" he asked, stooping to unlock the
toolbox.

The stableman shuffled uneasily from one foot to the other. The hour
was past midnight, and the alarm raised at the hotel had already
robbed him of two hours' sleep.

"Hosses is more in my line," he answered gruffly.

"But if I give you half a sovereign perhaps you will not mind helping
me. I shall attend to the engine myself."

"'Arf a suv-rin did you say, mister?" came the panting question.

"Yes. Be quick! Off with your coat, and get busy. A man who can groom
a horse properly ought to be able to use a rubber and hose."

By two o'clock the Mercury was shining above and below. Thoroughly
weary, yet well satisfied with the day's record, Medenham went to
bed. He was up at seven, and meant to talk severely to Dale after
breakfast; then he found, by consulting a directory, that the small
hotel where his man had arranged to stay did not possess a telephone.
It was annoying, but he had the consolation of knowing that an
hour's slow run would bring him to Hereford and reunite him with his
sorely-needed baggage. He was giving a few finishing touches to the
car's toilette, when the Welsh waiting-maid hurried to the garage;
Miss Vanrenen wanted him at once.

She awaited him in the veranda of the hotel, which fronted the
southeast. A shower of June roses, pink and crimson and white,
bespangled the sloping roof and hid the square posts that supported
it, and a flood of vivid sunshine irradiated Cynthia as she leaned
over the low rail of the balcony and smiled a greeting. She presented
a picture that was a triumph of unconscious art, and her beauty
affected Medenham more than a deep draught of the strongest wine
ever vinted by man. Yesterday she was a charming girl, radiantly
good-looking, and likely to attract attention even in circles where
pretty women were plentiful as blackberries in a September thicket,
but to-day, in Medenham's eyes, she was a woodland sprite, an ethereal
creature cast in no mortal mold. So enthralled was he by the vision
that he failed to note her attire. She wore the muslin dress of the
previous night, and this, in itself, might have prepared him for what
was to come.

"Good-morning, Mr. Fitzroy," she said, with a fine attempt at
re-establishing those friendly relations which might reasonably exist
between the owner of a motor-car and its hirer, "how are you after
your strenuous labors of yesterday? I have heard all about you. Fancy
remaining out of b