My only knowledge of last night's dreadful happenings had come from Uncle Eric and Lord Robert West.

I had said to myself that I didn't wish to read the newspaper accounts of the murder, and of Ivor's supposed part in it.

I remembered now, however, that I did not even know in what part of Paris the house of the murder was.

I recalled only the name of the street, because it was a curiously grim one--like the tragedy that had been acted in it.
I couldn't tell the chaffeur to drive me to the street and house.

That would be a stupid thing to do.