“A cat may look at a king. So may Chris Trevenna.”
“No good advising you to be cautious.”
“Of course not. You wouldn't care a rap for me if there was.”
“Shouldn't I? Anyhow, Chris Trevenna might as well wear goggles.”
“There's no dust to-day,” said I. “It rained in the night.”
“I give you up,” said Dick. And if giving me up meant going out with me in my big blue car directly after lunch, then he kept his word. Ropes, my chauffeur, and right-hand man, who sits always in the tonneau, had already heard all about the King's automobile, and was primed with particulars. He leaned across [pg 6]to describe its appearance, as well as mention the make; and when such a car as he was in the act of picturing passed us, going round a bend of the road which leads to Spain, there was no mistaking it.
“Let's follow,” said I.
Dick sighed, but naturally I paid no attention to that.
There were five persons in the King's car. The slim young owner, three ladies, two very slender and young, and the chauffeur, all five masked or goggled, so that it was impossible to see their faces.
“I wish something would happen to them,” I said.