He started toward the bed, and that was the last thing he remembered for some time.
When he came to himself he saw glittering little lights above him. At first he thought he was dreaming, and sat up, rubbing his eyes.
Even then he thought he was dreaming, his surroundings were so different from what they should have been—from what he had every reason to expect them to be.
The lights far over his head were stars—or seemed to be stars. He was out-doors, and had been lying on a heap of straw at the bottom of a stack. On his right was a large barn, and beyond the barn were the shadowy outlines of a house.
These odd discoveries confused and bewildered Matt. What sort of witchcraft was here? A moment before, as he reckoned the time, he had started for bed in his room at the hotel. Now he woke up in a heap of straw, out of doors and apparently on somebody's farm.
Staggering to his feet, he leaned heavily against the side of the straw-stack and drummed his knuckles against his forehead. A horrible illusion gradually took hold of him. Had he been in an accident with the racing-car? Was he just recovering from the effects of a bad smash?
His brain seemed a bit hazy, but otherwise he appeared to be as well as ever. Stepping away from the stack, with the view of making further investigations, he stumbled over something. Picking up the object, he found it to be his satchel.
This added a further mystery to his situation. He had evidently left the hotel with the intention of going somewhere to stay for a while.
In the dim light his satchel looked frayed and worn, as though it had seen hard usage. His clothes, too, from what he could see of them, offered the same evidence of wear and tear.
"Well, great guns!" he muttered. "I wish somebody would kindly explain how I came to be here! And while the explaining is going on, I wish somebody would let me know whether I am really Matt King or another fellow. This would read like a page out of the 'Thousand and One Nights.' I'll just go up to the house and ask where I am."