erdeen, and other places, remitting me the necessary money, and
urging me to push on the work, as he wanted the car again immediately.

At last, when it was finished, I drove it to a garage I knew at the back
of Regent Street, and that same evening met him at the Royal Automobile
Club. At his request, I dressed smartly and gave no outward appearance
of the chauffeur; therefore he invited me to dine, and afterwards, while
we sat alone in a corner of the smoking-room, he began to unfold a
series of plans for the future. They were, however, hazy, and only
conveyed to me an idea that we were going on a long tour in England.

I ventured to remark that to be in England, after the little affair in
Bond Street, might be somewhat dangerous. He replied, however, with his
usual nonchalant air--

"My dear Ewart, there's not the slightest fear. Act as I bid, and trust
in me. To-morrow, at eleven, we go North together--into Yorkshire. You
will be my servant again after to-night. You understand--eh?"

"Perfectly. Shall we start from here?"

"Yes. But before we set out I can only warn you that you'll want all
your wits about you this time. If we have luck, we shall bring off a big
thing--a very big thing."

"And if we have no luck?"

"Well--well, we shan't bring it off--that's all," he laughed.

"Where are we going?"

"Yorkshire. To spend a week at the seaside. It will do us both good.
I've decided that the Scarborough air will be extremely beneficial to
us. One of our friends is already there--at the Grand."

"Sir Charles?"

"Exactly. He's very fond of Scarborough--likes the church parade on
Sundays, the music on the Spa, and all that kind of thing. So we'll join
him. I wonder if we shall get through in a day?"

"We ought to--with luck," was my response; and then, after urging me to
leave everything in his hands, he told me that I'd better get early to
bed, and thoroughly overhaul the car early next morning, before
starting.

So next day at ten he took his seat by my side outside the Club in
Piccadilly, and we drove away into the traffic towards Regent's Park, on
our way to that much overrated highway, the Great North Road. The day
was warm and dusty, and as it was a Saturday there were police-traps out
everywhere. Therefore progress was slow, for I was forced at every few
miles to slow down, to escape a ten-pound fine.

Leafy Hatfield, crooked Hitchin, quaint old Stamford, we passed, until
we swung into the yard of "