"The time it happened, you ass."
"Yes, he was. But he's living at the old man's place now."
"I know, thanks. But I wondered whether—Where does he live when he isn't in town?"
"Out at Richmond, I think. In rooms, or something."
"Oh, does he? Thanks very much. Yes, I really will go. In fact, I've practically gone."
He went. He never stopped going till he came to Finsbury Park. George was out, and so, of course, was Mrs. Fentiman, but the charwoman said she had heard the Captain mention he was going down to Great Portland Street. Wimsey went in pursuit. A couple of hours spent lounging round show-rooms and talking to car-demonstrators, nearly all of whom were, in one manner or another, his dear old pals, resulted in the discovery that George Fentiman was being taken on by the Walmisley-Hubbard outfit for a few weeks to show what he could do.
"Oh, he'll do you all right," said Wimsey, "he's a damn fine driver. Oh, lord, yes! He's all right."
"He looks a bit nervy," said the particular dear old pal attached to the Walmisley-Hubbard show. "Wants bucking up, what? That reminds me. What about a quick one?"
Wimsey submitted to a mild quick one and then wandered back to look at a new type of clutch. He spun out this interesting interview till one of the Walmisley-Hubbard "shop 'buses" came in with Fentiman at the wheel.
"Hullo!" said Wimsey, "trying her out?"