The Man Who Drove the Car Read online

  II

  THE SILVER WEDDING

  Yes, I shall never forget "Benny," and I shall never forget hisbeautiful red hair. Gentlemen, I have driven for many ... and theother sort, but "Benny" was neither the one nor the other--not a man,but a tribe ... not a Jew nor yet a Christian, but just something youmeet every day and all days--a big, blundering heap of good-nature,which quarrels with one half the world and takes Bass's beer with theother. That was Benjamin Colmacher--"Benny" for short--that was themaster I want to tell you about.

  I was out of a job at the time, and had picked up an endorsement atHayward's Heath and left a matter of six pounds there for the justicesto get busy with. Time is money, they say, and I have found it to beso ... generally five pounds and costs, though more if you take aquantity. It isn't easy for a good man with a road mechanic'sknowledge and five years' experience, racing and otherwise, to placehimself nowadays, when any groom can get made a slap-bang "shuffer" forfive pounds at a murder-shop, and any old coachman is young enough toput his guv'nor in the ditch. My knowledge and my experience had gonebegging for exactly three months when I heard of Benny, and hurriedround to his flat off Russell Square, "just the chap for you," theysaid at the garage. I thought so, too, when I saw him.

  It was a fine flat, upon my word, and filled up with enough fal-de-lalsto please a duchess from the Gaiety. Benny himself, his red haircombed flat on his head and oiled like a missing commutator, wore aJapanese silk dressing-gown which would have fired a steam car. Hisbreakfast, I observed, consisted of one brandy-and-soda and a bunch ofgrapes; but the cigar he offered me was as long as a policeman's boot,and the fellow to it stuck out of a mouth as full of fine white teethas a pod of peas.

  "Good-morning," says he, nodding affably enough; and then, "You areLionel Britten, I suppose?"

  "Yes," says I--for no road mechanic who respects himself is going to"sir" such as Benny Colmacher to begin with--"that's my name, though myfriends call me Lal for short. You're wanting a driver, I hear."

  He sat himself in a great armchair and looked me up and down as a vetlooks at a horse.

  "I do want a driver," says he, "though how you got to know it, the Lordknows."

  "Why," says I, "that's funny, isn't it? We're both wanting the samething, for I can see you're just the gentleman I would like to take onwith."

  He smiled at this, and seemed to be thinking about it. Presently heasked a plain question. I answered him as shortly.

  "Where did you hear of me?" he asked.

  "At Blundell's garage," I answered.

  "And I was buying a car?"

  "Yes, a fifty-seven Daimler ... that was the talk."

  "Could you drive a car like that?"

  "Could I--oh, my godfathers----"

  "Then you have handled fast cars?"

  "I drove with Fournier in the Paris-Bordeaux, was through the Floriofor the Fiat people, and have driven the big Delahaye just upon ahundred and three miles an hour. Read my papers, sir ... they'll showyou what I've done."

  I put a bundle into his hand, and he read a few words of them. Whennext he looked at me, there was something in his eyes which surprisedme considerably. Some would have called it cunning, some curiosity; Ididn't know what to make of it.

  "Why would you like to drive for me?" he asked presently.

  "Because," said I, quickly enough, "it's plain that you're a gentlemananybody would like to drive for."

  "But you don't know anything at all about me."

  "That's just it, sir. The nicest people are those we don't knowanything at all about."

  He laughed loudly at this, and helped himself to the brandy-and-soda,but didn't drink over-much of it. I could see that he was muchrelieved, and he spoke afterwards with more freedom.

  "You're one that knows how to hold his tongue?" he suggested. Irejoined that, so far as tongues went, I had mine in a four-inch vice.

  "Especially where the ladies are concerned?"

  "I'd sooner talk to them than about them, sir."

  "That's right, that's right. Don't take the maid when you can get themistress, eh?"

  "Take 'em both for choice, that's my motto."

  "You're not married, Britten?"

  "No such misfortune has overtaken me, sir."

  "Ha!"--here he leered just like an actor at the Vic--"and you don'tmind driving at night?"

  "I much prefer it, sir."

  He leered again, and seemed mightily pleased. A few more questions putand answered found me with that job right enough ... and a right goodjob, too, as things are nowadays. I was to have four pounds a week andliveries. Such a mug as "Benny" Colmacher would not be the man to askabout tyres and petrol, and if he did, I knew how to fill up his tanksfor him. Be sure I went away on my top speed and ate a better lunchthan had come my way for six months or more. Who the man was, or whathe was, I didn't care a dump. I had got the job, and to-morrow I wouldget up in the driver's seat of a car again. You can't wonder I waspleased.

  I slept well that night, and was round at Benny's early on thefollowing morning. If I had been surprised at my good luck yesterday,surprise was no word for what I felt when the valet opened the door tome and told me that Mr. Colmacher was in the country and wouldn't beback for a month. Not a word had been said about this, mind you--not ahint at it; and yet the stiff and starched gentleman could tell me thenews just as coolly as though he had said, "My master has gone acrossthe street to see a friend." When I asked him if there was no messagefor me, he answered simply, "None."

  "He didn't give no instructions about the car?"

  "The car is at the yard being repaired."

  "But I was engaged to drive her----"

  "You will drive Mr. Colmacher when he returns."

  "And my wages----?"

  "Oh, those will be paid. This is a place where they know what is dueto us."

  "And I am to do nothing meanwhile?"

  "If you have nothing to do, by all means."

  It was an odd thing to hear, to be sure, and you can well understand myhesitation as I stood there on the landing and watched that stiff andstarched valet, who might have just come out of a tailor's shop.Gentlemen are not usually reserved between themselves, but this fellowbeat me altogether, and I liked him but little. Such a"don't-touch-me-or-I-shall-vanish" manner you don't come across ofteneven in Park Lane, and I soon saw that whatever else happened, Joseph,the valet, as they called him, and Lal Britten, the "shuffer," werenever going to the North Pole together.

  "If it's doing nothing," said I at last, "Mr. Colmacher won't havecause to complain of his driver. Am I to call again, or will he sendfor me?"

  "He will send for you, unless you like to see Mr. Walter in themeantime?"

  I looked up at this. There had been no "Mr. Walter" in the businessbefore.

  "Mr. Walter--and who may Mr. Walter be?"

  "He is Mr. Colmacher's son."

  "Then I will see him just as soon as you like."

  He nodded his head and invited me in. Presently I found myself in afine bedroom on the far side of the flat, and what was my astonishmentto discover Mr. Walter himself in bed with a big cut across hisforehead and his right arm in a sling. He was a lean, pale youth, butwith as cadaverous a face as I have ever looked upon; and when he spokehis voice appeared to come from the back of his head.

  "You are the new driver my father has engaged?"

  "Yes, sir, I am the same."

  "I hope you understand powerful cars. Did my father tell you that oursis a steam car?"

  "He talked about a fifty-seven Daimler, sir."

  "But you have had experience with steam cars----"

  "How did you know that, sir?"

  He smiled softly.

  "We have made inquiries--naturally, we should do so."

  "Then you have not been misinformed. I drove a thirty-horse Whitethree months last year."

  "Ah, the same car that we drive. Unfortunately, I cannot help myfather just now, for I have met with an acc
ident--in the hunting field."

  I jibbed at this. Motor-men don't know much about the hunting field,as a rule, but I wasn't such a ninny that I supposed men hunted in July.

  "Hunting, did you say, sir?"

  "That is, trying a horse for the hunting season. Well, you may go now.Leave your address with Joseph. My father will send for you when hereturns, and meanwhile you are at liberty."

  I thanked him and went off. Oddly enough, this fellow pleased me nomore than the valet. His smile was ugly, his scowl uglierstill--especially when I made that remark about the hunting field."Better have held your tongue, Lal, my boy," said I to myself; andresolving to hold it for the future, I went to my own diggings andheard no more of the Colmachers, father or son, for exactly twenty-onedays. The morning of the twenty-second found me at the flat again."Benny" Colmacher had returned, and remembered that he had paid methree weeks' wages.

  Now this was the middle of the month of August, and "Benny" certainlywas dressed for country wear. A dot-and-go-one suit of dittoes wentfor best, so to speak, with his curly red hair, and got the better ofit by a long way. He had a white rose in his button-hole, and hismanner was as smooth as Vacuum B from a nice clean can. He had justbreakfasted off his usual brandy-and-soda and dry toast when I came in;and the big cigar did sentry-go across his mouth all the time he talkedto me.

  "Come in, come in, Britten," he cried pompously, when I appeared. "Youlike your place, I hope--you don't find the work too hard?"

  "That's so--sir--a very nice sort of place this for a delicate youngman like myself."

  "Ah, but we are going to be a little busier. Has Mr. Walter shown youthe car?"

  "No, sir, not yet. I hear she is a White steamer, though."

  "Yes, yes; I like steam cars; they don't shake me up. When a manweighs fifteen stun, he doesn't like to be shaken up, Britten--not goodfor his digestion, eh? Well, you go down to the Bedford Mews, No. 23B,and tell me if you can get the thing going by ten o'clock to-morrow--asfar as Watford, Britten. That's the place, Watford. I've something ondown there--something very important. Upon my soul, I don't know why Ishouldn't tell you. It's about a lady, Britten--ha, ha!--about a lady."

  Well, he grinned all over his face just like the laughing gorilla atthe Zoo, and went on grinning for a matter of two minutes or more.Such a laugh caught you whether you would or no; and while I didn'tcare two-pence about his business, and less about the lady, yet here Iwas laughing as loudly as he, and seemingly just as pleased.

  "Is it a young lady?" I ventured to ask presently. But he stoppedlaughing at that, and looked mighty serious.

  "You mustn't question me, my lad," he said, a bit proudly. "I like myservants to be in my confidence, but they must not beg it. We aregoing down to Watford--that is enough for you. Get the car ready assoon as possible, and let me know at once if there is anything thematter with her."

  I promised to do so, and went round to the mews immediately. "Benny"seemed to me just a good-natured lovesick old fool, who had got hold ofsome new girl in the country and was going off to spoon her. The car Ifound to be one of the latest forty White's in tip-top trim. Shesteamed at once, and when I had put a new heater in, there was nothingmore to be done to her, except to wash her down, a thing noself-respecting mechanic will ever do if he can get another to take thejob on for him. So I hired a loafer who was hanging about the mews,and set him to the work while I read the papers and smoked a cigarette.

  He was a playful little cuss to be sure, one of those "ne'er-grow-ups"you meet about stables, and ready enough to gossip when I gave him thechance.

  "He's a wonder, is Colmacher," he remarked as he splashed and hissedabout the wheels. "Takes his car out half a dozen times in as manyhours, and then never rides in her for three months. You would beengaged in place of Mr. Walter, I suppose. They say he's gone toAmerica, though I don't rightly know whether that's true or not."

  I answered him without looking up from my paper.

  "Who says he's in America?"

  "Why, the servants say it. Ellen the housemaid and me--but that ain'tfor the newspapers. So Mr. Walter's home, is he? Well, he do walkabout, to be sure, and him not left for New York ten days ago."

  "You seem to be angry about it, my boy."

  "Well no, it ain't nothing to me, to be sure, though I must say asBenny's one after my own heart. The girls he do know, and mostly after'em when the sun's gone down. Would it be the young lady at Bristolthis time, or another? He wus took right bad down in Wiltshire larsttime I heard of 'im, but perhaps he's cured hisself drinking of thewaters. Anyway, it ain't nothing to me, for I'm off to Margateto-morrow."

  He waited for me to speak, but seeing that I was bent on reading mypaper, made no further remark until his job was done. When next I sawhim it was at eleven o'clock on the following day, just as I wasdriving the car round to "Benny's" to take the old boy down to Watfordas he wished. Jumping on the step, the lad put a funny question:

  "You're a good sort," he said. "Will you forward this bit of atelegram to me from any place you chance to stop at to-night?"

  "Why, what's up now?" I asked.

  "Nothing much, but my old uncle won't let me go, and I want to takeEllen to Margate for the day. This telegram says mother's ill andwants me. Will you send it through and put in the name of the placewhere you stop to-night?"

  I said that I would, and sticking the sixpence inside my glove and theform into my pocket, I thought no more about it, and drove straightaway to Benny's. The old boy was dressed fit to marry the whole Gaietyballet, white frock suit, white hat, and a rose as big as a full-blowntomato in his button-hole. To the valet he gave his directions in avoice that could have been heard half down the street. He was going toWatford, and would return in a week.

  "Mind," he cried, "I'm staying at the King's Arms, and you can send myletters down there." Then he waved his hand to me, and we set off.The road to Watford via Edgware is traps from end to end, and, well asthe White was going, I did not dare to let her out. It was just afterhalf-past eleven when we left town, and about a quarter to one when wedropped down the hill into Watford town. Here "Benny" leant over andspoke to me.

  "Shan't lunch here," he cried, as though the idea had come to himsuddenly; "get on to St. Albans or to Hatfield if you like. The RedLion will do me--drive on there and don't hurry."

  I made no answer, but drove quietly through the town, and so by the oldhigh road to St. Albans and thence to Hatfield. Truth to tell, the carinterested me far more than old Benny or his plans. She was steamingbeautifully, and I had six hundred pounds' pressure all the time.While that was so I didn't care the turn of a nut whether old Bennylunched at Watford or at Edinburgh, and as for his adventure with thegirl--well, you couldn't expect me to go talking about another man'sgood luck. In fact, I had forgotten all about it long before we wereat Hatfield, and when we had lunched and the old chap suddenlyremembered that he would like to spend the night at Newmarket, I wasnot so surprised--for this is the motorist's habit all the world over,and there's the wonder of the motor-car, that, whether you wish tosleep where you are or a hundred miles distant, she'll do the businessfor you and make no complaint about it.

  Perhaps you will say that I ought to have been surprised, ought to haveguessed that this man was up to no good and turned back to the nearestpolice station. It's easy to be a prophet after the event; and betweenwhat a man ought to do and what he does do on any given occasion, thereis often a pretty considerable margin when it comes to the facts. Idrove Benny willingly, not thinking anything at all about the matter.When he stopped in the town of Royston and said he would take a cup oftea with a cork to it, I thought it just the sort of thing such a manwould do. And I was ready myself for a cigarette and a strollround--for sitting all that time in the car makes a man's legs stiff,and no mistake about it. But I wasn't away more than ten minutes, andwhen I got back to the hotel "Benny" was already fuming at the door.

  "Where have you been to?" he asked in
a voice unlike his own--the voiceof a man who knows "what's what" and will see that he gets it. "Whyweren't you with the car?"

  "Been to the telegraph office," said I quietly, for no bluster is goingto unship me--not much.

  "Telegraph office!" and here his face went white as a sheet, "what thedevil did you go there for?"

  "What people usually go for, sir--to send a telegram."

  We looked each other full in the face for a moment, and I could see hewas sorry he had spoken.

  "I suppose you wanted to let your friends know," he put it to me. Isaid it was just that--for such was the shortest way out of it.

  "Then get the car out at once and keep to the Newmarket Road. I shallsleep at the Randolph Arms to-night."

  I made no answer and we got away again. But, for all that, I thought alot, and all the time the White was flying along that fine bit of road,I was asking myself why Benny turned pale when he heard I had sent atelegram. Was this business with the girl, then, something which mightbring trouble on us both? Was he the man he represented himself to be?Those were the questions I could not answer, and they were still in myhead when we reached the village of Whittlesford and Benny suddenlyordered me to stop.

  "This looks a likely inn," he said, pointing to a pretty little houseon the right-hand side of the road; "I think we might stop the nighthere, lad. They'll give us a good bed and a good glass of whisky,anyway, and what does a man want more? Run the car into the yard andwait while I talk to them. You won't die if we don't get to Newmarketto-night, I suppose?"

  I said that it was all one to me, and put the car into the yard. Theinn was a beauty, and I liked the look of it. Perhaps Benny's newmanner disarmed me; he was as mild as milk just then, and as affable asa commercial with a sample in his bag. When he appeared again he hadthe landlord with him, and he told me he was going to stop.

  "Get a good dinner into you, lad, and then come and talk to me," hesaid, putting a great paw on my shoulder, and leering apishly. "Wemayn't go to bed to-night, after all, for, to tell you the truth, Idon't like the colour of their sheets. You wouldn't mind sitting up, Idaresay, not supposing--well, that there was a ten-pound note hangingto it?"

  I opened my eyes at this.

  "A ten-pound note, sir?"

  "Yes, for robbing you of your bed. Didn't you tell me you were awonder at night driving. Well, I want to see what stuff you're madeof."

  I did not answer him, and, after talking a lot about my cleverness andthe way the car had run, he went in and had his dinner. What to makeof him or his proposal I knew no more than the dead. Certainly he haddone nothing which gave me any title to judge him, and a man with a jobto serve isn't over-ready to be nice about his masters, whatever theirdoings. I came to the conclusion that he was just a dotty old boy whohad gone crazy over some girl, and that he was driving out by night tosee her. All the talk about Watford and his letters was so muchjibarree and not meant for home consumption; but, in any case, it wasno affair of mine, nor could I be held responsible for what he did orwhat he left undone.

  This was the wisest view to take, and it helped me out afterwards. Hemade a good dinner, they told me, and drank a fine bottle of port, keptin the cellars of the house from the old days when gentlemen drovethemselves to Newmarket, and didn't spare the liquor by the way. Itwas half-past ten when I saw him again, and then he had one of theroly-poly cigars in his mouth and the ten-pound note in his hand.

  "Britten," he said quite plain, "you know why I've come down here?"

  "I think so, sir."

  "_Chercher les femmes_, as they say in Boolong--I'm down here to meetthe girl I'm going to marry."

  "Hope you'll find her well, sir."

  "Ah, that's just it. I shan't find her well if her old father can helpit. Damn him, he's nearly killed her with his oaths and swearing theselast two months. But it's going to stop, Britten, and stop to-night.She's waiting for this car over at Fawley Hill, which isn't half a milefrom this very door."

  He came a step nearer and thrust the ten-pound note under my very nose."It's Lord Hailsham's place--straight up the hill to the right and onto the high road from Bishop's Stortford. There's a party for a silverwedding, and Miss Davenport is staying there with her father andmother. Bring her to this house and I'll give you fifty pounds.There's ten as earnest money. She's over age and can do what shelikes--and it's no responsibility of yours, anyway."

  I took the note in my hand and put a question.

  "Do I drive to the front door--I'm thinking not?"

  "You drive to the edge of the spinney which you'll find directly youturn the corner. Wait there until Miss Davenport comes. Then driveher straight here and your money is earned. I'll answer for the restand she shall answer for herself."

  I nodded my head, and, folding up the note, I put it in my pocket. Thenight was clear when I drove away from the inn, but there was some mistin the fields and a goodish bit about the spinney they had pointed outto me. A child could have found the road, however, for it was just thehighway to Newmarket; and when I had cruised along it a couple ofhundred yards, to the very gates of Lord Hailsham's house, I turnedabout and stood off at the spinney's edge, perhaps three hundred yardsaway. Then I just lighted a cigarette and waited, as I had been toldto do.

  It was a funny job, upon my word. Sometimes I laughed when I thoughtabout it; sometimes I had a bit of a shiver down my back, the sort ofthing which comes to a man who's engaged in a rum affair, and may notcome well out of it. As for the party Lord Hailsham was giving, therecould be no doubt about that. I had seen the whole house lighted upfrom attic to kitchen, and some of the lights were still glisteningbetween the pollards in the spinny; while the stables themselves seemedalive with coachmen, carriages, and motor-cars. The road itself wasthe only secluded spot you could have pointed out for the third of amile about--but that was without a living thing upon it, and nothingbut a postman's cart passed me for an hour or more.

  I should have told you that I had turned the car and that she now stoodwith her headlights towards home. The mists made the night very cold,and I was glad to wrap myself up in one of the guvnor's rugs and smokea packet of cigarettes while I waited. From time to time I could hearthe music of fiddles, and they came with an odd echo, just as thoughsome merry tune of long ago chided me for being there all alone. Whenthey ceased I must have dropped asleep, for the next thing I knew wasthat some one was busy about the car and that my head-lamps had bothgone out. Be sure I jumped up like a shot at this, and "Hallo," criedI, "what the devil do you think you are doing?" Then I saw my mistake.The new-comer was a girl, one of the maids of the house, it appeared,and she was stowing luggage into the car.

  "Oh," says I, "then Miss Davenport is coming, is she?"

  The girl went on with her work, hardly looking at me. When she didspeak I thought her voice sounded very odd; and instead of answering meshe asked a question:

  "Do you know the road to Colchester?"

  "To Colchester?"

  "You take the first to the left when we leave here--then go right aheaduntil I tell you to stop. Understand, whatever happens you are to getahead as fast as you can. The rest is with----"

  He came to an abrupt halt, and no wonder. If you had given me tenthousand pounds to have kept my tongue still, I would have lost themoney that instant. For who do you think the maid was? Why, no otherthan the starchy valet, Joseph, I had seen at Mr. Colmacher's flat.

  "Up you get, my boy," he cried, throwing all disguise to the winds,"Don't you hear that noise? They have discovered Miss Davenport isgoing and the job's off. We'll tell Benny in the morning--the thing todo to-night is to show them our heels and sharp about it."

  He bade me listen, and I heard the ringing of an alarm bell, thebarking of hounds, and then the sound of many voices. Some suspicion,ay, more than that, a pretty shrewd guess at the truth was possiblethen, and I would have laid any man ten pounds to nothing that "love"was not much in this business, whatever the real nature of it mi
ght be.For that matter, the fellow had hardly got the words out of his mouthwhen the glitter of something bright he had dropped on the ground,caused me to stoop and to pick up a gold watch bracelet set indiamonds. The same instant I heard a man running on the road behindme, and who should come up but the very "ne'er-do-well" who helped meto wash down my car but yesterday morning.

  "Hold that man!" he cried, throwing himself at the valet. "He'sMarchant, the Yankee hotel robber--hold him in the King's name--I'm apolice officer, and I have a warrant."

  Now, this was something if you like, and I don't think any one is goingto wonder either at my surprise, or at the hesitation which overtookme. To find myself, in this way, confronted by two men who had seemedso different from what they were, and that not twenty-four hours ago;to discover one of them disguised as a woman and the other saying hewas a police officer--well, do you blame me for standing there with mymouth wide open, and my eyes staring with the surprise of it? Pity Idid so, all the same, for the "ne'er-do-well" was on the floor nextmoment, and it didn't need a second look to tell me that it would be along time before he got up again.

  I shall never forget if I live a hundred years (which would be prettylucky for a man who thinks less than nothing of speed limits and isknown to all the justices in Sussex), I shall never forget the way thatvalet turned on poor Kennaway (for that was the detective's name) andlaid him flat on the grass. Such a snarl of rage I never heard. Theman seemed transformed in an instant from a silent, reserved, taciturnservant to a very maniac, fighting with teeth and claw, cursing andswearing horribly, and as strong as a gorilla.

  Again and again he struck at his victim, the heavy blows sounding likethe thud of iron upon a carpet; and long before I got my wits back andleaped to Kennaway's assistance, that poor fellow was insensible andmoaning upon the grass at the roadside. The next thing that I knewabout it was that I had a revolver as close to my forehead as arevolver will ever be, and that the man Joseph was pushing me towardthe car, the while he said something to which I must listen if I wouldsave my life.

  "Get up, you fool," he cried. "Do you want me to treat you as I'vetreated him? Get up, or by the Lord I'll blow your brains out!"

  Well, judge me for it how you will, but I obeyed him as any child.What I had tried to do for poor Kennaway was shown by the cut across myforehead, which I shall carry to my dying day. Such strength and suchtemper I have never known in any man, and they frightened me beyond allwords to tell you. There are human beings and human animals, and thisfellow was of the latter sort. No raving maniac could have done worseto any fellow creature; and when I got up to the driver's seat andstarted the engine, my hands trembled so that I could hardly keep themon the wheel.

  We jumped away, a roar of voices behind us and the alarm bell of thehouse still ringing. What was in my head was chiefly this, that I wasgoing out upon the road with this madman for a companion, and thatsooner or later he would make an end of me. Judge of my position,knowing, as I did, that a murderer sat in the tonneau behind, and thathe held a revolver at full cock in his hand. My God! it was an awfuljourney, the most awful I shall ever make.

  He would kill me when it suited him to do it. I was as sure of it asof my own existence. In one mile or twenty, here in the lanes ofCambridgeshire, or over yonder when we drew near to the sea, thismadman would do the business. More fearful than any danger a man canface was this peril at the back of me. I listened for a word or soundfrom him; I tried to look behind me and see what he was doing. Henever made a movement, and for miles we roared along that silent road,through the mists and the darkness to the unknown goal--a murderer andhis victim, as I surely believed myself to be.

  There is many a man who has the nerve for a sudden call, but few whocan stand a trial long sustained. All that I can tell you of what fearis like, the fear of swift death, and of the pain and torture of it,would convey nothing to you of my sensations during that mad drive.Sometimes I could almost have wished that he would make an end of itthen and there, shooting me in mercy where I sat, and sparing me theagony of uncertainty. But mile after mile we went without a sound fromhim; and when, in sheer despair, I slowed down and asked him adirection, he was on me like a tiger, and I must race again for verylife. Through Haverhill, thence to Sibil Ingham and Halstead--ay,until the very spires of Colchester stood out in the dawn light, thatrace went on. And I began to say that he might spare me after all,that I was necessary to him, and that his destination was Harwich andthe morning steamer to Holland. Fool! it was then he fired at me, thenthat the end came.

  I thought that I heard him move; some instinct--for there is aninstinct in these things, let others say what they please--caused me toturn half about, and detect him standing in the tonneau. No time forprudence then, no time for resolution or anything but that fear ofdeath which paralyses the limbs and seems to still the very heart.With a cry that was awful to hear, he fired his pistol, and I heard thereport of it as thunder in my ear, the while the powder burned my faceas the touch of red-hot iron. But a second shot he never fired. Asudden lurch, as I let go the wheel, sent the car bounding on to thegrass at the road-side, threw the murderer off his balance and hurledhim backwards. There was a tremendous crash, I found myself beneaththe tonneau, and then, as it seemed, on the top of it again. At last Iwent rolling over and over on to the grass, and lay there, God knowshow long, in very awe and terror of all that had overtaken me.

  But the valet himself was stone dead, caught by the neck as the carwent over and crushed almost beyond recognition. And that was thejudgment upon him, as I shall believe to my life's end.

  * * * * *

  They never caught old "Benny," not for that job, at any rate. Heturned out to be the head of a swindling crew, known in America andParis as the "Red Poll" gang, because of his beautiful sandy hair. Hemust have been wanted for fifty jobs in Europe, and as many on theother side. As for his supposed son, Mr. Walter, and the valetMarchant, they were but two of the company. And why they came toengage me was because of a motor accident to the man Walter, which puthim out of the running when the burglary job at Lord Hailsham's was tobe undertaken.

  Kennaway, the detective, was three months in hospital after his littlelot. It was clever of him to make me post a telegram on the road, for,directly he got it, he wired to the Chief Constable at Cambridge, andcame on himself by train. The local police furnished a list of all thehouse-parties being held about Royston that week-end, and, of course,as Lord Hailsham was celebrating his silver wedding, it didn't needmuch wit to send Kennaway there; the valet, meanwhile, being already inthe house, disguised as a maid.

  We were to have had a bit of a silver wedding ourselves, it appears,for I doubt not "Benny" would have led all the silver, to say nothingof the gold and precious stones, to the altar as soon as possible. Butthe best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agley, as do motor-carswhen the man who's driving them has a pistol at his head.