Then a taxi pulled out from behind the second bus. . . . A woman screamed. . . .
With a soft crash, the Rolls came to rest against the taxi’s off side.
As collisions go, it was a slight one—a matter of running-boards and wings.
The buses stopped, and their two conductors appeared. In blasphemous terms, the cab-driver called the world to witness that it was not his fault. His fares alighted indignantly. A crowd began to collect. . . .
Then the police came up.
“Were you drunk?” said the Earl shortly.
“I was not, sir. But just now the police have got drunkenness on the brain.”
“What evidence have you?”
“None.”