But after a while she grew impatient. Why didn't Bill capture the man at once so they could haul him off to the police station? Why did he continue to go on with his pretended inspection of the engine? He couldn't really be in earnest, for if he found the trouble and fixed it, the lame man would simply get in his car and drive away. Could it be that Bill wasn't sure of his quarry? Of course, he was clean shaven, although Lizzie had described him as having a small mustache. Naturally, he'd shave it off. By this time he must know that his description had been broadcast. And so far as she could see the earrings were missing too. But that was to be expected. And he spoke good English with a slight Italian accent.
What was the matter with Bill! He was big enough to take care of the man with one hand, when all he did was tinker and jabber. What was the use of that?
"Your engine seems to be in A-1 condition," Bill was saying. "Doesn't look as if you'd been running the car lately."
"I haven't," replied the lame man. "She ran like a charm when I drove down here earlier this evening. Then all of a sudden she stops--and won't go on."
"Ah! here we are!" Bill exclaimed a moment later. "You've got a choked jet. I'll fix that in a jiffy."
"You are very kind," beamed the Italian. "Is that a serious trouble?"
"Not so bad. Buy better gas and have your carburetor well looked over. I'll fix it so the car will move, though."
"Do you think she will run fifty miles?"
"Sure--but there are plenty of garages nearer than that if you want to fix it."
"I'll wait until I reach home. My friend--he will give the engine a thorough going over. He understands very well such things."