She tried to pull herself together. What must she do now? A doctor⁠—that was her first thought. It was possible⁠—just possible⁠—that the man might only be unconscious, not dead. Her instinct cried out against the possibility, but she forced herself to act upon it. Somehow or other she must get him into the car and take him to the nearest doctors. It was a deserted stretch of country road and there was no one to help her.

Bundle, for all her slimness, was strong. She had muscles of whipcord. She brought the Hispano as close as possible, and then, exerting all her strength, she dragged and pulled the inanimate figure into it. It was a horrid business, and one that made her set her teeth, but at last she managed it.

Then she jumped into the driver’s seat and started off. A couple of miles brought her into a small town and on inquiry she was quickly directed to the doctor’s house.