And so the Clockwork man was able to conceal his clock from the gaze of
a curious world, and the grotesqueness of his appearance was heightened
by the addition of a neatly trimmed chestnut wig and a soft round
clerical hat. His perceptions must have been extraordinarily rapid,
and he must have acted upon the instant. Nor did it seem to occur to
him that in this world there are laws which forbid theft. Probably, in
the world from which he came such restrictions are unnecessary, and
the exigency would not have arisen, every individual being provided by
parliamentary statute with a suitable covering for that blatant and too
obvious sign of the _modus operandi_ in the posterior region of their
craniums.
It was shortly after this episode that the Clockwork man experienced
his first moment of vivid illumination about the world of brief mortal
span.
He had become entangled with a lamp-post. There is no other way of
describing his predicament. He came to rest with his forehead pressed
against the post, and all his efforts to get round it ended in
dismal failure. His legs kicked spasmodically and his arms revolved
irregularly. There were intermittent explosions, like the back-firing
of a petrol engine. The only person who witnessed these peculiar antics
was P.C. Hawkins, who had been indulging in a quiet smoke beneath the
shelter of a neighbouring archway.
At first it did not occur to the constable that the noise proceeded
from the figure. He craned his head forward, expecting every moment
to see a motor bicycle come along. The noise stopped abruptly, and
he decided that the machine must have gone up a side street. Then
he stepped out of his retreat and tapped the Clockwork man on the
shoulder The latter was quite motionless now and merely leaning
against the lamp-post.
"You go 'ome," suggested the constable, "I don't want to have to take
you. This is one of my _lenient_ nights, lucky for you."
"Wallabaloo," said the Clockwork man, faintly, "Wum--Wum--"
"Yes, we know all about that," said the constable, "but you take my tip
and go 'ome. And I don't want any back answers neither."
The Clockwork man emitted a soft whistling sound from between his
teeth, and rubbed his nose thoughtfully against the post.
"What is this?" he enquired, presently.
"Lamp-post," rejoined the other, clicking his teeth, "L.A.M.P.-P.O.S.T.
Lamp-post."
"I see--curious, only one lamp-post, though. In my country they
grow like trees, you know--whole forests of them--galaxy of
lights--necessary--illuminate multiform world."
The constable laughed gently and stroked his moustache. His theory
about the condition of the individual before him slowly developed.
"You get along," he persuaded, "before there's trouble. I don't want to
be 'arsh with you."
"Wait," said the Clockwork man, without altering his position, "moment
of lucidity--see things as they are--begin to understand--finite
world--only one thing at a time. _Now_ we've got it--a place for
everything and everything in its place."
"Just what I'm always telling my missus," reflected the constable.
The Clockwork man shifted his head very slightly, and one eye screwed
slowly round.
"I want to grasp things," he resumed, "I want to grasp _you_. So far as
I can judge, I see before me--a constable--minion of the law--curious
relic--primitive stage of civilisation--order people about finite
world--lock people up--finite cell."
"That's my job," agreed the other, with a warning glint in his red eye.
"Finite world," proceeded the Clockwork man, "fixed laws--limited
dimensions--_essentially_ limited. Now, when I'm working properly, I
can move about in all dimensions. That is to say, in addition to moving
backwards and forwards, and this way and that, I can also move X and Y,
and X^2 and Y^2."
The corners of the constable's eyes wrinkled a little. "Of course," he
ruminated, "if you're going to drag algebra into the discussion I shall
'ave to cry off. I never got beyond decimals."
"Let me explain," urged the Clockwork man, who was gaining in verbal
ease and intellectual elasticity every moment. "Supposing I was
to hit you hard. You would fall down. You would become supine. You
would assume a horizontal position at right angles to your present
perpendicularity." He gazed upwards at the tall figure of the
constable. "But if you were to hit me, I should have an alternative. I
could, for example, fall into the middle of next week."
The constable rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as though he thought this
highly likely. "Whatdyemean by that," he demanded.
"I said next week," explained the other, "in order to make my meaning
clear. Actually, of course, I don't describe time in such arbitrary
terms. But when one is in Rome, you know. What I mean to convey is that
I am capable of going not only somewhere, but also _somewhen_."
"'Ere, stow that gammon," broke in the constable, impatiently, "s'nuff
of that sort of talk. You come along with me." He spat determinedly and
prepared to take action.
But at that moment, as the constable afterwards described it to
himself, it seemed to him that there came before his eyes a sort of
mist. The figure leaning against the lamp-post looked less obvious.
He did not appear now to be a palpable individual at all, but a sort
of shadowy outline of himself, blurred and indistinct. The constable
rubbed his eyes and stretched out a hand.
"Alright," he heard a tiny, remote voice, "I'm still here--I haven't
gone yet--I _can't_ go--that's what's so distressing. I don't really
understand your world, you know--and I can't get back to my own. Don't
be harsh with me--it's so awkward--between the devil and the deep sea."
"What's up?" exclaimed the constable, startled. "What yer playing at?
Where are you?"
"Here I am," the thin voice echoed faintly. The constable wheeled round
sharply and became aware of a vague, palpitating mass, hovering in the
dark mouth of the archway. It was like some solid body subjected to
intense vibration. There was a high-pitched spinning noise.
"'Ere," said the constable, "cut that sort of caper. What's the little
game?" He made a grab at where he thought the shadowy form ought to be,
and his hand closed on the empty air.
"Gawd," he gasped, "it's a blooming ghost."
He fancied he heard a voice very indistinctly begging his pardon.
Again he clutched wildly at a shoulder and merely snapped his fingers.
"Strike a light," he muttered, under his breath, "this ain't good
enough. It ain't nearly good enough." Reaching forward he stumbled,
and to save himself from falling placed a hand against the wall. The
next moment he leapt backwards with a yell. His hand and arm had gone
clean through the filmy shape.
"Gawd, it's spirits--that's what it is."
"It's only me," remarked the Clockwork man, suddenly looming into
palpable form again. "Don't be afraid. I must apologise for my
eccentric behaviour. I tried an experiment. I thought I could get back.
You said I was to go home, you know. But I can't get far." His voice
shook a little. It jangled like a badly struck chord. "I'm a poor,
maimed creature. You must make allowances for me. My clock won't work
properly."
He began to vibrate again, his whole frame quivering and shaking.
Little blue sparks scintillated around the back part of his head. He
lifted one leg up as though to take a step forward; and then his ears
flapped wildly, and he remained with one leg in mid-air and a finger to
his nose.
The constable gave way to panic. He temporised with his duty. "Stow
it," he begged, "I can't take you to the station like this. They'll
never believe me." He took off his hat and rubbed his tingling
forehead. "Say it's a dream, mate," he added, in a whining voice. "'Ow
can I go 'ome to the missus with a tale like this. She'll say it's the
gin again. It's always my luck to strike something like this. When the
ghost came to Bapchurch churchyard, it was me wot saw it first, and
nobody believed me. You go along quietly, and we'll look over it this
time."
But the Clockwork man made no reply. He was evidently absorbed in the
effort to restart some process in himself. Presently his foot went down
on the pavement with a smart bang. There followed a succession of sharp
explosions, and the next second he glided smoothly away.
The constable returned furtively to his shelter beneath the arch,
hitched himself thoughtfully, and found half a cigarette inside his
waistcoat pocket.
"It's the gin," he ruminated, half out loud, "I'll 'ave to knock it
off. 'Tain't as though I ain't 'ad warnings enough. I've seen things
before and I shall see them again--"
He lit the cigarette end and puffed out a cloud of smoke. "I never see
'im," he soliloquised, "not _really_."