“Where did he tell you to drive to?” went on Bruce.
“Just Putney. I was to drive my’ardest. I recollect wantin’ to pull up at the Three Bells, but ’e put ’is ’ead out an’ said, ‘Go on, driver. I am awfully late already.’ So on I went.”
“Where did you stop?”
“I don’t know no more than the child unborn. By that time the drink was yeastin’ up in me. The fare kept me on the road ’e wanted by shoutin’. When we pulled up, ’e carries ’er into a lane. There was a big ’ouse there. I know that all right. After a bit ’e comes back and tips me a fiver. With that I whips up the old ’oss and gets back to the Three Bells. You know the rest, as the girl said when she axed the Bench to—”
“Yes, we know the rest,” interrupted Bruce, “but I fear you are not able to help us much.”
“This isn’t a five-pun’ job, eh, guv’nor?” said Foxey anxiously.
“Hardly at present. We shall see. Can you say exactly where you drew up your cab when the lady was carried into it?”
“Sure as death,” replied the cabman, in the hope that his information might yet be valuable. “It was outside Raleigh Mansions, Sloane Square.”
“We know that—”