He is undoubtedly a Chinaman, though attired in a chauffeur's livery, and he could handle a car in first-rate style, too.
His pidgin English was difficult to understand, and Mr.Furneaux shared my view that he did not try to render himself intelligible.

We gathered that he was obeying his master's orders in trying the car, a new one, before purchase, but Furneaux bundled him off to the nearest police station, borrowed handcuffs and brought him back to London, leaving the car in a garage at St.Albans.That is a bald but accurate summary of the facts.

I dropped Mr.Furneaux and his prisoner at Bow Street and was on the way to my city office, when I suddenly felt faint for want of food, as I ate hardly any breakfast this morning, and only drank a cup of coffee in Mr.Theydon's place.

So I returned to the Carlton, where I met a friend, a business associate, who remained for a chat while I had a meal.

This trivial accident prevented me from telephoning to my house, though, naturally, I had no misgivings as to my daughter's well-being.
Even then I was detained unduly, because my friend and I went to another office in the city, and two more hours elapsed before I reached my own place.