say," continued the Doctor, "that it would have happened
without her coming. Undoubtedly it was she who supplied the necessary
psychic conditions. There was that about her--a sort of atmosphere.
That quaint archaic French of hers--King Arthur and the round table and
Merlin; it seemed to recreate it all. An artful minx, that is the only
explanation. But while she was looking at you, out of that curious
aloofness of hers--"

The Doctor left the sentence uncompleted.

"As for old Littlecherry," the Doctor began again quite suddenly,
"that's his speciality--folklore, occultism, all that flummery. If you
knocked at his door with the original Sleeping Beauty on your arm he'd
only fuss round her with cushions and hope that she'd had a good night.
Found a seed once--chipped it out of an old fossil, and grew it in a
pot in his study. About the most dilapidated weed you ever saw.
Talked about it as if he had re-discovered the Elixir of Life. Even if
he didn't say anything in actually so many words, there was the way he
went about. That of itself was enough to have started the whole thing,
to say nothing of that loony old Irish housekeeper of his, with her
head stuffed full of elves and banshees and the Lord knows what."

Again the Doctor lapsed into silence. One by one the lights of the
village peeped upward out of the depths. A long, low line of light,
creeping like some luminous dragon across the horizon, showed the track
of the Great Western express moving stealthily towards Swindon.

"It was altogether out of the common," continued the Doctor, "quite out
of the common, the whole thing. But if you are going to accept old
Littlecherry's explanation of it--"

The Doctor struck his foot against a long grey stone, half hidden in
the grass, and only just saved himself from falling.

"Remains of some old cromlech," explained the Doctor. "Somewhere about
here, if we were to dig down, we should find a withered bundle of bones
crouching over the dust of a prehistoric luncheon-basket. Interesting
neighbourhood!"

The descent was rough. The Doctor did not talk again until we had
reached the outskirts of the village.

"I wonder what's become of them?" mused the Doctor. "A rum go, the
whole thing. I should like to have got to the bottom of it."

We had reached the Doctor's gate. The Doctor pushed it open and passed
in. He seemed to have forgotten me.

"A taking little minx," I heard him muttering to himself as