What had happened was transparently clear.

Huddled between a trolley and the nearside bank, which was rising sheer
from the road, was a large red limousine, listing heavily to port and
down by the head. Both vehicles were facing towards Brooch. Plainly the
car had sought to overtake the trolley, which was in the act of emerging
from the by-road, and pass it upon the wrong side. The former, of
course, had been travelling too fast to stop, and the burden which the
latter was bearing had made it impossible for the other to pass upon the
right-hand side. Three sturdy oaks, new felled, one of them full fifty
swaying feet in length, all of them girt by chains on to the trolley's
back, made a redoubtable obstruction. The chauffeur had taken the only
possible course and dashed for the narrowing passage on the left. A
second too late, the car had been pinched between the great wain and the
unyielding bank, like a nut between the jaws of the crackers. But for
the action of the carter, who had stopped his team dead, the car would
have been crushed to flinders.

The two occupants of the limousine were apparently unhurt, for, when I
first saw them, they were standing in the middle of the road, looking
anxiously in our direction. The next moment they were signalling to us
violently, spreading out ridiculous arms, as if the tree-trunks were not
putting our passage of the road for the present out of the question.

As I brought the Rolls to a standstill, I heard a stifled cry. The next
moment Berry's voice hissed in my ear.

"Talk of the devil.... Look at the cove on the right. _It's Dunkelsbaum
himself._"