nthia for the day's run. Moreover, he must now reconsider his
schemes. The long telegrams which he had just dispatched to Devar in
London and to Peter Vanrenen in Paris might demand supplements.

And to think of that accursed chauffeur being a viscount! His gorge
rose at that. The thought almost choked him. It was well that the
hall-porter did not understand French, or the words that were muttered
by Marigny as he turned on his heel and re-entered the hotel might
have shocked him. And, indeed, they were most unsuited for the ears of
a hall-porter who dwelt next door to a cathedral.

CHAPTER VIII

BREAKERS AHEAD

The Earl's title-borrowing from Shakespeare was certainly justified by
current events, for Dromio of Ephesus and Dromio of Syracuse, to say
nothing of their masters, were no bad prototypes of the chief actors
in this Bristol comedy.

Simmonds, not knowing who might have it in mind to investigate the
latest defect in his car, decided it would be wise to disappear until
Viscount Medenham was well quit of Bristol. By arrangement with Dale,
therefore, he picked up the latter soon after the Mercury was turned
over to Medenham's hands; in effect, the one chauffeur took the other
on a 'bus-driver's holiday. Dale was free until two o'clock. At
that hour he would depart for Hereford and meet his master, with
arrangements made for the night as usual; meanwhile, the day's
programme included a pleasant little run to Bath and back.

It was a morning that tempted to the road, but both men had risen
early, and a pint of bitter seemed to be an almost indispensable
preliminary. From Bristol to Bath is no distance to speak of, so a
slight dallying over the beer led to an exchange of recent news.

Dale, it will be remembered, was of sporting bent, and he told
Simmonds gleefully of his successful bet at Epsom.

"Five golden quidlets his lordship shoved into me fist at Brighton,"
he chortled. "Have you met Smith, who is lookin' after the Frenchman's
Du Vallon? No? Well, _he_ was there, an' his goggles nearly cracked
when he sawr the money paid--two points over the market price, an'
all."

"Sometimes one spots a winner by chanst," observed Simmonds
judicially. "An' that reminds me. Last night a fella tole me there was
a good thing at Kempton to-day.... Now, _what_ was it?"

Dale instantly became a lexicon of weird-sounding words, for the
British turf is exceedingly democratic in its pronunciation of the
classical