“That’s right,” said Audrey. “We’re dry. But this is easy because we’ve a can on the step.”
Mrs. Trelawney sighed.
“These technical terms,” she said, “are entirely beyond me. My impulse is to express surprise that ‘we have a can on the step.’ Why hasn’t it fallen off?”
“It’s a can of gasolene—petrol,” said her niece, bubbling. “It’s kept there on purpose in case any time we run out. What I don’t understand is that Budge assured me last night that the tank was full. I suppose the gauge has stuck. Still . . .”
She passed to the rear of the car.
A glance at the dial showed that the gauge was working. The arrow was pointing to ‘empty.’
Audrey unscrewed the cap of the petrol-tank and peered at its depths. These were certainly dry. What was more to the point, a tiny rent in the metal was admitting daylight. . . .
After digesting this phenomenon, Audrey screwed on the cap and returned to Mrs. Trelawney.
“Aunt Lettice, darling,” she said, “I’ve let you down. We’re helpless. Our tank’s been holed. Even if Budge were here, we couldn’t move.”
“Then how,” demanded her aunt, “have you let me down?”