"You drove a foreigner--a Japanese--to the mortuary in Paddington last
night?" said Ayscough, plunging straight into business, after telling the
man who he was. "I saw him--just a glimpse of him--in your cab, and I took
your number. Now, where did you first pick him up?"
"Outside the Underground, at King's Cross," replied the driver promptly.
This was precisely what Ayscough had expected; so far, so good; his own
prescience was proving sure.
"Anything wrong, mister?" asked the driver.
"There may be," said Ayscough. "Well--you picked him up there, and drove
him straight to the mortuary?"
"No--I didn't," said the man. "We made a call first. Euston. He went in
there, and, I should say, went to the left luggage office, 'cause he came
back again with a small suit-case--just a little 'un. Then we went on to
that mortuary."
Euston! A small suit-case! More facts--Ayscough made notes of them.
"Well," he said, "and when you drove away from the mortuary, where did you
go then?"
"Oxford Circus," answered the driver, "set him down--his orders--right
opposite the Tube Station--t'other side of the street.
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