"No. I didn't do that because I had no thought of her being in any real danger and because she'd cautioned me against letting anyone know. After I'd searched the main road thoroughly for several miles and gone up several branch roads I began to think she'd played a joke on me."
"Do you mean fooled you?"
"Yes—the whole thing began to look that way. Her not being at the rendezvous in Maple Lane and then phoning me to meet her at a place, which, when I came to think of it, it was nearly impossible for her to reach in that space of time. It seemed the only reasonable explanation—and it was the sort of thing she might do. When I got the idea in my head it grew and," he looked down on the floor, his voice dropping low as if it was hard for him to speak, "I got blazing mad."
For a moment it seemed like he couldn't go on. In that moment I thought of how he must be feeling, remembering his rage against her while all the time she was lying cold and dead by the road.
"I was too angry to go home," he went on, "and not thinking much what I did, I let the car out and went up and down—I don't know how far—I don't remember—miles and miles."
"According to Mr. Casey it was half-past four when you came back to the garage."
"I daresay; I didn't notice the time."
"You were from 9:30 to 4:30 on the road?"
"Yes."
"You spent those seven hours going up and down the turnpike and the intersecting roads?"