“Did you get a look at his face?”
“No. It was dark in the garage. You know, sort of half dark. You could see only figures. I could tell you the way he was built, but I didn’t get to see his face, and Mother didn’t either.”
“Tall and slender or—”
“No. He was of medium height, and somehow I had the impression that he was very well dressed, and a gentleman, although I don’t know what made me think so. Perhaps it was just the way his clothes fitted him, or perhaps the way he moved, the sort of easy grace that men have when they’re customarily well dressed and know it. That sounds terribly silly when I hear myself saying it.”
“No,” Sellers said thoughtfully. “You may have something there. Go ahead, what happened?”
“Well, that’s about all. He ran past us. Mother tried to stop him and he hit her.”
“Right in the stomach,” Mrs. Goldring said indignantly. “ I don’t agree with Carlotta. I don’t think he was a gentleman. A gentleman wouldn’t hit a woman.”
“With his fist?” Sellers asked.
“No,” Mrs. Goldring said indignantly. “He poked me with the end of the club, or piece of pipe, or whatever it was.”
“And then what?”