smudged with soot--that favourite device of the French criminal of the
lower class fearing recognition. For there it appeared that, whereas
the motor car was waiting safe and sound enough, its chauffeur had
vanished into thin air. Not a soul could be found who recalled seeing
the man after the barouche Tiad left the village. Whereupon Duchemin
asked whether the chauffeur had been a stout man, and being informed
that it was so, considered the case complete. Mesdames de Sévénié et de
Montalais, he suggested, might as well then and there give up all hope
of ever again seeing that particular chauffeur--unless by some
mischance entirely out of the reckoning of the latter. The landlord of
the auberge, a surly sot, who had supplied the barouche with the man to
act as driver and guide in one, took with ill grace the charge that his
employee had been in league with the bandits. But this was true on the
word of Madame de Montalais; it was their guide, she said, whom
Duchemin had driven over the cliff. And (as Duchemin had anticipated)
her name alone proved enough to silence the landlord's virtuous
protestations. One could not always avoid being deceived, he declared;
he knew nothing of the dead man more than that he had come well
recommended. With which he said no more, but lent an efficient if
sullen hand to the task of transferring d'Aubrac to the motor car.

D'Aubrac came to, while this was being accomplished, begged feebly for
water, was given it with a little brandy to boot and, comfortably
settled in the rear seat, between Louise de Montalais and her
grandmother, relapsed once more into unconsciousness.

Learning that Madame de Montalais would drive, Duchemin dissembled a
sigh of relief and, standing beside the car, doffed his cap to say
good-bye. He was only too happy to have been of such slight service as
the circumstances had permitted; and if at any time he could do more, a