"A stretcher," explained Lenz, "is also statutory, and first aid material likewise—"
"Yes, yes," she replied hastily, evidently floored by so much information. "I'll send someone at once."
She vanished.
"A bit tough," said I.
"Meet the same sort of thing in public hospitals," replied Lenz mildly. "First comes money, then red tape, then help."
We went back to the car and helped the woman out.
She did not say anything, merely looked at her hands.
We took her in to a small consulting room off the entrance.
Then the stretcher arrived for the man.
We lifted him on to it.
He groaned.
"A moment—"
We looked at him.
He closed his eyes. "I don't want any trouble," said he, with difficulty.
"It wasn't your fault," replied Koster. "We witnessed the accident and will willingly give evidence for you."
"It's not that," said the man. "For other reasons, I don't want it known.
You understand—" He glanced toward the door through which the woman had gone.
"Then you're in the right place here," explained Lenz. "This is a private show.
All it wants now is for your car to disappear before the police spot it."
The man propped himself up.
"Could you do that for me?
Ring up some garage. And please let me have your address—I'd like—I'm very much obliged to you—"
Koster made a gesture of refusal.
"But yes," said the man, "I'd like to."
"Quite simple," replied Lenz. "We have a repair shop ourselves, and specialize in cars like yours.
We'll take it along, if you agree, and put it in order again.
That'll help you and us at the same time."
"Good," said the man. "Do you want my address—then I'll come myself and get the car. Or send somebody."
Koster put the visiting card in his pocket and we carried him in.
The doctor, a young chap, had arrived in the meantime.
He had washed the blood from the woman's face and the deep cuts were now visible.
The woman lifted herself on her sound arm and stared into the shining nickel of a bowl on the dressing trolley.
"Oh," said she softly and dropped back with horror-stricken eyes.
We drove to the village and enquired for a garage. It was a smithy and from the blacksmith we borrowed a breakdown outfit and a hawser, promising him twenty marks for the loan.
But he was suspicious and wanted to see the car.
We took him with us and drove back.
Jupp was standing in the middle of the road and waving.
But without that, we saw already what was the trouble.
An old, top-heavy Mercedes was standing by the roadside and four people were in the act of getting away with the Stutz.
"We've arrived in nice time," said Koster.
"That's the brothers Vogt," replied the blacksmith. "Dangerous crew.
Live over there.
They don't give up what they once get their fingers on."
"We'll see about that," said Koster.
"I've explained it all to them already, Herr Koster," whispered Jupp. "Dirty rivals.
Want to have the car for their own shop."
"Very good, Jupp.
You stay here for the time being."
Koster went up to the biggest of the four and addressed him.
He explained that the car belonged to us.