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just a moment. “Should I call there first?”
    “I'll do it for you.”
    Grateful for that, he ran back the few steps to the car and took off as quickly as he could. To his relief the hospital’s emergency entrance was clearly marked; he drove up to it with his mind still fixed on the single idea of getting his passenger into the medical facility.
    He had barely set the brake when a white-coated man and a well-built woman appeared pushing a gurney. Clearly he was expected. Behind them was the tall, helmeted figure of a policeman.
    Peter got out quickly as the attendants came alongside his car. “This man was on the highway,” he said. “I brought him here as fast as I could.”
    He didn’t hear what they said in reply, if anything at all, but he was impressed with the efficiency with which they unloaded the injured man and wheeled him inside. As soon as they were gone, he drew a long deep breath and held it a moment, calming himself. Then he was confronted by the policeman. “May I have a word with you, sir?”
    “Of course.” He had subconsciously been aware that he would have to explain matters to the police, and the sooner it was done, the better. The rain no longer mattered to him.
    The policeman was impassive as he stood in his slicker. “Is the accident victim a relative or friend of yours?”
    “No, I never saw him before.”
    “You just found him on the roadway?”
    He was seized by the temptation to answer yes and assume the believable role of the Good Samaritan, but he knew it would never work. It was likely there were marks on his car, and the very limited traffic would point strong suspicion toward him in any event.
    He drew a careful breath and said what he had to. “No, officer, I hit him.”
    The policeman, who was also ignoring the rain, held a notebook shielded in his hand. “I see, sir. Very good of you to bring him here so promptly, if I may say so. Since the weather’s a bit nasty, would you care to come to the station and give us a statement there?”
    That was clearly an order, but it had been nicely put.
    “Will you show me the way?“
    “Right, sir. I’ll have the car around directly, and you can just follow me.”
    As he got into his own vehicle, Peter felt a rush of relief that his late passenger was no longer shoulder to shoulder with him in the opposite seat. When the police car appeared, he followed it to a small parking lot beside a squat gray building that was conspicuously marked POLICE.
    As he parked, he remembered that there had been no witnesses to report on his speed or the fact that he had been on the wrong side of the road. The victim, if he recovered, might testify to it later, but hopefully the matter would be closed before then.
    He got out in the still-heavy rain and followed his guide into the police station. When the officer at the desk looked up, Peter noted that he was a sergeant. “Good morning, sir,” he said. “I understand you just brought an accident victim into hospital.”
    “Yes,” Peter answered.
    “May I have your name, please?”
    “Peter Ferguson.”
    “American?”
    “Yes.”
    The sergeant stepped to the door and spoke to someone out of Peter’s range of vision. Then he came back. “Now, sir, please sit down and give me your account.”
    As Peter settled himself to face the inevitable, he was grateful that his interrogator was such a clearly reasonable, even sympathetic person. In as few words as possible he told his story. He said nothing about his driving speed or his momentary lapse in allowing himself to drive briefly on the right.
    “Did I understand you to say that the victim of the accident fell from a height directly onto the bonnet of your car?” the sergeant asked.
    “That’s the impression I got, Sergeant, but it happened so fast I can’t be positive about anything.” That was the truth, and Peter strongly hoped that it would be accepted as such.
    The constable he had met at the hospital came into the room hearing two