sponse to Thorndyke's invitation, a typical "growler" cabman of the old school, complete even to imbricated cape and dangling badge, stalked into the room, and glancing round with a mixture of embarrassment and defiance, suddenly fixed on Polton's nose a look of devouring curiosity.
"Here you are, then," Polton remarked nervously.
"Yus," replied the cabman in a slightly hostile tone. "Here I am. What am I wanted to do? And where's this here Mr. Polton?"
"I am Mr. Polton," replied our abashed assistant.
"Well, it's the other Mr. Polton what I want," said the cabman, with his eyes still riveted on the olfactory prominence.
"There isn't any other Mr. Polton," our subordinate replied irritably. "I am the—er—person who spoke to you in the shelter."
"Are you though?" said the manifestly incredulous cabby. "I shouldn't have thought it; but you ought to know. What do you want me to do?"
"We want you," said Thorndyke, "to answer one or two questions. And the first one is, Are you a teetotaller?"
The question being illustrated by the production of a decanter, the cabman's dignity relaxed somewhat.
"I ain't bigoted," said he.
"Then sit down and mix yourself a glass of grog. Soda or plain water?"
