At the door of number
36, he glanced up at the number, questioningly, and turned in the gate
as she was about to enter.
He raised his hat.
"Have I the pleasure of addressing Mrs. Brian?"
Momentarily, a hard look came into the tired eyes, but Dunbar's
gentleness of manner and voice, together with the kindly expression upon
his face, turned the scales favorably.
"I am Mrs. Brian," she said; "yes. Did you want to see me?"
"On a matter of some importance. May I come in?"
She nodded and led the way into the house; the door was not closed.
In a living-room whereon was written a pathetic history--a history of
decline from easy circumstance and respectability to poverty and utter
disregard of appearances--she confronted him, setting down her basket on
a table from which the remains of a fish breakfast were not yet removed.
"Is your husband in?" inquired Dunbar with a subtle change of manner.
"He's lying down."
The hard look was creeping again into the woman's eyes.
"Will you please awake him, and tell him that I have called in regard to
his license?"
He thrust a card into her hand:--
DETECTIVE-INSPECTOR DUNBAR,
C. I. D.
NEW SCOTLAND YARD. S. W.
IX
THE MAN IN BLACK
Mrs. Brian started back, with a wild look, a trapped look, in her eyes.
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