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 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.