But MacFarlane’s cottage was empty. I found my way to the Doctor’s laboratory, and it was empty. The big wooden door of the enclosure at the back of the house (that enclosure I seemed to know so well from Paul’s description of it in the book)—that door was open; and through it I saw that the enclosure was empty too. In the center of it was a long sloping platform of wood, and that was all.
All I learned in Pitlochry, from the inhabitants, was that at a quarter to eleven or thereabouts the morning before, they had heard a loud explosive rushing sound—“exactly like the noise last summer, when Dr. McGillivray and Mr. MacFarlane and them three children went missing.”
From Mrs. Duthie, MacFarlane’s housekeeper, whom I traced in the town, I got the addresses of the three children. I went to England and called on them—Mike in London, Paul and Jacky in Dorset. They had had, all three of them, letters of farewell from MacFarlane and the Doctor, in which they explained that they were going back to Mars. Mike was disappointed that they had not asked him to go too, or that he had not had a chance to stow away again. As for the others, Paul did not seem to mind, and Jacky was positively relieved that they had not been invited!
The children hardly cared about the lack of belief in the truth of all their experiences. As Mike said: “If they don’t believe us, so much the worse for them—that’s all I say. Some folk are on our side, and they’re the ones that count.” And he added, darkly: “We know what we know, that’s what! . . .”
As you have seen, I have followed MacFarlane’s instructions in the editing and publishing of the book. I was able to fill in the few gaps, knowing his style and working from his copious notes. The serious gap at the beginning of Chapter V I have dealt with as indicated in the separate remarks I have written for it.
The book has taken six months in the printing and binding. In all that time I have looked for a possible return of my friend. There has been no sign. The little red orb of that Angry Planet of his has winked at me inscrutably as I have stared, in the night, into space, wondering and wondering. And that has been all.
Will he and the Doctor came back?—will they ever come back?
I permit myself, in conclusion, a personal gesture. Because of MacFarlane’s farewell to me, in the letter, I say farewell to him across the wide, wide spaces that separate us—just in case he should never return. Farewell, Stephen!—wherever you are, rest in peace. I shall remember, never fear.
And that is the end of the story of Stephen MacFarlane, and the end of this book, THE ANGRY PLANET. Who knows, it may someday have a sequel. For the moment it stands alone—MacFarlane and the Doctor must have taken with them the two long volumes they were working on, as explained in the text, for I have found no trace of them at Pitlochry. Until some other work is forthcoming, then, this remains as the only account of the first great flight of the Albatross.
THE END
The Angry Planet Page 19