Pascal Crew told his story in his study, with the curtains drawn and a single lamp burning.
He did not sit behind his desk this time. He sat in the old leather chair by the cold fireplace with his cane across his knees, and he looked, to Damien, like a man who had shrunk ten years in a night.
"I'll tell it plainly," the old man said. "You deserve that. And then you may hate me, if you choose."
"I won't hate you."
"You may change your mind." Pascal's thin hands tightened on the cane. "The week of the accident, Alex telephoned me from the road. He said the roads were bad, and that he was driving up to the station because Elise had found something about Lucien Renard. He asked me to keep a lawyer ready. I told him to turn back."
"He didn't."
"He never did, when he thought he was right." A bitter smile. "Three hours later, the police telephoned."
Damien stood by the window with his arms folded. He didn't speak.
