Doris and Marshmallow moved over toward the car, curious to learn what was wrong.
“Having trouble?” Marshmallow inquired pleasantly.
“What does it look like?” the stranger snapped crossly. “This car hasn’t run decently for the last fifteen miles!”
“Perhaps your gas line is plugged,” Marshmallow suggested, lifting the hood. “Yep, that’s just what it is. Give me a wire or something and I can fix it in a jiffy.”
“Gas line plugged?” the driver grumbled as he searched in the tool case. “That’s what I get for buying cheap gas at Rumson.”
Doris glanced up quickly.
“What do you know of Rumson?” she asked.
“Plenty.”
“Ever hear of people there named Gates?” Marshmallow questioned.
The driver gave him a sharp glance and muttered something which neither Doris nor Marshmallow could make out. To their surprise, he brushed past them and slammed down the hood. Then he sprang into the roadster and without a word of explanation started the motor and drove rapidly away.