Marcus bought his ticket. The next thing was lunch.
A porter had come up and was standing beside Caldwell. He had taken off his cap and was scratching a bald patch on his head. There were several of these bald patches, bare and shiny. Round them grew tufts of long chestnut hair. He had alopecia. Marcus found his appearance slightly disgusting. Caldwell edged away. Marcus put his ticket in his pocket and went over to them. “Come on, Caldy,” he said.
Caldwell’s expression altered instantly. “Quick,” he exclaimed. “You’ll have to run.” He darted away towards the other side of the station.
Marcus gaped. He was about to follow, but before he could move he felt a hard grip on his arm. “Here! Who are ye callin’ Scaldy?”
It was the porter. His face was furious. For a moment Marcus was completely puzzled. Then he remembered what he had said. “It’s my friend,” he explained nervously. “I mean I didn’t call anyone ‘Scaldy’. I was speaking to my friend, that chap I was with. I called him ‘Caldy’. That’s his nickname.”
“What chap?” the porter demanded. “I didn’t see no one.”
“That chap over there,” Marcus answered more confidently. “He was just beside you a moment ago.” He pointed to where Caldwell was standing just in front of the entrance to the lavatories.
The porter was not satisfied. “Just you watch yer manners,” he said. “If we was somewhere else I’d teach ye. If I see ye round here again I’ll knock yer bloody block off.” He spoke slowly and heavily, but his voice had a sort of mounting forcefulness that was frightening.
“But I wasn’t speaking to you,” Marcus protested. “I was talking to my friend”—he wasn’t quite sure how to describe Caldwell—“to my friend, that boy over there.”
The porter released him grudgingly. “I tell you I don’t see no boy. You just watch yerself. That’s all. You just watch yerself.”
Marcus drew back a step or two. He had been scared, but now that he was safe he wanted to pretend that he had felt quite cool all along. He tried to look grown-up and dignified. “I assure you you are making a mistake,” he said. “You’re suffering under a—er—misapprehension. If you go on like that you’ll probably land yourself in serious trouble.”
“G’on,” the porter told him contemptuously. “Your mouth’s too big. That’s what’s wrong wi’ ye, ye gawky gasbag.”
Marcus was baffled. He turned away and walked slowly towards Caldwell. The word nonchalant occurred to him. He hoped that he appeared nonchalant.
All the same he was angry with Caldwell. “What did you run away for?” he demanded. “Were you afraid of getting hurt?”
But Caldwell didn’t look as if he had been afraid. The accusation didn’t even in the least provoke him. “I ran away because I wanted you to come too. I didn’t want a row.”
“Well you managed to keep yourself out of it all right,” Marcus retorted. “It didn’t matter about me of course.”
“I’m sorry about you,” Caldwell said, but he was obviously trying not to laugh. Marcus felt that he had every right to be offended, though really he wasn’t any more: and when Caldwell didn’t laugh he forgave him. “Look here, Screwey,” Caldwell went on. “It’s all right. I’m going to have to do a lot of things today that’ll seem queer. Tomorrow you’ll understand, but I can’t explain now.” He dropped his voice. “Maybe you won’t like it so much when you do understand.”
Marcus made a last effort to be cross. It was unsuccessful. His sullenness was swept away and he found himself smiling. “If it’s only till tomorrow . . . .”
“Only till tomorrow,” Caldwell assured him. “Listen, I’ll tell you a secret—I’m in disguise.”
“No one would ever guess.” Marcus looked at him. “What are you like when you’re not in disguise?”
At this Caldwell did laugh and Marcus laughed too. He liked laughing and he let himself go. But all of a sudden Caldwell became grave.
“Stop that!” he whispered. “Everyone’s looking at you.”
“Looking at me,” Marcus exclaimed. “Why me?”
“Come on,” Caldwell told him. “If you stay here you’ll only get into trouble again.”
He walked away quickly and Marcus had to follow him. Caldwell went out of the station and ran across the road into Amelia Street. In Amelia Street he allowed Marcus to catch up with him. “Look here,” he said. “You’ll have to be careful. I don’t know if you saw, but the station constable was watching you. In another minute he’d have been over.”
“What could the station constable do?” Marcus inquired suspiciously.
“He could have arrested you.”
“You can’t arrest people for laughing—and why me any more than you?”
Caldwell ignored the question. “You can arrest people for being mad. . . .”
“But I’m not mad,” Marcus expostulated.
“I know you’re not, but he probably thought you were. Now don’t argue. I’ve told you I’ll explain everything tomorrow, perhaps even tonight. In the meantime you’ll just have to take my word for it. You’ve had a very narrow escape.”
“You’d think you were invisible the way you talk.”
Caldwell smiled faintly. “All right, we’ve had a very narrow escape. It was my fault of course, but you simply mustn’t be seen talking to me any more. Listen to what I say, but don’t answer unless there’s no one about—and if you meet anyone you know don’t introduce me. Pretend you don’t know me.” He raised his hand as if to put it on Marcus’s arm, but didn’t quite touch him. “Do please,” he begged. “Remember I promise to explain everything tomorrow.”
“All right,” Marcus agreed doubtfully, but this time he didn’t return Caldwell’s smile. A strange idea was in his mind. If Caldwell were invisible it would explain everything. Of course such an idea was too silly. He mustn’t let his imagination run away with him altogether.
In Wellington Place they stopped and looked about uncertainly. In the excitement Marcus had forgotten about lunch, but now the name of a restaurant caught his eye.
“I say,” he exclaimed, “what about something to eat? We might as well go in here. There’s not so much time till the train goes and it sounds all right—four-course luncheon two bob.”
Caldwell looked troubled. “I don’t think I want any,” he said. “You go on. I’ll wait for you outside.”
“I’m not going to have lunch unless you do,” Marcus told him flatly. Caldwell was queer in so many different ways. Was this something else that would be explained tomorrow? Then he remembered why Caldwell had left school. Perhaps he had no money to buy lunch. Probably the whole family was as poor as anything. Most likely the millionaire uncle didn’t help them at all—he’d have them to stay, but never give them a bean. Rich people were like that—mean as Moses. “Have lunch with me,” he suggested. “I mean, you’re having me for the week-end. It’s only fair to let me stand lunch.” He had tried to be tactful, but he didn’t think he was very good at tact. He watched Caldwell a little anxiously.
And though Caldwell refused he didn’t look offended. It was even possible that the invitation had pleased him. “No thanks,” he answered. “I’ve got sandwiches with me as a matter of fact. If you got some too we could eat them in the gardens.” He pointed towards the gardens round the City Hall. It sounded almost as if he had invented the sandwiches on the spur of the moment; but that of course was another silly idea.
So when Marcus had bought sandwiches they went into the City Hall grounds and sat down together on a seat on the west side of the building. Caldwell was fidgety and Marcus himself did not much like the idea of eating outside in such a public place. He was surprised, however, and hurt, when Caldwell moved away from him to the far end of the seat. For a moment he was inclined to give up the whole expedition, but
instead of saying anything, he opened his packet of sandwiches and took an angry bite at the first one. His mouth was dry and he felt what he was eating rather than tasted it. The action of chewing, however, calmed him: presently he felt more philosophical. Caldwell’s oddness just had to be accepted. There was no sense in being annoyed by it. He glanced along the seat and said, “What about sharing? You try some of mine and I’ll try one of yours.”
Caldwell flushed and shook his head. “No. You wouldn’t like mine. We’ll each eat our own.” He smiled and added, “That’s another of the queer things to be explained tomorrow,” and Marcus, who’d really meant to be huffed this time, smiled back rather grudgingly instead.
For a little they both munched away without speaking. Marcus had bought only ham sandwiches, and he had bought too many. He began to feel thirsty. “I’m sick of these,” he exclaimed. “I wish someone would finish them for me.”
“There’s a dog,” Caldwell pointed out. “He’ll finish them for you. The poor thing’s starving.”
Marcus whistled and the dog came up timidly, but he was too frightened to take the sandwiches from Marcus’s hand. When Marcus threw them to him he started back, though eventually he gained courage and gulped them down hungrily, never raising his tail from between his legs. “You give him yours too,” Marcus said, when the last of his own had disappeared. “You can’t want them all.”
“I’m afraid I’ve finished mine,” Caldwell answered apologetically. Sure enough, they’d all gone. Yet Marcus could have sworn that a moment before he’d had at least three left.
“You must have bolted them,” he pronounced severely. “You’ll have a pain in the train.” He broke off, listening to his own words. “I say, did you hear that?
You’ll have a pain
In the train.
It was quite by accident. I didn’t. . . .”
But Caldwell wasn’t much impressed. “Buck up,” he urged. “It’s time we were away.”
They stood up and Marcus brushed the crumbs from his clothes. He noticed that there were no crumbs on Caldwell’s clothes. He saw too by the clock on Robinson and Cleaver’s that there was no need to hurry. The train didn’t leave for another fifteen minutes.
“When we get to the station,” Caldwell instructed him, “you walk straight through. I don’t want you to have any more trouble with that porter or the station constable.”
“But what about you?” Marcus said indignantly. “Aren’t they just as likely to make trouble with you?”
“I told you I was in disguise. I am. I’m like the spy in The Thirty-nine Steps. I just alter my expression and you wouldn’t recognize me any more. Look!”
Marcus looked—and there, for a flash, was an old man with a stern, bony face. The next second—before he could even blink—Caldwell was there again with the sternness all gone and instead a half-confiding, half-impudent expression. “What d’you say to that?” he inquired.
But Marcus didn’t say anything, for he felt that something had happened which he didn’t like. He was shocked. Caldwell saw the effect he had produced and tried to remove it. “Cheer up, Screwey,” he called out. “Remember I promised to explain everything tomorrow. It’s not black magic anyhow.” Marcus noticed the slight emphasis on the word “black”.
It struck him that there was a good deal to be explained tomorrow, and he wasn’t quite sure that he was looking forward to the explanation. He suddenly realized very strongly that he was taking a definite and rather dreadful step. He was going out beyond the edge of the world he knew into another world. This other world bordered his own world and in places the two might overlap. He didn’t really know. He couldn’t know yet. But he realized that if his mother and father had any idea of what he was doing they would be horrified and would drag him back with all their might. They had no idea. They imagined he was spending an ordinary week-end at the seaside. Of course he expected to return. Caldwell had said this was only a trial run. Yet Marcus knew that after this adventure he would never be quite the same again.
They reached the station with seven minutes to spare. Marcus went through the barrier and Caldwell followed closely behind him. They went up the train till they found an empty, second-class carriage. They got in and sat down in the two corner seats on the side next to the platform. Just as the train was about to start they were joined by a red-faced man who sat down in one of the corner seats at the far side of the compartment.
CHAPTER XII
THE journey was one of the dullest Marcus had ever experienced. He had nothing to read, and every time he began a conversation Caldwell stopped him with a warning glance towards their travelling companion.
At Strabane they changed trains and for the rest of the journey they had a compartment to themselves. They had been in this second train for an hour or so, and Marcus was beginning to look forward to a substantial meal when Caldwell said, “I’m afraid Portmallagh isn’t quite the end of the journey after all. The address is Portmallagh, but actually the house is four or five miles from the station. I hope you don’t mind a bit of a walk.”
“Oh no,” Marcus responded, though he minded a good deal. He immediately felt much more hungry, and wished it hadn’t been so late. He was surprised too that no arrangement had been made to meet them. “Couldn’t we hire a car at the station?” he suggested presently.
Caldwell frowned: it was clear that he didn’t want to hire a car, though at first he didn’t seem able to think of a legitimate objection. Marcus wondered if it was again a question of expense, but Caldwell didn’t enlighten him. “I’m going to walk,” he declared. “You can do whatever you like.”
“I’ll do whatever you do,” Marcus answered, but he was annoyed. He was tired and hungry—and now there were five miles to walk—Irish miles very likely, and they were nearly twice as long as English ones. He felt exasperated with Caldwell. “And what about my suitcase?” he demanded. “Have I to lug it for five miles across country?”
“You’d better leave it in the station,” Caldwell advised. “You won’t need it. You’ll find everything you need in your bedroom,” He thought for a moment, and then went on, “D’you remember what I said about not talking when there was anyone else about?”
Marcus nodded.
“Well. You’re not very good at it. I mean you might forget again and start talking to me in the street.”
“What if I did?” Marcus inquired. “Does it matter such an awful lot?”
“It would matter,” Caldwell said. “In fact I don’t think we’d better walk together—not till we’re clear of the town that is. We’ll go out of the station as if we don’t know each other. I’ll walk fifteen or twenty yards in front. As soon as I think it’s safe I’ll tell you—in fact I’ll wait for you.”
“Safe!” Marcus echoed. “You mean it’d be dangerous to talk?”
“Oh not dangerous exactly,” Caldwell returned impatiently. “Dangerous to our plans I mean. It might spoil them.”
But the use of the word dangerous had reminded Marcus that he was engaged in an adventure. The long dreary railway journey had made him forget it. He suddenly remembered how it had begun—the dream appointment, all his excitement and hope. “I’ll do whatever you say,” he promised. “It seems very funny now, but I do want to do it right.”
It was after eight when they reached Portmallagh. They went straight through the town, and it was not until they were some two hundred yards past the last house that Caldwell let Marcus overtake him. They were on an empty, narrow, badly-made road which wound upwards towards the hills. On either side of them were small fields, enclosed by low walls of uncut stones piled loosely together. The sky was covered with thick grey clouds, and though it was not yet time for sunset, the sun was invisible, and the light had begun to fade. A chilly breeze was coming down from the hills and it looked as if there might
be rain.
Marcus didn’t feel cheerful. He wondered where they were really going, and in what sort of place he would have to spend the night. He thought of the warmth of home, and of the comfortable dinner he would just have finished, had he stayed there.
“They are expecting us, aren’t they?” he asked. “I mean they know, don’t they, that we’re coming off this train—because I’m jolly hungry.”
While he was speaking these last few words Marcus had been looking back over the town. Now, not receiving an immediate reply, he turned towards the spot where Caldwell had been standing a moment before. He wasn’t there—there was nothing but the grassy bank at the roadside and the grey stone wall on top of it. Marcus stared.
Caldwell’s voice came faintly from behind him. “I’m here,” he said.
Marcus looked. Was he there? For a moment it seemed not quite certain. Everything was grey—the road, the hills, the distant sea.
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