“In that case it’s all right.” Ellery studied his face; it was worn deep with ruts of fatigue and worry. Keith dropped the cans to the cement floor of the garage. “You can use these, then. Gas.”
“Gas! Where on earth did you get it?”
“Let’s say,” said Keith grimly, “I dug it up out of an old Indian tomb.”
“Very well.”
“You’ve fixed Thome’s car, I see. Needn’t have. I could have done it.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because nobody asked me to.” The giant swung on his heel and vanished.
Ellery sat still, frowning. Then he got out of the car, picked up the cans, and poured their contents into the tank. He reached into the car again, got the engine running, and leaving it to purr away like a great cat he went back to the house.
He found Alice in her room, a coat over her shoulders, staring out her window. She sprang up at his knock.
“Mr. Queen, you’ve got Mr. Thome’s car going!”