"I don't know," I said.  "I have been buried in the ruins of a
house thirteen or fourteen days.  I don't know what has happened."

He looked at me doubtfully, then started, and looked with a changed
expression.

"I've no wish to stop about here," said I.  "I think I shall go to
Leatherhead, for my wife was there."

He shot out a pointing finger.

"It is you," said he; "the man from Woking.  And you weren't killed
at Weybridge?"