“A grandson,” replied Mr. Pyle. “Such a cute little feller, too! Only five, but as big as most boys of seven or eight. He’s all we’ve got, you see, and some day all this will be his. Would you like to see him, Mrs. White?”
“Don’t be foolish, Enoch!” protested his wife. “A lady like Mrs. White ain’t interested in children.”
“Indeed, I am!” declared Elaine. “I should dearly love to see the little man. Where is he?”
“In the nursery,” said Mr. Pyle. “I’ll bring him down.”
The proprietor of Pyle’s Pink Pellets left the room, and presently returned, leading Tommy by the hand—a curly-headed little chap wearing his first sailor’s suit.
The boy was naturally shy at first, but he soon succumbed to Elaine’s charming manners, and allowed her to take him on her knee.
How Mr. and Mrs. Pyle beamed! Here was their grandson sitting on the lap of a real social leader! Without a doubt, it was the proudest moment of their lives.
Presently Elaine announced that she must go.
“This has been a most delightful visit,” she said, “but I’m afraid it must come to an end, as all good things do. You’ll come and see me soon, though, won’t you, and bring Tommy with you? I’ve quite set my heart on it.”
She rose to her feet and held out her hand to the boy.
“Will you escort me to my car, Tommy?” she asked, with a dazzling smile.
The lad shyly took her hand, and they walked out of the room, Mr. and Mrs. Pyle following close behind them.
“This is a much nicer car than any of ours,” Tommy announced, as Elaine took her seat, and the chauffeur solicitously tucked her in. “I wish we had a car like this, granddad.”
“I’m sure you have much nicer ones as it is,” the girl said, patting him on the head. “You just think this is better, because it is new to you. However, if you like it, would you care to ride with me as far as the gate?”
“Yes,” Tommy said eagerly. “Can I go, granddad?”
Elaine turned to Mr. Pyle.
“Do you think you can trust me with him as far as the road?” she asked, throwing him a mischievous glance.
The glance struck home, and Mr. Pyle looked at her reproachfully.
“What a question!” he ejaculated. “Of course, I’d trust him with you anywhere. You—you can have anything we’ve got, Mrs. White.”
“That’s perfectly dear of you!” she said, holding out her hand to assist Tommy to climb into the car; then turned to the driver. “Go slowly down the drive,” she said, “so that Tommy’s ride won’t come to an end too soon, and stop at the gates.”
The chauffeur—who was none other than the Count in disguise—touched his cap, and the car began to move slowly down the drive.
Mr. and Mrs. Pyle walked beside it, responding to Elaine’s lively sallies in their slow, embarrassed way, and feeling several inches taller than they had felt an hour ago.
At last the car reached the gates and turned into the road. Wilhelm glanced ahead and saw that the way was clear, after which he looked back over his shoulder at Elaine, who replied, with an almost imperceptible nod.
Then suddenly the car leaped forward like a thing alive, and the next instant it was thundering along the road with the speed of an express train.
Mr. Pyle let out a cry of alarm, but no thought of treachery crossed his mind.
He merely thought the chauffeur had made a mistake, and had increased the speed of the machine instead of shutting off the power.
“Stop! stop!” he shouted, running after the car. “Shut off your engine and put on your brakes!”
Mrs. Pyle meanwhile stood still and wrung her hands. She was certain that the big car was running wild and that a terrible accident was imminent.
Then an extraordinary thing occurred.
The dignified Mrs. Brook-White—or, rather, the lady who Mr. and Mrs. Pyle believed to be Mrs. Brook-White—turned around in her seat with a mocking laugh, and daintily blew them a farewell kiss.
Mr. Pyle could hardly believe his eyes.
To use his own words, he was “completely flabbergasted.” He pulled up with a gasp of incredulous bewilderment, and even as he did so, the car swung around a turn in the road and vanished from sight.
It was evident that Tommy Pyle was to have a much longer ride than either he or his grandparents anticipated, but where that ride would end, no one could say—except “Mrs. Brook-White,” her eminently respectable-looking chauffeur, and certain of the leading members of The Order of the Philosopher’s Stone.