ner was becoming, momentarily, more nearly that of a gentleman. “I might be leading you astray if I ventured a guess, but if you asked me to do so, I should say he was a Chinaman.”
“A Chinaman?” Dunbar’s voice rose excitedly.
“I think so.”
“What occurred next?”
“I turned my cab and drove off out of the Square.”
“Did you see where the man went?”
“I didn’t. I saw nothing of him beyond his hand.”
“And his hand?”
“He wore a glove.”
“And now,” said Dunbar, speaking very slowly, “where did you pick up your fare?”
“In Gillingham Street, near Victoria Station.”
“From a house?”
“Yes, from Nurse Proctor’s.”
“Nurse Proctor’s! Who is Nurse Proctor?”
Brian shrugged his shoulders in a nonchalant manner, which obviously belonged to an earlier phase of existence.
“She keeps a nursing home,” he said—“for ladies.”
“Do you mean a maternity home?”
“Not exactly; at least I don’t think so. Most of her clients are society ladies, who stay there periodically.”
“What are you driving at?” demanded Dunbar.
