“It was you, I think,” the detective said to him, “who accompanied the motor last night when it left here with the two ladies?”
“Yes, sir,” said Thomas, “I did, sir.”
“And you were told the car would not be required again after the opera?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you remember Mrs. Vanderstein’s exact words when she gave you the order not to return?”
“It wasn’t Mrs. Vanderstein who told me, sir,” said Thomas, “it was Miss Turner. ‘Mrs. Vanderstein says she won’t have the car again this evening,’ she said, and, ‘do you understand, Wilcox?’ she says—that’s the chauffeur, Wilcox is; she come running down to speak to him just as he put the clutch in and we was moving off—‘You’re not to come to fetch us to-night after the opera,’ I heard every word of course as plain as Wilcox did. ‘Very good, miss,’ he says, and she ran back through the swing doors. Mrs. Vanderstein had gone straight in and I didn’t see her again. We was very surprised, Wilcox and me, as it was the first time that Mrs. Vanderstein hadn’t had the motor to bring her home that either of us could remember. But orders is orders,” concluded Thomas with an engaging smile at Mr. Gimblet, who ignored it.
“Thank you, that will do for the present,” he said; and, when Thomas had gone, turned once more to Blake.
“How long has Wilcox been in Mrs. Vanderstein’s service?” he asked.
“He was with Mr. Vanderstein before he married,” replied Blake. “The same as I was myself, sir. Wilcox was a groom in the old days, but they had him taught to drive the motor some years ago. He’s a most respectable, steady man, sir.”
“Thanks, I should like to see him,” said Gimblet.