"Well I think we might, and thank you ever so much," Gabrielle answered very properly, but with eyes that sparkled.
"Right!" John said, and then they all bundled into the car, Professor and all, leaving the damaged bicycle in the road. It was a terrible squeeze, of course, to get five into a two-seater; but much can be done when people are determined. The Professor, yellow and strained-looking, was wedged in between John and Gabrielle; while Joey and Noreen squeezed somehow into the little emergency seat behind. The car dashed back along the road they had come.
As they had tucked themselves in Joey noticed that Noreen's shoes were squelching with wet.
"Did you sit on the edge and put your feet in the reservoir?" she asked.
Noreen laughed. "No, but when I wedged my feet at the angle it seemed to have sprung a leak. Hush! Don't tell Gabrielle. She'll probably think we ought to go back like the Dutch kid, and stop it with a finger."
"I expect it will do all right if we report it at the police station," Joey said. "But it must be a healthy leak, if it's made you as wet as all that."
"It's always happening," explained Noreen, the experienced. "The reservoir was done with scamped work in the first instance—haven't you heard our beloved Miss Craigie draw a moral for our benefit? Oh, well, if you haven't, you will. And they're always having to shore up one bank or another.... I say, you're shivering; it is jolly cold for motoring."
John caught the words, and rammed on his brakes. "What an ass I am! Put on my coat, Kid."
He began to struggle out of his motor-coat. His arms were half in and half out when the Professor sprang to his feet, his hands freed, the frayed ends of the braid sash hanging. He had John's dirk in his left hand; he had released himself by rubbing up against it; in his right was a small revolver.