The Count's Chauffeur by William Le Queux
CHAPTER V
THE SIX NEW NOVELS
The car had again undergone a transformation.
With a new racing-body, built in Northampton, and painted dead whitepicked out with gilt, no one would have recognised it as the car whichhad carried away the clever jewel-thief from Bond Street.
Since the adventure at Leghorn I had seen nothing of La Belle Valentine.With Bindo, however, I had driven the car across from Rome to Calais byway of Ventimiglia and Marseilles, and, after crossing the Channel, Ihad gone alone to Northampton, and there awaited the making of the smartnew racing-body.
Count Bindo di Ferraris, who seemed ever on the move, with an eye openfor "a good thing," wrote me from Ilfracombe, Southampton, Manchester,Perth, Aberdeen, and other places, remitting me the necessary money, andurging me to push on the work, as he wanted the car again immediately.
At last, when it was finished, I drove it to a garage I knew at the backof Regent Street, and that same evening met him at the Royal AutomobileClub. At his request, I dressed smartly and gave no outward appearanceof the chauffeur; therefore he invited me to dine, and afterwards, whilewe sat alone in a corner of the smoking-room, he began to unfold aseries of plans for the future. They were, however, hazy, and onlyconveyed to me an idea that we were going on a long tour in England.
I ventured to remark that to be in England, after the little affair inBond Street, might be somewhat dangerous. He replied, however, with hisusual nonchalant air--
"My dear Ewart, there's not the slightest fear. Act as I bid, and trustin me. To-morrow, at eleven, we go North together--into Yorkshire. Youwill be my servant again after to-night. You understand--eh?"
"Perfectly. Shall we start from here?"
"Yes. But before we set out I can only warn you that you'll want allyour wits about you this time. If we have luck, we shall bring off a bigthing--a very big thing."
"And if we have no luck?"
"Well--well, we shan't bring it off--that's all," he laughed.
"Where are we going?"
"Yorkshire. To spend a week at the seaside. It will do us both good.I've decided that the Scarborough air will be extremely beneficial tous. One of our friends is already there--at the Grand."
"Sir Charles?"
"Exactly. He's very fond of Scarborough--likes the church parade onSundays, the music on the Spa, and all that kind of thing. So we'll joinhim. I wonder if we shall get through in a day?"
"We ought to--with luck," was my response; and then, after urging me toleave everything in his hands, he told me that I'd better get early tobed, and thoroughly overhaul the car early next morning, beforestarting.
So next day at ten he took his seat by my side outside the Club inPiccadilly, and we drove away into the traffic towards Regent's Park, onour way to that much overrated highway, the Great North Road. The daywas warm and dusty, and as it was a Saturday there were police-traps outeverywhere. Therefore progress was slow, for I was forced at every fewmiles to slow down, to escape a ten-pound fine.
Leafy Hatfield, crooked Hitchin, quaint old Stamford, we passed, untilwe swung into the yard of "The Angel," that antique and comfortablehotel well known to all motorists at Grantham, where we had a hastymeal.
Then out again in the sunset, we headed through Doncaster to York, andin the darkness, with our big head-lamps shining, we tore throughMalton, and slipped down the hill into Scarborough. The run had been along and dusty one, the last fifty miles in darkness and at a highspeed, therefore when we pulled up before the Grand I leaned heavilyupon the steering-wheel, weary and fagged.
It was about eleven o'clock at night, and Sir Charles, who had evidentlybeen expecting our arrival in the big hall of the hotel, rushed out andgreeted Bindo effusively. Then, directed by a page-boy, who sat in theCount's seat, I took the car round to Hutton's garage, close by.
With Sir Charles I noticed another man, young, with very fair hair--amere boy, he seemed--in evening clothes of the latest cut. When Ireturned to the hotel I saw them all seated in the big hall overwhiskies and sodas, laughing merrily together. It was late, all theother guests having retired.
Next day Bindo took the young man, whose name I discovered to be PaulClayton, for a run on the car to Bridlington. Bindo drove, and I satupon the step. The racing-body gave the "forty" a rakish appearance, andeach time we went up and down the Esplanade, or across the ValleyBridge, we created considerable interest. After lunch we went on toHornsea, and returned to Scarborough at tea-time.
That same evening, after dinner, I saw Bindo's new friend walking on theEsplanade with a fair-haired, well-dressed young girl. They were deep inconversation, and it struck me that she was warning him regardingsomething.
Days passed--warm, idle August days. Scarborough was full of visitors.The Grand was overrun by a smartly dressed crowd, and the Spa was apicturesque sight during the morning promenade. The beautiful"Belvedere" grounds were a blaze of roses, and, being private property,were regarded with envy by thousands who trod the asphalte of theEsplanade. Almost daily Bindo took Paul for a run on the car. To York,to Castle Howard, to Driffield, and to Whitby we went--the road to thelast-named place, by the way, being execrable. Evidently Bindo's presentobject was to ingratiate himself with young Clayton, but with whatulterior motive I could not conceive.
Sir Charles remained constantly in the background. Well dressed andhighly respectable, he presented a rather superior air, and walked onthe Spa at certain hours, establishing a kind of custom from which hedid not depart. He had now changed his name to Sinclair, while Bindo diFerraris went under the less foreign cognomen of Albert Cornforth. Ialone kept my own name, George Ewart.
As day succeeded day, I kept wondering what was really in the wind. Whywere they so friendly with Paul Clayton? Of one fact I felt assured, andit was that jewels were not the object of the manoeuvre on thisoccasion. That Bindo and his friends had laid some deep plot was, ofcourse, quite certain, but the Count never took me into his confidenceuntil the last moment, when the _coup_ was made. Therefore, try how Iwould, I could not discover the intentions of the gang.
From Leghorn to Scarborough is a far cry. At least we were safe fromdetection from all our little business affairs, save that of the BondStreet jewellers. Continually I reflected that our description had beencirculated by the police, and that some enterprising constable ordetective might pick upon us on the off-chance of being correct.
Count Bindo--or Albert Cornforth, as he now chose to be known--washaving a most excellent time. He soon grew to know many people in thehotel, and being so essentially a ladies' man was greatly in request atthe dances. Continually he apologised to the ladies for being unable totake them motoring, but, as he explained, the space on a racing-car islimited.
Thus a fortnight passed. Round at the garage were a number of cars fromLondon, Manchester, and elsewhere, and I soon grew friendly with severalexpert chauffeurs, two of whom were old friends.
One day Bindo and I had been to Harrogate, dined at the Majestic, andreturned. After taking the car to the garage, I went out for a turnalong the Esplanade, in order to stretch my legs. It was midnight,brightly starlit, and silent save for the low soughing of the waves uponthe shore. I had lit my pipe and walked nearly to the Holbeck Gardens,at the extreme end of the South Cliff, when, in the darkness, Idiscerned two figures sitting upon a seat in the shadow. One was a man,and the other a woman in a light evening dress, with a wrap thrown overher head and shoulders. As I passed I managed to get a glimpse of theirfaces. One was Paul Clayton, and the other the pretty, fair-haired youngwoman I had seen him with before. They were sitting in the attitude oflovers. He held her hand and, I believe, had just raised it to his lips.
I hurried on, annoyed with myself for being so inquisitive. But thebeautiful face of the girl became impressed upon my memory.
Count Bindo, the nonchalant, audacious cosmopolitan, who spent money sofreely, was a veritable marvel of cleverness and cunning in all mattersof chicanery and fraud. He was evidently a man who, thoug
The actions of our friend, Sir Charles Blythe, were also ratherpuzzling. He seemed to be taking no part in whatever scheme was inprogress. If I met him in public on the Esplanade, or elsewhere, Isaluted him as a chauffeur should, but when we met unobserved I was hisequal, and on several occasions I made inquiries which he refused tosatisfy.
We had been nearly three weeks in Scarborough when, after dinner oneevening in the big hall of the hotel I saw the audacious Bindo seateddrinking coffee with a little, queer, wizen-faced, but ratherover-dressed old lady, towards whom he seemed to be particularly polite.She was evidently one of those wrinkled, yellow-toothed old tabbies whostill believe themselves to be attractive, for, as I watched covertly, Isaw how she assumed various poses for the benefit of those seated in hervicinity. Though so strikingly dressed, in a gown trimmed with beautifulold lace, she wore no jewellery, save her wedding ring. Her airs andmannerisms were, however, amusing, and quickly made it apparent that shemoved in a good set.
From the hall-porter I presently learned that she was a Mrs. Clayton, ofSt. Mellions Hall, near Peterborough, the widow of a wealthy Oldhamcotton-spinner, who generally spent a month at that hotel each year.
"She's a quaint old girl," he informed me in confidence. "Thinks no endof herself, and always trying to hang on to some woman with a title,even if she's only a baronet's wife. Some ill-natured woman hasnicknamed her the Chameleon--because she changes her dresses so oftenand is so fond of bright colours. But she's a good old sort," he added."Always pretty free with her tips. Her son is here too."
Whoever or whatever she was, it was evident that Bindo was busilyengaged ingratiating himself with her, having previously established afirm friendship with her son, who, by the way, had left Scarborough onthe previous day.
I happened to have a friend who was chauffeur to a doctor inPeterborough, therefore I wrote to him that evening, making inquiriesregarding St. Mellions and its owner. Three days later a reply came tothe effect that the Hall was about ten miles from Peterborough, and oneof the finest country seats in Northamptonshire. It had been theproperty of a well-known earl, who, having become impoverished bygambling, had sold it, together with the great estate, to old JoshuaClayton, the Lancashire millionaire. "She keeps a couple of cars," myfriend concluded. "One is a Humber voiturette, and the other atwenty-four Mercedes. You know her chauffeur--Saunders--from the Napierworks."
Of course I knew Saunders. He was once a very intimate friend of mine,but for the past couple of years I had lost sight of him.
Why, I wondered, was Bindo so intensely interested in the over-dressedold crone? He walked with her constantly on the Spa, or along theEsplanade; he lounged at her side when she sat to watch the paradingsummer girls and their flirtations, and he idled at coffee with herevery evening. After a few days Sir Charles Blythe, alias Sinclair, wasintroduced. By prearrangement the bogus baronet chanced to be standingby the railings looking over the Spa grounds one morning when Bindo andhis companion strolled by. The men saluted each other, and Bindo askedMrs. Clayton's leave to introduce his friend. The instant the magictitle was spoken the old lady became full of smiles and graces, and thetrio walking together passed along in the direction of Holbeck.
Two days later Henderson appeared on the scene quite suddenly. I waswalking along Westborough late one evening when somebody accosted me,and, turning, I found it was our friend--whom I believed to be still onthe Continent. He was dressed as foppishly as usual, and certainlybetrayed no evidence that he was a "crook."
"Well, Ewart?" he asked. "And how goes things? Who's this old cronewe've got in tow? A soft thing, Bindo says."
I told him all I knew concerning her, and he appeared to be reassured.He had taken a room at the Grand, he told me, and I afterwards foundthat on the following morning Bindo pretended to discover him at thehotel, and introduced him to the unsuspecting old lady as young LordKelham. Mrs. Clayton was delighted at thus extending heracquaintanceship with England's bluest blood.
That same afternoon the old lady, who seemed to be of a rather sportingturn of mind, expressed a desire to ride upon a racing-car; therefore Ibrought round the "forty," and Bindo drove her over to Malton, where wehad tea, and a quick run back in the evening. There are no police-trapson the road between Scarborough and York, therefore we were able to puton a move, and the old lady expressed the keenest delight at going sofast. As I sat upon the step at her feet, she seemed constantly alarmedlest I should fall off.
"My own cars never go so quickly," she declared. "My man drives atsnail's pace."
"Probably because you have traps in Northamptonshire," Bindo replied."There are always lurking constables along the Great North Road and thehighways leading into it. But you must let me come and take yourdriver's place for a little while. If the cars are worth anything atall, I'll get the last mile out of them."
"I only wish you would come and pay me a visit, Mr. Cornforth. I shouldbe so very delighted. Do you shoot?"
"A little," Bindo answered. "My friend, Sir Charles Sinclair, is said tobe one of the best shots in England. But I'm not much of a shot myself."
"Then can't you persuade him to come with you?"
"Well, I'll ask him," my employer replied. "He has very manyengagements, however. He's so well known--you see."
"He'll come if you persuade him, I'm sure," the old lady said, with whatshe believed to be a winning smile. "You can drive my Mercedes, and hecan shoot. I always have a house-party through September, so you bothmust join it. I'll make you as comfortable as I can in my humble house.Paul will be at home."
"Humble, Mrs. Clayton? Why, I have, years ago, heard St. Mellions spokenof as one of the show-houses of the Midlands."
"Then you've heard an exaggeration, my dear Mr. Cornforth," was herresponse, as she laughed lightly. "Remember, I shall expect you, and youcan bring your own car if you like. Our roads are fairly good, you'llfind."
Bindo accepted with profuse thanks, and shot me a glance by which I knewthat he had advanced one step further towards the consummation of hissecret intentions--whatever they were. Sir Charles would, no doubt, gowith us. What, I wondered, was intended?
Three weeks later we arrived one evening at St. Mellions, and found it amagnificent old Tudor mansion, in the centre of a lordly domain, andapproached from the high road by a great beech avenue nearly a mile inlength. The older wing of the house--part of an ancient Gothicabbey--was ivy-covered, while in front of the place was a great lake,originally the fish-pond of the Carmelite monks.
It wanted an hour before dinner when we arrived, and at sound of ourhorn nearly a dozen merry men and women of the house-party came forth togreet us.
"They seem a pretty smart crowd," remarked Bindo under his breath to SirCharles, seated beside him.
"Yes, but we'll want all our wits about us," replied the other. "I hearthat the wife of Gilling, the jeweller in Bond Street, is here with herdaughter. Suppose her husband takes it into his head to run down herefor the week-end--eh?"
"We won't suppose anything of the sort, my dear fellow. I always hatesupposing. It's a bad habit when you've got your living to earn, as wehave."
And with those words he ran along to the main entrance, and pulled upsharply, being greeted by our hostess herself, who, in a cream sergedress, stood upon the steps and shouted us a warm welcome.
My two friends were quickly introduced by Paul to the assembled p
My eyes and ears were open everywhere. The house-party, numberingeighteen, consisted mostly of the parvenu set, people who having mademoney by trade were now attempting to pass as county families. The menpossessed for the most part the air of "the City," and the womenkindwere painfully "smart" without the good breeding necessary to carry itoff.
After dinner, under the guidance of Saunders, I managed to get a glimpseof the great hall, where the party had assembled for coffee. It was afine, lofty, oak-panelled old place, once the refectory of the monks,with great Gothic windows of stained glass, antique cabinets, and standsof armour. Against the dark oak, from floor to ceiling, the dresses ofthe women showed well, and, amid the laughter and chatter, I saw thegay, careless Bindo--a well-set-up, manly figure in his eveningclothes--standing beside his hostess, chatting and laughing with her,while Sir Charles was bending over the chair of a pretty, fair-hairedgirl in turquoise, whom I recognised as the same girl I had seen withPaul at Scarborough. Her name was Ethel Gilling, Saunders said, and toldme that young Clayton was, in secret, deeply in love with her. Wouldher father arrive and put a premature end to our conspiracy? I fearedthat he might.
Saunders asked me a good deal about my berth and position, and I fancyhe envied me. He did not know that I had become a "crook" like mymaster, but believed me to be a mere chauffeur whose duties took himhither and thither across Europe. No chauffeur can bear private servicewith a cheap car in a circumscribed area. Every man who drives amotor-car--whether master or servant--longs for wide touring and ahigh-power car.
Contrary to Bindo's declaration, he proved to be a very good shot, whileSir Charles provoked the admiration of all the men when, next morning,they went forth in search of birds. That same afternoon Bindo drove theMercedes containing Mrs. Clayton and three ladies of the party, while Idrove one of the men--a Captain Halliday--in our own car, and we allwent over to the ruins of Crowland Abbey. Saunders had told me that hehad never driven the Mercedes to her full power, as his mistress was sonervous. But, with Bindo driving, the old lady now seemed to want to gofaster and faster. Our car was, of course, the more powerful, and ere wehad gone ten miles I put on a move, and passed my master with ease,arriving at Crowland fully twenty minutes before him.
It was, however, very apparent that Bindo, the good-looking adventurer,had wormed himself entirely into the Chameleon's good graces. Both heand Halliday escorted the ladies over the ruins, and after tea at theold-fashioned "George," we made a quick and enjoyable run home in thesunset by way of Eye, Peterborough, Castor, and Wansford.
The autumn days went by, and, amid such pleasant surroundings, our visitwas proving a most merry one. Yet, try how I would, I could not see whatBindo and his friend intended.
The girl in turquoise who flirted so outrageously with young Claytonwas, I discovered, also very friendly with Sir Charles. Then I saw thathis partiality towards her was with a distinct object--namely, in orderto be aware of her father's movements.
Truly, Bindo and Blythe were past-masters in the art of genteelscoundrelism. Adventurers of the very first water, they seldom, if ever,let me into their secrets until their plans were actually matured. Theirreason for this reticence was that they believed I might show the whitefeather. They could not yet rely upon my audacity or courage.
Within a week Bindo was the most popular man in the house-party, thehumorist of the dinner-table, and an expert in practical jokes, of whichmany were being played, one half the party being pitted against theother half, as is so often the case.
In the servants' hall we were also having a pretty merry time.Medhurst, the maid of Mrs. Clayton, was a particularly prepossessingyoung woman, and I had many chats and a few walks with her. From her, atBindo's instigation, I learned a good deal regarding her mistress'shabits and tastes, all of which I, in due course, reported to my master.A shrewd girl was Medhurst, however, and I was compelled to exercise agood deal of judicious tact in putting my questions to her.
One evening, however, while sitting alone in the park smoking, justbefore going to bed, I saw Bindo himself strolling at her side. She wasspeaking softly, but what about I could not make out. They were in apart of the park into which the guests never went, and it seemed asthough she had kept a secret tryst. Not wishing to disturb them, Islipped away unobserved.
Next morning Paul Clayton went up to London in order to see his mother'ssolicitors, and that same afternoon, about four o'clock, Mrs. Claytonreceived a very urgent telegram to come at once, as her lawyers desiredsome instructions immediately. The message she received evidently causedher very great anxiety, for she took Medhurst, and drove in the Mercedesto Peterborough Station, where she caught the up-express at seveno'clock.
She had apologised to her house-party for her absence, explained theurgency of her presence in London, and promised to be back in time fordinner on the morrow.
She left the Hall at half-past six. At seven Bindo called me out of theservants' hall and whispered--
"Hold yourself in readiness. Go to my room at nine punctually, andyou'll find on the table half a dozen novels done up in a strap. Justtake them carefully, put them in the car, and then get away, first toNorthampton to change the body of the car, and then to Parkeston Quay.Wait for me there at the Great Eastern Hotel, in the name of Parker.Take great care of the books. I shall give you other instructions beforepeople presently, but take no notice of them. I'll join you as soon asit's safe."
And with that, he turned upon his heel and left me.
The dressing-gong was just sounding as I walked across to the garage, inorder to look through the car and charge the lamps, prior to my nightjourney. I was wondering what was about to happen. That some _coup_ wasto be made that night was very evident. I spent half an hour on the car,and had all in order, when a servant came to say that my master wantedme.
I found Bindo in the hall, laughing gaily with some ladies, prior togoing in to dinner.
"Oh, Ewart," he said, when I entered, cap in hand, "I want you to runthe car over to Birmingham to-night, and bring Colonel Fielding hereto-morrow. You know where he lives--at Welford Park. He's expecting you.The roads are all right, so you'll make good time. You'd better get acouple of outer covers, too, when you're there. You'll bring the Colonelback in time for dinner to-morrow--you understand?"
"Yes, sir," I replied, and, bowing, went out, while with the ladies heturned in the direction of the dining-room.
I idled about until the stable clock was just on the point of strikingnine, when I made my way by the servants' staircase to my master's room.The corridor was in semi-darkness. I rapped, but there being no onethere, I entered, switched on the light, and there upon the table foundthe small pile of new, cloth-bound six-shilling novels, held togetherwith a strap of webbing, such as lawyers use to tie up their papers.
I took them up, switched off the light, and carried them downstairs tothe car, which I had previously brought out into the stable-yard. Mylamps were already lit, and I was in the act of putting on my friezecoat when Saunders, driving the Mercedes, passed me, going towards themain entrance of the Hall. He had a passenger--a guest from the station,judging from his dress.
As the stranger descended from the car the light over the steps revealedhis face. I started. It was the jeweller I had spoken to in BondStreet--the man I had taken for the manager, but who was none other thanMr. Gilling himself!
I saw that all was lost. In a few moments he would come face to facewith Bindo!
In an instant, however, I had made up my mind, and, re-entering thehouse, I made my way quickly through into the large hall. But Gillingwas already there, kissing his wife and daughter. I glanced round, butwas reassured to see both Bindo and Sir Charl
I ran up to the rooms of both my friends, but could not find them. InBindo's room a dress-coat had been thrown upon the bed. He had changedsince I had been up there for the books. Alarmed by the news of thejeweller's arrival, they had, in all probability, changed hurriedly andslipped away. Therefore I ran down to the car, and, telling Saundersthat I was off to Birmingham and should return on the morrow, I ranquietly down the long, dark avenue.
From St. Mellions to Harwich, as the crow flies, is about one hundredand thirty miles. First, however, I went to Northampton, and put theprevious body on the car. Then the road I took was by Huntingdon,Cambridge, Halstead, and Colchester--in all, about one hundred andseventy miles. The night was dark, but the roads were in fairly goodcondition, therefore I went at as high a speed as I dared, full ofwonder as to what had really happened.
Bindo's dress-coat on the bed showed that he had left, therefore I hadevery hope that he had not been recognised by the jeweller. After I hadchanged the body at the coachbuilder's at Northampton, the run to theEssex coast proved an exciting one, for I had one narrow escape at alevel crossing. But to give details of the journey would serve nopurpose. Suffice it to say that I duly arrived at the Great EasternHotel at Parkeston next morning, and registered there in the name ofParker.
Then I waited in patience until, two days later, I received a note fromBindo, and met him at some distance from the hotel. His personalappearance was greatly altered, and he was shabbily dressed as achauffeur.
"By Jove!" he said, when we were alone, "we've had a narrow squeak. Wehad no idea when Henderson sent that telegram from London calling theold crone up to town that Gilling had been invited. We only heard of hisimpending arrival at the very moment we were bringing off the _coup_.Then, instead of remaining there, becoming indignant, and assisting thepolice, we were compelled to fly, thus giving the whole game away. If wehad stayed, Gilling would have recognised us. By Jove! I never had sucha tough quarter of an hour in all my life. Blythe has gone up toScotland, and we shall ship the car across to Hamburg by to-night's boatfrom Parkeston. You've got those books all right? Don't lose them."
"I've left them in the car," I replied.
"Left them in the car!" he cried, glaring at me. "Are you mad?"
"Mad! Why?"
"Go and get them at once and lock them up in your bag. I'll show yousomething when we get an opportunity."
The opportunity came three days later, when we were alone together in aroom in Hoefer's Hotel, in the Bahnhofs-Platz, in Hamburg. He took thebooks from me, undid the buckle, and, to my surprise, showed me that thecentres of the popular books had been cleverly cut out, so that theywere literally boxes formed by the paper leaves. And each book wasfilled with splendid jewels!
The haul was a huge one, for several of the diamond ornaments which hadbeen taken from the Chameleon's safe were of great value. The old ladywas passionately fond of jewellery, and spent huge sums with Mr.Gilling. We afterwards discovered that several of the finest pieces wehad taken had actually been sent to her on approval by Gilling, so,curiously enough, we had touched his property on a second occasion.
"It was a difficult affair," Bindo declared. "I had to pretend to makelove to Medhurst, or I should never have been able to get a cast of thesafe-key. However, we've been able to take the best of the old lady'scollection, and they'll fetch a good price in Amsterdam, or I'm aDutchman myself. Of course, there's a big hue-and-cry after us, so wemust lie very low over here for a bit. Fancy your leaving those novelskicking about in the car! Somebody might have wanted to read them!"