“It would not,” replied Crewe, with cordial acquiescence.  “Therefore, Taylor, I give you my word of honour not to mention anything you tell me.  Furthermore, I’ll see that you don’t lose by it now or at any other time.  I cannot say more than that, but that’s a great deal more than the police would say.  Now, would you sooner tell me or tell the police?  Here’s a sovereign to start with, and if you have an interesting story to tell you’ll have another one before you leave.”

The appeal of money and the conviction that the police would use less considerate methods if Crewe passed him over to them abolished Taylor’s scruples about discussing a fare, and it was in a much less surly tone that he responded: 

“I didn’t notice anything strange about him when he called me off the rank, but I did afterwards.  First of all, I didn’t drive him home.  That is, I did drive him home, but he didn’t go inside.  When I drew up outside his house in Princes Gate, I looked around expecting to see him get out.  As he didn’t move I got down and opened the door.  ’Aren’t you getting out here, sir?’ I said, in a soft voice.  ‘No,’ he said.  ‘Drive on.’  ’This is your house, sir,’ I ventured to say.  ‘I’m not going in,’ he replied, ‘drive on.’  I was surprised.  I thought he was the worse for drink, and I’d never seen him that way before.  But some gentlemen are so obstinate in liquor that you can’t get them to do anything except the opposite of what you ask them.  I thought I’d try and coax him.  ’Better go inside, sir,’ I said.  ‘You’ll be better off in bed.’  ‘Do you think I am drunk?’ he said sharply.  You could have knocked me down with a feather.  He was as sober as a judge, all in a moment.  ‘No, sir, I didn’t,’ I said.  ’I wouldn’t take the liberty,’ I said.  ’Then get back on your seat and drive me to the Hyde Park Hotel—­no, I think I’ll go to Verney’s.  But don’t go there direct.  Drive me round the Park first.  I feel I want a breath of cool air.’”

“Go on,” said Crewe, in a tone which indicated approval of Taylor’s method of telling his story.

“Well, I turned the cab round and drove through the Park.  But I was puzzled about him and looked back at him once or twice pretending that I was looking to see if a cab or car was coming up behind.  And as we passed over the Serpentine Bridge I saw him throw something out of the window.”

“A glove?” suggested Crewe quickly.

The driver looked at him in profound admiration.

“Well, if you don’t beat all the detectives I’ve ever heard of.”

“He tried to throw it in the water,” continued Crewe, as if explaining the matter to himself rather than to his visitor.  “Did you get it?”