CHAPTER VIII.
UP THE MOUNTAIN Richard, passing the Hotel de Paris that evening in his wicked-looking grey racing car, saw Hunterleys standing on the steps and pulled up.
"Not going up to La Turbie, by any chance ?" he enquired.
Hunterleys nodded.
"I'm going up to the dinner," he replied.

"The hotel motor is starting from here in a few minutes." "Come with me," Richard invited.
Hunterleys looked a little doubtfully at the long, low machine.
"Are you going to shoot up ?" he asked.

"It's rather a dangerous road." "I'll take care of you," the young man promised.

"That hotel 'bus will be crammed." They glided through the streets on to the broad, hard road, and crept upwards with scarcely a sound, through the blue-black twilight.

Around and in front of them little lights shone out from the villas and small houses dotted away in the mountains.