Chapter 9
AS Flandrin stood on the threshold of his own drawing-room, he lad the air of one who had washed his hands of living and was ready to tell the truth.
"I am sorry to be late," he apologised, with a placating glance at Colt. "I meant to be here to admit you into our home."
"You didn't use your car, did you?" blurted Dougherty. '
"Why not?"
Flandrin glared at the District Attorney's red face and bulging blue eyes then, with an exquisite shiver, full of hauteur, he looked back at Thatcher Colt.
"Mr. Colt," he said. "I was in a daze. I did not know what I was doing. I tramped the streets— I do not recall even what streets. At last I came home. Can you understand that?"
For the moment, at least. Colt expressed himself as satisfied. Flandrin had been secretly followed by one of o
