At twenty minutes past three the next morning I drove out of the
courtyard of 'The Three Bulls', Steeple Abbas. Alone, too, for
it had begun to snow again, and although I was determined to
sleep that night, or what remained of it, at Fallow, I would not
take Jill with me for such an ugly run. As a matter of fact, I
had started once with her in the car, but before we had got clear
of the town, I had turned about and driven her back to the inn.
The people had evidently half expected her back, for, as we
stopped at the door, it was flung open and the landlord stood
ready to welcome her in. The next moment I was once more on my
way. In spite of the weather, the car went well, and I had soon
covered more than half the distance. I was just about to emerge
from a side-road on to the main highway, when a dark mass right
on the opposite corner against the hedgerow attracted my
attention. The next second my head-lights showed what it was,
and I slowed down. A great limousine, if you please, standing at
an angle of twenty degrees, its near front wheel obviously well
up the bank, and the whole car sunk in a drift of snow some four
or five feet deep. All its lights were out, and fresh snow was
beginning to gather on the top against the luggage rail.

I stopped, took out one of my side oil lamps, and, getting out of
the car, advanced to the edge of the drift, holding the light
above my head. The limousine was evidently a derelict.

"You look just like a picture I've seen somewhere," said a
gentle voice.

"And you've got a voice just like a dream I've dreamed some time
or other. Isn't that strange? And now, who, what, where, why,