“What do you think it means?” asked Dick, when the chauffeur had gone.
“It’s just struck me, it may mean that Carmona intends to slip away with
his guests in his new automobile, and that he wanted to find out something
about my car, what it was like, and so on, in case I got wind of the idea,
and followed.”
“The identical thing struck me. He wouldn’t go spying himself, but sent
his chauffeur, a new importation, probably, to have a look at the Gloria
and describe it. I wonder how he heard you had one.”
“Easy enough to do that. Of course he’s found out somehow, perhaps through
employing a detective, that Chris Trevenna and Casa Triana are one man. He
can’t make much use of the knowledge to bother me on this side the
frontier, but—”
“Yes; a big but.”
“It seems pretty certain that his own car must have come, or be coming
here, and that he means to use it going into Spain, or he wouldn’t have
developed this sudden interest in mine.”
“It looks like it. Now he knows, if a dark blue Gloria crosses his path,
it’s the car of the pursuing lover, and—”
“I was just thinking that a dark blue Gloria will not cross his path.”
“You don’t mean—”
“I mean that it won’t be prudent for either Casa Triana’s or Chris
Trevenna’s car to follow his, wherever he means to go.”
“What, you’ll give up—”
“Is it likely?”
“You’re getting beyond me.”
“What I want is to stay with you, in your car.”
“Wish I had one!” said Dick.
“You’re going to have the loan of one. Would a grey or a red car suit you
best?”
“I see. Red, please. They say red paint dries quickest.”
We both laughed.
“Your red car must have new lamps,” I went on, “and a new number, and any
other little things that can be put on in a hurry. And you’d better get a
passport if you haven’t one. Gentlemen touring in foreign lands are
sometimes subjected to cross-questionings which might be inconvenient
unless they’ve plenty of red tape up their sleeves.”
“I’ll lay in a stock. How would you like me to be the accredited
correspondent, for the Spanish wedding festivities, of a newspaper or
two?”
“Rattling good idea. Could you work it?”
“Easy as falling off a log, or puncturing a tyre. I’ll arrange by
telegraph, London and New York.”
“Grand old chap.”
“Thanks. Better wait till I’ve done something. What about your part in the
show?”
“A humble friend, accompanying the important newspaper correspondent in
his travels.”
“That’s all right. But the Trevenna business is played out.”
“A new travelling name’s as easy to fit as a travelling-coat.”
“Not quite, unless you can match it with a new travelling face.”
“Luckily Carmona knows Romeo’s face better than mine. And, anyhow, a
motoring get-up can be next door to a disguise.”
“That’s true. Behind goggles Apollo hasn’t much advantage over Apollyon,
and you can develop a moustache. Yes. I think we can work it as far as
that goes. But one’s always heard that Spanish roads are impossible.”
“They’ll be no worse for us than for Carmona,” I argued. “Besides, most of
the best known books about Spain are out of date. The King has made
motoring fashionable lately, and there must have been some attempts to get
the roads into passable condition.”
“I happened to hear an American who’s here with a sixty horse-power
Panhard, wanting to go to Seville, say to another fellow that he’d been
warned he couldn’t get beyond Madrid.”
“I’ve never bothered much about warnings in my life. I’ve generally gone
ahead, and found out things for myself.”
“We’ll continue on the same lines. And, anyhow, wherever we go, we’re sure
of a leader; our friend the enemy.”
It was next in order to find out whether the Duke really had brought an
automobile to Biarritz; but try as we might, we could learn nothing.
Inquiries were made at the railway stations, both at Bayonne and Biarritz,
as to whether an automobile had lately been shipped through; but as it
happened, no car of any description had arrived by rail in either
direction during the last fortnight.
All the principal garages of Bayonne and Biarritz were visited also, in
the hope of finding a mysterious car which might be the Duke of Carmona’s;
but there was not one of which we could not trace the ownership. We then
sent to Bordeaux, and even to St. Jean de Luz; but in both cases our
errand was vain. If Carmona had an automobile in the South of France, it
was well hidden.
As for the chauffeur who had inspected my car, and afterwards met Carmona
at another garage, he had disappeared, apparently, into thin air.
Nevertheless, Dick and I formed a theory that the new automobile, of which
we had heard so many rumours, was actually in Biarritz; that it had been
driven into the town after dark, and was now being kept by some friend of
Carmona’s in a private garage. And if we were right in our conjectures, we
felt we might take it as a sure sign that the Duke was not only planning
an important tour, but was not forgetting a detail of precaution which
could prevent my learning his intentions.
As we could not set a watch upon the chauffeur, we set a watch upon the
Duke; and it was Ropes who, with considerable relish, undertook the task.
I did not wish to bring a stranger into the affair; and Ropes I could
trust as I trusted myself. Therefore Ropes it was who unobtrusively dogged
Carmona’s footsteps from the time the Duke went out in the morning, up to
the time he went in again at night.
Meanwhile, Dick took steps to become correspondent for _The Daily
Despatch_ of London, and _The New York Recorder_, the editors of which
papers he knew personally. He spent a great deal of money in wiring long
messages, but his reward was success, and, as he said, he was “proud of
his job,” which he intended to carry out as faithfully as if writing
impressions for newspapers were the business of his life.
Also, we got the car repainted; bought lamps of a different sort; ordered
side baskets to be attached, of a red to match the new colour; had Dick
Waring’s monogram, in execrable taste, put on the doors; while last and
most important change of all, from being number A12,901, the automobile
became, illegally but convincingly, M14,317. Cunningest device of all,
Ropes changed the wheel-caps of my Gloria for those of a Frenzel, as like
a Gloria as a Fiat is like a Mercédès; so that only an expert of much
experience would know that the car was not a Frenzel.
A quick dryer was used, and in two days we were ready for anything. I
still hoped for a letter from Monica, with some hints as to her mother’s
plans, but nothing came; and when we had had a blank day, with no news of
activity in the enemy’s camp, it was a relief to have Ropes arrive at the
hotel in the morning just as I was dressed.