"If you please, sir," she said, "Mr. Simpson is here."
It was an embarrassing moment, as of course I hadn't the faintest notion who Mr. Simpson might be; but once more Milford came to my rescue.
"I sent him a message to come round, sir. You said you might be motoring down to Woodford to-morrow if it was fine, so I told him he'd better look in and see whether you wanted the car."
This was news indeed. Up till that moment I had no idea that I belonged to the noble army of car owners.
"Quite right, Milford," I said, getting up. "I think I shall motor if it's anything like a decent day."
I went upstairs and found Mr. Simpson in the hall. He proved to be a small, dark, clean-shaven man dressed in the conventional garb of a chauffeur.
"Good evening, sir," he said, touching his forehead. "I just looked in about the car. Mr. Milford said you might be wanting it to-morrow to go down to Suffolk."
"Yes," I said, "I shall if it's fine."
I had quite decided by this time that I would motor down to Woodford instead of going by train.
"Will you be wanting me, sir?" asked Mr. Simpson.