She did so and added:

"Drive carefully, whatever you do. If we had a smash and the police
intervened, it might be most awkward for you."

"But your chauffeur," I said, "what will he do?"

"Oh, Carter," she answered carelessly, "he's tickled to death ... he's
American, you see ... he drove me out into the Tiergarten just now and
took off his livery, then drove me back here, hopped off and went home."

"But can you trust him?" I asked anxiously.

"Like myself," she said. "Besides, Carter's been to Belgium ... he drove
Count Rachwitz, my husband, while he was on duty there. And Carter
hasn't forgotten what he saw in Belgium!"

She gave me the key of the garage and further instructions how to put
the car up. Carter would give me a bed at the garage and would bring me
round to the house early in the morning as if I were applying for the
job of male attendant for Gerry.

"I will go down first," Monica said, "so as not to keep you waiting. My,
but they're rattled downstairs--all the crowd at Olga von Radolin's
dance have got hold of the story and the place is full of policemen. But
there'll be no danger if you walk straight up to me in the hall and
keep your face turned away from the crowd as much as possible."

She kissed Miss Prendergast and slipped away. What a splendid pair of
women they were: so admirably cool and resourceful: they seemed to have