“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?”