d of him, stood a woman.
She had drawn aside, close to the hedge, doubtless to let them pass.
The rays of the gig lamp fell full on her--a broad-shouldered woman
of more than ordinary height. Over her head was flung a dark shawl,
and her left hand held its edges tightly together at the throat.
In her right she carried a leathern bag. This was as much as the
doctor could see, for the shawl concealed her features. He could not
recognise her at all, though he knew, or believed that he knew,
everybody--man, woman, or child--within a radius of ten miles.
But Doctor Unonius was ever polite.

'Hey? Good-evening, ma'am!' he sang out. 'You startled the old
horse a bit. I hope he has not frightened you?'

There was no answer.

'Can I offer you a lift, ma'am, if you're going my way? The hour is
late, and the weather none too pleasant for tramping these high
moors.'

Still there was no answer.

'You needn't be afraid of Dapple,' he assured her. 'He'll stand
still as a rock now, if you'll climb up.'

'Thank you,' she answered at last, with a hesitating step forward,
and the voice was hoarse and constrained.

'Come round to the other side then. Here, give me your bag.'

The woman crossed in front of Dapple--who backed a foot or so
uneasily--came around to the step, and handed up her bag. It was a
two-handled bag, of japanned leather, and Doctor Unonius, as he took
it from her and rested it against the splashboard, noted also that it
was exceedingly heavy. He held out his hand. The woman grasped it,
and clambered up beside him.

He gave a sharp look at her and called to Dapple. The horse pulled
himself together and broke into a brisk trot, which continued for
hard upon half a mile before either occupant of the gig broke
silence.

For Doctor Unonius was considering. Though a student he was a man of
considerable courage and cool-headed in emergency, as he was now not
a little pleased to prove, for hitherto life had provided few
emergencies to test him. But here was an emergency, and--at this
time of night, and in this place--it looked to be an ugly one.
He had to deal with a discovery, and the discovery was this.

The hand he had just gripped was no woman's at all, but the hand of a
man.

He stole another glance at his companion. She, or he, was leaning
forward in a huddled attitude to meet the wind which now, as they
rounded an edge of the down, blew crosswise athwart the gig and a
little ahead. Nothi