"The road seems to have strayed out of Colorado, but that isn't the trouble. We are short of petrol. Please give some to Monsieur Marigny, Fitzroy. Then we can hurry to Bristol, and the Count must pick up his chauffeur on the way." Without more ado, she seated herself by Mrs. Devar's side, and Marigny realized that he had been robbed of a golden opportunity. No persuasion would bring Cynthia back into the Du Vallon that evening; it would need the exercise of all his subtle tact to induce her to re-enter it at any time in the near future. He strove to appear at his ease, even essayed a few words of congratulation on the happy chance that brought the Mercury to their relief, but the imperious young lady cut short his limping phrases. "Oh, don't let us waste these precious minutes," she protested. "It will be quite dark soon, and if there is much more of this wretched track----" Medenham broke in at that. Mrs. Devar's change of front had caused him some grim amusement, but the discovery of Marigny's artifice roused his wrath again. It was high time that Cynthia should be enlightened, partly at least, as to the true nature of the "accident" that had befallen her; he had already solved the riddle of Smith's disappearance. "The road to Bristol lies behind you, Miss Vanrenen," he said. "One of the roads," cried the Frenchman. "No, the only road," persisted Medenham. "We return to it some two miles in the rear. Had you followed your present path much farther you could not possibly have reached Bristol to-night." "But there is a village quite near. My chauffeur has gone there for petrol. Someone would have told us of our mistake." "There is no petrol to be bought at Blagdon, which is a mere hamlet on the downs. Anyhow, here are two gallons--ample for your needs--but if your man is walking to Blagdon you will be compelled to wait till he returns, Monsieur Marigny." Though Medenham did not endeavor to check the contemptuous note that crept into his voice, he certainly ought not to have uttered those two concluding words. Had he ransacked his ample vocabulary of the French language he could scarcely have hit upon another set of syllables offering similar difficulties to the foreigner. It was quite evident that his accurate pronunciation startled the accomplices. Each arrived at the same conclusion, though by different channels; this man was no mere chauffeur, and the fact rendered his marked hostility all the more significant. Nevertheless, for the moment, Marigny concealed his uneasiness: by a display of good humor he hoped to gloss over the palpable absurdity of his earlier statements to Cynthia.