chapter two

the wonderful cricketer

i

"we ought not to have let him play," said allingham, irritably. he was standing beside gregg in the pavilion.

"well, he would insist," said the latter, laughing lightly, "and we're at least entitled to put eleven men in the field. there he goes again! that a six for certain."

allingham watched the ball disappear, for the fourth time since the clockwork man started his innings, somewhere in the direction of a big brewery that stood mid-way between the ground and the distant town. it was an incredible hit. no one had ever achieved such colossal drives in all the history of great wymering cricket. there was a certain absurdity about the thing. already the club had been obliged to supply three extra balls, for it would have been useless to try and find those that had been lifted so far beyond the ground.

"the man's a dangerous lunatic," asserted allingham, who had not yet overcome his[pg 25] original annoyance with the strange figure, whose sudden advent had lost him his wicket. "it's uncanny, this sort of thing. you can't call it cricket."

"well, he's making runs, anyhow," rejoined gregg, his eye falling upon the score-board. "at this rate we shall stand a chance after all."

it was fortunate, perhaps, that the great wymering people took their cricket rather seriously. otherwise, they might have felt, as doctor allingham already felt, that there was something impossible about the clockwork man's performance. he had walked out to the wicket amidst comparative indifference. his peculiar gait might easily have been attributed to sheer nervousness, and his appearance, without flannels, provoked only a slight degree of merriment. when he arrived at the wicket he paused and examined the stumps with great attention, as though wondering what they were for; and it was quite a little while before he arranged himself in the correct attitude before them. he remained standing still, holding the bat awkwardly in the air, and no amount of persuasion on the part of the umpire could induce him to take centre or place his bat to the ground in the recognised fashion. he offered no explanation for his eccentric behaviour, and the fact simply had to be accepted.

[pg 26]

the game restarted. tanner, who had by this time taken eight wickets for just under a hundred runs, put down a slow, tricky one. everybody agreed, in discussing the matter afterwards, that the clockwork man never shifted his position or moved a muscle until the ball pitched, slightly to the off. nobody seems to have seen exactly what happened, but there was a sudden ear-piercing crack and a swoop of dust.

some seconds elapsed before anyone realised that the ball had been hit at all. it was the clockwork man who drew attention to the fact by gazing steadily upwards in the direction of the town. and then, suddenly, everybody was straining their eyes in the same direction to watch that little flying spot grow smaller and smaller until it seemed to merge into space. (as a matter of fact, this particular ball was discovered, three weeks later, lying in a disused yard three miles from the cricket ground.)

there was a certain amount of applause, followed by an embarrassing silence. presently someone threw another ball out into the field, and the game was resumed. but the clockwork man treated tanner's next delivery, which was a fast one, in exactly the same manner. again nobody could say exactly what happened—for the action was swifter than the quickest eye could follow—but the ball disappeared[pg 27] again, this time in the direction of a fringe of poplars far away on the horizon. again there was a lull, but the applause this time was modified. another ball was supplied, and this also was dispatched with equal force and in a third direction, almost unanimously decided by the now bewildered spectators to be the flagstaff of the church that stood in the middle of the high street, great wymering.

by this time a certain sense of panic was beginning to be displayed by the restless attitudes of the fielders; and the spectators, instead of leaning against the barriers, stood about in groups discussing the most extraordinary cricketing event of their lives. there was much head shaking and harking back to precedent among the old cronies present, but it was generally agreed that such hitting was abnormal. indeed, it was something outside the pale of cricket altogether.

"if everybody was to start 'itting like that," pronounced samuel bynes, a local expert, "there wouldn't be no sense in cricket. it ain't in the game." and he spat decisively as though to emphasise his opinion that such proficiency should be deplored rather than commended.

"you're right, sam," said george bynes, who had hit up many a century for his town in bygone days, "tain't cricket. else it's a[pg 28] fluke; the man didn't ought to be allowed to hold bat in his hand. it's spoiling other folks' sport."

attention was diverted by something of minor importance, that showed the clockwork man in an altogether new and puzzling light. there had been some delay over the procuring of the third ball, and when this was forthcoming the over was called. the fielders changed about, but the clockwork man made no attempt to move and manifested no interest in the immediate proceedings. he remained, with the bat in his hands, as though waiting for another ball to be delivered.

"seems as though 'e's only 'alf there," commented mr. bynes, noticing this incident.

"dreaming like," suggested his companion.

there was further delay. the bowler at the other end objected to the position of the clockwork man. he argued, reasonably enough, that the non-participating batsman ought to stand quite clear of the wicket. the umpire had to be consulted, and, as a result of his decision, the clockwork man was gently but firmly induced to move further away. he then remained, in the same attitude, at the extreme edge of the crease. his obtuseness was certainly remarkable, and comment among the spectators now became general and a trifle heated.

[pg 29]

"play," said the umpire.

the batsman at the other end was a stout, rather plethoric individual. he missed the first two balls, and the third struck him full in the stomach. there was a sympathetic pause whilst mr. bumpus, who was well known and respected in the town, rubbed this rather prominent part of his anatomy to the accompaniment of fish-like gaspings and excusable ejaculations. mr. bumpus was middle-aged and bald as well as corpulent, and although he did his best to endure the mishap with sportsman-like stoicism, the dismay written upon his perspiring features was certainly an excitant to mirth. some of the fielders turned their heads for a few moments as though to spare themselves a difficult ordeal; but on the whole there was discreet silence.

it was for this reason, perhaps, that the action of the clockwork man was all the more noticeable. to this day, not one of the persons present is certain as to whether or not this eccentric individual actually did laugh; but everybody is sure that such was his intention. there issued from his mouth, without a moment's warning, a series of harsh, metallic explosions, loud enough to be heard all over the ground. one compared the noise to the ringing of bells hopelessly cracked and out of tune. others described it as being similar to[pg 30] the sound produced by some person passing a stick swiftly across an iron railing. there was that suggestion of rattling, of the impingement of one hard thing against another, or the clapping together of steel plates. it was a horrible, discordant sound, brassy and resonant, varied between the louder outbursts by a sort of whirring and humming. those who ventured to look at the clockwork man's face during this extraordinary performance said that there was little change of expression. his mouth had opened slightly, but the laugh, if indeed it could be described as anything but a lugubrious travesty of human mirth, seemed to proceed from far down within him. and then the hideous clamour stopped as abruptly as it began. the clockwork man had not altered his position during the proceedings; but arthur withers, who was watching him with feverish intensity from the pavilion, fancied that his ears flapped twice just after the noise had subsided.

it was an unpleasant episode, but fortunately the object of such misplaced and ugly hilarity scarcely seemed to notice the outrage. mr. bumpus was not lacking in courage. after a few more groans and sighs, and a final rubbing of that part of him that had been injured, he placed himself in preparation to receive the next ball. the spectators loudly applauded[pg 31] him, and the bowler, perhaps unwilling to risk another misadventure, moderated his delivery. mr. bumpus struck the ball lightly, and it sped away through the slips. a fielder darted after it, but there was ample time for a run. "come on!" shouted mr. bumpus, and started to puff and blow his way down the pitch.

but the clockwork man paid not the slightest heed to the command. he remained, statuesque, a figure of gross indifference. mr. bumpus pulled himself up sharply, mid-way between the two wickets; his red face was a study in bewilderment. he slid a few paces, cast one imploring glance in the direction of the clockwork man, and then rushed desperately back to his own crease. but he was too late; his wicket had been put down.

etiquette plays an important part in the noble game of cricket. it may be bad form to refuse an obvious run; but to complain of your partner in public is still worse. besides, mr. bumpus was too aghast for speech, and his stomach still pained him. he walked very slowly and with great dignity back to the pavilion, and his annoyance was no doubt amply soothed by the loud cheers that greeted his return. gregg came out to meet him, with a rather shamefaced smile upon his features.

"i'm sorry," he murmured, "our recruit[pg 32] seems to be a little awkward. i don't think he quite understands."

"he can hit," said mr. bumpus, mopping his brow, "but he's certainly an eccentric sort of individual. i called to him to run, and apparently he did not or would not hear me."

gregg caught hold of arthur withers, who was just going out to bat. "look here," he said, "just tell our friend that he must run. i don't think he quite grasps the situation."

"no," said arthur, slowly, "i don't think he does. he's rather a peculiar sort of person. i—i—spoke to him. he—he—says he's a clockwork man."

"oh," said gregg, and his face became blank. "anyhow, just tell him that he must run when he's called."

arthur walked out to the wicket. his usual knee-shaking seemed less pronounced, and he felt more anxious about the clockwork man than about himself. he paused as he drew near to him, and whispered in an ear—rather fearfully, for he dreaded a recurrence of the ear-flapping business. "the captain says will you run, please, when you're asked."

the clockwork man turned his head slightly to the right, and his mouth opened very wide. but he said nothing.

"you have to run," repeated arthur, in louder tones.

[pg 33]

the other flapped an ear. arthur hastened away. nothing was worth while risking an exhibition in public such as he had witnessed in comparative seclusion. he supposed there was something about the clockwork man really phenomenal, something that was beyond his own rather limited powers of comprehension. perhaps cleverer people than himself might understand what was the matter with this queer being. he couldn't.

he took his place at the wicket. the first ball was an easy one, and he managed to hit it fair and square to mid-on. scarcely hoping for response, he called to the clockwork man, and began to run. to his immense astonishment, the latter passed him half-way down the pitch, his legs jumping from side to side, his arms swinging round irresponsibly. it might be said that his run was merely an exaggeration of his walk. arthur dumped his bat down quickly, and turned. as he looked up, on the return journey, he was puzzled by the fact that there was no sign of his partner. he paused and looked around him.

there had been an outburst of derisive cheering when the clockwork man actually commenced to run, but this now swelled up into a roar of merriment. and then arthur saw what had happened. the clockwork man had not stopped at the opposite wicket. he[pg 34] had run straight on, past the wicket-keeper, past the fielders, and at the moment when arthur spotted him he was making straight for the white sheet at the back of the ground. no wonder the crowd laughed! it was so utterly absurd; and the clockwork man ran as though nothing could stop him, as though, indeed, he had been wound up and was without power to check his own ridiculous progress. the next moment he collided with the sheet; but even this could only prevent him from going further. his legs continued to work rapidly with the action of running, whilst his body billowed into the sagging sheet.

the spectators gave themselves up wholly to the fun. it must have seemed to them that this extraordinary cricketer was also gifted with a sense of humour, however eccentric; and that his nonsensical action was intended by way of retaliation for the ironic cheers that had greeted his running at all. nobody, except arthur withers, realised that the clockwork man run thus far because for some reason he had been unable to stop himself. it may be remarked here that many of the clockwork man's subsequent performances had this same accidental air of humour; and that even his most grotesque attitudes gave the observer an impression of some wild practical joke. he was so far human, in appearance and[pg 35] manner, in spite of those peculiar internal arrangements, which will be dealt with later, that his actions produced an instantaneous appeal to the comic instinct; and in laughing at him people forgot to take him seriously.

but arthur withers, still feeling a certain sense of duty towards that helpless figure battening himself against the sheet, ran up to him. he decided that it would be useless to try and explain matters. the clockwork man was obviously quite irresponsible. arthur laid his hands on his shoulders and turned him round, much in the way that a child turns a mechanical toy after it has come to rest. thus released, the running figure proceeded back towards the wicket, followed close at heels by arthur, who hoped, by means of a push here and a shove there, to guide him back to the pavilion and so out of harm's way.

but in this attempt he was unexpectedly thwarted. the clockwork man recovered himself; he ran straight back to the wicket and then stopped dead. the umpire was in the act of replacing the bails, for the wicket had been put down, and, fast as this eccentric cricketer had run in the first place, he had not been quick enough to reach the crease in time. by all the rules of the game, and beyond the shadow of doubt, he had been "run out." he now regarded the stumps meditatively, with[pg 36] a finger jerked swiftly against his nose, as though recognising a former state of consciousness. and then, with a swift movement, he took up his position in readiness to receive the ball.

this was too much for the equanimity of the spectators. shout after shout volleyed along the line of the hurdles. the calm deliberateness of the clockwork man, in so reinstating himself, fairly crowned all his previous exhibitions. and the fact that he took no notice of the merriment at his expense, but simply waited for something to happen, permitted the utmost license. the crowd rocked itself in unrestrained hilarity.

but a second later there was stony silence. for the thing that happened next was as unexpected as it was startling. nobody, save perhaps dr. allingham, anticipated that the clockwork man was capable of adding violence to eccentricity; he looked harmless enough. but apparently there lurked a d?monic temper behind those bland, meaningless features. the thing happened in a trice; and all that followed occupied but a few catastrophic seconds. the umpire had stepped up to the clockwork man in order to explain to him that he was expected to retire from the wicket. not hearing any coherent reply, he emphasised his request by placing a hand suggestively on the other's[pg 37] shoulder. instantly, something blade-like flashed in the stammering air, a loud thwack broke upon the silence, and the unfortunate umpire lay prostrate. he had gone down like a log of wood.

pandemonium ensued. the scene of quiet play was transformed into a miniature battle-field. the fielders rushed in a body at the clockwork man, only to go down one after the other, like so many ninepins. they lay, stunned and motionless. the clockwork man spun round like a teetotum, his bat flashing in the sun, whilst the flannelled figures flying from all parts of the field approached him, only to be sent reeling and staggering to earth. some dodged for a moment only to be caught on the rebound. dust flew up, and to add to the whirl and confusion the unearthly noise that had so startled arthur withers broke out again, with terrific force, like the engine of a powerful motor suddenly started.

"i told you he was mad!" shouted allingham, as he and gregg leapt through the aperture of the pavilion and dashed to the rescue.

but the clockwork man suddenly seemed panic-stricken. just for one moment he surveyed the prostrate figures lying about on the grass like so many sacks. then he sent the bat flying in the direction of the pavilion and rushed straight for the barrier of hurdles.

[pg 38]

the spectators fled with one accord. allingham and gregg doubled up in hot pursuit. arthur withers, who had mustered the wit to fall down rather than to be knocked down, picked himself up quickly and joined them.

"it's alright," he gasped, "he—he—won't be able to climb the hurdles."

but there was no accounting for the activities of the clockwork man. at a distance of about a yard from the barrier his whole body took off from the ground, and he literally floated in space over the obstacle. it was not jumping; it was more like flying. he landed lightly upon his feet, without the least difficulty; and, before the onlookers could recover from their amazement, this extraordinary personage had shot like a catapult, straight up the path along which he had travelled so precariously half an hour before. in a few seconds his diminutive figure passed into the horizon, leaving a faint trail of dust and the dying echo of that appalling noise.

"my god," exclaimed gregg, grasping a hurdle to steady himself, "it's it's—incredible."

allingham couldn't say a word. he stood there panting and swallowing quickly. arthur withers caught up to them.

"he—he—goes by machinery, sir. he's a clockwork man."

[pg 39]

"don't be a damned fool," the doctor burst out, "you're talking through your hat."

gregg was listening very acutely.

"but it is so," protested arthur. "you didn't see him as i did. he was like nothing on earth—and then he began to work. just like a motor starting. and then that noise began. i'm sure there's something inside him, something that goes wrong sometimes."

he was still a little sorry for the clockwork man.

"that's my conviction," he gasped out, too excited and breathless for further speech.

"i think," said gregg, with curious calmness, "i think we had better warn the police. he's likely to be dangerous."