Shortly after midnight the Doctor's expectant ear caught the sound of
someone alighting from a bicycle. A moment later footsteps clattered
down the area stairs, and Gregg, still attired in his cricket flannels,
appeared at the open door. The smile faded from his lips as he beheld
the drawn, agitated features of the Doctor.
"Hulloa," he exclaimed, "you look pretty bent."
The Doctor shut the door carefully and lifted a warning finger. "Gregg,
this thing must never be known. It must never go beyond ourselves."
"Why not?" Gregg sat down on the couch and twisted his hat idly between
his fingers.
"Because," said the Doctor, trying hard to control the twitching of his
features, "it's too terrible. What I have seen to-night is not fit for
mortal eye to behold. It's inhuman. It's monstrous!"
He sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. The presence
of another person brought a kind of relief to his pent up feelings. He
let himself go.
"Oh, God, it's the end of all things, Gregg. It's the end of all sane
hopes for the human race. If it is true that in the future man _has_
come to this, then the whole of history is a farce and mockery. The
universe is no more than a box of conjuring tricks, and man is simply
a performing monkey. I tell you, Gregg, this discovery, if it is made
known, will blast everything good in existence."
"Stop a minute," exclaimed Gregg, arising in sheer astonishment, "you
seem to be upset. I don't understand what you are raving about."
The Doctor stabbed a finger wildly in the direction of the coal cellar.
"If you had seen what I have seen to-night, you would understand. You
would be feeling exactly as I am now."
Gregg placed a hand soothingly upon his friend's shoulder. "Why didn't
you send for me before? You're over-strung. This experience has been
too much for you."
"I grant you that," said the Doctor, hollowly, "I know only too well
what effect this shock will have upon me. You are a younger man than I
am, Gregg. I am glad you have been spared this sight."
"But where is the Clockwork man?" demanded Gregg, presently.
The Doctor's finger again indicated the coal cellar. "He--he's in
there--I--I managed to stop him. He--he's in a kind of sleep."
And then, as Gregg took a leisurely stride towards the door, as though
to investigate matters on his own, the Doctor caught hold of his
sleeve. "Don't do that. Listen, first, to what I have to tell you. I
rather fancy it will take the edge off your curiosity."
Gregg swung round and sat on the couch. He lit a cigarette. He made no
effort to conceal his sense of superior self-possession. The doctor
took the cigarette that was proffered to him, and leaning forward tried
to take a light from his companion. But his hand shook so violently
that he could not manage the simple operation. In the end Gregg lit
another match and held it with a steady hand.
As the Doctor told the story of what had taken place so recently in
the little room, Gregg sat nursing an uplifted knee between his hands
and with the cigarette drooping idly from his lips. Once or twice he
interrupted with a gesture, but if he experienced astonishment he never
betrayed the fact. Even the description of the sudden growth of beard
did not disturb the look of calm enquiry upon his hard-set features. He
seemed to be following something in his mind that elucidated the facts
as they came out; and as the narrative drew to a close he nodded his
head very slightly, as though having found corroboration for these
strange events in some theory of his own, and _vice versa_. When at
last the Doctor reached the climax of his tale there was no horror
written upon Gregg's countenance. He remained impassive, a sort of
buffer against which the Doctor's hysterical phrases recoiled in vain.
There was a moment's silence. The Doctor had been talking so rapidly,
and he had been so swayed by his feelings, that he had scarcely noticed
the other's demeanour. When he looked up Gregg was walking with a
measured tread up and down the floor. He had dropped his cigarette, and
his mouth was formed in the act of whistling. The Doctor started to his
feet.
"What! You believe it then? You, who have not seen this mystery--you
believe it?"
"Why not?" Gregg paused in his walk and looked genuinely surprised.
"But--surely!" The Doctor sat down again and groaned. "Surely you
cannot accept such a story without a sign of incredulity? What state of
mind is that which can believe such things without having seen them?
Why, you credulous fool, I might have invented the whole thing!"
Gregg smiled. "I am one of those who are prepared to accept the
miraculous at secondhand. Besides, you forget that I have already
witnessed some of the Clockwork man's manifestations of ingenuity.
Nothing that you have told me causes me more astonishment than I
experienced on the first occasion we had reason to believe the
Clockwork man was--what he is. It is all, to my mind, quite natural and
logical."
"But you must admit," interpolated the Doctor, "that I might be
deceiving you. I could easily do it, just to prove you in the wrong. I
can assure you that nothing would suit my humour better at the present
moment! Instead of which it is I who appear the fool. I never wanted
to believe in the Clockwork man. I was angry with you for believing in
him. Admit that it would be a just revenge on my part to hoax you."
Gregg shook his head. "You might try to do such a thing, but you would
certainly fail. Besides, I know you are telling the truth. Your manner
plainly shows it."
He sat down on the couch again. "Perhaps it is just as well that I did
believe in the Clockwork man from the first; for while you have been
going through these unpleasant experiences I have been thinking very
hard, and have actually arrived at certain conclusions which are, I
venture to think, amply confirmed by your story. That is why I have
shown no surprise at your statements. The Clockwork man is indeed true
to his type as I have imagined him; he is the very embodiment of the
future as I have long envisaged it."
At these words the Doctor threw up his arms in despair. "Then I write
myself down a fool," he exclaimed, "I had no such wild hope, or such
equally wild despair, with regard to the future of the human race. I
admit that I have been behindhand. These matters have slipped from my
grasp. The calls of ordinary life have claimed me, as they must every
man past his first youth. But I am ready to believe anything that can
be explained."
"It is precisely because the Clockwork man can be explained,"
interrupted Gregg, with some eagerness, "that I find it easy to believe
him."
"But how can you explain him?" protested the Doctor, with some trace of
his old irritation. "You have not even seen the clock."
"Your description of it is quite good enough for me," rejoined the
other, with emphasis, "I can see it in my mind's eye. Moreover, it
was obvious to me, from the first, that there must exist some such
instrument in order that the Clockwork man might be adjusted when
necessary. One deduced that."
The Doctor shuddered slightly, and leaned his head upon his arm.
"Consider yourself lucky that you never did see the clock, and that
you never had the opportunity of testing its efficiency. It is all very
well for you to wax enthusiastic over your theories, but facts are hard
masters."
"Precisely," said Gregg, who was beginning to grow impatient with the
other's manner, "and since the facts have revealed themselves, what
is the use of trying to evade them? Here we have a Clockwork man, a
creature entirely without precedent, for there is no record of his
having existed in the past, and so far as we know there has been no
successful attempt to create such a being in our own times. Everything
favours my original hypothesis; that he has in some way, and probably
through some fault in the mechanism that controls him, lapsed into
these earlier years of human existence. That seems to me feasible.
If man has indeed conquered time and space, then the slightest
irregularity in this new functioning principle would result in a
catastrophe such as we must suppose has happened to the Clockwork man.
It is more than probable that a slight adjustment would result in his
speedy return to conditions more proper to his true state."
"But this does not explain him," broke in the Doctor, bitterly.
"Wait, I am coming to that. We have to get the facts firmly in our
heads. First of all, there is a mechanism, a functioning principle,
which causes certain processes to take place, and enables the Clockwork
man to behave as no ordinary human being ever could behave. What that
functioning principle is we do not yet know; we can only posit its
existence--we must do that--and draw what inference we can from its
results. Now, the effect of the functioning principle is clear to
me, if the cause is hidden. Obviously, the effect of the mechanism
is to accelerate certain processes in the purely human part of the
Clockwork man's organism to such an extent that what would take
years, or even generations, to take place in ordinary mortals, takes
place instantaneously. Witness the growth of beard, the changes
in appearance, the total collapse. Obviously, these physiological
variations occur in the case of the Clockwork man very rapidly; and
by adjustment any change may be produced. The problem of his normal
existence hangs upon the very careful regulation of the clock, which,
I take it, is the keyboard of the functioning principle. But what
concerns us at present is the fact that this power of rapid growth
makes the Clockwork man able to act in complete defiance of our
accepted laws relating to cause and effect."
"We had an argument about that," said the Doctor, dismally. "He tried
to explain that to me, but I must say he was no more successful than
you are. The whole thing is a complete haze."
But Gregg took little notice of the interruption. "Once you have
grasped this idea of a new sort of relativity," he continued, "once
you have realised that the Clockwork man behaves in accordance with
laws quite different to our own, you can proceed to find some basis
for such a phenomenon. The Clockwork man behaves in a certain manner;
therefore there must be some cause, however improbable it may appear to
us, to account for such behaviour. Now, what is the cause of ordinary
human action? It is something equally unaccountable. We can explain it
in terms of a system, of a series of processes, but we do not really
know what is the secret spring upon which the human animal moves. We
can describe the machinery of the human body, but we do not really know
what life is, or what is the real nature of the force that produces our
actions. So far we know as much about the Clockwork man as we do about
ourselves. The difference is confined to processes."
"All this is obvious," said the Doctor, "I have seen enough to convince
me of that."
"Precisely. And because you have seen more than I have you are less
able to understand the matter than I am. You cannot see the wood for
the trees. Again, you were frightened out of your life. Your scientific
instincts were stampeded. You saw only a hideous malformation, a
neural freak, a preposterous human machine. It was inconceivable that
you should have been able to think clearly under the circumstances.
Consider the matter in the sober aftermath of reason, and you must
agree with me that it is really not more extraordinary that a man
should function by mechanical means than that he should function at
all."
"I don't agree," retorted the Doctor, with unexpected sharpness. "I
think it is far more amazing that a human being should function as he
does, than that he should be made to function differently by mechanical
means. The Clockwork man is no more wonderful, in that sense, than you
or I. He is simply different--damnably different."
Gregg laughed softly. "Well, that is only another way of saying what
I have already said. You seem to regard the Clockwork man as a sort
of offence; he upsets your sense of decency. To me he is profoundly
interesting. I accept him, and all that his curious constitution
implies. Think of the triumph for the human brain. For man, thanks
to this stupendous invention of the clock, has actually enlarged the
universe."
"A multiform world," murmured the Doctor, recollecting the Clockwork
man's description, "a world of many dimensions."
"Yes," echoed Gregg enthusiastically, "a multiform world. A world in
which man moves as he will, grows as he will, behaves in every way
exactly as he wills. A world set free! Think of what it means!"
"Stop," cried the Doctor, and there was almost anger in his features
as he leapt to his feet. "It is you who are raving now. How can there
exist such a world? And what plight has overtaken the human race,
that it is now dependent upon mechanical contrivance for its actions!
But, no. I refuse to believe that the Clockwork man represents the
final destiny of man. He is a myth, a caricature, at the most a sort
of experiment. This multiform world of which he talks so glibly is an
extravagant boast. Besides, who would care to live in such a world,
and with every action conditioned by an exact mechanism? Your optimism
about this extraordinary affair amazes me even more than the thing
itself. At the best what it means is that man has come to final ruin,
not that he has achieved any real mastery of life. If all the creatures
in the world eight thousand years hence are indeed clockwork men, then
it is because some monstrous tyranny has come to birth in the race of
man; it is because some diabolical plan has been evolved to make all
men slaves. The clock may make man independent of time and space, but
it obviously condemns him to an eternity of slavery. That is why I am
still loath to believe in the evidence of my own eyes. That is why any
explanation of this phenomenon is better than the obvious one!"
"But the proof," interjected Gregg, "you cannot escape from the facts.
There lies the Clockwork man. Explain him otherwise if you can."
"I cannot," groaned the Doctor, his face hidden between his hands.
And then he looked up quickly, and his eyes cleared. "Perhaps, after
all, that is the consoling feature of the affair. If the Clockwork man
were really capable of explanation, then indeed there would be an end
to all sanity. But since he is inexplicable, there still remains the
chance that we may be able to put all thought of him out of our minds.
I tell you, Gregg, I can live this down, I can forget this night of
horror; but not if there is an explanation to fit the case. Not if I
can satisfy my reason!"
"As I remarked before," Gregg resumed, coolly, "you were not in a fit
state to carry out the investigation. You could not bring yourself
to accept even the obvious. Fortunately you remembered some of the
most salient facts. Those tubes fitted into the clock, for example; I
regard those as highly suggestive. Think of it, Allingham! The energy
of generations compressed into a tube and so utilised by a single
individual. For that is what must have happened in the year 8000. The
scientists must have discovered means of gathering up and storing
nervous energy. Everybody has this extra reserve of force. That solved
one problem. Then there was the question of a better distribution. They
had to invent a new nervous system. If we ever have an opportunity of
examining the Clockwork man thoroughly, we shall find out what that
system is. Speaking in rough terms, we may assume that it is probably
an enlargement of the compass of what we call afferent and efferent
impulses. There will also be new centres, both of reflex and voluntary
action. Each impulse, in this new system, has a longer range of
effectiveness, a greater duration in time."
Gregg paused abruptly, as though arriving at some crisis in his
thought. "It must be so. There is no other explanation to cover what
we have seen. Man, as we know him, is no more or less than what his
nervous system allows him to be. A creature of action, his actions
are nevertheless strictly prescribed by the limitations of his neural
organism. In the case of the Clockwork man we are confronted by the
phenomenon of an enormous extension of nervous activity. One imagines
terrific waves of energy unimpeded--or, relatively unimpeded--by the
inhibitory processes that check expenditure in the case of a normal
organism. Of course, there must be inhibition of some sort, but the
whole system of the Clockwork man is on so grand a scale that his
actions take place in a different order of time. His relapses, as he
describes them, are simply the parallel of that degeneration of tissue
which accompanies ordinary human fatigue. That is why his ineptitude
appears ghastly to us. Again, his perceptions would be different. He
would see relatively far more of the universe, and his actions would
carry him further and further into the future, far beyond those laws
which we have fashioned for ourselves, in accordance with our neural
limitations. For, just as man is at the mercy of his nervous system,
so his conception of universal laws is the natural outcome of nervous
apprehension; and the universe is no more or less than what we think it
is."
In his growing excitement Gregg rose and paced the floor of the room,
walking away from the Doctor. He did not hear the slight snigger
that broke from the latter; nor had he observed any signs of deeper
incredulity in the features of his friend that might have led him to
moderate his enthusiasm. He continued, in an exultant voice. "Think
of what this means! We know the future! The accidental appearance of
the Clockwork man may save the human race generations of striving and
effort in a wrong direction. Or rather, it will save us from passing
through the intermediate stages _consciously_, for everything has
already happened, and the utmost we can hope is to escape the knowledge
of its happening. We shall be able to take a great leap forward into
the future. Once we have grasped the principle of the Clockwork man,
the course of humanity is clear. It may still be several thousands of
years before the final achievement, but we can at least begin."
"_NO_," thundered the Doctor, suddenly leaping to his feet. "By
heavens, no. Not that!"
Gregg swung round with a gesture of annoyance. Both men were now
pitched to their highest key, and every word that was spoken seemed to
be charged with terrific import.
"Why not?" said Gregg, catching his breath.
The Doctor's reply was equally breathless. "Because I, for one, refuse
to accept such a responsibility. If this monstrosity is indeed the type
of the future, then I reject the future. I will be no party to any
attempt to reproduce him--for that, I can see, is what lurks in your
mind. You would have us all clockwork men before our time! But I tell
you, rather than that should happen, rather than the human race should
be robbed of a few more generations of freedom, I will take steps to
prevent it ever being known that the Clockwork man has paid us this
visit. I will hide him. Not even you shall set eyes on him again. He
shall remain an unfathomable mystery. No pagan priest ever guarded the
sacred mysteries of life from an unthinking populace as I shall this
enigma sprung from the womb of time! Nobody shall know. He shall remain
in my keeping, a memorial to the final fall of man!"
"But why do you persist in adopting this attitude," demanded Gregg, in
tones of frank disgust, "it is so frightfully reactionary."
The doctor pulled at his moustache. "I have no use for such phrases,"
he muttered, angrily, and began striding up and down the narrow floor
space. Gregg leaned against the wall, his expression still critical.
"I won't have him," the Doctor's voice broke out again, and there was a
kind of sob in it, "I won't have the Clockwork man at any price. Every
nerve in my body cries out against him. He is the scandal of the ages.
He must be hushed up, hidden--forgotten."
"That is already impossible. His exploits are the talk of the village."
"Let them talk," cried the Doctor, beating his head with his closed
fist. "In heaven's name, let them talk the thing into a nine days
wonder. Let them think he's the devil--anything rather than that they
should know the truth. There may be a hundred explanations of this
mystery, and yours may be the right one; I only know that I repudiate
it. I cannot escape from the evidence of my own eyes; but there is
something in me that denies the Clockwork man. He sticks in my gorge.
Call me what you will; I am not to be shaken with phrases. The whole of
man's past shrieks out against this monstrous incubus of the future. Do
not ask me to offer my own explanation of the phenomenon. I have none.
In vain I have stretched my brain to its bursting point in order to
solve this problem. You, apparently, are ready to accept the Clockwork
man as a foregone conclusion. Time alone will reveal which of us is
nearer the truth."
Gregg smiled. "After all," he remarked, allowing a suitable pause to
follow the Doctor's impassioned words, "it will not be for you or me
to decide the matter. Our humble part will be to produce the object
of the problem. Wiser men than ourselves will have to interpret its
significance."
This statement might have ended the argument for the time being, had
not an accident occurred that altered the whole complexion of the
affair. Gregg had the wisdom to see that his friend was literally
beside himself with fright and repugnance; he would have been quite
content to await another opportunity for the discussion to be renewed.
But at that moment the Doctor gave a cry of surprise, and stooping
down picked up an object from the floor. The next moment both men were
standing side by side, examining with feverish interest a further clue
to the mystery.
The object that the Doctor picked up from the floor was an
oblong-shaped piece of metal, almost as thin as paper, and slightly
bluish in colour. Upon its surface, printed in red embossed letters,
was the following matter:--