He carefully splashed the water over the boyish forehead, streaks of grime trickling over them both.
"Fill the tanks," Corrie gasped, lying passive under the rough treatment. "I'm ready to go on—tell me when."
Gerard was beside the car.
"Corrie," he began.
Rupert unexpectedly flamed out at him across the prostrate figure:
"Let him alone! He ain't a Sandow and the driving's hell. He's going on, I tell you. Here, Rose, get some class into you, what?"
But Gerard had a better tonic than cold water or stinging abuse. He silenced the mechanician with a glance and laid his hand on Corrie's arm.
"Corrie, your cousin has told us the truth," he said. "We know, now, who caused the wreck of my car last year."
Corrie started so violently as to overturn the jug in Rupert's hand and send its contents over them both, his avid blue eyes flashed wide to Gerard.