The soft night hovered about him. He heard confusedly the droning of insects, and the distant mournful call of a whip-poor-will. The roar of the car was strangely missing. What had become of it? And where was Arima? These were the first questions he asked himself as he became able to think without confusion. He now became aware that his head hurt, and raising his hand, he found a large bump under the hair above his right temple. Turning, he discovered that he had been thrown over the fence into a field of thick-standing grain, which had broken his fall. His head must have struck the fence in passing. He got to his feet. At first he was bothered by dizziness, but that soon disappeared. Climbing the fence, he saw that the car had turned over on one side. At a glance there were no evidences of superficial damage, but it would take a team of horses and some time to right it and get it back into the road. The lamps had been extinguished. In the ditch near the car lay Arima. One of his legs was bent under him horribly. Orme hurried over to him. The Japanese was conscious. His beady eyes glittered wetly in the starlight, but he said no word, gave no groan, made no show of pain. Whatever he may have suffered, he endured with the stoicism that is traditional in his race. "Much hurt?" asked Orme, bending over him. "My leg broke." Arima spoke unemotionally. Orme considered. "I'll send you help," he said, at last. "Lie quiet for a little while, and you will be looked after." He rose, smoothed out his clothing, and pulled himself together. It was not part of his program to let whomever he might meet know that he himself had been concerned in the wreck. In a moment he returned to Arima. "I'll have to have those papers," he said. Silently the Japanese reached within his coat and drew out the papers. He held them up for Orme to take. "You have me beat," he said. "Spirit told me I must fail." A picture of the scene in Madame Alia's rooms came to Orme; the darkness broken only by a pinpoint of gaslight; the floating, ghostly forms; the circle of awed believers, with the two Japanese, intent as children. The medium's work for him had not ended when she helped him to escape. Mentally he redoubled his thanks to her, for she had so impressed the fatalistic mind of Arima that he gave the papers over without making necessary a final struggle. By the size and shape of the papers Orme recognized them. Nevertheless, to make sure that he was not being deceived; he slid his hands over Arima's coat, and felt in the pockets. He found nothing that resembled the papers he had, so he thrust them into his own pocket. He now took out his watch. There was not enough light to see what time it was, and he ran his fingers over the dial, as he had done during that time of imprisonment, earlier in the evening. As nearly as he could tell it was ten minutes past nine. He could hardly believe that it was so early.