"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.