"What time are you due at the Savoy?" "We were to start at twelve o'clock, but the ladies' luggage had to be strapped on, and----" "Ah, the deuce! That sounds formidable." "Of course they must stow everything into the canvas trunks I supplied, my lord." Medenham stooped and examined the screws which fastened an iron grid at the back of the broken-down vehicle. "Whip open the tool box, Dale, and transfer that arrangement to my car," he said briskly. "Make it fit somehow. I don't approve of damaged paintwork, nor of weight behind the driving-wheels for that matter, but time presses, and the ladies might shy at a request to repack their belongings into my kit-bags, even if I were carrying them. Now, Simmonds, give me the route, if you know it, and hand over your road maps. I mean to take your place until your car is put right. Wire me where to expect you. You ought to be ship-shape in three days, at the utmost." "My lord----" began the overwhelmed Simmonds. "I'll see you hanged as high as Haman before I hand over my Mercury to you, if that is what you are thinking of," said Medenham sharply. "Why, man, she is built like a watch. It would take you a month to understand her. Now, you boy, be off to Sevastopolo's. Where can I buy a chauffeur's kit, Simmonds?" "Your lordship is really too kind. I couldn't think of permitting it," muttered Simmonds. "What, then--do you refuse my assistance?" "It isn't that, my lord. I am awfully grateful----" "Are you afraid that I shall run off with Miss Vanrenen--hold her to ransom--send Black Hand letters to her father, and that sort of thing?" "From what little I have seen of Miss Vanrenen she is much more likely to run off with you, my lord. But----" "You're growing incoherent, Simmonds. For goodness' sake tell me where I am to go. You can safely leave all the rest to me, and we haven't a minute to lose if I am to secure any sort of a decent motoring kit before I turn up at the hotel. Pull yourself together, man. Action front and fire! Guns unlimbered and first range-finder dispatched in nineteen seconds--eh, what?" Simmonds squared his shoulders. He had been a driver in the Royal Artillery before he joined Viscount Medenham's troop of Imperial Yeomanry. There was no further argument. Dale, Oriental in phlegm now that Eyot was safely backed, was already unscrewing the luggage carrier. Half an hour later, the Mercury curled with sinuous grace out of the busy Strand into the courtyard of the Savoy Hotel. The inclosure snorted with motors, the air was _petrolise_, all the world of the hotel was going, or had already gone, to Epsom. One quick glance at the lines of traffic showed Medenham that the Swiss Rear-Admiral on duty would not allow him to remain an unnecessary instant in front of the actual doorway. He swung his car to the exit side, crept in behind a departing taxicab, and grabbed a hurrying boy in buttons. "You listen to me, boy," he said. The boy remarked that his hearing was perfect.