The Angel," that antique and comfortable
hotel well known to all motorists at Grantham, where we had a hasty
meal.

Then out again in the sunset, we headed through Doncaster to York, and
in the darkness, with our big head-lamps shining, we tore through
Malton, and slipped down the hill into Scarborough. The run had been a
long and dusty one, the last fifty miles in darkness and at a high
speed, therefore when we pulled up before the Grand I leaned heavily
upon the steering-wheel, weary and fagged.

It was about eleven o'clock at night, and Sir Charles, who had evidently
been expecting our arrival in the big hall of the hotel, rushed out and
greeted Bindo effusively. Then, directed by a page-boy, who sat in the
Count's seat, I took the car round to Hutton's garage, close by.

With Sir Charles I noticed another man, young, with very fair hair--a
mere boy, he seemed--in evening clothes of the latest cut. When I
returned to the hotel I saw them all seated in the big hall over
whiskies and sodas, laughing merrily together. It was late, all the
other guests having retired.

Next day Bindo took the young man, whose name I discovered to be Paul
Clayton, for a run on the car to Bridlington. Bindo drove, and I sat
upon the step. The racing-body gave the "forty" a rakish appearance, and
each time we went up and down the Esplanade, or across the Valley
Bridge, we created considerable interest. After lunch we went on to
Hornsea, and returned to Scarborough at tea-time.

That same evening, after dinner, I saw Bindo's new friend walking on the
Esplanade with a fair-haired, well-dressed young girl. They were deep in
conversation, and it struck me that she was warning him regarding
something.

Days passed--warm, idle August days. Scarborough was full of visitors.
The Grand was overrun by a smartly dressed crowd, and the Spa was a
picturesque sight during the morning promenade. The beautiful
"Belvedere" grounds were a blaze of roses, and, being private property,
were regarded with envy by thousands who trod the asphalte of the
Esplanade. Almost daily Bindo took Paul for a run on the car. To York,
to Castle Howard, to Driffield, and to Whitby we went--the road to the
last-named place, by the way, being execrable. Evidently Bindo's present
object was to ingratiate himself with young Clayton, but with what
ulterior motive I could not conceive.

Sir Charles remained constantly in the background. Well dressed and
highly respectable,