"Two miles down this road, then the first road to your right until I tell you to stop," was the order to the chauffeur.
"Where are you going?" asked Hatch, curiously.
"Don't know yet," was the enigmatic reply.
The car ran on through the night, with great, unblinking lights staring straight out ahead on a road as smooth as asphalt. The turn was made, then more slowly the car proceeded along the cross road. At the second house, dimly discernible through the night, The Thinking Machine gave the signal to stop.
Hatch leaped out, and The Thinking Machine followed. Together they approached the house, a small cottage some distance back from the road. As they went up the path they came upon another automobile, but it had no lights and the engine was still.
Even in the darkness they could see that one of the forward wheels was gone, and the front of the car was demolished.
"That fellow had a bad accident," Hatch remarked.
An old woman and a boy appeared at the door in answer to their rap.
"I am looking for a gentleman who was injured last night in an automobile accident," said The Thinking Machine. "Is he still here?"
"Yes. Come in."