“Is this gentleman your friend?”
“Yes,” said Medenham, “though not quite in the sense that you mean. He will accompany me to the hotel, and await my return there.”
The Frenchman was evidently mystified; he smiled, but passed no other comment. Dale, who heard what was said, now wondered more than ever what lay behind this sudden journey to France. He had already recognized Marigny as the owner of the Du Vallon, for he had seen him leaving the Metropole Hotel at Brighton not many days ago, and had the best of reasons for regarding him as Viscount Medenham’s implacable enemy. Why, then, were these two crossing the Channel in company, going together to some hotel, and leaving him, Dale, to kick his heels in the small hours of the morning till it pleased them to pick him up again?
In justice to the loyal-hearted chauffeur, plunged quite unknowingly into the crisis of his life, it must be said that the notion of a duel did not even occur to his puzzled brain.
Nor was he given much time for speculation. A carriage awaited the trio at the quay. They carried no luggage to entail a delay at the Customs, and they drove off at a rapid pace through silent streets in a drenched downpour of rain. When they reached the Hôtel de la Plage, neither Medenham nor the Frenchman alighted, but the former handed Dale a letter.
“I may be detained in France somewhat longer than I anticipated,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “If that is so, and you have to return to England without me, hand this letter to the Marquis of Scarland. Take great care of it, and keep it in your possession until you are positively assured that I am unable to go with you.”
These enigmatical instructions bothered their hearer far more than any of the strange proceedings of the night.
“How shall I know, my lord, whether I am to go back with you or not?” he asked.
“Oh, of course I shall make that quite clear,” laughed Medenham. “At present, all you have to do is to wait here a little while.”
His careless demeanor dispelled the first dim shadow of doubt that had arisen in Dale’s mind. The man was no stranger on the Continent, having traveled with his employer over the length and breadth of France and Northern Italy; but the manner of this visit to the Hôtel de la Plage at Calais was so perplexing that he essayed another question.