reached the lay-by just as another violent attack of nausea came upon me. I staggered sideways amongst the heap of cement and planks and was violently sick again, while ground and sky revolved around me. The vertigo I had experienced that first day in the patio was nothing to this, and as I crouched on the heap of cement waiting for it to pass I kept saying to myself, Never again.. never again… with all the fervour and weak anger of someone coming round from an anaesthetic, the revulsion beyond control.
Before I collapsed I had been aware, dimly, that there was another car in the lay-by besides my own, and after what seemed an eternity, when the nausea and the vertigo ceased, and I was coughing and blowing my nose, I heard the door of the other car slam, and realised that the owner had come across and was staring down at me.
'Are you all right now?' he asked.
'Yes,' I said, 'yes, I think so. 'I rose unsteadily to my feet, and he put out a hand to help me. He was about my own age, early forties, with a pleasant face and a remarkably strong grip.
'Got your keys?'
Keys… I fumbled in my pocket for the car keys. Christ! What if I had dropped them in the quarry or amongst those mounds — I should never find them again. They were in my top pocket, with the flask; the relief was so tremendous that I felt steadier at once, and walked without assistance to the car. Another fumble, though: I could not fit the key into the lock.
'Give it to me, I'll do it,' said my Samaritan.
'It's extremely kind of you. I do apologise,' I said.
'All in a day's work,' he answered. 'I happen to be a doctor.'
I felt my face stiffen, then quickly stretch into a smile intended to disarm. Casual courtesy from a passing motorist was one thing; professional attention from a medico another. As it was he was staring at me with interest, and small blame to him. I wondered what he was thinking.
'The fact is', I said, 'I must have walked up the hill a bit too fast. I felt giddy when I reached the top, and then was sick. Couldn't stop myself.'
'Oh, well,' he said, 'it's been done before. I suppose a lay-by is as good a place as any to throw up in. You'd be surprised what they find down here in the tourist season.'
He was not fooled, though. His eyes were particularly penetrating. I wondered if he could see the shape of the flask bulging the top pocket of my jacket.
'Have you far to go?' he asked.
'No,' I said, 'a couple of miles or so, no more.'
'In that case', he suggested, 'wouldn't it be more sensible if you left your car here and let me drive you home? You could always send for it later.'
'It's very kind of you,' I said, 'but I assure you I'm perfectly all right now. It was just one of those passing things.'
'H'm,' he said, 'rather violent while it lasted.'
'Honestly,' I said, 'there's nothing wrong. Perhaps it was something I had for lunch, and then walking uphill—'
'Look,' he interrupted, 'you're not a patient of mine, I'm not trying to prescribe. I'm only warning you that it might be dangerous to drive.'
'Yes,' I said, 'it's very good of you and I'm grateful for your advice.' The thing was, he could be right. Yesterday I had driven to Saint Austell and back home with the greatest ease. Today it might be different. The vertigo might seize me once again. He must have seen my hesitation, for he said, 'If you like I'll follow you, just to see you're O.K.' I could hardly refuse — to have done so would have made him the more suspicious. 'That's very decent of you, I told him. I only have to go to the top of Polmear hill.'
'All on the way home,' he smiled. 'I live in Fowey.'
I climbed rather gingerly into my car and turned out of the lay-by. He followed close behind, and I thought to myself that if I drove into the hedge I was done for. But I navigated the narrow lane without difficulty, and heaved a sigh of relief as I emerged on to the main road and shot up Polmear hill. When I turned right, to go to Kilmarth, I thought he might follow me to the house, but he waved his hand and continued along the road to Fowey. It showed discretion, at any rate. Perhaps he thought I was staying in Polkerris or one of the near-by farms. I passed through the gate and down the drive, put the car away in the garage, and let myself into the house. Then I was sick again. The first thing I did when I recovered, still feeling pretty shaky, was to rinse out the flask. Then I went down to the laboratory and stood it in the sink to soak. It was safer there than in the pantry. It was not until I went upstairs once more, and flung myself into an arnichair in the music-room, exhausted, that I remembered the bowls wrapped in sacking. Had I left them in the car?
I was about to get up and go down to the garage to look for them, because they must be cleansed even more thoroughly than the flask and put away under lock and key, when I realised with a sudden wave of apprehension, just as though something were being vomited from my brain as well as my stomach, that I had been on the point of confusing the present with the past. The bowls had been given to Roger's brother, not to me. I sat very still, my heart thumping in my chest. There had been no confusion before. The two worlds had been distinct. Was it because the nausea and the vertigo had been so great that the past and the present had run together in my mind? Or had I miscounted the drops, making the draught more potent? No way of telling. I clutched the sides of the armchair. They were solid, real. Everything about me was real. The drive home, the doctor, the quarry full of old cans and crumbling stones, they were real. Not the house above the estuary, nor the people in it, nor the dying man, nor the monk, nor the bowls in sacking — they were all products of the drug, a drug that turned a clear brain sick. I began to be angry, not so much with myself, the willing guinea-pig, as with Magnus. He was unsure of his findings. He did not know what he had done. No wonder he had asked me to send up bottle B to try out the contents on the laboratory monkey. He had suspected something was wrong, and now I could tell him what it was. Neither exhilaration nor depression, but confusion of thought. The merging of two worlds. Well, that was enough. I had had my lot. Magnus could make his experiments on a dozen monkeys, but not on me.
The telephone started ringing, and, startled out of my chair, I went across to the library to answer it. Damn his telepathic powers. He would tell me he knew where I had been, that the house above the estuary was familiar ground, there was no need to worry, it was all perfectly safe providing I touched no one; if I felt ill or confused it was a side-effect of no consequence. I would put him right.
I seized the telephone and someone said, 'Hold on a moment, please, I have a call for you,' and I heard the click as Magnus took over.
'Damn and blast you, I said. This is the last time I behave like a performing seal.'
There was a little gasp at the other end, and then a laugh. 'Thanks for the welcome home, darling.'
It was Vita. I stood stupefied, holding on to the receiver. Was her voice part of the confusion?
'Darling?' she repeated. 'Are you there? Is something wrong?'
'No,' I sald, 'nothing's wrong, but what's happened? Where are you speaking from?'
'London airport,' she answered. 'I caught an earlier plane, that's all. Bill and Diana are collecting me and taking me out to dinner. I thought you might call the flat later tonight and wonder why I didn't answer. Sorry if I took you by surprise.'
'Well, you did,' I said, 'but forget it. How are you?'
'Fine,' she said, 'just fine. What about you? Who did you think I was when you answered me just now? You didn't sound too pleased.'
'In point of fact', I told her, 'I thought it was Magnus. I had to do a chore for him… I've written you all about it in my letter, which you won't get until tomorrow morning.'
She laughed. I knew the sound, with the slight 'I thought as much' inflexion. 'So your Professor has been putting you to work, she said. That doesn't surprise me. What's he been making you do that has turned you into a performing seal?'
'Oh, endless things, sorting out junk, I'll explain when I see you. When do the boys get back?'
'Tomorrow,' she said. 'Their train arrives at a hideous hour in the morning. Then I thought I'd pack them in the car and come on down. How long will it take?'
'Wait,' I said, 'that's just it. I'm not ready for you. I've told you so in my letter. Leave it until after the weekend.' There was silence the other end. I had dropped the usual clanger.
'Not ready?' she repeated. 'But you must have been there all of five days? I thought you'd fixed up with
