“Not I, sir—of course I hadn’t. I’d made two journeys to the Bank with full loads, and the next one was to be the last, and——”
“And you hadn’t had anything to drink at all?”
“Nothing to speak of, sir. A glass of port at Short’s as I was coming back the first time, and a pint of beer—or it might have been a pint and a half—at the Redcliffe as I was coming back the second time.”
“That was absolutely all?”
“Yes, sir, except a drop of whisky which was left in my flask.”
“But how came the other driver to be in a position to offer you drink? Was he carrying casks and other things about with him?”
“No, sir, only a flask. Every chauffeur has a flask. Necessary, sir. Cold work, sir. And you’ll recollect it hasn’t been exactly sultry to-night.”
“What did he say? Are you in the habit of accepting drinks from men whose names you can’t call to mind?”
“He was in the profession, sir, and in the uniform; besides, he said he’d got a new cordial, fresh from Madeira, that would keep anyone warm, even in the depth of winter, for at least two hours.”
“But this isn’t the depth of winter.”