McGlory mumbled to himself and fell silent.
“You hadn’t got far along the road from the clubhouse,” said Matt, “when the accident happened. But you must have been gone an hour. If your pace was twenty-five miles an hour, how——”
“The car bothered us like Sam Hill,” cut in McGlory. “If it wasn’t one thing, it was two. Neither Levitt nor I was as good a hand at tinkering as you, and we had to hunt quite a spell before we located the troubles.”
“You found something wrong?”
“A dozen things!”
“That’s strange! When this runabout gets to acting up, it usually seems to be without any cause whatever.”
“Well,” finished the cowboy, “that explains how we were going twenty-five miles an hour, at the time the accident happened, and didn’t get any farther from the Malvern Country Club.”
After this there was another silence between the chums. McGlory was getting ready to explain, and Matt patiently waited.