voice at his elbow said:

"I beg your pardon, but--but will you kindly tell me where I am?"

It was not a loud, aggressive voice; on the contrary, it was hesitating
and almost timid, but when one is supposedly alone at twilight on the
East Wellmouth road any sort of voice sounding unexpectedly just above
one's head is startling. Mr. Pulcifer's match went out, he started
violently erect, bumping his head against the open door of the lamp
compartment, and swung a red and agitated face toward his shoulder.

"I--beg your pardon," said the voice. "I'm afraid I startled you. I'm
extremely sorry. Really I am."

"What the h-ll?" observed Raish, enthusiastically.

"I'm very sorry, very--yes, indeed," said the voice once more. Mr.
Pulcifer, rubbing his bumped head and puffing from surprise and the
exertion of stooping, stared wide-eyed at the speaker.

The latter was no one he knew, so much was sure, to begin with. The
first impression Raish gained was of an overcoat and a derby hat. Then
he caught the glitter of spectacles beneath the hat brim. Next his
attention centered upon a large and bright yellow suitcase which the
stranger was carrying. That suitcase settled it. Mr. Pulcifer's keen
mind had diagnosed the situation.

"No," he said, quickly, "I don't want nothin'--nothin'; d'you get me?"

"But--but--pardon me, I--"

"Nothin'. Nothin' at all. I've got all I want."

The stranger seemed to find this statement puzzling.

"Excuse me," he faltered, after a moment's hesitation, during which
Raish scratched another match. "I--You see--I fear--I'm sure you don't
understand."

Mr. Pulcifer bent and lighted the second lamp. Then he straightened once
more and turned toward his questioner.

"_I_ understand, young feller," he said, "but you don't seem to. I don't
want to buy nothin'. I've got all I want. That's plain enough, ain't
it?"

"But--but--All you want? Really, I--"

"All I want of whatever 'tis you've got in that bag. I never buy nothin'
of peddlers. So you're just wastin' your time hangin' around. Trot along
now, I'm on my way."

He stepped to the side of the car, preparatory to climbing to the
driver's seat, but the person with the suitcase followed him.

"Pardon me," faltered that person, "but I'm not--ah--a peddler. I'm
afraid I--that is, I appear to be lost. I merely wish to ask the way
to--ah--to Mr. Hall's residence--Mr. Hall of Wellmouth."

Raish turned and looked, not at the suitcase this time, but