Mademoiselle Stangerson, I thought, was not even listening to what he was saying, her face expressing perfect indifference.

His face was the red face of a drunkard.

When Monsieur and Mademoiselle Stangerson left, he went to the bar and remained there.

I joined him, and rendered him some little service in the midst of the pressing crowd.

He thanked me and told me he was returning to America three days later, that is to say, on the 26th (the day after the crime).