I knew the moment I saw his face that something exciting had happened.
“The Duke's gone, my lord,” he reported; “gone in a dark [pg 40]grey, covered car; I couldn't get near enough to make sure what it was, but it looks like a Lecomte. He's this moment got off.”
“Not alone?”
“No, my lord. I'll tell you exactly what took place. I was at the window in the little room I hired over a shop three days ago, in sight of the entrance gates of the Villa Isabella. It was just seven o'clock this morning when a smart, big grey car drove in, might be a forty horse, and of the Lecomte type. The chauffeur wore goggles, but his figure was like the fellow's who came the other day to our garage. About half an hour later, out slipped the car again, the Duke driving, a lady sitting beside him, two other ladies in the tonneau, the chauffeur at the Duke's feet, and a good deal of luggage on the roof. At the gate they turned as if to go to San Sebastian; and I came to let you know.”
“That's right. Get ready at once for a start, and have the car here as soon as you can.”
“Car's ready now, my lord, and so am I.”
“Good. But don't ‘my lord’ me. Now that I'm Mr. George Smith that's even more important to remember than in Trevenna days. And don't forget that the car's Mr. Waring's car.”
“I won't forget, sir.”
He was off to the garage, and I was knocking at Dick's door.
Dick was tying his necktie. “Ready to start in five minutes,” said he.