第 8 页

"And I have had no further word from either Watson or Challenger," he said to Martha. "Small wonder—the telephone service seems completely disrupted by a great flood of calls. Well, I shall leave one copy of my notes here."

He stuck them to the mantelpiece with a jacknife. Martha winced as the point of the blade drove into the varnished wood, but he did not seem to notice.

"The third cylinder's arrival has been reported," he went on. "It fell last night, again in Surrey. Apparently they are able to concentrate their landfalls within a few miles of each other and consolidate a position from which to operate."

"At least they have not come to London," offered Martha, though with no great optimism.

"But it takes no great deductive reasoning to see that this hopelessly one-sided war of the worlds will move toward us," he replied. "They are well aware that this is the largest city, the largest center of population on earth, and they mean to capture it."

"But London," she said. "Great, powerful London. How can London fall to them?"

"That, my dear Martha, you and I shall not be here to witness. Both Billy and your maid have gone to safe distances, and so shall we go. Pack some things, my dear, while I do the same."

"Yes, yes," she agreed quickly, "but where shall we go?"

"If you approve, we shall take our own holiday up at Donnithorpe, where we have not been for almost twenty-five years. You told me that your uncle is now landlord of the inn there, and my old friend Trevor is justice of the peace, like his father before him."

Yet again he went to the post office, where he read more tersely wired reports of Martians on the move. Five of them, it seemed, came with each cylinder. That meant fifteen thus far, with more on the way. One of their fighting-machines had been smashed by an artillery shell at Weybridge, though the batteries there had been promptly obliterated by its comrades. Descriptions of those fighting-machines were exaggerated and sometimes incoherent passages, and Holmes felt more inclined to accept the "boilers on stilts" comparison he had heard on the street. Even as he read the telegrams, all information from Surrey ceased abruptly. The operator told Holmes that telegraphic communication had broken down and that railway service was disrupted.

He swiftly made his way home. There he packed two valises and wrote a note to Watson, spiking it to the mantelpiece with his report. As he did so, a knock sounded. He opened the door to Sir Percy Phelps.

"Come in, my dear fellow," said Holmes. "I am just on my way from town, and I strongly advise you to go as well. The news here is of continual disaster."

"But you must not leave," said Sir Percy, his voice shakily earnest. "I have brought you a most important secret commission."

He handed a folded paper to Holmes, who spread it out and read it at a glance. He frowned in concentration over it.

"Dear me," he said after a moment. "This appears to give me the most sweeping powers and responsibilities:"

"The Government itself is leaving for Birmingham," said Sir Percy. "We are asking you, Holmes, in the name of your country—nay, in the name of all humankind—to be our observer here in London, help to plan for whatever can be done. You cannot leave."

"But I must," said Holmes flatly. "I have another important duty in Norfolk, which I consider to be as important as this assignment you offer. What is my brother Mycroft doing? He reasons profitably in an armchair, which may well be exactly the place in which to resolve this matter."

"Your brother has accompanied the Royal Family up to Balmoral Castle in Scotland," replied Sir Percy. "No, Holmes, there is no living man better fitted, none more worthy, of this important and dangerous commission than yourself. Surely someone else is able to represent you in Norfolk."

"I must go there in person," insisted Holmes. "But I promise you to come back as soon as I can."

"Back to London, Holmes? In the face of the Martians?"

"I do not despair of successfully accomplishing that return. Meanwhile let me communicate with you by wire at Birmingham, and you may say that I can be relied upon to return and do my best duty here."

"Thank you, Holmes, thank you in the name of the Government itself." Sir Percy wrung his friend's hand. "Let me say one thing more. If you and I survive this crisis, if England and humanity survive it, a fitting reward will be given you for your services. I am in a position to speak for people in the highest places. There will be recognition for you. A knighthood."

"Knighthood?" repeated Holmes, smiling and shaking his head. "Well, that is very handsome, but I must decline, with deep gratitude and respect to those who make the offer."

"But, my dear Holmes!" cried Sir Percy. "You deserve to be knighted. The title will be conferred upon you by His Majesty the King. Such a title would be gratifying to you and to your friends. It would cause you to emerge from your seclusion, come into high society, as your services and gifts so richly merit."

"That is exactly what motivates me to decline." Holmes's smile widened. "If I were knighted, people would have to call me Sir Sherlock. Can you think, offhand, of a worse tongue twister? Not at all easy to say, like Sir Percy. No, I say, I shall be better off, and so shall all my acquaintances, if I remain simply Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

When at last the train brought Holmes and Martha into Donnithorpe shortly before midnight, the village inn blazed with lights. Its main hall seemed charged with an excitement that reminded Holmes of that day years before when Hudson, the blackmailing butler, and his scapegrace son Morse had fled the home of Squire Trevor, leaving their master dying of a stroke. Martha's aunt and uncle gave her a glad welcome, asked questions about the invasion, and blinked uncomprehendingly at Holmes's guarded replies. Holmes slept well in the small room they gave him. At nine o'clock Monday morning, Martha brought in a tray with bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, and tea. As they ate together she gave him more news.

"The Squire has called a meeting here at the inn to discuss the situation and how to meet it," she said.

"Of course, that is my old university friend, Victor Trevor," said Holmes. "We have not seen each other since he returned from the East Indies to his family estate. Probably I should attend that meeting."

He found half a dozen grave-faced men in the inn parlor. Victor Trevor greeted him and introduced him to the rector of the parish church, the postmaster, the sturdy, bearded blacksmith, and other community leaders. At Trevor's request, Holmes told them what he knew about the Martians but omitted all mention of his government assignment.

"I say, we must form a volunteer company of defense," said Trevor when Holmes had finished. "Every able-bodied man in the place. Let each bring what weapon he may have—a sporting rifle, a fowling piece. We shall meet war with war if we must, even die if we must. Die fighting."

"Hear, hear!" applauded the blacksmith. "Every one of us is with you, Squire."

But Holmes held up his hand.

"Gentlemen, the regular army has tried to fight and was hopelessly defeated," he reminded them. "The Invaders saw at once how we gave battle and brought that sort of resistance to less than nothing. Their heat-ray weapon wipes out whole crowds at a single flash. It destroys houses and guns like wisps of straw. There is also a rumor of some sort of vapor, called black smoke, that smothers any living thing it touches, like bees smoked from a hive. To try to draw up in ranks against them would be suicidal."

"How then would you have us deal with them?" asked Trevor. "Run like sheep before them, and be slaughtered like sheep by them?"

"As of now I would favor scattering before them, which is not quite the same as running. But they are not here yet, nor near, and I hope for more useful information shortly. Meanwhile, I advocate the gathering of supplies in homes and keeping a close watch to southward."

Several looked dubious, but Trevor nodded agreement.

"Thank you, Holmes, you give us something of a basis on which to plan," he said. "Let us ponder all these matters, gentlemen, and meet here again at noon."

"Telegrams for Mr. Holmes," called a clerk from the door to the front hall.

Holmes went out and took the messages. He saw at once that they were in a cipher Sir Percy had not given him, and he studied them for a moment to puzzle it out. Then he was aware of Trevor at his elbow, and with Trevor stood a stranger.

"Holmes, this is Lord John Roxton," said Trevor. "His name is familiar throughout the whole world of exploration and big-game hunting. He has adventured in every wild and dangerous land on earth. I consider it fortunate that he is visiting me at Donnithorpe at this time of critical action."

Lord John Roxton was tall and lean, not unlike Holmes in figure. His strong features were deeply tanned, and he had gingery hair, a crisp mustache, and a pointed beard. Holmes judged him to be in his mid-thirties.

"I say, I got here a thought late for your meetin', and I was outside the door when you spoke, Mr. Holmes," he said without preliminaries. "I've heard of you, of course. You're the big thinker of Scotland Yard."

"Not exactly," said Holmes. "I have never served with the police, although on occasion I have been able to help a trifle."

"I see. Well, sir, I'm takin' the liberty to say that I think action, not talk, is the best ticket here. I plump for that volunteer company of defense, don't you know. I happen to have some fine long-range rifles—I only came up here for the trout-fishin' with Trevor, but I never travel anywhere without my guns. I could arm several good men who were worth lendin' such things to."

"Your guns might serve against a rhinoceros," said Holmes, "but the rhinoceros wouldn't be using the heat-ray or the Black Smoke."

"Now, Mr. Holmes," said Lord John, a touch of irritation coming into his voice, "I agree with you that we'd be fools to meet these Martian devils in the open, try to make a standup fight of it. But we could shikar and stalk, set up ambushes, flankin' movements and all that. I've had such things to do myself, here and there in Asia and Africa, and among man-eatin' tribes in the South Pacific when they got pressin' with their attentions. A cool hand and a sure eye are what we need to do the trick. That's the English way, what?"

"If you heard what I said of their methods when they are opened on with guns," said Holmes, "you know that I consider any such muster against them as only asking for death."

Lord John's eye glittered. "You seem to think that I'm afraid of death, Mr. Holmes," he said coldly.

"I think nothing of the sort," Holmes replied, "nor have you any right to think it of me. Dying in battle may be dramatic, but it does not always win. Surrey and the south of London are full of those who died in battle to no avail. If the Martians should come here, I say that I advocate a retreat before them, but a well-planned retreat that will draw them away from Donnithorpe and other towns. A fight near any village means it will be destroyed in a flash of the heat-ray."

"Retreat," said Lord John after him. "Retreat where, may I ask?"

"Into the roughest country hereabouts, where there is cover and the protection of dunes and banks. Whatever the power of the invaders, just now they are few—far too few to occupy all England at present. That gives us some chance, some time to prepare. You, Lord John, will be useful in observing the country here and choosing proper lines for an ordered retirement such as I suggest. Meanwhile, they are not here yet. And they may not come at all."

"Pray heaven they do not," said Trevor, as from a full heart.

Lord John Roxton raked Holmes with his brilliant eyes.

"You speak with some penetration, don't you know," he said at last. "You have it right. I venture to say that I was more or less going on instinct, had some idea of a last stand of the Scots Greys. But you've made me think twice, and thinkin' twice never yet harmed a fightin' man. Very well, Mr. Holmes. I'll do as you say—help form the company here, and look out lines of retreat."

And he gave Holmes his hard, brown hand.

Alone in his room again, Holmes studied out the messages and solved the mystery of the code fairly quickly. The news from Sir Percy was of widespread, unreasoning panic throughout London as the invaders had come their terrible way up the Surrey side below the Thames. All organized military resistance in the area was at an end. Nobody could estimate the number of dead. A fourth cylinder had fallen in Surrey. Chiefs of staff at Birmingham were pondering chances of reaching it with high explosives to destroy it.

Holmes sat with the telegrams in his hand, pondering this intelligence. The invaders seemed to be in a position of triumphant conquest in whatever part of England they ranged. Did they plan to exterminate all men? If not, why not? Using the cipher he had just decoded, he wrote out an answer:

Available facts indicate enemy concentration in relatively small area. Invader attention now fixed on London. Six more cylinders on way, doubtless to land on sites chosen by precise instruments on Mars. If arrivals continue to show close pattern in Surrey, localized occupation manifest. Full intentions of Martians may clarify, whether extermination of mankind or exploitation.

At the village post office, the telegrapher stared at the coded message, but sent it. Holmes returned to the inn and found Martha waiting in the shadowed rose garden behind.

"You were gone so long," she said. "What have you been doing?"

"Little enough of any real consequence, I fear. You haven't lost faith in me, I hope."

"Never that," said Martha. "Nor must our world lose faith in you."

It occurred to Holmes that Challenger would have puffed up importantly had those words been addressed to him.

He went into the parlor and studied several morning papers. None had come from London, of course. The Norwich and Cambridge journals were crazily printed and gave disjointed accounts of the destruction in the London suburbs. The heat ray and the Black Smoke were mentioned, but with no explanatory details.