The Lady in the Car Part 33

Every spectator stood breathless. It was really marvellous that one hundred miles could have been covered in that brief s.p.a.ce of time while they had been watching.

Again, and yet again, the two cars flashed by, yet still d.i.c.k lagged behind.

Suddenly, however, they came round for the last lap, and as they pa.s.sed the watchful widow, the Englishman like a shot from a gun, pa.s.sed his opponent and won by twenty yards.

When he pulled up, after having run again round the course to slacken speed, he almost fell into the arms of the crowd of men who came up to congratulate him.

Mrs Edmondson had left her post of vantage and stood near by. She overheard one of them--it was Mason--say:

"By Jove, d.i.c.k! This is a wonderful run. You've broken the five, ten, and hundred mile records! The fortune of your car is made?"

Then the victor turned to his opponent and shook his hand, saying in French:

"Thank you, my dear Carlier, for a very excellent race."

The widow, after a brief chat, returned to town by rail, while Garrett drove his master back to Dover Street.

That night his Highness dined with the widow at the Langham, and she bestowed upon him fulsome praise regarding his prowess.

"What make of car is yours?" she asked while they were lingering over their dessert in the widow's private sitting-room.

"It's the St Christopher," he answered.

"St Christopher!" she echoed. "What a funny name to give a car!"

"It may appear so at first sight, but St Christopher has been taken by motorists on the Continent as their patron saint--the saint who for ages has guarded the believer against the perils of the way. So it's really appropriate, after all."

"I heard them say that you've made the fortune of the car by your success to-day," she remarked.

"Yes," he answered carelessly. "Anybody who cared to put in a few thousands now would receive a magnificent return for their money-- twenty-five per cent, within a year."

"You think so?" she asked interestedly. "Think, Mrs Edmondson?" he echoed. "I'm sure of it! Why, the St Christopher now holds the world's record, and you know what that means. The makers will begin to receive far more orders than they can ever execute. Look at the Napier, the Itala, the Fiat, and others. The same thing has happened. The St Christopher, however, is in the hands of two men only, and they, unfortunately, lack capital."

"You should help them, if it's such a good thing."

"I'm doing so. Now I've won the race I shall put in fifteen thousand-- perhaps twenty. They are seeing me to-morrow. As a matter of fact," he added, lowering his tone, "I mean to hold controlling interest in the concern. It's far too good a thing to miss."

The fat widow, with her black bodice cut low, and the circle of diamonds sparkling upon her red neck, sipped her wine slowly, but said nothing.

His Highness did not refer to this matter again. He was a past-master of craft and cunning.

Later on, the Rev Thomas Clayton was announced, and the trio spent quite a pleasant evening, which concluded by the lady inviting them both to Milnthorpe the following week.

At first the Prince again hesitated. The widow sat in breathless expectancy. At all hazards she must get his Highness to visit her. It would be known all over the county. She would pay a guinea each to the fashionable papers to announce the fact, for it would be worth so very much to her in the county.

"I fear, Mrs Edmondson, that I must go to Berlin next week," replied the Prince. "I'm sure it's very good of you, but the Emperor has summoned me regarding some affairs of my brother Karl."

"Oh! why can't you postpone your visit, and come and see me first?" she urged in her most persuasive style. "Mr Clayton, do urge the Prince to come to me," she added.

"You can surely go to Germany a week later, Prince," exclaimed the cleric. "Where's the Kaiser just now?"

"At Kiel, yachting."

"Then he may not be in Berlin next week?"

"He has appointed to meet me at Potsdam. His Majesty never breaks an engagement."

"Then you will break yours, Prince, and go with me to Milnthorpe,"

declared the Parson.

"Yes," cried Mrs Edmondson; "and we will have no further excuses, will we, Mr Clayton?"

So his Highness was forced to accept, and next day the wily widow returned to Yorkshire to make preparations for the visit which was to shed such social l.u.s.tre upon her house.

THREE.

The Prince and the Parson held several long interviews in the two days that followed, and it was apparent from one meeting which took place, and at which both Mason and Garrett were present, that some clever manoeuvre was intended. The quartette held solemn councils in the Prince's chambers, and there was much discussion, and considerable laughter.

The latter, it appeared, was in consequence of Max's recollection of the wonderful record of his Highness at Brooklands.

On the day appointed both Prince and parson, attended by the faithful Charles, left King's Cross by train for Whitby, Garrett having started alone on the "forty," with orders to travel by way of Doncaster and York, and arrive at Milnthorpe by noon next day.

The fine old place was, the Prince found, quite a comfortable residence.

The widow did the honours gracefully, welcoming her guests warmly.

When the two friends found themselves alone in the Prince's room, his Highness whispered to the exemplary vicar:

"I don't like the look of that Italian butler, Tommy. Do you know I've a very strange fancy?"

"Of what?"

"That I've met that fellow before, somewhere or other."

"I sincerely hope not," was the clergyman's response.

"Where I've met him I can't remember. By Jove! It'll be awkward for us if he recollects me."

"Then we'll have to watch him. I wonder if--"

And the Parson crossed noiselessly to the bedroom door and opened it suddenly.

As he did so there was the distinct sound of some one scuffling round the corner in the corridor. Both men detected it.

There had been an eavesdropper! They were suspected!

At dinner that night the pair cast furtive glances at the thin, clean-shaven face of the middle-aged Italian butler, whose head was prematurely bald, but whose manners as a servant were perfect. Ferrini was the name by which his mistress addressed him, and it was apparent that he was very devoted to her. The young footman was English--a c.o.c.kney, by his tw.a.n.g.

In the old panelled room, with its long family portraits and its old carved buffet laden with well-kept silver--or rather electro-plate, as the pair already knew--a well-cooked dinner was served amid flowers and cunningly-concealed lights. The table was a round one, and the only other guest was a tall, fair-haired young girl, a Miss Maud Mortimer, the daughter of a neighbouring squire. She was a loosely built, s...o...b..ring miss, with a face like a wax doll, and a slight impediment in her speech.