The Fleming butler--Walters, Rand remembered Gladys Fleming having called
him--became apologetic upon learning who the visitor was.

"Forgive me, Colonel Rand, but I'm afraid I must put you to some
inconvenience, sir," he said. "You see, we have no chauffeur, at present,
and I don't drive very well, myself. Would you object to putting up your
own car, sir? The garage is under the house, at the rear; just follow the
driveway around. I'll go through the house and meet you there for the
luggage. I'm dreadfully sorry to put you to the trouble, but...."

"Oh, that's all right," Rand comforted him. "Just as soon do it, myself,
now, anyhow. I expect to be in and out with the car while I'm here, and
I'd better learn the layout of the garage now."

"You may back in, sir, or drive straight in and back out," the butler
told him. "One way's about as easy as the other."

Rand returned to his car, driving around the house. A row of doors opened
out of the basement garage; Walters, who must have gone through the house
on the double, was waiting for him. Having what amounted to a conditioned
reflex to park his car so that he could get it out as fast as possible,
he cut over to the right, jockeyed a little, and backed in. There were
already two cars in the garage; a big maroon Packard sedan, and a
sand-colored Packard station-wagon, standing side by side. Rand put
his Lincoln in on the left of the sedan.

"Bags in the luggage-compartment; it isn't locked," he told the butler,
making sure that the glove-compartment, where he had placed the Leech &
Rigdon revolver, was locked. As he got out, the servant went to the rear