The Counts Chauffeur | Page 7

are, Ewart," was his reply. "But don't bother your
head about them now. All you've got to look after is your driving. Let's

get across to Winchester as quickly as possible. Just here! -- sharp to
the right and the first to the left takes us into the Guildford road. Then
we can move."
A SENTIMENTAL SWINDLE.
COUNT BINDO'S retreat near Winchester proved to be a small, rather
isolated house near Kingsworthy. It stood in its own grounds,
surrounded by a high wall, and at the rear was a very fair garage, that
had been specially constructed, with inspection-pit and the various
appliances.
The house was rather well furnished, but the only servant was a man,
who turned out to be none other than the yellow-haired young fellow
who had been introduced to me at the Cecil as "Mr. Henderson."
He no longer wore the light fancy vest and smartly-cut clothes, but was
in a somewhat shabby suit of black. He smiled grimly as I recognised
him, while his master said:
"Got back all right, Henderson -- eh?"
"I arrived only ten minutes ago, sir. All was quiet, wasn't it?"
"Absolutely," replied the Count, who then went upstairs, and I saw him
no more that evening.
For nearly a fortnight the car remained in the garage. It now bore a
different identification-plate, and to kill time I idled about, wondering
when we should start again. It was a strange ménage. Count Bindo
was a very easy-going cosmopolitan, who treated both Henderson and
myself as intimates, inasmuch as we ate at table with him, and smoked
together each evening.
We were simply waiting. The papers were, of course, full of the clever
theft from Gilling's, and the police, it appeared, were doing their utmost
to track the tricksters -- but in vain. The Count, under the name of Mr.
Claude Fielding, seemed to be very popular in the neighbourhood,

though he discouraged visitors. Indeed, no one came there. He dined,
however, at several houses during the second week of his concealment
and seemed to be quite confident of his safety.
At last we left, but not, however, before Sir Charles Blythe had stayed
one night with us and made some confidential report to his friend. It
being apparent that all was clear, some further alteration was made both
in the appearance of the car and in the personal aspect of Count Bindo
and myself, after which we started for the Continent by way of
Southampton.
We crossed and ran up to Paris, where we stayed at the Ritz. The Count
proved a devil-may- care fellow with plenty of friends in the French
capital. When with the latter he treated me as a servant; when alone as a
friend.
Whatever the result of the clever piece of trickery in Bond Street, it was
quite clear that my employer was in funds, for he spent freely, dined
and supped at the expensive restaurants, and thoroughly enjoyed
himself with his chums.
We left Paris and went on the broad good road to Lyons and to Monte
Carlo. It was just before Christmas, and the season had, of course, not
yet commenced. We stayed at the Hotel de Paris -- the hotel where
most men en garçon put up -- and the car I put into the Garage
Meunier.
It was the first time I had seen "Monty," and it attracted me as it does
every man and woman. Here, too, Bindo di Ferraris seemed to have
hosts of friends. He dined at the Grand, the Metropole, or the Riviera
Palace and supped each night at Ciro's, indulging in a little mild play in
the Rooms in the interval between the two meals.
He did not often go out in the car, but frequently went to Nice and
Cannes by train. About a fortnight after our arrival, however, we ran,
one bright morning, along the lower road by Beaulieu to Nice -- bad,
by the way, on account of the sharp corners and electric trams -- and
called at a small hotel in the Boulevard Gambetta.

The Count apparently had an appointment with a tall, dark-haired,
extremely good-looking young French girl, with whom he lunched at a
small restaurant and afterwards he walked for an hour on the
Promenade, talking with her very earnestly.
She was not more than nineteen -- a smart, very chic little Parisienne,
quietly dressed in black, but in clothes that bore unmistakably the
cachet of a first-class dressmaker. They took a turn on the Jetée
Promenade, and presently returned to the hotel, when the Count told
her to go and get a close hat and thick coat, and he would wait for her.
Then, when she had gone, he told me that we were about to take her
over to the Bristol at