"Oh, 'twas closed up, same as one o' they old cabs what us don't see no more now," said the old man. "But I see inside it, for all that. Two gentlemen."
"Two gentlemen, eh?" repeated Penteney. "Just so. And a driver outside, of course."
"Oh, aye; there was a driver outside, to be sure. In livery, he was—like a gentleman's servant. Smart feller!"
"Could you describe the gentlemen?"
"No, surely—two gentlemen, though; a-sitting back, I sees 'em! And sees the moty-car, too, turn down this here very road."
"What sort of car was it?" inquired Penteney. "What colour was it painted?"
"Well, now, you beats me! It med be a sort o' greyish colour—or again, it med be a sort o' yaller, lightish yaller, or it med be drabbish—I couldn' 'zac'ly go to for say what it was, proper. But a lightish colour."
"Lightish—grey, yellow, or drab—something of that sort?"
"Surely! Her wasn't a dark 'un, anyhow. But the feller what drove, now he were in a dark livery—I took partic'lar notice of he, 'cause he was so smart as never was. Green! that was his colour, and gold lace. Looked like a duke, he did! And I thought, hearin' as there was them in the park as was inquirin', like, as 'ow I'd come and tell 'ee."
Penteney rewarded the informant with some silver, and turned to his companions with a shake of the head.