“We won't argue about that. I'll simply put a question to you: Where did you pick up the fare that you dropped at Palace Mansions at twelve o'clock last night?” “Palace Mansions!” muttered Brian, shifting uneasily beneath the unflinching stare of the tawny eyes. “What d'you mean? What Palace Mansions?” “Don't quibble!” warned Dunbar, thrusting out a finger at him. “This is not a matter of a loss of license; it's a life job!” “Life job!” whispered the man, and his weak face suddenly relaxed, so that, oddly, the old refinement shone out through the new, vulgar veneer. “Answer my questions straight and square and I'll take your word that you have not seen the inquiry!” said Dunbar. “Dick Hamper's done this for me!” muttered Brian. “He's a dirty, low swine! Somebody'll do for him one night!” “Leave Hamper out of the question,” snapped Dunbar. “You put down a fare at Palace Mansions at twelve o'clock last night?” For one tremendous moment, Brian hesitated, but the good that was in him, or the evil--a consciousness of wrongdoing, or of retribution pending--respect for the law, or fear of its might--decided his course. “I did.” “It was a man?” Again Brian, with furtive glance, sought to test his opponent; but his opponent was too strong for him. With Dunbar's eyes upon his face, he chose not to lie. “It was a woman.” “How was she dressed?” “In a fur motor-coat--civet fur.” The man of culture spoke in those two words, “civet fur”; and Dunbar nodded quickly, his eyes ablaze at the importance of the evidence. “Was she alone?” “She was.” “What fare did she pay you?” “The meter only registered eightpence, but she gave me half-a-crown.” “Did she appear to be ill?” “Very ill. She wore no hat, and I supposed her to be in evening dress. She almost fell as she got out of the cab, but managed to get into the hall of Palace Mansions quickly enough, looking behind her all the time.” Inspector Dunbar shot out the hypnotic finger again. “She told you to wait!” he asserted, positively. Brian looked to right and left, up and down, thrusting his hands into his coat pockets, and taking them out again to stroke his collarless neck. Then:-- “She did--yes,” he admitted. “But you were bribed to drive away? Don't deny it! Don't dare to trifle with me, or by God! you'll spend the night in Brixton Jail!” “It was made worth my while,” muttered Brian, his voice beginning to break, “to hop it.” “Who paid you to do it?” “A man who had followed all the way in a big car.” “That's it! Describe him!” “I can't! No, no! you can threaten as much as you like, but I can't describe him. I never saw his face. He stood behind me on the near side of the cab, and just reached forward and pushed a flyer under my nose.” Inspector Dunbar searched the speaker's face closely--and concluded that he was respecting the verity. “How was he dressed?” “In black, and that's all I can tell you about him.” “You took the money?” “I took the money, yes”...