Yet, in spite of the chance of ructions, it would have been far better had Medenham not missed his father that morning. He was too dutiful a son, the Earl was too fair-minded a parent, that they should not be able to meet and discuss matters without heat. By noon they would have reached Symon’s Yat; before lunch was ended the older man would have been Cynthia’s most outspoken admirer. As it was—well, as it was—there used to be a belief in the Middle Ages that the Evil One’s favorite nook lay amid the deepest shadow of a cathedral, and modern fact is ofttimes curiously akin to medieval romance.
CHAPTER XI
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS
When he came to think of it, Medenham decided to return at once to Symon’s Yat. It was advisable, however, to inform the proprietor of the hotel that the Earl’s denunciation of Dale as a pilferer of luggage was based on a complete misunderstanding of the facts. With that object in view he entered the office; another surprise awaited him there.
A lady bookkeeper, casting an appraising eye over his motoring garments, asked instantly:
“Are you Mr. Fitzroy, driver of a Mercury car, Number X L 4000?”
“Yes,” said he, prepared now to see his name and description blazoned across the west front of the cathedral.
“You are wanted on the telephone. Miss Vanrenen wishes you to ring her up.”