ty. "Just grab
his lordship's dressing-case from that porter and shove it inside," he
went on, eying Dale fiercely, well knowing that the whole collapse
arose from a cause but too easily traced.

"No, no," broke in the Earl, whose magisterial experiences had taught
him the wisdom of keeping witnesses apart, "Dale comes with me. I want
to sift this business thoroughly. Put the case in front. We can pile
the other luggage on top of it. Now, Dale, jump inside. Your friend
knows where to go, I expect."

Thus did two bizarre elements intrude themselves into the natural
order of things on that fine morning in the West of England. The very
shortness of the road between Bristol and Bath apparently offered an
insuperable obstacle to the passage of Simmonds's car along it, and
some unknown "chap," whose "nevvy" had married the sister of a
Beckhampton housemaid, became the predominating factor in a situation
that affected the fortunes of several notable people.

For his part, Lord Fairholme gave no further thought to Marigny. It
did not even occur to him it might be advisable to call again at the
College Green Hotel, since Medenham had slept elsewhere, and Hereford
was now the goal. Certainly, the Frenchman's good fairy might have
pushed her good offices to excess by permitting him to see, careering
about Bristol with a pair of chauffeurs, the man whom he believed to
be then on the way to London. But fairies are unreliable creatures,
apt to be off with a hop, skip, and a jump, and, in any case, Marigny
was writing explicit instructions to Devar, though he would have been
far more profitably employed in lounging outside the hotel.

So everybody was dissatisfied, more or less, the quaking Dale more,
perhaps, than any, and the person who had absolutely no shadow of
care on his soul was Medenham himself, at that moment guiding the
Mercury along the splendid highway that connects Bristol with
Gloucester--taking the run leisurely, too, lest Cynthia should miss
one fleeting glimpse of the ever-changing beauties of the Severn
estuary.

During one of these adagio movements by the engine, Cynthia, who had
been consulting a guidebook, leaned forward with a smile on her face.

"What is a lamprey?" she asked.

"A special variety of eel which has a habit of sticking to stones by
its mouth," said Medenham. Then he added, after a pause: "Henry the
First was sixty-seven years of age when he died, so the dish of
lampreys was perhaps blamed