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.
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