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The Man On Putney Hill
"Itisyou,"saidhe;"themanfromWoking. Andyouweren’tkilledatWeybridge?"
Irecognisedhimatthesamemoment.
"Youaretheartillerymanwhocameintomygarden."
"Goodluck!"hesaid. "Weareluckyones! Fancyyou!" Heputoutahand,andItookit. "Icrawledupadrain,"hesaid. "Buttheydidn’tkilleveryone. AndaftertheywentawayIgotofftowardsWaltonacrossthefields. But——It’snotsixteendaysaltogether—andyourhairisgrey." Helookedoverhisshouldersuddenly. "Onlyarook,"hesaid. "Onegetstoknowthatbirdshaveshadowsthesedays. Thisisabitopen. Letuscrawlunderthosebushesandtalk."
"HaveyouseenanyMartians?"Isaid. "SinceIcrawledout——"
"They’vegoneawayacrossLondon,"hesaid. "Iguessthey’vegotabiggercampthere. Ofanight,alloverthere,Hampsteadway,theskyisalivewiththeirlights. It’slikeagreatcity,andintheglareyoucanjustseethemmoving. Bydaylightyoucan’t. Butnearer—Ihaven’tseenthem—"(hecountedonhisfingers)"fivedays. ThenIsawacoupleacrossHammersmithwaycarryingsomethingbig. Andthenightbeforelast"—hestoppedandspokeimpressively—"itwasjustamatteroflights,butitwassomethingupintheair. Ibelievethey’vebuiltaflying-machine,andarelearningtofly."
Istopped,onhandsandknees,forwehadcometothebushes.
"Fly!"
