CHAPTER VAfter all, it was something a little before ten o’clock when his car bumped over the ruts and holes in the road beyond Merchantsville, and he began to see the Mount Holly lights. Not so late, Craig reflected complacently, but that he could read and smoke for a comfortable hour in his uncle’s library before going to bed.
“Hello—all right—I hear you!” he found himself shouting suddenly, rousing himself with violence. Somebody had hailed him from the side of the road. He slowed his car—stopped—a man in a chauffeur’s uniform came running up to him.
“Hello, there—sorry to stop you, Mister,” said this person, panting, “but we’ve got some sort of engine trouble. How far is it to Mount Holly?”
“About a mile. That’s all right—take you in,” Craig said, good-naturedly, remembering now tha
