Part 13 (2/2)

Of course, I didn't expect him to talk to me, was not looking for a tip from Madame's own husband, but I had expected a question or two; and when he had departed the porter and I stopped there gossiping a bit, for it was likely that the car might be wanted again that night--and, to be truthful, I more than half hoped that Madame would send for me.

”What's up?” asks the porter--he pa.s.ses for a foreigner, but I happen to know he was born just off Soho. ”What's up, matey?”

”Why,” says I, ”that's just what I'd like to know myself. Can't you tell the chambermaid at 113 to find out?”

”The maid's off. Is that old cove licensed?”

”All in order at Scotland Yard,” says I. ”He's took out a license to drive, and his papers are pa.s.sed. That's my missis' husband.”

”Oh,” he remarked, in a dreamy kind of way, ”which one?”

”Why, the gentleman who just went in.”

”Poor soul!” says he, in a most aggravating manner, ”how fast she do lose 'em. I wonder who pays for the headstones?”

”Do you know her?” asked I, for his words took me aback.

He shook his head at this, and then scratched it as though he were trying to think.

”Larst time,” he said presently, ”larst time she dropped one or two at Cannes, I'm thinking---- But, Lord love me, what's that?”

He stepped back on the pavement and looked up to the window of the room 113. I had heard the s.h.i.+ndy as well as he--a regular scream, as though a woman was mad in her tantrums, and upon that a crash of gla.s.s and silence--while the porter and me, we just stared at one another.

”Votes for women!” says he, presently, and in so droll a way that I had to laugh in spite of myself; but before I could answer him, what do you think? Why, out come the old gentleman, just as calm and smiling as he had been ten minutes ago.

”You will drive me back to Monaco,” he began. I asked him by whose orders; but at that he looked like a devil incarnate, and spoke so loud that I was right down frightened of him.

”You will drive me back to Monaco or spend the night in prison!” he shouted. ”Now, which do you prefer?”

”Oh,” says I, ”in you get!” And in he did get, as I'm a Dutchman, and I drove him back to the hotel at Monaco--which was about the hour of one in the morning, and no mistake at all. When he got out at last, no babe in frocks could have looked more innocent, and he just handed me up a couple of louis, like a father blessing his only son.

”You drive very well, my lad. Where did you learn?”

”On a good car, sir. Henri Fourtnier taught me about the time of the second Gordon Bennett. But I don't suppose you remember that.”

”Certainly I remember it. The late Count Zborowski was one of my friends. Let me give you a little piece of advice. It is better to drive for a gentleman than a lady.”

”I beg your pardon, sir?”

But he waved his hand with a flourish, and crying, ”A bonny arntarndure,” or something of that kind, he disappeared into his hotel and left me to think what I liked. And a lot I did think as I drove back to Nice, I do a.s.sure you--for a rummier game I had never been engaged in, and that's the truth, upon my word and honour.

It was daylight when I reached the garage, and out of the question, of course, to think of seeing Madame. Speaking for myself, I was too dog-tired to ask if she wanted me or not; and going up to my bedroom, I must have slept till nine o'clock without lifting an eyelid. At that hour the boots waked me in a deuce of a stew, telling me that Madame must see me without a moment's loss of time. I dressed anyhow and went down to her. Poor little woman, what a state she was in! I don't think I ever saw a sorrier picture in all my life.

No fluffy stuff and fine pink satin now, but a shabby old morning gown and her hair anyhow upon her shoulders, and in her eyes the look of a woman who has been hunted and does not know where on G.o.d's earth she is going to find a habitation. I've seen it twice in my life, and I never want to see it again--for what man with a heart would wish to do so?

”Britten,” she says, almost like a play-actress on the stage of a theatre, ”Britten, do you know what happened last night?”

”Well,” says I, ”for that matter lots of things happened; but if you're speaking of the gentleman, your husband----”

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