“A rather stout gentleman. He wasn’t exactly a gentleman, he was a chauffeur. As a matter of fact, I thought he’d been drinking, though I didn’t want to alarm Miss Leamington by telling her so.”
“And then what happened?” asked Michael quickly.
“She came down and got in the car. The chauffeur was already in.”
“A closed car, I suppose?”
The woman nodded.
“And then they drove off? What time was this?”
“Just after half-past ten. I remember, because I heard the church clock strike just before the car drove up.”
Michael was cool now. His voice scarcely rose above a whisper.
“Twenty-five past eleven,” he said, looking at his watch. “You’ve been a long time coming.”
“I couldn’t find the paper, sir. It was under Miss Leamington’s pillow. Isn’t she here?”