The Counts Chauffeur | Page 9

in, so you can just
shut your eyes to anything that isn't exactly in order -- understand?
There's a big thing before us -- a very big thing -- a thing that's simply
dropped from the clouds. You want money, so do I. We all want money.
Just keep a still tongue, and obey my orders, and you'll see that we'll

bring off the biggest coup that the Riviera has yet known."
"I know how to be silent," I said, though I did not at all like the aspect
of affairs.
"Yes, you do. I give you credit for that. One word of this and I go to
durance vile. Silence, and the whole of us profit and get the
wherewithal to live. I often think, Ewart, that the public, as they call it
-- the British public -- are an extraordinary people. They are so
confoundedly honest. But, nowadays, there surely isn't any honesty 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 habitué, 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