Charles stepped back quickly. But when his hand reappeared again, it held only a gray bowler and an umbrella.
'Are you sure?' Charles persisted. 'It is a matter of some importance. The police-'
'Frank!' The female voice was loudly petulant. 'Can't you manage to do even one simple thing? Get that dog out of-'
'Yes, my dear,' Frank replied, putting his hat on his head. Precious launched a swift sortie at Charles's trouser leg. He retired to the top step. Frank yanked the dog back, stepped out of the door, and closed it behind him. 'Never saw the fellow,' he muttered, pushing past Charles. 'I say, old chap, I really must be off.'
Charles stared at him. A jaunty trio of peacock feathers was inserted into the band of trim that encircled Frank's bowler. He couldn't be sure, but it looked as if one were broken. He was seized by a sudden excitement. 'Pardon me,' he said, gesturing at the hat, 'but I wonder if you would permit me to have a look at those feathers.'
Frank frowned. 'Feathers? I don't know about any-' He apparently recollected them, for he reddened and, still holding the leash, snatched off his hat and pulled out the cockade of
feathers. Precious took advantage of Frank's inattentiveness to lunge at Charles's shoe.
'Do the feathers have a special significance?' Charles asked. 'Perhaps-'
'I tell you,' Frank said loudly, 'there are no feathers!' He stuffed them into his pocket, jammed his bowler back on his head, and put up his umbrella. He walked smartly away, dragging Precious with him. As he did so, a gentleman wearing a caped Inverness came toward him. The two were apparently acquainted, for as they passed on the sidewalk, Frank tipped his gray bowler and the other inclined his head. As the man in the Inverness drew nearer, Charles saw that in his lapel was fixed a cluster of peacock feathers.
26
'It's worse than wicked, my dear, it's vulgar.'
Charles was fully soaked by the time he retrieved Brad-'ford's horse from Taylor's Livery Stable, but the rain stopped as he rode back to Marsden Manor, his portfolio under his arm. He was able to contemplate the outcome of the morning's inquiry in the pale light of an afternoon sun, as he rode under trees that scattered raindrops with every breeze.
But there was regrettably little to contemplate. His efforts on Queen Street had come to nothing-well, almost. There was still the matter of Frank's feathers to be looked into, and those of the man in the Inverness. Surely some significance
lay in those odd lapel decorations. For the moment, he couldn't imagine what it was, and although Charles was resourceful, he had been pulled up short. Hunting a single peacock feather was hard enough. Hunting one peacock feather in a blizzard of peacock feathers was much harder. Still, he was confident. Something would come to him.
Something did, but not quite in the way he might have imagined. To Charles's surprise, the Marsden stable yard was crowded. The indoor and outdoor servants were standing in a circle, talking and gesturing excitedly. As he dismounted and turned his horse over to a groom, he saw that everyone was looking at a motorcar, a Panhard- Levassor with a forward-mounted vertical engine, tiller steering, and a red parasol canopy. An elegant machine.
'Charles!' Eleanor cried breathlessly, running up to him with Patsy behind her, and, to his surprise and quickly stifled pleasure, Miss Ardleigh. ' 'Whatever do you think?''
Charles regarded the motorcar with interest. He had considered buying a similar model the year before, but its engineering problems had deterred him.
'I doubt,' he said, 'that you bought this in London. The Honorable Thomas Milbank must have favored us with a visit.'
'Indeed he has,' Eleanor said. 'Have you and Mr. Mil-bank met?''
'Actually, yes,' Charles said. 'Last autumn, on the occasion of his driving this car through Windsor at the speed of fourteen miles an hour.'
'Fourteen miles an hour on the road?' Miss Ardleigh was aghast.
'Indeed,' Charles said.
'But what about the Red Flag Act?' Eleanor asked. 'Did the police not arrest him?'
'No, blast it,' drawled a lazy voice. They were joined by a tall, thin young man in a khaki-colored twill dustcoat, leather helmet and goggles and leather gloves. Bradford Marsden accompanied him.
'Hello, Tommy,' Charles said cordially.
'Hullo, Charlie,' the young man said. They shook hands.
'They did not arrest you, Mr. Milbank?' Patsy's tone and glance were openly admiring, and Charles wondered if he might be about to experience a reprieve from the matrimonial sword Lady Marsden and her daughter were holding over his head.
Milbank took off his helmet and goggles. 'They were meant to, but I'm afraid the pater's connections discouraged 'em.'
'Which is not to say,' Charles said to Patsy, 'that Mr. Milbank's action was anything but heroic. Quite the contrary. He deliberately flouted the law.'
'Mr. Milbank's father,' Bradford explained to Miss Ar-dleigh, ' 'is Lord Howard Milbank. He is influential in Whitehall circles. The police were understandably reluctant to collar his son and haul him off to jail like a common criminal, even though he volunteered.'
Miss Ardleigh looked confused. 'I'm afraid I don't understand any of this,' she said. 'What did you do wrong, Mr. Milbank? And why should you have wanted to be arrested?'
Milbank unbuttoned his dustcoat. 'It's the Home Office, y' see, ma'am. Rules of the road. Parliament has set a speed limit of four miles an hour in open country and two miles an hour in towns. And a man has to walk twenty yards in front, carrying a red flag.'
'It's to ensure the citizens' safety,' Patsy explained excitedly to Miss Ardleigh. 'Motorcars go so exceedingly fast that-'
'Safety be damned,' Milbank said with a snort. 'Begging your pardon, ma'am. It's the commercial interests, y' see. The railroads, chiefly. They fear competition.'
'So Mr. Milbank has made a cause of it,' Bradford told Miss Ardleigh. 'He travels about, lecturing on the promise of the combustion engine and breaking the law wherever he can.'
'Breaking the law!' Patsy cried, wide-eyed. 'How wonderfully wicked!'
'Right,' Bradford said emphatically. 'Shouldn't wonder if he'll be arrested yet.'
'Shouldn't wonder,' Charles agreed affably, glancing once more at Patsy. He was gratified to see the blush on her cheek as she looked at her new hero. Eleanor's eyes, as well, were fixed on Milbank. Miss Ardleigh, he saw, merely looked thoughtful.
' 'I suppose the combustion engine will make some people very rich,' she observed, stepping back to look at the machine with a critical eye.
Milbank and Bradford Marsden exchanged glances. 'To be sure,' Milbank said, 'provided that the Home Office takes the blinders off before it's too late. The Self-Propelled Traffic Association, of which I am proud to be a member, is trying to persuade 'em.'
Bradford looked somber. 'What do you think of the chances, old man?'
Milbank shrugged. 'Could be worse,' he said. 'We could be trying to bargain with the Royal Navy.'
There was a commotion on the other side of the stable yard, and the lookers-on began to scramble. 'I demand to know the meaning of this!' a voice roared. Charles turned. It was Lord Marsden, striding formidably across the yard in his riding clothes.
With a look of trepidation, Bradford stepped forward. 'Let me present the Honorable Mr. Thomas Milbank to
