“I’ll go,” said Ronny. “It’s a rotten job, but somebody’s got to do it.” He looked at Jimmy. “You know her, don’t you?”

“Slightly. I’ve danced with her once or twice.”

“Then we’ll go in your car. You don’t mind, do you? I can’t face it alone.”

“That’s all right,” said Jimmy reassuringly. “I was going to suggest it myself. I’ll go and get the old bus cranked up.”

He was glad to have something to do.

Ronny’s manner puzzled him. What did he know or suspect? And why had he not voiced his suspicions, if he had them, to the doctor.

Presently the two friends were skimming along in Jimmy’s car with a cheerful disregard for such things as speed limits.