"A fair offer," he cried. "You two dodge outside and see which cave the aristocracy chooses. Then you can take a turn round the other one. I'll watch the cars all right." The girl suddenly blushed and looked demure. A sweet voice said quietly: "We shall remain here half an hour or more, Fitzroy. I thought I would tell you in case you wished to smoke--or occupy your time in any other way." The pause was eloquent: Cynthia had heard. "Thank you, Miss Vanrenen," he said, affecting to glance at his watch. He felt thoroughly nonplussed. She would surely think he had been flirting with this rosy-cheeked servant, and he might never have an opportunity of telling her that his sole reason for encouraging the conversation lay in his anxiety to learn as much as possible about Marigny and his associates. "My, ain't she smart!" said the girl when Cynthia had gone. Medenham put his hand in his pocket and gave her half-a-crown. "They have forgotten to tip you, Gertie," he said. Without heeding a stare of astonishment strongly tinctured with indignation, he stooped in unnecessary scrutiny of the Mercury's tires. The minx tossed her head. "Some folks are as grand as their missuses," she remarked, and went back to her garden. But Smith looked puzzled. Medenham, no good actor at any time, had dropped too quickly the air of camaraderie which had been a successful passport hitherto. His voice, his manner, the courtly insolence of the maid's dismissal, evoked vague memories in Smith's mind. The square-shouldered, soldierly figure did not quite fit into the picture, but he seemed to hear that same authoritative voice speaking to Dale in the Brighton garage. [Illustration: "You may occupy your time in any way you wish, Fitzroy," said Cynthia. _Page 102_] The conceit was absurd, of course. Chauffeurs do not swagger through the world dressing for dinner each night and distributing gold in their leisure moments. But Smith's bump of inquisitiveness was well developed, as the phrenologists say, and he was already impressed by the fact that no firm could afford to send out for hire a car like Medenham's. "Funny thing," he said at last. "I seem to have met you somewhere or other. Who do you work for?" "Myself." Medenham caught the note of bewilderment, and was warned. He straightened himself with a smile, though it cost him an effort to look cheerful. "Have a cigarette?" he said. "Don't mind if I do. Thanks." Then, after a pause, and some puffing and tasting: "Sorry, old man, but this baccy ain't my sort. It tastes queer. What is it? Flor de Cabbagio? Here, take one of mine!" Medenham, in chastened mood, accepted a "five a penny" cigarette, and saw Smith throw away the exquisite brand that Sevastopolo, of Bond Street, supplied to those customers only who knew the price paid by connoisseurs for the leaf grown on one small hillside above the sun-steeped bay of Salonika.