FRANK MERRILL AT THE ALTAR
The man coughed in embarrassed confusion.
"Well, sir," he began, "the fact is, I don't like it."
"You don't like what? The five hundred pounds I gave you?"
"No, sir. It is not that, but it was a queer thing to ask me to do—pretend to be you and send a commissionaire to the bank for your money, and then get away out of London to a quiet little hole like Bilstead."
"So you think it was queer?"
The chauffeur nodded.
"The fact is, sir," he blurted out, "I 've seen the papers."
The other nodded thoughtfully.
"I presume you mean the newspapers. And what is there in the newspapers that interests you?"
Mr. Holland took a gold case from his pocket, opened it languidly, and selected a cigarette. He was closing it when he caught the chauffeur's eye and tossed a cigarette to him.
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