CHAPTER X
THE LADY IN A HURRY
“Ah! your London is such a strange place. So dull, so triste—so very damp and foggy.”
“Not always, mademoiselle,” I replied. “You have been there in winter. You should go in June. In the season it is as pleasant as anywhere else in the world.”
“I have no desire to return. And yet——”
“Well?”
“And yet I have decided to go straight to Boulogne, and across the Channel.”
I had met Julie Rosier under curious circumstances only a few hours before. I was on a run alone, with the forty “Napier,” from Limoges to London, and on that particular winter’s night had pulled up at the small station of Bersac to send a telegram. I had written out the message, leaving the car outside, and was walking along the platform, when the stationmaster, who had been talking with a tall, dark-haired, good-looking girl, approached me, cap in hand.
“Excuse me, m’sieur, but a lady wishes to ask a great favour of you.”