the inner ring or getting a job had shrunk into insignificance. It was a question of life or death. They would kill him if he annoyed them; perhaps behead him . . . oh God, if only they would really kill that monstrous little lump of torture, that lump with a face, which they kept there talking on its steel bracket. All the minor fears at Belbury—for he knew now that all except the leaders were always afraid—were only emanations from that central fear. He must get Jane; he wasn’t fighting against that now.
It must be remembered that in Mark’s mind hardly one rag of noble thought, either Christian or Pagan, had a secure lodging. His education had been neither scientific nor classical—merely “Modern.” The severities both of abstraction and of high human tradition had passed him by: and he had neither peasant shrewdness nor aristocratic honour to help him. He was a man of straw, a glib examinee in subjects that require no exact knowledge (he had always done well on Essays and General Papers) and the first hint of a real threat to his bodily life knocked him sprawling. And his head ached so terribly and he felt so sick. Luckily he now kept a bottle of whisky in his room. A stiff one enabled him to shave and dress.
He was late for breakfast but that made little difference for he could not eat. He drank several cups of black coffee and then went into the writing-room. Here he sat for a long time drawing things on the blotting-paper. This letter to Jane proved almost impossible now that it came to the point. And why did they want Jane? Formless fears stirred in his mind. And Jane of all people! Would they take her to the Head? For almost the first time in his life a gleam of something like disinterested love came into his mind; he wished he had never married her, never dragged her into this whole outfit of horrors which was, apparently, to be his life.
“Hullo, Studdock!” said a voice. “Writing to little wifie, eh?”
“Damn!” said Mark. “You’ve made me drop my pen.”
“Then pick it up, sonny,” said Miss Hardcastle, seating herself on the table. Mark did so, and then sat still, without looking up at her. Not since he had been bullied at school had he known what it was to hate and dread anyone with every nerve of his body as he now hated and dreaded this woman.
“I’ve got bad news for you, sonny,” she said presently. His heart gave a jump.
“Take it like a man, Studdock,” said the Fairy.
“What is it?”
She did not answer quite at once and he knew she was studying him, watching how the instrument responded to her playing.
“I’m worried about little wifie, and that’s a fact,” she said at last.
“What do you mean?” said Mark sharply, this time looking up. The cheroot between her teeth was still unlit, but she had got as far as taking out her matches.
“I looked her up,” said Miss Hardcastle, “all on your account, too. I thought Edgestow wasn’t too healthy a place for her to be at present.”
“What’s wrong with her?” shouted Mark.
“Ssh!” said Miss Hardcastle. “You don’t want everyone to hear.”
“Can’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
She waited for a few seconds before replying. “How much do you know about her family, Studdock?”
“Lots. What’s that got to do with it?”
“Nothing . . . queer . . . on either side?”
“What the devil do you mean?”
“Don’t be rude, honey. I’m doing all I can for you. It’s only—well, I thought she was behaving pretty oddly when I saw her.”
Mark well remembered his conversation with his wife on the morning he left for Belbury. A new stab of fear pierced him. Might not this detestable woman be speaking the truth?
“What did she say?” he asked.
“If there is anything wrong with her in that way,” said the Fairy, “take my advice, Studdock, and have her over here at once. She’ll be properly looked after here.”
“You haven’t yet told me what she said or did.”
“I wouldn’t like to have anyone belonging to me popped into Edgestow Asylum. Specially now that we’re getting our emergency powers. They’ll be using the ordinary patients experimentally, you know. Whereas if you’ll just sign this form I’ll run over after lunch and have her here this evening.”
“I shall do nothing of the sort. Specially as you haven’t given me the slightest notion what’s wrong with her.”
“I’ve been trying to tell you but you don’t let me. She kept on talking about someone who’d broken into your flat—or else met her at the station (one couldn’t make out which) and burned her with cigars. Then, most unfortunately, she noticed my cheroot, and, if you please, she identified me with this imaginary persecutor. Of course after that I could do no good.”
“I must go home at once,” said Mark, getting up.
“Here—whoa! You can’t do that,” said the Fairy, also rising.
“Can’t go home? I’ve bloody well got to, if all this is true.”
“Don’t be a fool, lovey,” said Miss Hardcastle. “Honest! I know what I’m talking about. You’re in a dam dangerous position already. You’ll about do yourself in if you’re absent without leave now. Send me. Sign the form. That’s the sensible way to do it.”
“But a moment ago you said she couldn’t stand you at any price.”
“Oh, that wouldn’t make any odds. Of course it would be easier if she hadn’t taken a dislike to me. I say, Studdock, you don’t think little Wifie could be jealous, do you?”
“Jealous? Of you?” said Mark with uncontrollable disgust.
“Where are you off to?” said the Fairy sharply.
“To see the D.D. and then home.”
“Stop. You won’t do that unless you mean to make me your enemy for life—and let me tell you, you can’t afford many more enemies.”
“Oh, go to the Devil,” said Mark.
“Come back, Studdock,” shouted the Fairy. “Wait! Don’t be a bloody fool.” But Mark was already in the hall. For the moment everything seemed to have become clear. He would look in on Wither, not to ask for leave but simply to announce that he had to go home at once because his wife was dangerously ill: he would be out of the room before Wither could reply—and then off. The further future was vague, but that did not seem to matter. He put on his hat and coat, ran upstairs and knocked at the door of the Deputy Director’s office.
There was no answer. Then Mark noticed that the door was not quite shut. He ventured to push it open a little farther, and saw the Deputy Director sitting inside with his back to the door. “Excuse me, sir,” said Mark. “Might I speak to you for a few minutes.” There was no answer. “Excuse me, sir,” said Mark in a louder voice, but the figure neither spoke nor moved. With some hesitation, Mark went into
