y
with all the wraps we had, I left her to sleep, while I drove on due
south towards the Riviera.

The Drome Valley, between Valence and Die, was snow-covered, and
progress was but slow. But now and then, when I turned back, I saw that
the pretty Pierrette, tired out, had fallen asleep curled up among her
rugs. I would have put up the hood, only with that head-wind our
progress would have been so much retarded. But in order to render her
more comfortable I pulled up, and getting in, tucked her up more warmly,
and placed beneath her head the little leather pillow we always
carried.

I was pretty fagged myself, but drove on, almost mechanically, through
the long night, the engines running beautifully, and the roar of my open
exhaust resounding in the narrow, rocky gorges which we passed through.
Thirty kilometres beyond Die is the village of Aspres, where I knew I
should join the main road from Grenoble to Aix in Provence, and was
keeping a good look-out not to run past it. Within a kilometre of
Aspres, however, something went wrong, and I pulled up short, awakening
my charming little charge.

She saw me take off the bonnet to examine the engines, and inquired
whether anything was wrong. But I soon diagnosed the trouble--a broken
sparking-plug--and ten minutes later we were tearing forwards again.

Before we approached the cross-road the first faint flash of dawn showed
away on our left, and by the time we reached Sisterton the sun had
risen. At an _auberge_ we pulled up, and got two big bowls of steaming
_cafe au lait_, and then without much adventure continued our way down
to Mirabeau, whence we turned sharp to the left for Draguignan and Les
Arcs. At the last-mentioned place she resumed her seat at my side, and
with the exception of her hair being slightly disarranged, she seemed
quite as fresh and merry as on the previous day.

Late that night, as in the bright moonlight we headed direct for
Cannes, I endeavoured to obtain from her some further information about
herself, but she was always guarded.

"I am searching for my dear father," she answered, however. "He has
disappeared, and we fear that something terrible has happened to him."

"Disappeared? Where from?"

"From London. He left Paris a month ago for London to do business, and
stayed at the Hotel Charing Cross--I think you call it--for five days.
On the sixth he went out of the hotel at four o'clock in the afternoon,
and has never been seen or heard o