Dale was flustered.
“Beg pardon, my lord, but I was only——” he began.
“Only using the cut-out, I fancy. Come here, I want you a minute.”
The other chauffeurs suddenly discovered that they had urgent business elsewhere. They vanished. Dale thought it necessary to explain.
“One of them chaps has a new French car, my lord, and he was blowing so loudly about it that I had to take him down a peg or two.”
Medenham grew interested. Like every keen motorist, he could “talk shop” at all times.
“What sort of car?”
“A 59 Du Vallon, my lord. It is the first of its class in England, and I rather think his guv’nor is running it on show.”
“Indeed. Who is he?”