Stephano gave another sharp cry, this one of rage. “Blasted furnaces of hell!” he shouted, as Violet rubbed her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t seriously hurt. Klaus and Sunny got up cautiously from the jeep floor and looked out the cracked windshield. There appeared to be only one person in the other car, but it was hard to tell, as that vehicle had clearly suffered much more damage than Monty’s jeep. Its entire front had pleated itself together, like an accordion, and one hubcap was spinning noisily on the pavement of Lousy Lane, making blurry circles as if it were a gi-ant coin somebody had dropped. The driver was dressed in gray and making a rough hacking sound as he opened the crumpled door of the car and struggled his way out.

He made the hacking sound again, and then reached into a pocket of his suit and pulled out a white handkerchief.

“It’s Mr. Poe!” Klaus cried.

It was Mr. Poe, coughing away as usual, and the children were so delighted to see him that they found themselves smiling despite their horrible circumstances. “Mr. Poe! Mr. Poe!” Violet cried, reaching around Stephano’s suitcase to open the passenger door.

Stephano reached out an arm and grabbed her sore shoulder, turning his head slowly so that each child saw his shiny eyes. “This changes nothing!” he hissed at them. “This is a bit of luck for you, but it is your last. The three of you will be back in this car with me and heading toward Hazy Harbor in time to catch the Prospero, I promise you.”

“We’ll see about that,” Violet replied, opening the door and sliding out from beneath the suitcase. Klaus opened his door and followed her, carrying Sunny. “Mr. Poe! Mr. Poe!”

“Violet?” Mr. Poe asked. “Violet Baudelaire? Is that you?”

“Yes, Mr. Poe,” Violet said. “It’s all of us, and we’re so grateful you ran into us like this.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Mr. Poe said. “This was clearly the other driver’s fault. You ran into me.”

“How dare you!” Stephano shouted, and got out of the car himself, wrinkling his nose at the smell of horseradish that filled the air. He stomped over to where Mr. Poe was standing, but halfway there the children saw his face change from one of pure rage to one of brummagem confusion and sadness. “I’m sorry,” he said, in a high, fluttery voice. “This whole thing is my fault. I’m so distressed by what has happened that I wasn’t paying any attention to the rules of the road. I hope you’re not hurt, Mr. Foe.”

“It’s Poe,” Mr. Poe said. “My name is Poe. I’m not hurt. Luckily, it looks like nobody was hurt. I wish the same could be said for my car. But who are you and what are you doing with the Baudelaire children?”