"There's someone coming," declared Eric. "Sounds like a horse and cart."
"Then, thank goodness, we'll be able to find out where we are," added Mr. Greenwood, as the whole party scaled the bank and waited in the road for the approaching vehicle.
It proved to be a pony-trap driven by a very stout farmer. The latter, recovering from his astonishment at being hailed in this out-of-the-way place, informed the doctor that they were four miles from the nearest house, five from the nearest village, and twelve from a railway-station.
"Any motor-cars to be had in the village?" asked Dr. Cardyke. "We've had a bad smash."
"Yes, there be a car o' sorts, zurr," replied the man, laying stress upon the "o' sorts." "Maybe you'll be wantin' oi' tu ax the moty tu fetch you?"
"If you would," said the doctor, "we'll be most obliged. I suppose we can rely upon it being sent?"
"You can rely on oi, zurr, tu giv' the message," was the countryman's non-committal reply, and, overcoming his curiosity to alight and examine the wrecked car, he touched the pony with his whip and drove off.
"Five miles," commented the doctor. "It will take at least an hour before the car arrives. Let's make ourselves as comfortable as possible in the circumstances. Has anyone a match?"
After another twenty minutes the conversation flagged. Everyone was more or less tired, after the day spent in the bracing air.
Presently Mike began to show signs of uneasiness, straining at his collar, through which his mistress had slipped her fingers.