“Why do you suppose the Mattoxes aren’t friendly with Peter and Hanny?”
“How should I know?” shrugged Connie. “Maybe it’s because they come from Holland. That shouldn’t make any difference, though.”
Vevi’s mind, as active as a humming bird, had darted on.
“Why do you suppose that boat is called the Golden Tulip?” she speculated. “And why wouldn’t Hanny tell us what was kept in that padlocked little house?”
“She did act mysterious about it,” Connie admitted.
The car sped on, striking an uneven place in the pavement. Vevi was thrown forward in her seat. She would have struck the coat rack had not Miss Gordon reached out to hold her back.
“We’re going rather fast,” she said pointedly to Mr. Piff.
“Have to get back to town,” he replied without slowing down. “I have an appointment at the hotel with a man from the Chamber of Commerce. We stayed too long at Windmill Farm.”
The automobile whirled around a bend in the road so fast that the tires screamed. Then Mr. Piff had to put on the brakes.
Directly ahead, was a stalled car. The hood was up and a middle-aged lady in a blue hat, stood looking helplessly at the dead engine.