“In the first place, you are quite all right,” she replied in her gentle way. “You were thrown out of your car, you know, and really had--a most lucky escape. In the second place, you are in the Elizabeth Foundation Hospital.” “Thrown out of my car?” Barry muttered. “Elizabeth? How did I get to Elizabeth?” The nurse looked at him doubtfully, stood up, and: “I am not at all sure that you should be allowed to talk yet,” she said in a tone of authority. “At any rate, it is time for your medicine.” She measured out a dose from a graduated bottle on the table, and held it to his lips. He drank, watching her, and vainly trying to grab at any one of a thousand ideas that were dancing wildly through his brain. Yes, of course!--there _had_ been a crash! He remembered, now. He had been driving the Rolls--when was it? Some time earlier in the evening, no doubt. And there was something about Egypt. Had someone been talking to him about Egypt? He could not capture this idea at all. As the empty glass was set down: “Please tell me,” he asked, and found that he had already more control of his voice, “did I crash near here?” “Some little distance away,” the nurse answered, resuming her seat and smoothing a white apron with sensitive fingers. Barry considered this reply for a long time. His brain was working with unfamiliar and amazing slowness. Then: “Was I alone?” he inquired. “You were alone in the car--yes.” “You are sure there was no lady with me?” “Quite sure.” “Then how do I come to be here?” “You were brought here by someone who found you.” “Do you mean a friend?” Barry asked. And as he spoke an explanation came to him of that extraordinary pressure about his skull for which he had hitherto been unable to account. His head was tightly bandaged! “I am afraid you are talking too much,” the nurse said with gentle sternness. “It is contrary to Dr. Barton’s orders for me to allow you to talk. But I will answer your question. The man who brought you was a stranger, and his finding you a pure accident. And now please close your eyes and stop thinking about it.” Barry smiled, and, in regard to closing his eyes, obeyed. But he did not stop thinking about it. He lay there endeavouring to capture those maddeningly elusive ideas which scampered about his mind like so many rabbits. Yes--he had crashed in the Rolls. He had been bound for New York. He remembered so much, clearly. He could not remember why he was bound for New York, nor from where; but New York had been his objective. He opened his eyes. “How was I dressed when I was brought in?” he inquired. “You were wearing your dinner clothes,” the nurse replied distinctly, raising her eyes from the book which she had resumed reading. “Please ask no more questions, because I shall be unable to answer them. In ten minutes I am going to turn the light out and leave you. So try to get to sleep.” “Thank you,” said Barry, and continued his reflections.