"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?"