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don’t think I’ll be able to stand it!”
    The sound of running feet made all three Bob-Whites start. Trixie rose to her feet when she saw that the runner was Mart Belden. “Did you find a phone? Did you call an ambulance? Will they be here soon?”
    Gasping, Mart could only nod in answer to his sister’s barrage of questions. He took a few more deep breaths before trying to speak. “I called.... On the way.... Here soon,” he panted.
    Even in her state of anxiety, Trixie was aware of the difference between Mart’s tortured, breathless fragments of speech and his usual elaborate way of talking. She was aware, too, of the similarity between Mart’s unconnected phrases and those the stranger had uttered a few moments ago: “Can’t. Can’t... stop. Find. Find the... miser.” Trixie whispered the phrases to herself, trying to repeat as closely as possible the way the man had uttered them.
    “I can’t stop. I have to find the miser,” Trixie whispered, trying the sentences out on her ears. Was that what the man had meant? She narrowed her eyes as she said the words to herself once again. Then she shook her head. Her interpretation made sense, but the problem, as Brian had pointed out, was that there was no way of telling whether or not the words themselves made sense. They might have been just the incoherent ramblings of a badly hurt man.
    “How is he?” Mart was still breathing heavily, but he was able to speak clearly once again.
    “I don’t know,” Brian told him. “He’s still breathing. His pulse is fairly strong, although it’s racing. I suppose he’s in shock. He may be bleeding internally. I just don’t know.”
    Once again the Bob-Whites started as a sound pierced the stillness. This time, the sound was the one they’d been waiting for: the wail of an ambulance siren. Behind it was a police car.
    Mart stood up and waved his arms to signal the ambulance, which swooped to a halt at the curb. The man and woman who jumped out moved fast and efficiently.
    While they examined the stranger, the police asked the Bob-Whites for their names and addresses and what details they could give about the accident.
    “Our car had broken down. This man came along and helped me get it started. He asked for directions to Glenwood Avenue. I told him, and he started off across the street. He wasn’t looking where he was going. A green van came along and ran him down. The van kept going. We stayed here while my brother went and phoned the ambulance. That’s all there is to it,” Brian concluded.
    “We can move him now,” an attendant said. “Let’s get the stretcher.”
    “Can’t we go to the hospital, so we’ll know how he is?” Trixie pleaded.
    “I’d suggest you go home, instead,” one of the policemen told her. “There probably won’t be any report on this man’s condition for several hours. Meantime, we’ll give this information to Sergeant Molinson. He’ll probably want to hear your story again. I’d suggest you sit tight and wait for him.” Trixie gulped and nodded. She watched silently until the ambulance sped away, with lights flashing and siren blaring, toward the hospital.
    “I guess we’d better head home,” Brian said. “Our parents are probably frantic by this time.”
    “I imagine they’ll be concerned, all right,” Mart said, “but at least they know where we are. I called them from the phone booth right after I called for the ambulance.”
    “Good thinking,” Brian said. “At least that will save us from having to repeat the whole story as soon as we get home. I’d just as soon not think about what just happened for a while—until Sergeant Molinson questions us, at least.”
    Trixie looked at her brother enviously. He would, she knew, be able to put the incident out of his mind long enough to give himself some much-needed relief. She herself would not be so lucky.
    “Honey, do you suppose you could spend the night at our house?” Trixie asked suddenly. “The sergeant