“He saw it, ma’am,” admitted my car-driver.
“Saw what?”
“Saw Mr. Murchison throw the dog over the wall into the brush!”
“He swore a bit, ma’am, and then laughed,” admitted Hilton, after a pause.
“Dinkie laughed?” I cried, incredulous.
“No; Mr. Murchison, ma’am,” explained Hilton.
“What did Dinkie say?” I insisted. And again the man on the driving-seat remained silent a moment or two.
“It was what he did, ma’am,” he finally remarked.
“What did he do?” I demanded.