“Hurrah!” cried Katharine, clapping her hands.
With great care Patricia drove her dark car into the little town, and stopped at the first garage she came to.
“Drive right in,” directed the mechanic who came out to see what they wanted.
Inside the garage, the girls all got out of the car and walked around while Patricia explained her difficulties. After a hasty examination, the man stood up facing Patricia sternly.
“Lady, there’s blood and part of a man’s clothing on your car! You must have run over someone.”
“Of course I didn’t!” began Patricia indignantly; then stopped short, clutching the fender to steady herself.
“Look here!” persisted the man.
Patricia forced herself to walk around to the other side of the car, and saw a strand of grey cloth twisted in the wheel, and stains on the body of her car. They were partly washed off by the rain, but enough remained to show that it was blood.
“That awful bump,” offered Anne incoherently.
“Didn’t feel big enough for a man,” objected Katharine.