Yet even as I lay there one of the most curious incidents of the whole series was taking place. It concerned, of all people, the Theodore Earles themselves, and at first it apparently had no bearing on our mystery.

It was not without humor, at that.

It was Saturday. The Earles had gone to the late movies, and at eleven o’clock were on their way home. They live slightly above the village, and their drive turns off the highway leading up the hill. As they turned in their lights suddenly fell on something, and Mrs. Earle screamed.

“There’s a naked man in the drive,” she shrieked.

Theodore Earle, who is nearsighted and had been watching the gate, stopped the car and looked ahead.

“I don’t see anybody.”

“He went into the shrubbery.”

“I don’t believe you saw anything of the sort,” he said. “Why would anybody go around naked on a night like this?”

But Mrs. Earle was positive. They drove on to the house, and Theodore and the butler got a flashlight and started out on foot. They had been looking for five minutes or so when somebody called Theodore by name from a clump of evergreens.

“Mr. Earle.”

“Yes. Who is it?”

“It’s me, sir. Haines. I’d be thankful for a blanket or something. I’m near frozen.”

They saw him then. It was one of the motorcycle policemen who patrol the river road, and he was as bare as the minute he was born. Theodore was furious.

“What the devil are you doing here without your clothes?”

“I’ve been robbed, sir. I’m sorry.”

The butler ran to the house and brought out a blanket. Also he brought some brandy, and before long they were able to smuggle him into the house. A fire and the brandy—and the blanket—restored him somewhat, and he told his story. He had been following a car that was exceeding the speed limit. It had turned up the hill road and he followed it. But he lost it a mile or so beyond the Earles’ and was on his way down to the river road again when he was crowded off the road by a car behind him.

“I’d passed it,” he said, “and was slowing up for the curve. Maybe he thought I was after him. He stepped on the gas and made straight for me. I tried to turn off, but he struck my rear wheel and sent me flying.”

That was all he remembered, until he came to. He had been dragged a few yards off the road into a field, and his clothing was gone. “Not a stitch left,” he said, and blushed under his tan.

“There I was, sir,” he said. “I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been dodging about for the last hour, hoping maybe some man would come along on foot and I could hail him. But the only one I saw yelled and ran. I’ll bet he’s running still.”

He had not noticed the car particularly, save that it did not look like one belonging to the Hill. It was small and shabby, and not going very fast. A man drove it. He had an impression that he was middle-aged or elderly.