I
Late that evening the Doctor returned from a confinement case, which
had taken him to one of the outlying villages near Great Wymering. The
engine was grinding and straining as the car slowly ascended a steep
incline that led into the town; and the Doctor leaned forward in the
seat, both hands gripping the wheel, and his eyes peering through the
wind-screen at the stretch of well-lit road ahead of him.
He had almost reached the top of the hill, and was about to change his
gear, when a figure loomed up out of the darkness and made straight
for the car. The Doctor hastily jammed his brake down, but too late to
avert a collision. There was a violent bump; and the next moment the
car began running backwards down the hill, followed by the figure, who
had apparently suffered no inconvenience from the contact.
Aware that his brakes were not strong enough to avert another disaster,
the Doctor deftly turned the car sideways and ran backwards into the
hedge. He leapt out into the road and approached the still moving
figure.
"What the devil!"
The figure stopped with startling suddenness, but offered no
explanation.
"What are you playing at?" the Doctor demanded, glancing at the
crumpled bonnet of his car. "It's a wonder I didn't kill you."
And then, as he approached nearer to that impassive form, staring at
him with eyes that glittered luridly in the darkness, he recognised
something familiar about his appearance. At the same moment he realised
that this singular individual had actually run into the car without
apparently incurring the least harm. The reflection rendered the Doctor
speechless for a few seconds; he could only stare confusedly at the
Clockwork man. The latter remained static, as though, in his turn,
trying to grasp the significance of what had happened.
It occurred to the Doctor that here was an opportunity to investigate
certain matters.
"Look here," he broke out, after a collected pause, "once and for all,
who are you?"
A question, sharply put, generally produced some kind of effect upon
the Clockwork man. It seemed to release the mechanism in his brain that
made coherent speech possible. But his reply was disconcerting.
"Who are you?" he demanded, after a preliminary click or two.
"I am a doctor," said Allingham, rather taken back, "a medical man. If
you are hurt at all--"
An extra gleam of light shone in the other's eye, and he seemed to
ponder deeply over this statement.
"Does that mean that you can mend people?" he enquired, at last.
"Why yes, I suppose it does," Allingham admitted, not knowing what else
to say.
The Clockwork man sighed, a long, whistling sigh. "I wish you would
mend me. I'm all wrong you know. Something has got out of place, I
think. My clock won't work properly."
"Your clock," echoed the doctor.
"It's rather difficult to explain," the Clockwork man continued, "but
so far as I remember, doctors were people who used to mend human beings
before the days of the clock. Now they are called mechanics. But it
amounts to the same thing."
"If you will come with me to my surgery," the Doctor suggested, with as
much calmness as he could assume, "I'll do my best for you."
The Clockwork man bowed stiffly. "Thank you. Of course, I'm a little
better than I was, but my ears still flap occasionally."
The Doctor scarcely heard this. He had turned aside and stooped down
in order to rewind the engine of his car. When he looked up again he
beheld an extraordinary sight.
The Clockwork man was standing by his side, a comic expression of pity
and misgiving animating his crude features. With one hand he was softly
stroking the damaged bonnet of the car.
"Poor thing," he was saying, "It must be suffering dreadfully. I _am_
so sorry."
Allingham paused in the turning of the handle and stared, aghast, at
his companion. There was no mistaking the significance of the remark,
and it had been spoken in tones of strange tenderness. Rapidly there
swept across the Doctor's mind a sensation of complete conviction.
If there was any further proof required of the truth of Gregg's
conjecture, surely it was expressed in this apparently insane and yet
obviously sincere solicitude on the part of the Clockwork man for an
inanimate machine? He recognised in the mechanism before him a member
of his own species!
The thing was at once preposterous and rational, and the Doctor almost
yielded to a desire to laugh hysterically. Then, with a final jerk of
the handle, he started the engine and opened the door of the car for
the Clockwork man to enter. The latter, after making several absurd
attempts to mount the step in the ordinary manner, stumbled and fell
head foremost into the interior. The Doctor followed, and picking up
the prostrate figure, placed him in a sitting posture upon the seat. He
was extraordinarily light, and there was something about the feel of
his body that sent a thrill of apprehension down the Doctor's spine. He
was thoroughly frightened by now, and the manner in which his companion
took everything for granted only increased his alarm.
"I know one thing," the Clockwork man remarked, as the car began to
move, "I'm devilish hungry."