“I’m trying to,” answered Hibbard, “but it promises to be a long job. I don’t know just where the difficulty is.”
The judge whirled on Rockwell.
“Can you locate the trouble?” he asked. “I want to take this car back to the garage—I’m not going away and leave it here.”
The garage proprietor came up to the machine. Both sides of the hood had been lifted, and he stooped down and looked the motor over critically.
“Engine seems all right,” said he. “Maybe there’s no gasoline in the tank.”
“Tank’s half full,” returned Hibbard, with a scowl.
“Then maybe the carburetor——”
“Carburetor’s in apple-pie order,” averred the chauffeur.
“All that being the case,” went on Rockwell reflectively, “I reckon we better hitch a rope to the machine and haul it back to the garage for an overhauling.”
Clancy’s keen eyes had been going over the motor. At a glance he had located the difficulty, and he was amazed to hear the garage owner and the chauffeur assert their ignorance of it.