“See here,” Graves ground out, between his teeth, “all the axles on my cars are branded with the trade-mark of the maker, and the number of the inspector who passes the axles.  Yet this axle is unbranded!  Now, I happen to know that the left forward axle on this car—­last night—­was branded as usual, for I had the wheel off and looked it over.  That I can swear to.”

“Then another axle has been substituted?” demanded Jack, his eyes flashing.

“Yes, sirree.”

“How long, after you saw the right axle in place here, was it before the car was taken from your garage?”

“According to the office books this car was taken from the garage at three o’clock this morning,” replied Graves.

“By one of your own men?”

“No, sir!  By a stranger who rented the car for a week, paid the rental price, and gave his name as Hodges.  He seemed to understand all about running a car.  He brought it back at six this morning.”

“Was that time enough in which to substitute a defective axle?” Jack asked.

“Oh, yes; a man expert at such work could do it in considerably less time.”

“Such a defective axle might run along smoothly, quite a while at low speed?” Benson persisted.

“Yes.”

“But at high speed—?”

“Look at this axle!” continued the garage man, excitedly.  “You know something about steel, don’t you, young man?”

“Enough to run machinery.”

“You see what a flawed piece of steel this is—­unsuited to any strain?  I don’t believe this axle could stand the strain of high speed in a big auto for the distance of a mile.”

“That’s about all it stood with us,” muttered Jack Benson, his face white, his jaws firmly set.

“There’s been some nasty work here,” continued the garage man.  “It wasn’t done by my chauffeur, either.  He’s probably the worst hurt of any in your party, which assures his innocence of a hand in the despicable work.”

“Oh, I don’t suspect your man—­not for an instant,” Jack assured the garage owner.  “The truth is, I think I can guess just where to place the blame.”

“Hodges turned this car over to you for a pleasure jaunt, didn’t he?” demanded the garage owner.

“Yes.”

“And it was the same fellow who took this car out before daylight.  It wasn’t used again until it was sent around for your party.  Mr. Benson, I think we can both guess whom to suspect in this desperately wicked piece of business.  If I can find that rascal, Hodges, I’ll certainly lay violent hands on him!”

“Don’t!” advised Jack, quietly.  “In the first place, Mr. Graves, if you took the law into your own hands, you’d only get yourself into trouble.  In the second place”—­Jack Benson lowered his voice still more—­“I know, as well as I know I’m living, that Hodges was only the agent of some one else.  Mr. Graves, do me a great favor—­a great favor to all our party.  For the present, if you must say anything, say just as little as possible about the accident.  Let it go at that.  Don’t throw out any suspicions against Hodges.  Don’t let anyone know that I have any suspicions.  Just keep the whole thing quiet—­and in that way we’ll get the authors of this outrage.”