The next moment two men were dragged out of the car in a state of stupor. One was the Soudanese entitled “Spats,” who had become Ilam’s bodyguard, and the other wore the uniform of an automobile driver. “Who is this?” Carpentaria asked. “It looks precious like Pratt, the man as usually drives this car, sir,” answered the doorkeeper. All the attendants in the place had now gathered round. CHAPTER XXII--Carpentaria as Detective You will now relate to me, as accurately as you can,” said Carpentaria somewhat peremptorily to Pratt the chauffeur, “exactly what were the circumstances which led to your ceasing to be master of your car.” Carpentaria had had Pratt and the Soudanese carried to the strong-room, the heart of the City, where a chemist and Dr. Rivers had united to treat them for the effects of the narcotic which had evidently, by some means, been administered to them. Rivers repeated that, so far as he could judge, the narcotic employed was chloral hydrate, a drug more powerful than morphine, more effective in its action on the heart, and less annoying to other functional parts of the body. When Rivers and the chemist had finished their ministrations, Carpentaria had politely intimated to them that he did not absolutely insist on their remaining--a piece of information which surprised the doctor, who, having been let into one of his director’s secrets, expected, with the confidence of youth, to be let into all of them. The three men, two white and one Ethiop, were thus alone together in the chamber. “Well, sir,” said Pratt, who was a fair man, talkative, with, just at present, a terrific sense of his own importance as the central hero of a mysterious drama. “It was like this: After I’d had the drink----” “What drink?” demanded Carpentaria sharply. “The drink the other driver offered to me, sir.” “What other driver?” “There came up another driver, sir.” “In the City uniform?” “Yes, sir.” “Who was he? What was his name?” “No idea, sir. I seemed to remember his face, like, but I couldn’t recollect his name. I asked him his name, and he said: ‘Don’t try to be funny, Pratt; you’ve had a drop too much.’” “And had you?” “Not I, sir--of course I hadn’t. I’d made two journeys to the Bank with full loads, and the next one was to be the last, and----” “And you hadn’t had anything to drink at all?” “Nothing to speak of, sir. A glass of port at Short’s as I was coming back the first time, and a pint of beer--or it might have been a pint and a half--at the Redcliffe as I was coming back the second time.” “That was absolutely all?” “Yes, sir, except a drop of whisky which was left in my flask.” “But how came the other driver to be in a position to offer you drink? Was he carrying casks and other things about with him?” “No, sir, only a flask. Every chauffeur has a flask. Necessary, sir. Cold work, sir. And you’ll recollect it hasn’t been exactly sultry to-night.”