English as she stopped a moment to open her sunshade.
"Yes," I answered; "but the Count is an old habitu??, I believe?"
"Oh, yes," she laughed; "he knows everybody. Last year he was on the Fetes Committee and one of the judges at the Battle of Flowers."
And so we gossiped on, walking leisurely, and passing many who, like ourselves, were idling in the winter sunshine.
There was an air of refined ingenuousness about her that was particularly attractive. She walked well, holding her skirt tightly about her as only a true Parisienne can, and displaying a pair of extremely neat ankles. She inquired about me -- how long had I been in the Count's service, how I liked him, and such like; while I, by careful questioning, discovered that her name was Gabrielle Deleuse, and that she came to the Cote d'Azur each season.
Just as we were opposite the white facade of the Hotel Westminster we encountered a short, rather stout, middle-aged lady, accompanied by a tall, thin, white-haired gentleman. They were well-dressed, the lady wearing splendid sables.
She started when she recognised them, instantly lowering her sunshade in order to hide her face. Whether the pair noticed her I cannot say. I only know that, as soon as ever they passed, she exclaimed, in annoyance:
"I can't think why Bindo sent you along here with me."
"I regret, mademoiselle, that my companionship should be distasteful