Matt, obeying a gesture from the doctor, told how the car had been stopped, and how he and Carl had gone back along the road and found the man unconscious among the bushes.
For a minute or two after hearing Matt's explanations the man lay silent and thoughtful.
"If you did all that," said he to Matt finally, "you must know how to run a car."
Matt nodded.
"I used to work for a motor company in Albany," he answered, "and they had me give demonstrations. I had to know all about cars and take out a license."
A queer gleam arose in the man's eyes.
"I am James Q. Tomlinson, of Denver," said he, "and have been touring Southern California and Arizona for my health. With my chauffeur, I came up from Yuma in the 'Red Flier,' and the chauffeur was taken sick at the Needles. Am expecting to pick up a friend in Flagstaff. The friend is waiting there for me, and I thought I would drive the car through to Flagstaff from the Needles myself. I found I didn't know as much about it as I thought I did. However, I managed to peg along.
"Early this morning, about twenty miles out of Ash Fork, I was set upon by three masked men. They ordered me to stop, but I opened up the machine and made a run past them. The scoundrels fired at me, and one of their bullets grazed my head. I was stunned for a moment, but managed to keep my senses and hold the automobile in the road. Had an idea that I could get to Ash Fork, but somehow I kept growing weaker and weaker. It became hard for me to manage the steering-wheel, so I tied it with a rope; then, all at once, the car tilted, and I was thrown out.
"I can remember falling into the road, and crawling to some bushes where I could be out of the hot sun. After that my wits left me, and I remember nothing more until now."
A knock fell on the door of the outer office. The doctor excused himself for a moment and went out, closing the door of the private office behind him.