Late that evening the Doctor returned from a confinement case, which had taken him to one of the outlying villages near Great Wymering. The engine was grinding and straining as the car slowly ascended a steep incline that led into the town; and the Doctor leaned forward in the seat, both hands gripping the wheel, and his eyes peering through the wind-screen at the stretch of well-lit road ahead of him. He had almost reached the top of the hill, and was about to change his gear, when a figure loomed up out of the darkness and made straight for the car. The Doctor hastily jammed his brake down, but too late to avert a collision. There was a violent bump; and the next moment the car began running backwards down the hill, followed by the figure, who had apparently suffered no inconvenience from the contact. Aware that his brakes were not strong enough to avert another disaster, the Doctor deftly turned the car sideways and ran backwards into the hedge. He leapt out into the road and approached the still moving figure. "What the devil!" The figure stopped with startling suddenness, but offered no explanation. "What are you playing at?" the Doctor demanded, glancing at the crumpled bonnet of his car. "It's a wonder I didn't kill you." And then, as he approached nearer to that impassive form, staring at him with eyes that glittered luridly in the darkness, he recognised something familiar about his appearance. At the same moment he realised that this singular individual had actually run into the car without apparently incurring the least harm. The reflection rendered the Doctor speechless for a few seconds; he could only stare confusedly at the Clockwork man. The latter remained static, as though, in his turn, trying to grasp the significance of what had happened. It occurred to the Doctor that here was an opportunity to investigate certain matters. "Look here," he broke out, after a collected pause, "once and for all, who are you?" A question, sharply put, generally produced some kind of effect upon the Clockwork man. It seemed to release the mechanism in his brain that made coherent speech possible. But his reply was disconcerting. "Who are you?" he demanded, after a preliminary click or two. "I am a doctor," said Allingham, rather taken back, "a medical man. If you are hurt at all--" An extra gleam of light shone in the other's eye, and he seemed to ponder deeply over this statement. "Does that mean that you can mend people?" he enquired, at last. "Why yes, I suppose it does," Allingham admitted, not knowing what else to say. The Clockwork man sighed, a long, whistling sigh. "I wish you would mend me. I'm all wrong you know. Something has got out of place, I think. My clock won't work properly." "Your clock," echoed the doctor.