“Look ’ere,” said the being to the youth, “what the ’ell time did I tell you to have that car cleaned by, and you not begun it!”

Pointing to the clock, he lounged magnificently to and fro, spreading smoke around the intimidated and now industrious youth.  The next second he caught sight of Audrey, and transformed himself instantaneously into what she had hitherto imagined a chauffeur always was; but in those few moments she had learnt that the essence of a chauffeur is godlike, and that he toils not, neither does he swab.

“Good morning, madam,” in a soft, courtly voice.

“Good morning.”

“Were you wanting the car, madam?”

She was not, but the suggestion gave her an idea.

“Can we take it as it is?”

“Yes, madam.  I’ll just look at the petrol gauge ...  But ...  I haven’t had my breakfast, madam.”

“What time do you have it?”

“Well, madam, when you have yours.”

“That’s all right, then.  You’ve got hours yet.  I want you to take me to Flank Hall.”

“Flank Hall, madam?” His tone expressed the fact that his mind was a blank as to Flank Hall.

As soon as Audrey had comprehended that the situation of Flank Hall was not necessarily known to every chauffeur in England, and that a stay of one night in Frinton might not have been enough to familiarise this particular one with the geography of the entire district, she replied that she would direct him.

They were held up by a train at the railway crossing, and a milk-cart and a young pedestrian were also held up.  When Audrey identified the pedestrian she wished momentarily that she had not set out on the expedition.  Then she said to herself that really it did not matter, and why should she be afraid... etc., etc.  The pedestrian was Musa.  In French they greeted each other stiffly, like distant acquaintances, and the train thundered past.

“I was taking the air, simply, Madame,” said Musa, with his ingenuous shy smile.

“Take it in my car,” said Audrey with a sudden resolve.  “In one hour at the latest we shall have returned.”

She had a great deal to say to him and a great deal to listen to, and there could not possibly be any occasion equal to the present, which was ideal.

He got in; the chauffeur manoeuvred to oust the milk-cart from its rightful precedence, the gates opened, and the car swung at gathering speed into the well-remembered road to Moze.  And the two passengers said nothing to each other of the slightest import.  Musa’s escape from Paris was between them; the unimaginable episode at the Spatts was between them; the sleepless night was between them. (And had she not saved him by her presence of mind from the murderous hand of Mr. Ziegler?) They had a million things to impart.  And yet naught was uttered save a few banalities about the weather and about the healthfulness of being up early.  They were bashful, constrained, altogether