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NASH'S SUMMER LIBRARY
OF POPULAR NOVELS
NO. 1. THE COUNT'S CHAUFFEUR
_Copyright in the United States of America
by William Le Queux, 1907._
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. A MOVE ON THE "FORTY" 1
II. A SENTIMENTAL SWINDLE 21
III. THE STORY OF A SECRET 43
IV. A RUN WITH ROSALIE 66
V. THE SIX NEW NOVELS 86
VI. THE GENTLEMAN FROM LONDON 109
VII. THE LADY OF THE GREAT NORTH ROAD 132
VIII. THE RED ROOSTER 154
IX. CONCERNING THE OTHER FELLOW 177
X. THE LADY IN A HURRY 200
XI. THE PERIL OF PIERRETTE 222
THE COUNT'S CHAUFFEUR
CHAPTER I
A MOVE ON THE "FORTY"
In Paris, in Rome, in Florence, in Berlin, in Vienna--in fact, over half
the face of Europe, from the Pyrenees to the Russian frontier--I am now
known as "The Count's Chauffeur."
An Englishman, as my name George Ewart denotes, I am of cosmopolitan
birth and education, my early youth having been spent on the Continent,
where my father was agent for a London firm.
When I was fourteen, my father, having prospered, came to London, and
established himself as an agent in Wood Street, City, representing a
great firm of silk manufacturers in Lyons.
At twenty I tried City life, but an office with a high stool, a dusty
ledger, and sandwich lunches, had no attraction for me. I had always had
a turn for mechanics, but was never allowed to adopt engineering as a
profession, my father's one idea being that I should follow in his
footsteps--a delusive hope entertained by many a fond parent.
Six months of office life sufficed me. One day I went home to Teddington
and refused to return again to Wood Street. This resulted in an open
quarrel between my father and myself, with the result that a week later
I was on my way to Canada. In a year I was back again, and, after some
months of semi-starvation in London, I managed to obtain a job in a
motor factory. I was then entirely in my element. During two years I
learned the mechanism of the various petrol-driven cars, until I became
classed as an expert driver and engineer.
At the place I was employed there was manufactured one of the best and
most expensive makes of English car, and, being at length placed on the
testing staff, it was my duty to take out each new chassis for its
trial-run before being delivered to a customer.
Upon my certificate each chassis was declared in perfect running order,
and was then handed over to the body-makers indicated by the purchaser.
Being an expert driver, my firm sent me to drive in the Tourist Trophy
races in the Isle of Man, and I likewise did the Ardennes Circuit and
came in fourth in the Brescia race for the Florio Cup, my successes, of
course, adding glory and advertisement to the car I drove.
Racing, however, aroused within me, as it does in every motorist, an
ardent desire to travel long distances. The testing of those chassis in
Regent's Park, and an occasional run with some wealthy customer out on
the Great North Road or on the Bath or Brighton roads, became too quiet
a life for me. I was now seized by a desire to tour and see Europe.
True, in my capacity of tester, I met all classes of men. In the seat
beside me have sat Cabinet Ministers, Dukes, Indian Rajahs, Members of
Parliament, and merchant princes, customers or prospective purchasers,
all of whom chatted with me, mostly displaying their ignorance of the
first principles of mechanics. It was all pleasant enough--a merry life
and good pay. Yet I hated London, and the height of my ambition was a
good car to drive abroad.
After some months of waiting, the opportunity came, and I seized it.
By appointment, at the Royal Automobile Club one grey December morning,
I met Count Bindo di Ferraris, a young Italian aristocrat, whose aspect,
however, was the reverse of that of a Southerner. About thirty, he was
tall, lithe, and well dressed in a dark-brown lounge suit. His
complexion, his chestnut hair, his erect, rather soldierly bearing, his
clean-shaven face, and his open countenance gave him every appearance of
an English gentleman. Indeed, I at first took him for an Englishman, for
he spoke English so perfectly.
When he had examined my testimonials and made a number of inquiries, he
asked--
"You speak French?"
"Yes," was my reply; "a little Italian, and a little German."
"Italian!" he exclaimed in surprise. "Excellent!"
Then, while we sat alone, with no one within hearing, he told me the
terms upon which he was willing to engage me to drive on the Continent,
and added--
"Your salary will be doubled--providing I find you entirely loyal
to me. That is to say, you must know how to keep your mouth
closed--understand?"
And he regarded me rather curiously, I thought.
"No," I answered; "I don't quite understand."
"Well, well, there are matters--private family matters--of which you
will probably become cognisant. Truth to tell, I want help--the help of
a good, careful driver who isn't afraid, and who is always discreet. I
may as well tell you that before I wrote to you I made certain secret
inquiries regarding you, and I feel confident that you can serve me very
much to our mutual advantage."
This puzzled me, and my curiosity was further aroused when he added--
"To be plain, there is a certain young lady in very high society in the
case. I need not tell you more, need I? You will be discreet, eh?"
I smiled and promised. What did it all mean? I wondered. My employer
was mysterious; but in due course I should, as he prophesied, obtain
knowledge of this secret--a secret love affair, no doubt.
The Count's private affairs did not, after all, concern me. My duty was
to drive on the Continent, and for what he was to pay me I was to serve
him loyally, and see that his tyre and petrol bills were not too
exorbitant.
He went to the writing-table and wrote out a short agreement which he
copied, and we both signed it--a rather curiously worded agreement by
which I was to serve him for three years, and during that time our
interests were "to be mutual." That last phrase caused me to wonder
but I scribbled my name and refrained from comment, for the payment
was already double that which I was receiving from the firm.
"My car is outside," he remarked, as he folded his copy of the agreement
and placed it in his pocket. "Did you notice it?"
I had not, so we went out into Piccadilly together, and there, standing
at the kerb, I saw a car that caused my heart to bound with delight--a
magnificent six-cylinder forty horse-power "Napier," of the very latest
model. The car was open, with side entrance, a dark green body with
coronet and cipher on the panels, upholstered in red, with glass
removable screen to the splashboard--a splendid, workmanlike car just
suitable for long tours and fast runs. Of all the cars and of all the
makes, that was the only one which it was my ambition to drive.
I walked around it in admiration, and saw that every accessory was the
best and very latest that money could buy--even to the newly invented
gas-generator which had only a few weeks ago been placed upon the
market. I lifted the long bonnet, looked around the engine, and saw
those six cylinders in a row--the latest invention of a celebrated
inventor.
"Splendid!" I ejaculated. "There's nothing yet to beat this car. By
Jove! we can get a move on a good road!"
"Yes," smiled the Count. "My man Mario could make her travel, but he's a
fool, and has left me in a fit of temper. He was an Italian, and we
Italians are, alas! hot-headed," and he laughed again. "Would you like
to try her?"
I assented with delight, and, while he returned inside the Club to get
his fur coat, I started the engine and got in at the steering-wheel.
A few moments later he seated himself beside me, and we glided down
Piccadilly on our way to Regent's Park--the ground where, day after day,
it had been my habit to go testing. The car ran perfectly, the engines
sounding a splendid rhythm through the Regent Street traffic into broad
Portland Place, and on into the Park, where I was afforded some scope
to see what she could do. The Count declared that he was in no hurry,
therefore we went up through Hampstead to Highgate Station, and then on
the Great North Road, through East End, Whetstone, Barnet, and Hatfield,
to Hitchin--thirty-five miles of road which was as well known to me as
the Strand.
The morning was dry and cold, the roads in excellent condition bar a few
patches of new metal between Codicote and Chapelfoot, and the sharp east
wind compelled us to goggle. Fortunately, I had on my leather-lined
frieze coat, and was therefore fully equipped. The North Road between
London and Hitchin is really of little use for trying the speed of a
car, for there are so many corners, it is mostly narrow, and it abounds
in police-traps. That twenty miles of flat, straight road, with perfect
surface, from Lincoln to New Holland, opposite Hull, is one of the best
places in England to see what a car is worth.
Nevertheless, the run to Hitchin satisfied me perfectly that the car was
not a "roundabout," as so many are, but a car well "within the meaning
of the Act."
"And what is your opinion of her, Ewart?" asked the Count, as we sat
down to cold beef and pickles in the long, old-fashioned upstairs room
of the Sun Inn at Hitchin.
"Couldn't be better," I declared. "The brakes would do with re-lining,
but that's about all. When do we start for the Continent?"
"The day after to-morrow. I'm staying just now at the Cecil. We'll run
the car down to Folkestone, ship her across, and then go by Paris and
Aix to Monte Carlo first; afterwards we'll decide upon our itinerary.
Ever been to Monty?"
I replied in the negative. The prospect of going on the Riviera sounded
delightful.
After our late luncheon we ran back from Hitchin to London, but, not
arriving before lighting-up time, we had to turn on the head-lights
beyond Barnet. We drove straight to the fine garage on the Embankment
beneath the Cecil, and after I had put things square and received
orders for ten o'clock next day, I was preparing to go to my lodgings in
Bloomsbury to look through my kit in preparation for the journey when my
employer suddenly exclaimed--
"Come up to the smoking-room a moment. I want to write a letter for you
to take to Boodle's in St. James's Street, for me, if you will."
I followed him upstairs to the great blue-tiled smoking-room overlooking
the Embankment, and as we entered, two well-dressed men--Englishmen, of
aristocratic bearing--rose from a table and shook him warmly by the
hand.
I noticed their quick, apprehensive look as they glanced at me as though
in inquiry, but my employer exclaimed--
"This is my new chauffeur, Ewart, an expert. Ewart, these are my
friends--Sir Charles Blythe," indicating the elder man, "and Mr.
Henderson. These gentlemen will perhaps be with us sometimes, so you had
better know them."
The pair looked me up and down and smiled pleasantly. Sir Charles was
narrow-faced, about fifty, with a dark beard turning grey; his companion
was under thirty, a fair-haired, rather foppishly dressed young fellow,
in a fashionable suit and a light fancy vest.
Then, as the Count went to the table to write, Sir Charles inquired
where we had been, and whether I had driven much on the Continent.
When the Count handed me the letter, I saw that he exchanged a meaning
glance with Sir Charles, but what it was intended to convey I could not
guess. I only know that, for a few seconds, I felt some vague distrust
of my new friends, and yet they treated me more as an equal than as a
mere chauffeur.
The Count's friends were certainly a merry, easy-going pair, yet somehow
I instinctively held them in suspicion. Whether it was on account of the
covert glance which Sir Charles shot across at my employer, or whether
there was something unusual about their manner, I cannot tell. I am only
aware that when I left the hotel I went on my way in wonder.
Next day, at ten punctually, I ran the car from the Strand into the
courtyard of the hotel and pulled up at the restaurant entrance, so as
to be out of the way of the continuous cab traffic. The Count, however,
did not make his appearance until nearly half an hour later, and when he
did arrive he superintended the despatch by cab of a quantity of luggage
which he told me he was sending forward by _grande vitesse_ to Monte
Carlo.
After the four-wheeler had moved off, the hall-porter helped him on with
his big fur coat, and he, getting up beside me, told me to drive to
Piccadilly.
As we were crossing Trafalgar Square into Pall Mall, he turned to me,
saying--
"Remember, Ewart, your promise yesterday. If my actions--I mean, if you
think I am a little peculiar sometimes, don't trouble your head about
it. You are paid to drive--and paid well, I think. My affairs don't
concern you, do they?"
"Not in the least," I answered, nevertheless puzzled.
He descended at a tobacconist's in Bond Street, and bought a couple of
boxes of cigars, and then made several calls at shops, also visiting two
jewellers to obtain, he remarked, a silver photograph frame of a certain
size.
At Gilling's--the third shop he tried--he remained inside some little
time--quite twenty minutes, I should think. As you know, it is in the
narrowest part of Bond Street, and the traffic was congested owing to
the road at the Piccadilly end being partially up.
As I sat in my place, staring idly before me, and reflecting that I
should be so soon travelling due South over the broad, well-kept French
roads, and out of the gloom and dreariness of the English winter, I
suddenly became conscious of a familiar face in the crowd of hurrying
foot-passengers.
I glanced up quickly as a man bustled past. Was I mistaken? I probably
had been; but the thin, keen, bearded countenance was very much like
that of Sir Charles Blythe. But no. When I looked back after him I saw
that his figure was much more bent and his appearance was not half so
smart and well groomed as the Count's friend.
At one moment I felt absolutely positive that the man had really been
watching me, and was now endeavouring to escape recognition, yet at the
next I saw the absurdity of such a thought. Sir Charles's face had, I
suppose, been impressed upon my memory on the previous evening, and the
passer-by merely bore some slight resemblance.
And so I dismissed it from my mind.
A few moments later a man in a frock-coat, probably the jeweller's
manager, opened the door, looked up and down the street for a few
moments, shot an inquisitive glance at me, and then disappeared within.
I found that the clock on the splashboard required winding, and was in
the act of doing this when my eyes fell upon a second person who was
equally a mystery. This time I felt convinced that I was not mistaken.
The fair-moustached young man Henderson went by, but without recognising
me.
Did either of the pair recognise the car? If so, what object had they in
not acknowledging me?
My suspicions were again aroused. I did not like either of the two men.
Were they following my master with some evil intent? In London, and
especially in certain cosmopolitan circles, one cannot be too cautious
regarding one's acquaintances. They had been slightly too over-dressed
and too familiar with the Count to suit me, and I had resolved that
if I had ever to drive either of them I would land them in some
out-of-the-world hole with a pretended breakdown. The non-motorist is
always at the mercy of the chauffeur, and the so-called "breakdowns" are
frequently due to the vengeance of the driver, who gets his throttle
stuck, or some trouble which sounds equally serious, but which is
remedied in one, two, three, or four hours, according to how long the
chauffeur decides to detain his victim by the roadside.
I wondered, as I sat ruminating, whether these two men were really
"crooks"; and so deep-rooted were my suspicions that I decided, when the
Count returned, to drop him a hint that we were being watched.
I am not nervous by any means, and, moreover, I always carry for my own
protection a handy little revolver. Yet I admit that at that moment I
felt a decidedly uncomfortable feeling creeping over me.
Those men meant mischief. I had detected it in their eyes on the
previous night. By some kind of mysterious intuition I became aware that
we were in peril.
Almost at that moment the shop door was opened by the manager, and the
Count, emerging, crossed to me and said--
"Go into the shop, Ewart, and wait there till I return. I'm just going
round to get some money," and seeing a boy passing, he called him,
saying, "Just mind this car for ten minutes, my boy, and I'll give you
half a crown. Never mind the police; if they say anything, tell them
I'll be back in ten minutes."
The lad, eager to earn a trifle, at once consented, and descending, I
entered the shop, the door of which was being still held open for me,
while the Count hailed a hansom and drove away.
The shop is one of the finest in Bond Street, as you know. At that
moment there were, however, no other customers. The manager politely
invited me to be seated, saying--
"His lordship will only be a short time," and then, standing with his
hands behind his back, he commenced to chat with me.
"That's a very fine car of yours," he said. "You ought to be able to
travel pretty fast, eh?"
"Well, we do, as a matter of fact," I replied.
Then he went to the door, and looking over the panes of frosted glass,
asked what horse-power it was, and a number of other questions with
which non-motorists always plague the chauffeur.
Then, returning to me, he remarked what a very nice gentleman his
lordship was, adding that he had been a customer on several occasions.
"Have you been long in his service?" he inquired.
"Oh yes," I replied, determined not to be thought a new hand. "Quite a
long time. As you say, he is a very charming man."
"He's very wealthy, according to report. I read something about him in
the papers the other day--a gift of some thousands to the Hospital
Fund."
This rather surprised me. I never remembered having seen the name of
Count Bindo di Ferraris in the papers.
Presently I got up, and wandering about the shop, inspected some of the
beautiful jewels in the fine show-cases, many of them ornaments of
enormous value. The manager, a pleasant, elderly man, took me round and
showed me some of the most beautiful jewellery I had ever seen. Then,
excusing himself, he retired to the office beyond the shop, and left me
to chat with one of the assistants.
I looked at the clock, and saw that nearly half an hour had elapsed
since the Count had left. A constable had looked in and inquired about
the car, but I had assured him that in a few minutes we should be off,
and begged, as a favour, that it might be allowed to remain until my
master's return.
Another quarter of an hour elapsed, when the door opened, and there
entered two respectably dressed men in dark overcoats, one wearing a
soft brown felt hat and the other a "bowler."
They asked to see the manager, and the assistant who had been chatting
to me conducted them through the shop to the office beyond. Both men
were of middle age and well set up, and as they entered, I saw that a
third man, much younger, was with them. He, however, did not come in,
but stood in the doorway, idly glancing up and down Bond Street.
Within the office I distinctly heard the manager utter an exclamation of
surprise, and then one of the men, in a deep, low voice, seemed to enter
into a long explanation.
The elder of the two strangers walked along the shop to the door, and
going outside, spoke some words to the man who had accompanied them.
On re-entering, he passed me, giving me a sharp glance, and then
disappeared again into the office, where, for five minutes or so, he
remained closeted with the manager.
Presently the last-named came out, and as he approached me I noticed an
entire change in his manner. He was pale, almost to the lips.
"Will you step into my office for one moment?" he asked. "There's--well,
a little matter upon which I want to speak to you."
This surprised me. What could he mean?
Nevertheless, I consented, and in a few moments found myself in a large,
well-lit office with the manager and the two strangers.
The man in the brown felt hat was the first to speak.
"We want to ask you a question or two," he said. "Do you recognise
this?" and he produced a small square photograph of a man upon whose
coat was a white ticket bearing a bold number. I started when my eyes
fell upon it.
"My master!" I ejaculated.
The portrait was a police photograph! The men were detectives!
The inspector, for such he was, turned to the jeweller's manager, and
regarded him with a significant look.
"It's a good job we've arrested him with the stuff on him," he remarked,
"otherwise you'd never have seen the colour of it again. He's worked the
same dodge in Rome and Berlin, and both times got clear away. I suppose
he became a small customer, in order to inspire confidence--eh?"
"Well, he came in this morning, saying that he wished to give his wife a
tiara for the anniversary of her wedding, and asked that he might have
two on approval, as he was undecided which to choose, and wished her to
pick for herself. He left his car and chauffeur here till his return,
and took away two worth five thousand pounds each. I, of course, had not
the slightest suspicion. Lord Ixwell--the name by which we know him--is
reputed everywhere to be one of the richest peers in the kingdom."
"Yes. But, you see, Detective-Sergeant Rodwell here, chanced to see him
come out of the shop, and, recognising him as the jewel-thief we've
wanted for months past, followed his cab down to Charing Cross Station,
and there arrested him and took him to Bow Street."
I stood utterly dumbfounded at this sudden ending of what I had believed
would be an ideal engagement.
"What's your name?" inquired the inspector.
"George Ewart," was my answer. "I only entered the Count's service
yesterday."
"And yet you told me you had been his chauffeur for a long time!"
exclaimed the jeweller's manager.
"Well," said the elder of the detectives, "we shall arrest you, at any
rate. You must come round to Bow Street, and I warn you that any
statement you may make will be taken down and used as evidence against
you."
"Arrest me!" I cried. "Why, I haven't done anything! I'm perfectly
innocent. I had no idea that----"
"Well, you have more than an idea now, haven't you?" laughed the
detective. "But come along; we have no time to lose," and he asked the
manager to order a four-wheeled cab.
I remonstrated in indignation, but to no avail.
"What about the car?" I asked anxiously, as we went outside together and
stepped into the cab, the third police-officer, who had been on guard
outside, holding open the door, while the constable who had been
worrying me about the car stood looking on.
"Diplock, you can drive a motor-car," exclaimed the inspector, turning
to the detective at the cab door. "Just bring that round to Bow Street
as quick as you can."
The constable took in the situation at a glance. He saw that I had been
arrested, and asked the detectives if they needed any assistance. But
the reply was negative, and with the inspector at my side and the
sergeant opposite, we moved off towards Piccadilly, the jeweller's
manager having been requested to attend at Bow Street Police Station in
an hour, in order to identify the stolen property. By that time the
charge would be made out, and we should, the inspector said, be up
before the magistrate for a remand before the Court rose.
As we drove along Piccadilly, my heart fell within me. All my dreams of
those splendid, well-kept roads in the sunny South, of touring to all
the gayest places on the Continent, and seeing all that was to be seen,
had been shattered at a single blow. And what a blow!
I had awakened to find myself under arrest as the accomplice of one of
the most expert jewel-thieves in Europe!
My companions were not communicative. Why should they have been?
Suddenly I became aware of the fact that we had driven a considerable
distance. In my agitated state of mind I had taken no notice of our
route, and my captors had, it seemed, endeavoured to take my attention
off the direction we had taken.
Collecting my scattered senses, however, I recollected that we had
crossed one of the bridges over the Thames, and looking out of the
window, I found that we were in a long, open road of private houses,
each with a short strip of railed-off garden in front--a South London
thoroughfare evidently.
"This isn't the way to Bow Street!" I exclaimed in wonder.
"Well, not exactly the straight way," grinned the inspector. "A
roundabout route, let's call it."
I was puzzled. The more so when I recognised a few minutes later that we
had come down the Camberwell New Road, and were passing Camberwell
Green.
We continued up Denmark Hill until, at the corner where Champion Hill
branches off, the inspector called to the cabman to stop, and we all
descended, the detective-sergeant paying the fare.
Where were they taking me? I wondered. I asked, but they only laughed,
and would vouchsafe no reply.
Together we walked up the quiet, semi-rural Champion Hill, until we
reached Green Lane, when at the sharp right angle of the road, as we
turned, I saw before me an object which caused me to hold my breath in
utter amazement.
The car was standing there, right before me in the lonely suburban road,
and in it, seated at the wheel, a man whom I next second recognised as
the Count himself! He was evidently awaiting me.
He was wearing a different motor-coat, the car bore a different number,
and as I approached I noticed that the coronet and cipher had been
obliterated by a dab of paint!
"Come on, Ewart!" cried the Count, jumping down to allow me to take his
place at the steering.
I turned to my captors in wonder.
"Yes, away you go, Ewart," the inspector said, "and good luck to you!"
Without another second's delay, I sprang upon the car, and while the
Count, as he jumped up at my side, shouted good-bye to my captors, I
started away towards Lordship Lane and the open country of Surrey.
"Where shall we go?" I inquired breathlessly, utterly amazed at our
extraordinary escape.
"Straight on through Sydenham, and then I'll tell you. The sooner we're
out of this, the better. We'll run along to Winchester, where I have a
little house at Kingsworthy, just outside the city, and where we can lie
low comfortably for a bit."
"But shan't we be followed by those men?" I asked apprehensively.
"Followed--by them? Oh dear no!" he laughed. "Of course, you don't
understand, Ewart. They all three belong to us. We've played a smartish
game upon the jeweller, haven't we? They had to frighten you, of course,
because it added a real good touch of truth to the scheme. We ought to
be able to slip away across the Channel in a week's time, at latest.
They'll leave to-night--in search of me!" and he laughed lightly to
himself.
"Then they were not detectives?" I exclaimed, utterly staggered by the
marvellous ingenuity of the robbery.
"No more than you are, Ewart," was his reply. "But don't bother your
head about them now. All you've got to look after is your driving. Let's
get across to Winchester as quickly as possible. Just here!--sharp to
the right and the first to the left takes us into the Guildford road.
Then we can move."