I
Whatever inconveniences the Clockwork man suffered as a result of
having lapsed into a world of strange laws and manifestations, he
enjoyed at least one advantage. His power of travelling over the
earth at an enormous speed rendered the question of pursuit almost
farcical. While Allingham's car sped over the neighbouring hills, the
object of the chase returned by a circuitous route to Great Wymering,
slowed down, and began to walk up and down the High Street. It was
now quite dark, and very few people seemed to have noticed that odd
figure ambling along, stopping now and again to examine some object
that aroused his interest or got in his way. There is no doubt that
during these lesser perambulations he contrived somehow to get the
silencer under better control, so that his progress was now muted. It
is possible also that his faculties began to adjust themselves a little
to his strange surroundings, and that he now definitely tried to grasp
his environment. But he still suffered relapses. And the fact that
he again wore a hat and wig, although not his own, requires a word of
explanation.
It was this circumstance that accounted for the Vicar's late arrival
at the entertainment given in aid of the church funds that night. He
had lingered over his sermon until the last moment, and then hurried
off with only a slight pause in which to glance at himself in the hall
mirror. He walked swiftly along the dark streets in the direction of
the Templars' Hall, which was situated at the lower end of the town.
Perhaps it was because of his own desperate hurry that he scarcely
noticed that other figure approaching him, and in a straight line. He
swerved slightly in order to allow the figure to pass, and continued on
his way.
And then he stopped abruptly, aware of a cool sensation on the top of
his head. His hat and wig had gone! Aghast, he retraced his steps,
but there was no sign of the articles on the pavement. It seemed
utterly incredible, for there was only a slight breeze and he did not
remember knocking into anything. He had certainly not collided with the
stranger. Just for a moment he wondered.
But duty to his parishioners remained uppermost in the conscientious
Vicar's mind, and it was not fair to them that he should catch his
death of cold. He hurried back to the vicarage. For a quarter of an
hour he pulled open drawers, ransacked cupboards, searching everywhere
for an old wig that had been discarded and a new hat that had never
been worn. He found them at last and arrived, breathless and out of
temper, in the middle of the cinematograph display which constituted
the first part of the performance.
"My dear," he gasped, as he slid into the seat reserved for him next to
his wife, "I couldn't help it. Someone stole my hat and wig."
"Stole them, Herbert," she expostulated. "Not _stole_ them."
"Yes, stole them. I'll tell you afterwards Is this the Palestine
picture? Oh, yes--"