"And now, Madam," he went on, turning earnestly to the lady, "I want you to tell us both your story again. Try to be as coherent and complete as you can this time."

She gave a little nod and began with what was under the circumstances unusual composure, although she still trembled slightly. Her speech was distinctly improved from earlier in the day. Indeed, it improved as her narrative went on, as if practice eased the flow of words.

"That one-he was the same man I remembered from the green room- came for me at the hospital. They said he was my brother. I said he could not be; I was sure of it. I cannot tell you how I knew-I couldn't tell them how. That little doctor said, 'But if you can't remember anything, how do you know he isn't?' Ass," was her dispassionate indictment of Dr. Stanley. "I refused to go with him, but I could not fight them all. They held me down and gave me something that made me dizzy, and put me into the cab with him. I thought then that if I went with him I could find out something about where I came from, so I stopped fighting. We drove for a long time in the rain. I did not recognize anything we passed. He did not speak to me after we left the hospital."

"Did you cross the river at any time?" interjected Holmes.

"No."

"One more thing. Can you describe the cab and the cabman?"

"The cab was just ordinary, not very old. The horse was a little chestnut, about 15 hands or a little more, with a white off hind leg. The cabman was a middle-aged fellow, a little taller than I, neither fat nor thin, with a grey mustache. He had a reddish complexion, a lot of little broken veins in his nose and cheeks. Oh! The cab had a number on it. It was #36974."

"That is all I need," smiled Holmes. "Go on."

"We stopped and got out in a sort of dull residential area.