up at the door of the Green Dragon
Hotel in Hereford just five minutes after the Sunday morning express
to London had snatched a fuming and indignant Earl of Fairholme from
off the platform of the Great Western railway station.

"Whose car?" inquired a hall-porter.

"Mine," said Medenham, rather surprised by the question.

"Sorry, sir. I thought you might be the party Lord Fairholme was
expecting."

"Did you say 'Lord Fairholme'?"

Medenham spoke with the slow accents of sheer astonishment, and the
man hastened to explain.

"Yes, sir. His lordship has been a-damnin' everybody since two o'clock
yesterday afternoon because a Miss Vanrenen, who had ordered rooms
here, didn't turn up. She's on a motor tour through England, so I
thought----"

"You have made no mistake. But are you quite sure that the Earl of
Fairholme asked for Miss Vanrenen?"

"Not exactly that, sir, but he seemed to be uncommon vexed when we
could give him no news of her."

"Where is his lordship now?"

"Gone to London, sir, by the 10.5. He damned me for the last time half
an hour ago."

"Oh, did he?"

Medenham glanced at his watch, twisted himself free of the wheel,
leaped to the pavement, and tapped one of the hall-porter's gold
epaulettes impressively.

"I am forced to believe that you are speaking the truth," he said.
"Now, tell me all about it, there's a good fellow. I am a bit rattled,
because, don't you see, Lord Fairholme is my father, and he is the
last man on earth whom I would have expected to meet in Hereford
to-day. During the less exciting intervals in his speech did you find
out why he came here?"

"Perhaps the manageress may be able to tell you something, sir. Beg
pardon, but may I ask your name?"

"Medenham."

The man tickled the back of his ear in doubt, since he was aware that
an Earl's son usually has a courtesy title.

"Lord Medenham?" he hazarded.

"Viscount."

"I thought, perhaps, you might have been a gentleman named Fitzroy, my
lord," he said.

"Well, I am that, too. If you feel that I ought to be presented to the
manageress in state, kindly announce me as George Augustus Fitzroy,
Viscount Medenham, of Medenham Hall, Downshire, and 91 Cavendish
Square, London."

The hall-porter's eyes twinkled.

"I didn't mean that, my lord, but there's a chauffeur, name of
Dale----"

"Ah, what of him?"

"_He_ knows _all_ about it, my lord, and he's hiding in a hayloft down
the stable yard at this minnit, becau