"Not wrong in the sense you mean, no," Hilliard agreed quickly, "but
wrong for all that. Now that I have met Miss Coburn I can see that
your estimate of her was correct. But anyone with half an eye could
see also that she is frightened and upset about something. There's
something wrong, and she wants a helping hand."

"Damn you, Hilliard, how you talk," Merriman growled with a sudden
wave of unreasoning rage. "There's nothing wrong and no need for
our meddling. Let us clear out and go on with our trip."

Hilliard smiled under cover of darkness.

"And miss our lunch and excursion with the Coburns to-morrow?" he
asked maliciously.

"You know well enough what I mean," Merriman answered irritably.
"Let's drop this childish tomfoolery about plots and mysteries and
try to get reasonably sane again. Here," he went on fiercely as
the other demurred, "I'll tell you what I'll do if you like. I'll
have no more suspicions or spying, but I'll ask her if there is
anything wrong: say I thought there was from her manner and ask her
the direct question. Will that please you?"

"And get well snubbed for your pains?" Hilliard returned. "You've
tried that once already. Why did you not persist in your inquiries
about the number plate when she told you about the driver's
shell-shock?"

Merriman was silent for a few moments, then burst out: