He had been wearing his dinner clothes. Where on earth could he have been coming from? He opened his eyes, another point having occurred to him which might help to throw light upon the problem. But, slowly turning his head aside and noting the firm little chin of the girl as she bent over her book, he hesitated and did not ask the question. Nevertheless, he determined to remain awake until he had the facts in order. With which idea firmly in mind, he immediately fell asleep again. When next he awakened, morning sunlight flooded the room, and he saw, standing beside the white-capped nurse, a cheery-looking, gray-haired man, having a very ruddy complexion. “Good-morning, Mr. Cumberland,” said the cheery man in a cheery voice. “Good-morning,” Barry replied--and, in the act of speaking, knew that he was himself again and that he had not been himself during those earlier conversations with the nurse. He raised his hand to his bandaged skull. It was singing and throbbing, but that curious dull pain had gone. “My name is Dr. Barton,” the other went on. “Feel better?” “Rather!” said Barry. “What the deuce happened to me? Did I try to take a high jump or something?” “Not exactly,” Dr. Barton replied, sitting on a rail at the end of the bed and addressing Barry over his shoulder. “You seem to have tried to climb a tree.” Barry grinned feebly. “How’s the Rolls looking?” he inquired. “That I can’t tell you,” was the reply. “I understand it has been towed to a garage some miles from here.” But, even as he listened to Dr. Barton’s answer, Barry’s mind had been actively at work. A phantom that had been haunting him took human shape. He recalled every circumstance that had led up to the accident. His smashed car ceased to interest him. His own condition became a very trivial matter. One thing, and one thing only, he wanted to know, and: “I remember it all clearly,” he said. “I had lost my way. One point I _must_ clear up.” “Well, get busy with it,” the genial doctor directed, “because we are going to have you out of bed, presently, and see how you feel on your feet.” “Splendid,” Barry replied. “What I want you to tell me is this: the exact spot at which the crash took place.” Dr. Barton shook his head. “I haven’t the faintest idea!” “What!” Barry exclaimed. “But whoever brought me here must have known where he found me!” “No doubt,” Dr. Barton admitted, “but he didn’t think it necessary to mention the fact.” “Perhaps you don’t understand,” Barry went on patiently, “that it’s rather important. Could you possibly ring up this Good Samaritan and arrange for me to see him?” “We _could_--if we knew his number.” “Didn’t he leave it?”