Half an hour later the gates were opened. Some lorries drove in and the Troops who were with them lined up the prisoners in long queues to receive their breakfast ration. It consisted of a mug of coffee—which had to be drunk on the spot and the mug passed on to the next man in the queue—a hunk of bread with a slice of bully, and an orange.
Derek carried his portion away to the far side of the camp, where it was less crowded, and slowly began to chew this sustaining but not particularly appetising breakfast. His jaw hurt him every time he moved it and he wasn't feeling at all like food, but he decided that he ought to eat it if he could do so, to keep up his strength as much as possible.
As he ate he thought of Lavina again—probably receiving a similar ration in some other encampment with hundreds of women. Somehow he had simply got to escape and find her. At the worst, he had expected to be brought before a magistrate or military tribunal that morning and dismissed with a caution or a fine; and he had assumed that the same would happen to Lavina. Even if he had failed to locate her while she was still a prisoner, he had anticipated that she would make her way back during the morning to St. James's Square and that they would then be able to set off together down to Stapleton.
But now it seemed all prisoners were to be detained for the next three days, which meant that, unless he could escape, both he and she would still be captives when the comet either singed or hit the earth. He had been banking more than he realised on the Ark proving their salvation, however great the catastrophe, and now they were both to be robbed of their chance of surviving in it.
Wearily he turned the problem over in his still aching brain. Bribery was no good, now that he had lost his money. As it had appeared impossible to break out of the cage the night before, it would be even more difficult in daylight. Perhaps if he could find the friendly Sergeant-Major again and get an interview with an Officer, he might still be able to persuade them to release him.
Almost unconsciously he turned over on his side and pillowed his head upon his arm. For some reason he was feeling extraordinarily drowsy. Perhaps the doctor had put something in the headache draught he had been given—something to make him sleep. But he mustn't sleep. He mustn't let himself go to sleep, whatever happened. Yet a moment later he had fallen into dreamless slumber.
When he woke it was already evening. He felt considerably better than he had done in the morning. His head pained him less and his shin was not throbbing quite so agonisingly; but as he moved he gave a groan, for he was almost as stiff as if he had been imprisoned in a strait jacket.
By easing his muscles cautiously he gradually got back the use of his limbs, and on looking round he saw that the encampment was now more crowded than ever. Evidently, fresh batches of prisoners had been brought in during the hours he had been sleeping. There was now hardly a vacant patch of grass in the whole enclosure.
He glanced across at a round-faced little man who was seated near him and asked if he knew what time it was. The man produced a large gold watch.
'Ten to seven, mate,' he said. 'That's a nasty eye of yours. How d'you get it?'
Derek gingerly felt his swollen left eye, which was now almost entirely closed. 'Here, last night,' he said. 'Some toughs set on me and robbed me of my wallet.'
'That was a bit hard,' the man grinned cheerfully. 'Where did the cops pinch you?'
'At the Dorchester.'
'They pinched me at the "Bunch of Grapes" in the Strand. Cor, it was a beano, and no mistake! My name's Alf Wilkin. What's yours?'
'Derek Burroughs. D'you think there's any chance of getting out of this place?'
'Not much, with all these khaki boys around. But who cares? It's bin a nice day in the sunshine and there's some talk of their issuing us blankets tonight. The grub's not bad, either, and it's free. We might do much worse than sit around here for a few days.'
Derek did not go into details with Mr. Wilkin as to why he was so frantically anxious to regain his freedom but, pulling himself together, nodded good-bye to the little man and made his way towards the gate.
Knowing now that it was no good trying to talk to the sentry, he waited till a Corporal came along and inquired for the Sergeant-Major.
'He's out on duty,' the Corporal replied. 'They're mopping up down Limehouse way this evening.'
'When will he be back?' Derek asked.
'How should 1 know?'
'Then d'you think you could get hold of an Officer for me?'
' 'Fraid not. It isn't for me to go worrying the Officers with prisoners' grievances.'
'Oh, hell!' Derek exclaimed, as he turned away dejectedly.
'What's wrong, old chap?' asked a friendly voice nearby.
The speaker was a youngish man dressed in a suit of overalls
and a flying-helmet. He offered a packet of cigarettes, and Derek took one gratefully as he began to give a brief version of his plight.
'You've certainly had a raw deal,' the young man remarked when Derek had done, 'and I can sympathise because, as a matter of fact, I'm here on account of a girl myself.'
'Was she arrested, too?' inquired Derek.
'No. I haven't seen her for six weeks. That's just the rub. My name's Babforth and I live up at Hull. But my girl's a Londoner; her home's in Kilburn. We met at the Butlin Holiday Camp at Skegness last year, had a grand time and absolutely fell for each other right away. We're not engaged exactly, but we write to each other twice a week and I've managed to get up to see her half a dozen times in the last ten months. When I heard the Prime Minister's speech on the radio the other night, I got anxious about her.'
'Naturally,' agreed Derek.
'So I made up my mind to come up to London on my motorbike, with the idea that whatever happened we'd be together. If I'd only got here yesterday things would have been all right, but, apparently, when the evacuation started this morning they not only closed all roads to incoming traffic but they've got police posts everywhere which are turning back pedestrians as well; in fact, they won't let anybody into London now who hasn't got a permit.'
'I see. And I suppose you tried to gate-crash?'
'That's it,' Babforth nodded. 'Wouldn't you have done the same? Hang it, I'd come all that way to be with my girl and I was worried out of my wits about her. I tried four different roads but I was turned back every time so I abandoned the old bike and climbed over a garden wall. But they've got a ring of police and Tommies the whole way round London, and a Special spotted me. I gave him a run for his money all right and when he did collar me I knocked him down; but he whistled up a couple of his pals and they put me in a van and sent me here. Where I was a fool was to hit the Officer. If I hadn't done that, they'd only have turned me back again. Then, if I'd waited till tonight, I'd have been able to get through the police cordon easily in the darkness.'
'Yes, that's where you slipped up,' Derek agreed, 'although
E
I expect I should have done the same myself. Anyhow, as we're both in the same sort of mess we must put our heads together and think up some scheme for getting out of here. How's the evacuation going?'
'Pretty well. As they've cleared the roads of all incoming traffic, it's just one steady stream of cars and buses going out; although, of course, I didn't see what was happening in Central London.'
For a little time the two of them discussed their rather slender prospects of escape. Derek was still feeling weak and ill but having a decent fellow like Babforth to talk to cheered him up considerably.
At half-past seven the gates of the encampment were opened and the food lorries drove in again. As Derek had been sleeping when the lunch ration was issued, he now felt hungry and, with Babforth beside him, managed to get a fairly good place in one of the many queues.