"It was rather a special occasion for you, Mr. Elmore; and a still more special occasion--for Mr. Patterson."
"My uncle?"
"Yes, Mr. Elmore, your uncle. Don't you remember last Sunday evening at Brighton station?"
Rodney hesitated.
"Why do you ask?"
"You do remember, Mr. Elmore, and so do I. I can see you still, coming sauntering down the platform smoking a cigarette and looking into the first-class carriages to see which of them would suit you best. You chose one, and then stood for a moment or two at the door, looking up and down the platform, to see, as it were, if there was anything which caught your eye. Then you got into the carriage, and took the seat at the farther end, facing the engine. You thought you were going to journey up all alone, but just as the train was starting a stout, elderly gentleman came bustling along. Yours was the only carriage door that was open, and I helped him in. I shut the door, and you went out of the station together. Don't you remember that? Look at me carefully. Don't you remember that I was the party who helped your uncle into your carriage? Just look at me and think."
Again Rodney hesitated, and seemed to think. Then he said, in a tone the indifference of which was perhaps a trifle studied:
"Really, Mr. Giles, I don't quite know what it is you expect me to say."
The man gave a little laugh.
"Anyhow, Mr. Elmore, you've said it."