The lady of the blue motor

Contents

I. The Birth of a Romance

II. A Night Pursuit

III. At the Cafe du Ouatz Arts

Chapter I

I began to live precisely at 3.45 p.m. on Christmas Day of the year 190 — . Now please do not mistake my meaning when I say that I commenced my life on this date. I do not assert that I was born then, for a reference to any of my friends would at once demonstrate the falsity of the statement, even if I were prepared to ask anyone to believe that within a few hours of my birth I was able to take part in an active adventure such as only occasionally falls to the lot of man in these unromantic modern days. What I wish to convey is that I, Geoffrey Hardinge, after having existed for twenty-seven years, began really and truly to live at the precise moment I have mentioned, and the place of my vivification was the salon of the Hotel des Fontaines at [Versailles.

Let me recall the scene as it appeared to me at 3.44, when I entered the salon and ordered a cup of tea. The long room, with its array of empty tables, looked inexpressibly bare and cold, and the two waiters who stood at one of the windows looking out into the empty street were pictures of dejection. I ordered my tea, and with the assistance of the second waiter divested myself of the couple of coats I was wearing, before seating myself. The waiter who had helped me was of a saturnine disposition, for he retired again to his window, and left me to wonder what I was doing alone at Versailles on Christmas Day. Truth to tell, I should have 'been at a loss to give an adequate explanation had anyone required it of me. It was a mere freak on my part, born of ennui. I was staying in Paris for a few days, preparatory to going south in search of sunlight and a warmer atmosphere, and, after dejeuner, feeling a trifle hipped, I had ordered my car round, in the hope that I might escape in it from the blue-devils which I fancied were in pursuit of me. I had started out alone, for Coles, my valet-chauffeur, had met with a number of cosmopolitan professional automobilists at the garage where my car was stabled, and he had been eager, under their guidance, to make acquaintance with Parisian life.

At first, my remedy for the blues promised to be successful. The day was one of those clear, bright days of winter which set the blood tingling in the veins and produce a pleasantly exhilarating sense of well-being in those strong enough to withstand the cold. A little snow had fallen during the preceding night, and though it had blown away from the surface of the road, it still clung to the grass and trees, and produced a fairy winter landscape to delight the eyes. I was well protected against the cold by a 'fur coat, covered by a leather jacket, and a heavy tweed overcoat on top of all, so that I was able to enjoy the winter landscape without experiencing any of the usually attendant discomforts.

When I started, I merely intended to content myself with an hour's spin in the Bois de Boulogne, but after I had been round a couple of times without recognising a familiar face, nor even resting my eyes on a face that appealed to me, it suddenly occurred to me that I should like to see what Versailles looked like, set in a winter landscape. Following the impulse, I passed through St. Cloud, and, after making a solitary pilgrimage through the park, I ultimately found myself a solitary visitor, sitting down to a lonely cup of tea, at the Hotel des Fontaines.

When T entered the salon of the hotel I immediately regretted my decision to remain, even though I knew from experience that nowhere in the world could I get a better cup of tea — I am a great teadrinker, by the way, and my palate is inexpressibly shocked by the usual "Lipton" which the fair Parisienne produces with such satisfaction for the delectation of her English visitors. But the sight of the empty salon and the two gloomy-browed waiters brought back the feeling of depression that I had thought to have dispelled. A feeling of utter loneliness came upon me. I could think of no reason for it. A day or two later I remembered that escargot had made one of the dishes at my mid-day meal, but at the time this simple explanation did not occur to my mind, and T was astonished at my depression. I was accustomed to be alone. I did not suffer from homesickness, for I knew no home and no home knew me. If I had been in London I should have, in all probability, been sitting down to a solitary cup of tea at my chambers in Ryder Street, St. James's, just as I was then doing in the salon of the Hotel des Fontaines. In fact, I had fled from London in order to escape the festive season, which held nothing festive in association for me, with the result that I was more passively miserable than I ever remembered to have been before, and — thank Heaven ! — ever have been since.

Then something happened. I was sitting near one of the windows, with my back to the entrance. I heard the door open, and I also heard the rustle of a skirt. I was looking at my watch, which was lying open on the table before me at the moment, and thus it is that I am enabled to record with absolute accuracy the minute when I began to live.

Of course, I did not realise it at the time. One does not spring full-fledged into comprehension of the fact that one is alive, but I know now that 3.44 was the psychological moment.

I looked up as a lady passed me. She traversed the full length of the salon and seated herself at the table farthest from the one I occupied. Judging from her attire, I concluded that she had arrived at the hotel en automobile like myself, and her thick fur coat and heavy motor veil effectually debarred me from making even a guess at her age or appearance. With the waiter's assistance she doffed the coat, and I waited for the removal of the veil; but seating herself, she gave an order in a voice that did not reach me, and made no signs of unveiling. Every moment I expected the door to open again and her companion or companions to arrive, and I amused myself by drawing imaginary pictures of them. Then the waiter brought in her tea, and I observed with surprise that he had brought a single cup. Clearly, the lady had made an appointment, and was before time; the mere fact that she did not raise her veil above the tip of her nose seeming to me to be confirmation of my conjecture.

I began to feel interested in the stranger, perhaps for the reason that now the heavy motor-coat was removed I could see that her figure had the contours of youth. Her mouth and chin, too, revealed the indescribable freshness of the springtime of life. I could conceive only one reason which should bring her to Versailles on a shrewd winter afternoon, and almost unconsciously I began to envy the man whom I expected shortly to join her. She glanced often at a tiny watch she wore as a bracelet, and I remember thinking that the man who would keep a fair friend waiting for him under such circumstances was scarcely deserving of his good fortune. You see I had already come to the conclusion that she must be charming. Apparently quite unconscious of my scrutiny, she next took a little book from her pocket and scribbled something with a pencil on one of its pages. Now, I thought, she is writing a note reproaching her lover for his failure to keep his appointment. She still waited, however, and I still dallied with my tea in the hope that I should see what manner of man could be so dilletante a lover. When, about half an hour after her arrival, I saw her rise and seek the assistance of the waiter to resume her coat I was not greatly surprised, for she had waited quite twenty minutes longer than I had anticipated. I kept my seat as she came towards me, but when, as she passed my table, she stumbled I sprang to my feet. My assistance was not required, for by laying her hand upon the table sjie prevented herself from falling, and with a simple "Pardon, m'sieu," she bowed slightly and passed on. My eyes followed her to the door. "Curious," I muttered. "I

wonder "

At that instant I became conscious that a scrap of paper, carefully folded, lay upon my table. It had not been there before. Glancing round guiltily to see whether I was observed, I unfolded the paper. This is what I read :

kT know you are English, and I know that an Englishman may be trusted to help a woman who may need assistance. If I am right follow the blue car."

I refolded the note deliberately and placed it in my pocket. Follow the blue car? Of course I would — from one end of France to the other if it were needful. Here at last was the beginning of what I had looked forward to for years. Adventure ! Yes, here was a real adventure at last. The sort of adventure which had eluded my search on sea and on shore ever since I had come to man's estate, the search for which had set me wandering over the roads of Europe like a twentieth century Don Quixote mounted on a motor. Despite my previous ill success, I had known that romance was not dead, and now at last, when I had been far from expecting it, my elusive quarry had come within my grasp.

Such were the thoughts bubbling in my brain while I paid my bill and, putting on my wraps, passed into the courtyard of the hotel. It might have occurred to me that my high hopes might be doomed to speedy disillusionment, that instead of going forth so gaily in search of romance I was merely treading a well-worn path towards a commonplace and sordid intrigue, but I was too sanguine for any such idea to enter my head. I stepped into the open air gaily.

When I gained the yard the veiled lady was already seated in her car. I knew that she could be no ordinary lady-automobilist, for, like myself, she was alone and, unless I was very much mistaken, the car was of a similar build to my own — a four-cylinder 6o-horse Mercedes — instead of the dainty toy car I had expected to see. I raised my cap as I passed her to show that I accepted her trust. I lighted my lamps, for the dusk was gathering fast, and I took my seat. A moment later the blue car glided out of the courtyard and with a preliminary blast from the horn I followed.

The cars soon left the houses of Versailles behind. My leader was not more than twenty yards ahead, running on the lowest speed over a nice level road, but as soon as she was clear of the streets the veiled lady accelerated the pace. Following her example I whipped in my third gear and so accurately was the distance between the cars kept that I was convinced that both cars had been built in the same workshop in the same year.

We had the roads to ourselves and, as we skimmed along in the gathering gloom, the snowdraped trees slipped by like a procession of ghosts, and I began to wonder whither I was bound. Then my guide slackened speed and turned off sharply upon a narrower road so shaded by an avenue that I should have passed the junction with the highway unobserved had I been driving alone. In the darkness the bright lights of the blue car flickered ahead like a will-o'-the-wisp, and I have no doubt that any one in a normal condition would have considered my following those dancing beams to have been as fatuous a proceeding as the pursuit of a real marsh candle.

Yet, extraordinary as it may appear, it seemed to me to be the most natural thing in the world for me to be following an unknown guide along unknown roads to an unknown destination with an unknown object.

The blue car turned again. I followed. Again and yet again the car left one road for another, until any idea I may have had as to our position was completely dissipated. Once or twice we had passed through villages, but though I knew something of the country around Paris, yet in the darkness I could not recognise either of them. Thus we progressed for an hour at least, until with a warning hoot from the horn the leading car came to a stop under a high wall and, turning in her seat, the veiled lady beckoned to me to approach. At last, thought I, I shall learn something of the reason for these mysterious proceedings, and I ran my Mercedes alongside the car I had been following.

As my car came to a standstill the veiled lady, bending towards me, remarked, "I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Hardinge, for your response to my strange request."

I am not a ready speaker at the best of times, and this unexpected recognition of myself fairly took my breath away, so that instead of saying the right thing about my pleasure at being able to place my services at her disposal I gasped out, "Why — how the deuce? I — I beg your pardon — but you know me?"

The unknown laughed. Her laugh, like her speaking voice, was low-toned and sweet. It thrilled me like — well, once before I had experienced a similar thrill, and that was when, shortly after coming into possession of my first 6o-horse car, I had found myself on a clear level road and, opening the throttle of the engine, I had given it a full dose of petrol. The laugh of the unknown thrilled me even as on the occasion I have mentioned the music of the winged spokes of the wheels beneath me, as the milestones flitted by, had stirred my blood.

"Does not every automobilist who looks at the automobile journals know the face of Mr. Geoffrey Hardinge?" she asked.

So that was the explanation. It was not unflattering, and it restored to me my sense of what was fitting.

"Let me assure you that Mr. Geoffrey Hardinge is very much at your service," I answered, though I am afraid that I mumbled the words in my mask, for the unknown laughed again.

"I am more grateful than I can explain," she said, "for I am afraid that I am going to make some demands upon your good nature." She paused a moment before continuing, "There are few men I would trust, and though I know your face you are a stranger "

I spoke up stoutly. "I think you may trust me."

"I think I may," she replied slowly, "I think I may." Then, moving from the driver's seat, and leaning over towards me, she laid her hand on my arm and continued earnestly: "Can I trust you to preserve absolute silence as to anything you may witness to-night ? Can I trust you not only to keep silence, but to make no effort to seek any explanation of anything that may happen, nor attempt to discover who the actors may happen to be?"

My native common sense had not quite deserted me, for I hesitated before I answered diplomatically, "Well, you see, madame, you have the advantage of me in knowing who I am. Is it quite fair that I should be taken blindfold into something — anything

— which ?" I stumbled over the word criminal,

which was on the tip of my tongue, in a vain attempt to express my meaning more delicately.

The unknown lady apprehended my meaning, though I had not given the word utterance.

"I comprehend," she answered earnestly, "and believe me, Mr. Hardinge, I will ask you to do nothing which may cost an honourable man's conscience a single moment's uneasiness. Indeed I do not ask you to do anything, only to be near me in case of need."

She spoke with so perfect an accent of truth that my reluctance to promise vanished.

"You may command me," I said simply.

"Thank you," she murmured, "thank you" ; and, changing the subject abruptly, she said, "Can you tell me the time ?"

I got at my watch with some difficulty and found that the hands marked a few minutes to six.

"My anxiety has brought me to the rendezvous too early," she said, "though I must not regret it, since it has assured me of your assistance. Now," she continued, "let me tell you all that I need you to do." She raised her hand and pointed into the darkness ahead. "About a couple of hundred yards farther on, at six o'clock exactly, a passenger awaits me. With that passenger I am returning to Paris."

"And you fear that he " I began.

She laughed again. "No, I have no fear of my passenger," she remarked, "but we may be pursued. If so I shall want you, if it is within your power, to delay my pursuer. I do not think that anything can catch me until I reach the barrier, and then if I can get ten minutes' start I shall be safe. I want you to ensure for me that ten minutes."

"And I shall never see you again?" The words dropped from my lips involuntarily.

"Who knows ?" she replied. "Only if we do meet and you should recognise me, I shall depend upon your forgetting that you ever followed a blue car

from Versailles to the " she stopped at the word

and left me as much in the dark as ever as to where I was — "and from thence to Paris. Promise me you will forget," she demanded, with a pretty imperiousness which one associates with the demands of pretty women.

"That were impossible," I answered, "though I will promise to act as though I had forgotten."

I had barely heard her soft-spoken word of thanks before she resumed her seat at the steering wheel and, touching the starting lever, she glided away. I followed twenty yards behind until the blue car pulled up again opposite a pair of ornamental iron gates. Even as the car stopped, the gates opened and there passed through them a girl or woman, heavily cloaked, and bearing in her hand a little box or casket. She ran hastily to the car.

"He has returned, you must make haste, you must make haste," she cried.

Chapter II

When I saw that another woman was to be the veiled lady's travelling companion, I understood why she had laughed when I had jumped to the conclusion that it was against the travelling companion that she might need protection. The words spoken by the newcomer also revealed to me that I might be called upon to redeem my promise of assistance and immediately I began to cudgel my brains as to what course to adopt. I could think of nothing, though I had very little time for thought, for as soon as the woman who had come through the gate had clambered into the car and wrapped herself in the rugs my leader started her car and I followed her example. When once we were moving I had something else to think about than making plans for an emergency which might not occur, for one's attention i? pretty well occupied when following a 6o-horse car running at top speed over roads one does not know, and my leader travelled at a pace which, had I been in front and on a track perfectly familiar to me, I should have been loth to have set.

M

She must have excellent reasons for haste, I concluded, as we bumped over the cobbled pavement of some village or other without slackening pace, merely announcing our advent with a blare of the horns which, had anything been in our way, would merely have served as a warning of the approach of death, without giving time for the warning to be of any service.

We had been moving for half an hour, perhaps, when I became conscious of a light in the sky which was absent when we started. It was the first signal of the rising of the moon, and I thanked heaven that I should be able to see a little more of the road than hitherto, but even as the atmosphere became appreciably lighter a big black mass gathered in front of us and in a minute rushed down and swallowed us up. We had plunged into a wood and the night was darker than ever. I guessed where we were now, however. I knew that in spite of all our turnings we had been bearing eastwards and had struck the forest of Fontainebleau, though at what particular portion I could not even guess. In a few more minutes we emerged upon a road which, from its breadth, as well as the line of telegraph poles, I knew must be the highway, and, wheeling to the left, the blue car swept on towards Paris.

Though our pace had been fast hitherto, considering the conditions under which we had been travelling, it was as nothing to what was to follow. No sooner were we clear of the by-road than the driver of the blue car shot away on her highest speed. Not to be outdone, I followed suit, and the two big cars flashed along as if engaged in a race. Indeed, I could not help but give my admiration to the unknown woman in front, whom now I could see clearly in the moonlight, bending slightly over the steering wheel, driving her big car with the precision of an expert chauffeur and with a cool and reckless daring that few men would have exhibited.

Thus we swept on until the feeble lights ahead showed that we were approaching Paris, and my leader, slackening speed for the first time, signalled for me to approach.

I ran alongside and as I drew level I remarked, "Not much chance of anything on wheels overtaking you, madame."

"Perhaps not," she answered, "but nevertheless I want you to ensure for me ten minutes' start at the barrier. We shall be there directly."

I felt an unaccountable thrill of disappointment. My adventure had provided me with a rare sensation, and I had not expected so tame an ending. Besides, I wanted to know something more of the fair automobilist who drove so admirably. Still I had given my word, and there was nothing to be done but to fulfil my promise.

"You may count on ten minutes," I answered.

"Then good-bye and thank you," she replied, and once more slipped ahead.

I kept my distance until I came within sight of the barrier, and then I regretfully slackened off and stopped at one of the small petrol stores invariably to be found outside the confines of the city. A plan had occurred to me by which I might effectually detain any other car which might be following upon our track. So I had my tank filled and in addition I purchased two additional cans of petrol, though I knew very well that I could only claim to take in one duty free. The purchase did not take more than three or four minutes, and I had just resumed my seat when I thought I heard the sounds of the approach of another car. I started my engine and made for the barrier, where a couple of sleepy-looking officials awaited my arrival. The blue car was already out of sight, for the men, with the native politeness of their race, had passed the lady motorist with a merely formal examination. As I neared the gate I made the car swerve, and stopping just as it came diagonally across the road made it impossible for anything bigger than a bath chair to pass on either side.

No sooner was I in this position than the brilliant headlights of another car came into view behind, and a moment or two later it thundered up and stopped a couple of yards behind me. The new arrival was evidently in a hurry and I had not long to wait before ascertaining that this was the pursuer whom the veiled lady had wished to escape, for he shouted an inquiry as to whether a car with two ladies on board had passed the barrier. The octroi men, however, were too busy attending to me to pay attention to his query. They had compared my permit with the quantity of petrol I carried and were busy in explaining to me that I must pay duty on the excess. I pretended not to understand them. They gesticulated. I also gesticulated. They grew angry when they learned from my gestures that I had no intention of paying. They bawled at me in French. I shouted at them in English. Meanwhile the newcomer demanded that he should be attended to and allowed to pass. I alighted and continued the conversation, paying no attention to his energetic demand. I should possibly have filled up the whole of the ten minutes in this fashion had not the pursuer left his car and joined us. He evidently assumed that I was an Englishman unacquainted with the French language, and perceived that his only means of getting on his way would be to act as interpreter between myself and the declamatory officials. "Pardon, m'sieu," he said in very good English, "you seem to be in some difficulty. May I be permitted to give you assistance ?" There was a trace of a foreign accent in his voice, which was that of a cultivated gentleman, while its tone was decidedly musical.

"Thank you, sir," I replied. "It is very good of you. I cannot in the least make out what these beggars want. I am taking in exactly the same amount of petrol as I took out with me this afternoon, as you can see."

I handed him my receipt, and he took it to the light of my head lamp to read. He lifted his goggles on to his cap for the purpose and I had a glimpse of his face. When I saw it I confess I was puzzled why any one should ever attempt to escape from him. It was an undeniably handsome face. The clear straight eyebrows, the thin aquiline nose, the clear-cut lips from which the dark moustache was carefully brushed back, the well modelled chin adorned with a slight imperial, were each of them so many testimonials to breeding. The expression on his features was simply an expression of tender melancholy. Altogether I was favourably impressed by what I saw and I was half inclined to make way for him, he seemed so inoffensive a creature. But when He lifted his eyes from the paper and cast a glance at me I saw in them more than was revealed in all the rest of the face. I was glad that the mask I was wearing shielded me from observation.

He handed my paper back to me with the remark, "If you took out two cans of petrol, m'sieu, the octroi only credited you with one. I see you did not leave Paris by this route." There was a ring of suspicion in his voice that warned me I had better be on my guard.

"No, I got lost," I said. "I know about as much of the environs of Paris as I do of French. I suppose I had better pay."

"Certainly, unless you desire to remain here and argue the matter for the rest of the night. Meanwhile I must beg of you to make way for me, as I am in a great hurry to overtake some friends of mine who are a little way ahead. Perhaps you can inform me whether a blue car with some ladies aboard has passed this way?"

"No," I answered; "the road was empty when I arrived and no one has passed since. But I shall make way with great pleasure."

I sprang into my car and laid my hand on the starting lever. The octroi men, evidently mistrusting my intention, immediately seized the two petrol cans, and, simulating anger, I jumped again to the ground and, unbuttoning my coat, produced a ten louis piece. This necessitated their bringing me change from the office, and when ultimately I glided off triumphantly it was with the consciousness that I had amply fulfilled my promise, for instead of ten minutes I had given the fugitives a clear quarter of an hour's start.

I started leisurely, and within a minute the pursuer thundered past. Then I quickened my pace in order to keep him in view. Something might have happened to delay the blue car, in which case I yet might be of further assistance to the mysterious lady who had bespoken my assistance. It was not easy to keep on the track of the pursuer, for now that we entered Paris the traffic interpolated continuous obstacles. Yet I managed to do so somehow and after a while I followed the stranger's car into the Gare du Nord, arriving just as he alighted and entered the station. Leaving my own car with the engine running I followed him and I was rewarded with the sight of him standing on the departure platform and stamping his foot with vexation at some information which had just been communicated to him by a porter.