’I sat up in the freshness of the morning, trying to remember how I had got there, and why I had such a profound sense of desertion and despair.  Then things came clear in my mind.  With the plain, reasonable daylight, I could look my circumstances fairly in the face.  I saw the wild folly of my frenzy overnight, and I could reason with myself.  “Suppose the worst?” I said.  “Suppose the machine altogether lost—­perhaps destroyed?  It behoves me to be calm and patient, to learn the way of the people, to get a clear idea of the method of my loss, and the means of getting materials and tools; so that in the end, perhaps, I may make another.”  That would be my only hope, perhaps, but better than despair.  And, after all, it was a beautiful and curious world.

’But probably, the machine had only been taken away.  Still, I must be calm and patient, find its hiding-place, and recover it by force or cunning.  And with that I scrambled to my feet and looked about me, wondering where I could bathe.  I felt weary, stiff, and travel-soiled.  The freshness of the morning made me desire an equal freshness.  I had exhausted my emotion.  Indeed, as I went about my business, I found myself wondering at my intense excitement overnight.  I made a careful examination of the ground about the little lawn.  I wasted some time in futile questionings, conveyed, as well as I was able, to such of the little people as came by.  They all failed to understand my gestures; some were simply stolid, some thought it was a jest and laughed at me.  I had the hardest task in the world to keep my hands off their pretty laughing faces.  It was a foolish impulse, but the devil begotten of fear and blind anger was ill curbed and still eager to take advantage of my perplexity.  The turf gave better counsel.  I found a groove ripped in it, about midway between the pedestal of the sphinx and the marks of my feet where, on arrival, I had struggled with the overturned machine.  There were other signs of removal about, with queer narrow footprints like those I could imagine made by a sloth.  This directed my closer attention to the pedestal.  It was, as I think I have said, of bronze.  It was not a mere block, but highly decorated with deep framed panels on either side.  I went and rapped at these.  The pedestal was hollow.  Examining the panels with care I found them discontinuous with the frames.  There were no handles or keyholes, but possibly the panels, if they were doors, as I supposed, opened from within.  One thing was clear enough to my mind.  It took no very great mental effort to infer that my Time Machine was inside that pedestal.  But how it got there was a different problem.