“And my friend helped me into the cab, and paid you to drive me home?”
“That’s it, sir. You’re getting it now—all by heart.”
“A tall, stout gentleman?”
“Well, not exactly that, sir. I don’t mean a fat ’un with a big weskit. A reg’lar strong-built un.”
“I can’t grasp it,” muttered Chester. Then aloud,—“But why did he tell you to drive me to the wrong house?”
“Bit on too, sir. Arter dinner. Did it for a lark, p’ra’ps.”
“Drive me home,” said Chester, sinking back. “I can’t recollect a bit.”
“Course you can’t, sir. Better have a hair o’ the dog as bit you.”
“No, no. There, I’ll give you a glass of brandy when we get back.”
“Suppose your guv’nor won’t let you in, sir?”