The other descended from his car. “Right you are, Mr. Labar,” he said briskly. “Since I’m here and the telephone is two or three miles away, we’ll do the patching up first. Now let’s have a look at you.”

By the side of the car Labar stripped to the waist, and the doctor with swift gentle skill examined his wound. “Nothing for a man of your physique to worry about,” he declared. “A superficial cut. Chief trouble is that you’ve been losing blood. We’ll soon put that right. Lucky for you that I’m a country practitioner, and carry my supplies about with me.” He rummaged in the car. “Reminds me of the old army days. Here, drink this, while I tie you up.”

He passed a flask to the inspector and busied himself with lint and bandages. Labar, who had been nearer to exhaustion than he had permitted himself to think, felt a wave of new life in him. He began to reconsider his plans.

“Doctor,” he asked, “would it disarrange your affairs much, if I asked your help for three or four hours?”