“I’ll be very pleased. And will you explain your car to me—the engine, I mean?”
“Komm now.”
“Sorry, but I have an engagement.”
There was plenty of time at Martin’s disposal, but he did not want to loiter about The Elms that afternoon. This man was a paid servant who could hardly refuse to carry out any reasonable order, and it would have been awkward for Martin if Mrs. Saumarez asked him to give Fritz the sovereign she had intrusted to his keeping.
“All aright,” agreed the chauffeur, whose strong, intellectual face was now altogether amiable; in fact, a white scar on his left cheek creased so curiously when he grinned that his aspect was almost comical. “We vill meed when all dis noise sdops, yez?” and he waved a hand toward the distant drone of the fair.
Thus began for Martin another strange friendship—a friendship destined to end so fantastically that if the manner of its close were foretold then and there by any prophet, the mere telling might have brought the seer to the madhouse.