There is no saying what sum he would have given those urchins if some magician had spoken by their mouths and bade him hasten to Hereford with all the zest of all the horses pent beneath the Mercury’s bonnet. But he left the boys ciphering on a gate with a bit of lead pencil which he lent them, and pulled up at the door of the Green Dragon Hotel in Hereford just five minutes after the Sunday morning express to London had snatched a fuming and indignant Earl of Fairholme from off the platform of the Great Western railway station.
“Whose car?” inquired a hall-porter.
“Mine,” said Medenham, rather surprised by the question.
“Sorry, sir. I thought you might be the party Lord Fairholme was expecting.”
“Did you say ‘Lord Fairholme’?”
Medenham spoke with the slow accents of sheer astonishment, and the man hastened to explain.
“Yes, sir. His lordship has been a-damnin’ everybody since two o’clock yesterday afternoon because a Miss Vanrenen, who had ordered rooms here, didn’t turn up. She’s on a motor tour through England, so I thought——”
“You have made no mistake. But are you quite sure that the Earl of Fairholme asked for Miss Vanrenen?”
“Not exactly that, sir, but he seemed to be uncommon vexed when we could give him no news of her.”
“Where is his lordship now?”