“Looks a sixty, every inch. I wonder if you could hold my car at Brooklands?”
“Perhaps not, but I may give you some dust to swallow over the Mendips.”
The chauffeur grinned.
“Of course you’d say that, but it all depends on what the guv’nor means to do. He’s a dare-devil at the wheel, I can tell you, an’ never says a word to me when I let things rip. But he’s up to some game to-day. He’s fair crazy about that girl you have in tow—what’s her name? Vanrenen, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Medenham, replacing the hood after a critical glance at the wires, though he hardly thought that this sturdy mechanic would play any tricks on him.
“Which of you men is called Fitzroy?” demanded a serving-maid, carrying a tray.
“I,” said Medenham.
“Here, Miss,” broke in the other, “my name’s Smith, plain Smith, but I can do with a sup o’ tea as well as anybody.”
“Ask Miss Vanrenen to give you another cup for Count Marigny’s chauffeur,” said Medenham to the girl.
“Oh, he’s a count, is he?” said the waitress saucily. “My, isn’t he mashed on the young one?”