Grendon’s neglected flowerbed on his left, towards the gate where his allies waited. And for all his determination not to do so, he could not stop himself looking backwards at the leaden surface of the pond to see if anything followed him. He led the calf through the gate and stopped. No tracks but his and the calf’s showed in the strewn flour.
“Try it again,” Fox advised. “Perhaps they are taking a nap down there.”
Gregory went through the routine again, and a third and fourth time, on each occasion smoothing the flour after he had been through it. Each time, he saw Nancy watching helplessly from the house. Each time, he felt a little more sick with tension.
Yet when it happened, it took him by surprise. He had got the calf to the gate for a fifth time when Fox’s shout joined the chorus of animal noises. The pond had shown no special ripple, so the Aurigan had come from some dark-purposed prowl of the farmsuddenly, its finned footsteps were marking the flour.
Veiling with excitement, Gregory dropped the rope that led the calf and ducked to one side. Seizing up an opened bag of flour by the gatepost, he flung its contents before the advancing figure.
The bomb of flour exploded all over the Aurigan. Now it was revealed in chalky outline. Despite himself, Gregory found himself screaming in sheer fright as the ghastliness was revealed in whirling white. It was especially the size that frightened: this dread thing, remote from human form, was too big for earthly natureten feet high, perhaps twelve!
Invincible, and horribly quick, it came rushing at him with unnumbered arms striking out towards him.
Next morning, Dr. Crouchorn and his silk hat appeared at Gregory’s bedside, thanked Mrs. Fenn for some hot water, and dressed Gregory’s leg wound.
“You got off lightly, considering,” the old man said. “But if you will take a piece of advice from me, Mr. Rolles, you will cease to visit the Grendon farm. It’s an evil place and you’ll come to no good there.”
Gregory nodded. He had told the doctor nothing, except that Grendon had run up and shot him in the leg; which was true enough, but that it omitted most of the story.
“When will I be up again, doctor?”
“Oh, young flesh heals soon enough, or undertakers would be rich men and doctors paupers. A few days should see you right as rain. But I’ll be visiting you again tomorrow, until then you are to stay flat on your back and keep that leg motionless.”
“I suppose I may write a letter, doctor?”
“I suppose you may, young man.”
Directly Dr. Crouchorn had gone, Gregory took pen and paper and addressed some urgent lines to Nancy. They told her that he loved her very much and could not bear to think of her remaining on the farm; that he could not get to see her for a few days because of his leg wound; and that she must immediately come away on Hetty with a bag full of her things and stay at “The Wayfarer,” where there was a capital room for which he would pay. That if she thought anything of him, she must put the simple plan into action this very day, and send him word round from the inn when she was established there.
With some .satisfaction, Gregory read this through twice, signe’d it, and added kisses, and summoned Mrs. Fenn with the aid of a small bell she had provided for that purpose.
He told her that the delivery of the letter was a matter of extreme urgency. He would entrust it to Tommy, the baker’s boy, to deliver when his morning round was over, and would give him a shilling for his efforts. Mrs. Fenn was not enthusiastic about this, but with a little flattery was persuaded to speak to Tommy; she left the bedroom clutching both letter and shilling.
At once, Gregory began another letter, this one to Mr. H. G. Wells. It was some while since he had last addressed his correspondent, and so he had to make a somewhat lengthy report; but eventually he came to the events of the previous day.