The Counts Chauffeur | Page 2

I feel confident that you can serve me very
much to our mutual advantage."
This puzzled me, and my curiosity 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