"Yes, my lord."

"Well, I hope so. You are on a sovereign--By gad, you really are, you know."

Tomkinson was far too keenly alive to the monetary side of the transaction to pay heed to the quip. His portly figure curved in a superb bow.

"Thank you, my lord," said he.

"Remind me this evening if you are right. I shall not forget to damn you if you are wrong."

Tomkinson ignored the chance of error and its consequences.

"Your lordship will be home for dinner?"

"Yes, I have no other engagement. All ready, Dale?" for the chauffeur was in his seat, and the engine was purring with the placid hum of a machine in perfect tune.

Tomkinson moved grandly down the steps, ushered Viscount Medenham into the car, and watched its graceful swoop into Holles Street.

"Times have changed," said he to himself. "Twenty years ago, when I first came here, his lordship's father would have given me a tip, and he wouldn't have been coming home for dinner, neither."

By that last fatal word Tomkinson betrayed the cloven hoof. At least, he was no prelate--and his assumption of the prophetic role would soon be put to the test. But he had answered the Great Question.

The Mercury crossed Oxford Street and insinuated itself into the aristocratic narrowness of Mayfair. It stopped in Curzon Street, opposite a house gay with flowers in window-boxes. The Viscount looked at his watch.

"How far to Epsom?" he asked over Dale's shoulder.

"About sixteen miles by the direct road, my lord, but it will be best to go round by Kingston and avoid the worst of the traffic. We ought to allow an hour for the run."

"An hour!"

"We are not in France now, my lord. The police here would have spasms if they saw the car extended."

Lord Medenham sighed.

"We must reason with them," he said. "But not to-day. Lady St. Maur declares she is nervous. Of course, she doesn't know our Mercury. After today's experience it will be quite another matter when I take 

 Prev. P 2/231 next