Arthur watched him, feeling diffident, half inclined to follow him in
case he fell over. For there was not much stability about the Clockwork
man. It was clear that the slightest obstacle would have precipitated
him upon his nose. He kept his head erect, and looked neither downwards
or to right and left. He seemed wholly absorbed in his eccentric mode
of locomotion, as though he found it interesting just to be moving
along. Arthur kept his eyes glued upon that stiff, upright back,
surmounted by the wig and hat, and he wondered what would happen when
the Clockwork man reached to the end of the line of hurdles, where
another barrier started at right angles across the end of the cricket
ground.
It was a sight to attract attention, but fortunately, as Arthur
thought, everybody seemed too absorbed in the game to notice what was
happening. The dawning of humour saved him from some uncomfortable
misgivings. There was something uncanny about the experience. Somehow,
it didn't seem natural, but it was certainly funny. It was grotesque.
You had to laugh at that odd-looking figure, or else feel cold all over
with another kind of sensation. Of course, the man was mad. He was,
in spite of his denial, an escaped lunatic. But the noise? That was
certainly difficult to explain. Perhaps he had some kind of infernal
machine hidden in his pocket, in which case he would be a dangerous
kind of lunatic.
What was he going to do next? He had reached to the end of the field
and stopped abruptly. Apparently, the presence of another barrier
acted as a complete check to further movement. For several seconds he
remained perfectly still. He was now about a hundred yards from Arthur,
but the latter had good eyesight, and he was determined to miss nothing.
Then the Clockwork man raised a hand slowly to his face, and Arthur
knew that he was repeating his former meditative action, finger to
nose. He remained in that position for another minute, as though the
problem of which way to turn was almost too much for him. Finally, he
turned sharp to the right and began to walk again.
Arthur became aware of two other figures approaching the one he was
watching so intently. They were Gregg, the captain of the team, and
Doctor Allingham. The yellow braid on their blazers shone in the
sunlight, and Arthur could see the blue emblem on Gregg's pocket. There
would have to be a meeting. The two flanelled figures were strolling
along in a direct line towards that other oddly insistent form. Arthur
caught his breath. Somehow he dreaded that encounter. When he looked
again there was some kind of confabulation going on. Curiously enough,
it was Doctor Allingham and Gregg who seemed incapable of movement
now. They stood there, with their hands in their pockets, staring,
listening. But the Clockwork man was apparently making the utmost use
of his limited range of action. His arms were busy. Sometimes he kicked
a leg up, as though to emphasise some tremendously important point.
And now and again he jabbed a finger out-wards in the direction of the
field of play. Arthur caught the sound of a high, squeaky voice borne
upon the light breeze.
Whatever the argument was about, the Clockwork man seemed to gain his
point, for presently the three figures turned together and proceeded
in a bee-line towards the pavilion, Doctor Allingham and Gregg dodging
about absurdly in their effort to accommodate themselves to the
gyrations of their companion.