his cap and let the cool air blow on his forehead, enjoying the
relaxation.

He was a pleasant-looking man of about eight-and-twenty, clean
shaven and with gray, honest eyes, dark hair slightly inclined to
curl, and a square, well-cut jaw. Business had brought him to
France. Junior partner in the firm of Edwards & Merriman, Wine
Merchants, Gracechurch Street, London, he annually made a tour of
the exporters with whom his firm dealt. He had worked across the
south of the country from Cette to Pau, and was now about to
recross from Bordeaux to near Avignon, after which his round would
be complete. To him this part of his business was a pleasure, and
he enjoyed his annual trip almost as much as if it had been a
holiday.

The vehicle which he had heard in the distance was now close by,
and he turned idly to watch it pass. He did not know then that
this slight action, performed almost involuntarily, was to change
his whole life, and not only his, but the lives of a number of
other people of whose existence he was not then aware, was to lead
to sorrow as well as happiness, to crime as well as the vindication
of the law, to . . . in short, what is more to the point, had he
not then looked round, this story would never have been written.

The vehicle in itself was in no way remarkable. It was a motor
lorry of about five tons capacity, a heavy thing, travelling slowly.
Merriman's attention at first focused itself on the driver. He was
a man of about thirty, good-looking, with thin, clear-cut features,
an aquiline nose, and dark, clever-looking eyes. Dressed though he
was in rough working clothes, there was a something in his