“Because that night, sir, I were as full as a tick when I started. Lord love you, it must ’ave poured out of me afterwards when I started fightin’ coppers. Mr. White, ’e knows, I ain’t no fightin’ man as a rule.”
“And the lady? Did you see her?”
“No, sir. Leastways, I seed a bundle which I took to be a lydy, but her face was covered up with a shawl, and she was lyin’ ’eavy in ’is arms as though she was mortal bad. He tell’d me she was sick.”
“Did he? Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“Are you sure it was a shawl?”
A vacuous smile spread over Foxey’s countenance as he answered, “I ain’t sure of anythink that ’appened that night.”
“But were you not surprised when a man hired your cab under such peculiar circumstances, and paid you such a high fare?”
“We four-wheelers are surprised at nothink, sir. You don’t know all wot goes on in kebs. Why, once crossin’ Waterloo Bridge—”
“Never mind Waterloo Bridge, Foxey,” put in the detective. “Keep your wits fixed on as much as you can remember of November 6.”