Like whipped schoolboys the six slunk off to their homes, and as they disappeared, Jack felt as though the full burden of the senseless crime had been dropped crushingly upon his shoulders.
He drove the big car quietly up the palm-shaded street to where his mother's wide-porched bungalow sprawled across two lots.

He was sober now, for the tragedy had shocked him into clear thinking.

He shivered when he turned in across the cement walk and slid slowly down the driveway to the garage.

He climbed stiffly out, rolled the big doors shut, turned on the electric lights and then methodically switched off the lights of the car.

He looked at the clock imbedded in the instrument board and saw that it lacked twenty minutes of three.