“No, you can’t hire this machine.  What do you think this is, a cab-stand?” answered a gruff voice.

“Jim!” cried Lorelei, and ran forward.

Her breathless amazement at the meeting was no greater than her brother’s.  “Sis!  What the devil are you doing here?” he managed to say.  One of the men who had been kneeling over a case of some sort, dimly outlined in the radiance of a side-light, rose and placed his burden in the tonneau.

“I’m ready,” he announced.

Young Knight showed some nervousness and apprehension—­emotions which his companions, judging by their alert watchfulness, fully shared.  Jim seized his sister by the arm and led her aside.

“How the deuce did you get here—­and who is this guy?” He jerked his head toward Merkle.

Lorelei introduced her companion and made known the cause of their present plight.

“Humph!” grunted Jim.  “What d’you suppose ma’ll say to this—­you out all night with a man?”

“What are you doing?  Who are those people?” she retorted.

“Never mind.  But say—­I don’t like the looks of this affair.”

For a second time Merkle appealed to Jim.  “If you can’t take your sister home I’ll have to telephone for another car.”

Jim’s tone was disagreeable as he replied:  “You two don’t look as if you’d been wrecked.  Where’s your driver?” Merkle’s fist clenched; he muttered something, at which Jim laughed harshly.

“Now don’t get sore,” said the latter; “I’m not going to make trouble, only I want to know where you’ve been.”

A bare-headed man came running across the lawn and flung himself into the waiting automobile.  One of Jim’s companions called his name sharply.

“Will you take me home?” his sister implored.

“Can’t do it.  I’ll see you later, and you, too, Merkle.”  His last words, delivered as he swung himself upon the running-board of the car, sounded like a threat; a moment later, and the machine had disappeared into the night.

“Hm-m!  Your brother has a suspicious mind,” Merkle said.  “I hope he won’t make you any trouble.”

“He can’t make trouble for me.”  Lorelei’s emphasis on the last word made her meaning clear; her companion shrugged: 

“Then there’s no harm done, I assure you.”

They turned in upon the driveway, walking silently, then as they neared the Chateau they became aware of an unusual commotion in progress there.  Men were running from stable to garage, others were scouring the grounds; from the open door came a voice pitched high in anger.  The speaker was evidently beside himself with wrath.  He was shouting orders to scurrying attendants, and abusing the manager, who hovered near him in a frantic but futile effort at pacification.

The enraged person proved to be Jarvis Hammon.  He was hatless, purple-faced, shaken with combative fury.  At first the two new-comers thought he was dangerously drunk, but, as they mounted to the tiled terrace which served as an outdoor eating-place they saw their mistake.  Recognizing Merkle, Hammon’s manner changed instantly.