“This is horrible!” groaned Huish. “I never returned till now; I did not come and fetch her.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, which you’ve forgot,” said a voice behind him; and Huish turned round to find himself face to face with the cabman.
“Like me to wait, sir? Didn’t pay me my fare. It was me as drove you and the lady last night.”
“You!—what?—me?—the lady?”
“Of course, sir,” said the man, smiling. “You hailed me in Praed Street, outside the station, and come on here, and you told me to wait. Five minutes arter you comes out with the lady, and I took you down to Cannon Street.”
“This is horrible!” groaned Huish again; and he clutched at the umbrella-stand to save himself from falling.
“The gent’s ill,” said the cabman hoarsely.
“Yes, ill—ill,” cried Huish; “no—better now. Tell me, both of you, did I come last night and fetch my wife?”
“Course you did, sir,” said the cook in an injured tone, as if insulted at her veracity being impeached.
“If I might make so bold, sir,” said the cabman. “I’d have a drop o’ short; it’s nerves—that’s what it is. I get a bit touched so sometimes, after being on. Shall I drive you to—”