The Counts Chauffeur | Page 8

Beaulieu, that great white hotel that lies so
sheltered in the most delightful bay of the whole Riviera.
It was a clear, bright December afternoon. The roads were perfect,
though dusty as the Corniche always is, and very soon, with the Count
and his lady friend, I swung into the curved drive before the hotel.
"You can go to the garage for an hour or so, Ewart," my employer said,
after they had descended. Therefore I turned the car and went to the
huge garage at the rear of the hotel -- the garage which every motorist
on the Riviera knows so well.
After an hour I re-entered the hotel to look for the Count and receive
orders, when I saw, in the great red-carpeted lounge, my employer and
the little Parisienne seated with the man whom I knew as Sir Charles
Blythe, but who really was one of Count Bindo's confederates.
We exchanged glances, and his was a meaning one. That some deep
and ingenious game was in progress I felt certain, but what it was I had
no idea.
Blythe was smartly dressed in a grey flannel suit and white shoes -- the
costume de rigueur on the Riviera -- and as he smoked his cigar, easily
reclining in the wicker lounge-chair, he presented the complete picture
of the English aristocrat "putting in" a month or two for sunshine.

Both men were talking earnestly in French with the dark-eyed little
lady, who now and then laughed, or, raising her shoulders, looked from
one to the other and protruded her chin in a gesture of uncertainty.
I retired and watched closely. It was quite plain in a few moments that
the young lady was entirely devoted to the handsome Bindo. Both
manner and glances betrayed it. I saw him look at Blythe, and knew
that they were working in accord towards some pre-arranged end.
Presently a noisy party of American girls who had just returned from
"Monty" entered and sat close to them, calling for tea. Therefore the
trio rose and went out into the evening dusk. They wished, it seemed, to
talk in private, and they did so until, half an hour later, I received orders
to bring round the car, and drove them all three back to Nice, which we
reached in plenty of time for dinner.
"Now, you will not forget, Gabrielle, you're sure?" said Bindo in
French as he handed her out of the car and shook her hand as he bared
his head.
"I have promised, m'sieur," was her reply in a low, rather musical voice.
"I shall not forget."
And then she bowed to Blythe, ascended the steps, and disappeared
into the hotel.
Her quietness and neatness of dress were, to me, attractive. She was a
dainty little thing, and yet her plain black dress so well cut, was really
very severe. She had the manner of a lady, sweet and demure. The air
of the woman-of-the-world was, somehow, entirely absent.
Well, to confess it, I found myself admiring her very much. She was, I
thought delightful -- one of the prettiest, sweetest girls I had ever seen.
Evidently our run to Beaulieu and back was her first experience of
motoring, for she laughed with girlish delight when, on an open piece
of road here and there, I put on a "move." And as she disappeared into
the hotel she turned and waved her tiny black-gloved hand back at the

handsome Bindo.
"Done, my dear chap!" chuckled Blythe in a low voice to his
companion as the neat figure disappeared behind the glass swing-doors.
"The rest is easy -- if we keep up pluck."
"It's a big thing, of course; but I'm sanguine enough," declared my
employer. "That little girl is a perfect brick. She's entirely unsuspicious.
Flatter and court a woman, and if she falls in love with you she'll go
any length to serve you!"
"You're a splendid lover!" declared Sir Charles as he mounted into the
car beside the Count, while the latter, laughing lightly, bent to me
saying:
"Back to Monte Carlo, as quick as we can get."
I slipped along out of Nice, through Villefranche, round Beaulieu,
slowing up for the corners, but travelling sharply on the open road, and
we were soon back at the Paris.
Having put the car into the garage, I walked round to the hotel,
transformed myself from a leather-coated chauffeur into a Monte Carlo
lounger, and just before ten o'clock met the Count going across the
flower-scented Place to the Rooms.
He was alone, and, recognising me crossed and said:
"Ewart, let's walk up through the gardens. I want to have a word with
you."
I turned on my heel, and strolled with him.
"You know what we've done to-day -- eh? You stand