“Suppose you continue your story without making comments,” directed the Secretary sternly.
Winthrop nodded sullenly, then began: “You recollect that I spent Monday night at the Alibi Club, Brett?”
“Yes.”
“Well, when I left there I motored up Nineteenth Street, instead of taking the more direct way home. I thought I would turn into Massachusetts Avenue at Dupont circle, where there was less danger of running into electric cars, for the rain was falling in such torrents that I could hardly see through my wind-shield.
“When opposite the Owen residence I ran into a lot of waiting carriages and motors, and had to slow down. In fact, I went so slowly that by the time I was nearly opposite Miss Thornton’s residence I stalled my engine and had to get out in all the wet and crank up,” he paused dramatically. “You can imagine my surprise when I saw Miss Thornton come down under the awning which led to her front door and stand at the curb, looking up and down the street.”
“How do you know it was Miss Thornton?” broke in Douglas harshly.
“There was a street lamp by the side of the awning and the light fell full on her; besides, I recognized the scarlet cloak she was wearing. I have seen it many times.”
“What did my niece do, besides standing still and looking up and down the street?” demanded Colonel Thornton scornfully.
“She ran out into the middle of the street and down where a carriage was drawn up at the curb, opened the door, stood there talking, apparently, for a few minutes, then shut the door and bolted back to the awning, and I presume entered her house, as I saw no more of her.”
“What did you do next?” inquired Douglas, with peculiar emphasis.