The Pit-Prop Syndicate | Page 7

and his gaze followed
the direction of hers.
The driver had come out of the shed, the same dark, aquiline-featured
man as had passed him on the bridge. He had stopped and was staring
at Merriman with an intense regard in which doubt and suspicion
rapidly changed to hostility. For a moment neither man moved, and
then once again the girl's voice broke in.
"Oh, there is father," she cried, with barely disguised relief in her tones.
"Come, won't you, and speak to him."
The interruption broke the spell. The driver averted his eyes and
stooped over his engine; Merriman turned towards the girl, and the

little incident was over.
It was evident to Merriman that he had in some way put his foot in it,
how he could not imagine, unless there was really something in the
matter of the number plate. But it was equally clear to him that his
companion wished to ignore the affair, and he therefore expelled it
from his mind for the moment, and once again following the direction
of her gaze, moved towards a man who was approaching from the far
end of the shed.
He was tall and slender like his daughter, and walked with lithe,
slightly feline movements. His face was oval, clear skinned, and with a
pallid complexion made still paler by his dark hair and eyes and a tiny
mustache, almost black and with waxed and pointed ends. He was
good-looking as to features, but the face was weak and the expression a
trifle shifty.
His daughter greeted him, still with some perturbation in her manner.
"We were just looking for you, daddy," she called a little breathlessly.
"This gentleman is cycling to Bordeaux and has run out of petrol. He
asked me if there was any to be had hereabouts, so I told him you could
give him some."
The newcomer honored Merriman with a rapid though searching and
suspicious glance, but he replied politely, and in a cultured voice:
"Quite right, my dear." He turned to Merriman and spoke in French. "I
shall be very pleased to supply you, monsieur. How much do you
want?"
"Thanks awfully, sir," Merriman answered in his own language. "I'm
English. It's very good of you, I'm sure, and I'm sorry to be giving so
much trouble. A liter should run me to Bordeaux, or say a little more in
case of accidents."
"I'll give you two liters. It's no trouble at all." He turned and spoke in
rapid French to the driver.

"Oui, monsieur," the man replied, and then, stepping up to his chief, he
said something in a low voice. The other started slightly, for a moment
looked concerned, then instantly recovering himself, advanced to
Merriman.
"Henri, here, will send a man with a two-liter can to where you have
left your machine," he said, then continued with a suave smile:
"And so, sir, you're English? It is not often that we have the pleasure of
meeting a fellow-countryman in these wilds."
"I suppose not, sir, but I can assure you your pleasure and surprise is as
nothing to mine. You are not only a fellow-countryman but a friend in
need as well."
"My dear sir, I know what it is to run out of spirit. And I suppose there
is no place in the whole of France where you might go farther without
finding any than this very district. You are on pleasure bent, I
presume?"
Merriman shook his head.
"Unfortunately, no," he replied. "I'm travelling for my firm, Edwards &
Merriman, Wine Merchants of London. I'm Merriman, Seymour
Merriman, and I'm going round the exporters with whom we deal."
"A pleasant way to do it, Mr. Merriman. My name is Coburn. You see I
am trying to change the face of the country here?"
"Yes, Miss" - Merriman hesitated for a moment and looked at the girl -
"Miss Coburn told me what you were doing. A splendid notion, I
think."
"Yes, I think we are going to make it pay very well. I suppose you're
not making a long stay?"
"Two days in Bordeaux, sir, then I'm off east to Aviguon."
"Do you know, I rather envy you. One gets tired of these tree trunks

and the noise of the saws. Ah, there is your petrol." A workman had
appeared with a red can of Shell. "Well, Mr. Merriman, a pleasant
journey to you. You will excuse my not going farther with you, but I
am really supposed to be busy." He turned to his daughter with a smile.
"You, Madeleine, can see Mr. Merriman to the road?"
He shook hands, declined Merriman's request to be allowed to pay for
the petrol and, cutting short the other's thanks with a wave of his arm,
turned back to the shed.
The