At this moment the man observed their approach and, rising, advanced to meet them with raised, arresting hand.
Wimsey brought the car to a standstill.
“Excuse me,” said the stranger, who turned out to be a youth in motor-cycling kit, “but could you give me a hand with my ’bus?”
“What’s the matter with her?”
“Well, she won’t go.”
“I guessed as much,” said Wimsey. “Though why she should wish to linger in a place like this beats me.” He got out of the car, and the youth, diving into the hedge, produced the patient for inspection.
“Did you tumble there or put her there?” inquired Wimsey, eyeing the machine distastefully.
“I put her there. I’ve been kicking the starter for hours but nothing happened, so I thought I’d wait till somebody came along.”
“I see. What is the matter, exactly?”
“I don’t know. She was going beautifully and then she conked out suddenly.”