"Clear away the things!" Flint bellowed. "We're through!... Good night, Miss Robson, and a pleasant journey to you—you and your immaculate friend Stillman."
He left the room with a melodramatic flourish.... Presently Claire heard him mounting the stairs.
"He's drunk!" flashed through her mind, as if the idea had just struck her. "Of course, he must be drunk, otherwise he wouldn't have dared to...."
She went out into the entrance hall and put on her hat.
CHAPTER VII
Midway between Yolanda and Sausalito Stillman's machine died with disconcerting suddenness The rain was coming down in sheets. Stillman got out.
"It's no use," he announced, lifting himself back into his seat. "I can't do anything in this deluge."
This was the first word that had been said since he and Claire had left Flint's.
"The worst will be over in a few moments," replied Claire, easily. But she was far from reassured.