He stared. "We don't run a 'bus in the winter time," he said gruffly.

She opened the little chatelaine bag that hung from her wrist and
abstracted a card which she submitted to the coroner.

"You will find, Dr. Sheef, that the car my husband came up here in
belongs to me. This is the card issued by the State. It is in my
name. The factory number is there. You may compare it with the one
on the car. My husband took the car without obtaining my consent."

"Joy riding," said Burton, with an ugly laugh. Then he quailed
before the look she gave him.

"If no other means is offered, Dr. Sheef, I shall ask you to let
me take the car. I am perfectly capable of driving. I have driven
it in the country for two seasons. All I ask is that some one be
directed to go with me to the station. No! Better than that, if
there is some one here who is willing to accompany me to the city,
he shall be handsomely paid for going. It is but little more than
thirty miles. I refuse to spend the night in this house. That is
final."

They drew apart to confer, leaving her sitting before the fire,
a stark figure that seemed to detach itself entirely from its
surroundings and their companionship. At last, the coroner came to
her side and touched her arm.

"I don't know what the district attorney and the police will say
to it, Mrs. Wrandall, but I shall take it upon myself to deliver
the car to you. The sheriff has gone out to compare the numbers. If