“We’re coming to it,” he said, encouragingly. “Now—just before you came into this flat, where were you?”
“In a street-car. I got off at the corner in the usual way, and let myself in with my key.”
“You had that key in France, I suppose?”
“Yes, I had it with a few others on a ring in my breeches-pocket. I kept it for the day I should come back.”
“Quite. Now—before you got into that street-car, where were you? Where had you been?”
Tremaine hesitated again.
“I can’t for the life of me remember!—I—I sort of woke up in that street-car, as if I had been to sleep on my way home. I remember looking out and thinking to myself—of course, that’s where I am—nearly home. It seemed quite natural.”
Obviously, the man himself was puzzled. There was a short silence, and then Satterthwaite spoke again.
“And you remember nothing of what you did between the day you attacked the Kriemhild Line—and finding yourself in the street-car?”