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diff --git a/5230-0.txt b/5230-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..26f27ca --- /dev/null +++ b/5230-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6134 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Invisible Man, by H. G. Wells + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Invisible Man + +Author: H. G. Wells + +Release Date: June 9, 2002 [eBook #5230] +[Most recently updated: October 16, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Andrew Sly + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INVISIBLE MAN *** + +[Illustration] + + + + +The Invisible Man + +A Grotesque Romance + +by H. G. Wells + + +Contents + + I. The strange Man’s Arrival + II. Mr. Teddy Henfrey’s first Impressions + III. The thousand and one Bottles + IV. Mr. Cuss interviews the Stranger + V. The Burglary at the Vicarage + VI. The Furniture that went mad + VII. The Unveiling of the Stranger + VIII. In Transit + IX. Mr. Thomas Marvel + X. Mr. Marvel’s Visit to Iping + XI. In the “Coach and Horses” + XII. The invisible Man loses his Temper + XIII. Mr. Marvel discusses his Resignation + XIV. At Port Stowe + XV. The Man who was running + XVI. In the “Jolly Cricketers” + XVII. Dr. Kemp’s Visitor + XVIII. The invisible Man sleeps + XIX. Certain first Principles + XX. At the House in Great Portland Street + XXI. In Oxford Street + XXII. In the Emporium + XXIII. In Drury Lane + XXIV. The Plan that failed + XXV. The Hunting of the invisible Man + XXVI. The Wicksteed Murder + XXVII. The Siege of Kemp’s House + XXVIII. The Hunter hunted + The Epilogue + + + + +CHAPTER I. +THE STRANGE MAN’S ARRIVAL + + +The stranger came early in February, one wintry day, through a biting +wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the year, over the down, +walking from Bramblehurst railway station, and carrying a little black +portmanteau in his thickly gloved hand. He was wrapped up from head to +foot, and the brim of his soft felt hat hid every inch of his face but +the shiny tip of his nose; the snow had piled itself against his +shoulders and chest, and added a white crest to the burden he carried. +He staggered into the “Coach and Horses” more dead than alive, and +flung his portmanteau down. “A fire,” he cried, “in the name of human +charity! A room and a fire!” He stamped and shook the snow from off +himself in the bar, and followed Mrs. Hall into her guest parlour to +strike his bargain. And with that much introduction, that and a couple +of sovereigns flung upon the table, he took up his quarters in the inn. + +Mrs. Hall lit the fire and left him there while she went to prepare him +a meal with her own hands. A guest to stop at Iping in the wintertime +was an unheard-of piece of luck, let alone a guest who was no +“haggler,” and she was resolved to show herself worthy of her good +fortune. As soon as the bacon was well under way, and Millie, her +lymphatic maid, had been brisked up a bit by a few deftly chosen +expressions of contempt, she carried the cloth, plates, and glasses +into the parlour and began to lay them with the utmost _éclat_. +Although the fire was burning up briskly, she was surprised to see that +her visitor still wore his hat and coat, standing with his back to her +and staring out of the window at the falling snow in the yard. His +gloved hands were clasped behind him, and he seemed to be lost in +thought. She noticed that the melting snow that still sprinkled his +shoulders dripped upon her carpet. “Can I take your hat and coat, sir?” +she said, “and give them a good dry in the kitchen?” + +“No,” he said without turning. + +She was not sure she had heard him, and was about to repeat her +question. + +He turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. “I prefer to +keep them on,” he said with emphasis, and she noticed that he wore big +blue spectacles with sidelights, and had a bush side-whisker over his +coat-collar that completely hid his cheeks and face. + +“Very well, sir,” she said. “_As_ you like. In a bit the room will be +warmer.” + +He made no answer, and had turned his face away from her again, and +Mrs. Hall, feeling that her conversational advances were ill-timed, +laid the rest of the table things in a quick staccato and whisked out +of the room. When she returned he was still standing there, like a man +of stone, his back hunched, his collar turned up, his dripping hat-brim +turned down, hiding his face and ears completely. She put down the eggs +and bacon with considerable emphasis, and called rather than said to +him, “Your lunch is served, sir.” + +“Thank you,” he said at the same time, and did not stir until she was +closing the door. Then he swung round and approached the table with a +certain eager quickness. + +As she went behind the bar to the kitchen she heard a sound repeated at +regular intervals. Chirk, chirk, chirk, it went, the sound of a spoon +being rapidly whisked round a basin. “That girl!” she said. “There! I +clean forgot it. It’s her being so long!” And while she herself +finished mixing the mustard, she gave Millie a few verbal stabs for her +excessive slowness. She had cooked the ham and eggs, laid the table, +and done everything, while Millie (help indeed!) had only succeeded in +delaying the mustard. And him a new guest and wanting to stay! Then she +filled the mustard pot, and, putting it with a certain stateliness upon +a gold and black tea-tray, carried it into the parlour. + +She rapped and entered promptly. As she did so her visitor moved +quickly, so that she got but a glimpse of a white object disappearing +behind the table. It would seem he was picking something from the +floor. She rapped down the mustard pot on the table, and then she +noticed the overcoat and hat had been taken off and put over a chair in +front of the fire, and a pair of wet boots threatened rust to her steel +fender. She went to these things resolutely. “I suppose I may have them +to dry now,” she said in a voice that brooked no denial. + +“Leave the hat,” said her visitor, in a muffled voice, and turning she +saw he had raised his head and was sitting and looking at her. + +For a moment she stood gaping at him, too surprised to speak. + +He held a white cloth—it was a serviette he had brought with him—over +the lower part of his face, so that his mouth and jaws were completely +hidden, and that was the reason of his muffled voice. But it was not +that which startled Mrs. Hall. It was the fact that all his forehead +above his blue glasses was covered by a white bandage, and that another +covered his ears, leaving not a scrap of his face exposed excepting +only his pink, peaked nose. It was bright, pink, and shiny just as it +had been at first. He wore a dark-brown velvet jacket with a high, +black, linen-lined collar turned up about his neck. The thick black +hair, escaping as it could below and between the cross bandages, +projected in curious tails and horns, giving him the strangest +appearance conceivable. This muffled and bandaged head was so unlike +what she had anticipated, that for a moment she was rigid. + +He did not remove the serviette, but remained holding it, as she saw +now, with a brown gloved hand, and regarding her with his inscrutable +blue glasses. “Leave the hat,” he said, speaking very distinctly +through the white cloth. + +Her nerves began to recover from the shock they had received. She +placed the hat on the chair again by the fire. “I didn’t know, sir,” +she began, “that—” and she stopped embarrassed. + +“Thank you,” he said drily, glancing from her to the door and then at +her again. + +“I’ll have them nicely dried, sir, at once,” she said, and carried his +clothes out of the room. She glanced at his white-swathed head and blue +goggles again as she was going out of the door; but his napkin was +still in front of his face. She shivered a little as she closed the +door behind her, and her face was eloquent of her surprise and +perplexity. “I _never_,” she whispered. “There!” She went quite softly +to the kitchen, and was too preoccupied to ask Millie what she was +messing about with _now_, when she got there. + +The visitor sat and listened to her retreating feet. He glanced +inquiringly at the window before he removed his serviette, and resumed +his meal. He took a mouthful, glanced suspiciously at the window, took +another mouthful, then rose and, taking the serviette in his hand, +walked across the room and pulled the blind down to the top of the +white muslin that obscured the lower panes. This left the room in a +twilight. This done, he returned with an easier air to the table and +his meal. + +“The poor soul’s had an accident or an op’ration or somethin’,” said +Mrs. Hall. “What a turn them bandages did give me, to be sure!” + +She put on some more coal, unfolded the clothes-horse, and extended the +traveller’s coat upon this. “And they goggles! Why, he looked more like +a divin’ helmet than a human man!” She hung his muffler on a corner of +the horse. “And holding that handkerchief over his mouth all the time. +Talkin’ through it! ... Perhaps his mouth was hurt too—maybe.” + +She turned round, as one who suddenly remembers. “Bless my soul alive!” +she said, going off at a tangent; “ain’t you done them taters _yet_, +Millie?” + +When Mrs. Hall went to clear away the stranger’s lunch, her idea that +his mouth must also have been cut or disfigured in the accident she +supposed him to have suffered, was confirmed, for he was smoking a +pipe, and all the time that she was in the room he never loosened the +silk muffler he had wrapped round the lower part of his face to put the +mouthpiece to his lips. Yet it was not forgetfulness, for she saw he +glanced at it as it smouldered out. He sat in the corner with his back +to the window-blind and spoke now, having eaten and drunk and being +comfortably warmed through, with less aggressive brevity than before. +The reflection of the fire lent a kind of red animation to his big +spectacles they had lacked hitherto. + +“I have some luggage,” he said, “at Bramblehurst station,” and he asked +her how he could have it sent. He bowed his bandaged head quite +politely in acknowledgment of her explanation. “To-morrow?” he said. +“There is no speedier delivery?” and seemed quite disappointed when she +answered, “No.” Was she quite sure? No man with a trap who would go +over? + +Mrs. Hall, nothing loath, answered his questions and developed a +conversation. “It’s a steep road by the down, sir,” she said in answer +to the question about a trap; and then, snatching at an opening, said, +“It was there a carriage was upsettled, a year ago and more. A +gentleman killed, besides his coachman. Accidents, sir, happen in a +moment, don’t they?” + +But the visitor was not to be drawn so easily. “They do,” he said +through his muffler, eyeing her quietly through his impenetrable +glasses. + +“But they take long enough to get well, don’t they? ... There was my +sister’s son, Tom, jest cut his arm with a scythe, tumbled on it in the +’ayfield, and, bless me! he was three months tied up sir. You’d hardly +believe it. It’s regular given me a dread of a scythe, sir.” + +“I can quite understand that,” said the visitor. + +“He was afraid, one time, that he’d have to have an op’ration—he was +that bad, sir.” + +The visitor laughed abruptly, a bark of a laugh that he seemed to bite +and kill in his mouth. “_Was_ he?” he said. + +“He was, sir. And no laughing matter to them as had the doing for him, +as I had—my sister being took up with her little ones so much. There +was bandages to do, sir, and bandages to undo. So that if I may make so +bold as to say it, sir—” + +“Will you get me some matches?” said the visitor, quite abruptly. “My +pipe is out.” + +Mrs. Hall was pulled up suddenly. It was certainly rude of him, after +telling him all she had done. She gasped at him for a moment, and +remembered the two sovereigns. She went for the matches. + +“Thanks,” he said concisely, as she put them down, and turned his +shoulder upon her and stared out of the window again. It was altogether +too discouraging. Evidently he was sensitive on the topic of operations +and bandages. She did not “make so bold as to say,” however, after all. +But his snubbing way had irritated her, and Millie had a hot time of it +that afternoon. + +The visitor remained in the parlour until four o’clock, without giving +the ghost of an excuse for an intrusion. For the most part he was quite +still during that time; it would seem he sat in the growing darkness +smoking in the firelight—perhaps dozing. + +Once or twice a curious listener might have heard him at the coals, and +for the space of five minutes he was audible pacing the room. He seemed +to be talking to himself. Then the armchair creaked as he sat down +again. + + + + +CHAPTER II. +MR. TEDDY HENFREY’S FIRST IMPRESSIONS + + +At four o’clock, when it was fairly dark and Mrs. Hall was screwing up +her courage to go in and ask her visitor if he would take some tea, +Teddy Henfrey, the clock-jobber, came into the bar. “My sakes! Mrs. +Hall,” said he, “but this is terrible weather for thin boots!” The snow +outside was falling faster. + +Mrs. Hall agreed, and then noticed he had his bag with him. “Now you’re +here, Mr. Teddy,” said she, “I’d be glad if you’d give th’ old clock in +the parlour a bit of a look. ’Tis going, and it strikes well and +hearty; but the hour-hand won’t do nuthin’ but point at six.” + +And leading the way, she went across to the parlour door and rapped and +entered. + +Her visitor, she saw as she opened the door, was seated in the armchair +before the fire, dozing it would seem, with his bandaged head drooping +on one side. The only light in the room was the red glow from the +fire—which lit his eyes like adverse railway signals, but left his +downcast face in darkness—and the scanty vestiges of the day that came +in through the open door. Everything was ruddy, shadowy, and indistinct +to her, the more so since she had just been lighting the bar lamp, and +her eyes were dazzled. But for a second it seemed to her that the man +she looked at had an enormous mouth wide open—a vast and incredible +mouth that swallowed the whole of the lower portion of his face. It was +the sensation of a moment: the white-bound head, the monstrous goggle +eyes, and this huge yawn below it. Then he stirred, started up in his +chair, put up his hand. She opened the door wide, so that the room was +lighter, and she saw him more clearly, with the muffler held up to his +face just as she had seen him hold the serviette before. The shadows, +she fancied, had tricked her. + +“Would you mind, sir, this man a-coming to look at the clock, sir?” she +said, recovering from the momentary shock. + +“Look at the clock?” he said, staring round in a drowsy manner, and +speaking over his hand, and then, getting more fully awake, +“certainly.” + +Mrs. Hall went away to get a lamp, and he rose and stretched himself. +Then came the light, and Mr. Teddy Henfrey, entering, was confronted by +this bandaged person. He was, he says, “taken aback.” + +“Good afternoon,” said the stranger, regarding him—as Mr. Henfrey says, +with a vivid sense of the dark spectacles—“like a lobster.” + +“I hope,” said Mr. Henfrey, “that it’s no intrusion.” + +“None whatever,” said the stranger. “Though, I understand,” he said +turning to Mrs. Hall, “that this room is really to be mine for my own +private use.” + +“I thought, sir,” said Mrs. Hall, “you’d prefer the clock—” + +“Certainly,” said the stranger, “certainly—but, as a rule, I like to be +alone and undisturbed. + +“But I’m really glad to have the clock seen to,” he said, seeing a +certain hesitation in Mr. Henfrey’s manner. “Very glad.” Mr. Henfrey +had intended to apologise and withdraw, but this anticipation reassured +him. The stranger turned round with his back to the fireplace and put +his hands behind his back. “And presently,” he said, “when the +clock-mending is over, I think I should like to have some tea. But not +till the clock-mending is over.” + +Mrs. Hall was about to leave the room—she made no conversational +advances this time, because she did not want to be snubbed in front of +Mr. Henfrey—when her visitor asked her if she had made any arrangements +about his boxes at Bramblehurst. She told him she had mentioned the +matter to the postman, and that the carrier could bring them over on +the morrow. “You are certain that is the earliest?” he said. + +She was certain, with a marked coldness. + +“I should explain,” he added, “what I was really too cold and fatigued +to do before, that I am an experimental investigator.” + +“Indeed, sir,” said Mrs. Hall, much impressed. + +“And my baggage contains apparatus and appliances.” + +“Very useful things indeed they are, sir,” said Mrs. Hall. + +“And I’m very naturally anxious to get on with my inquiries.” + +“Of course, sir.” + +“My reason for coming to Iping,” he proceeded, with a certain +deliberation of manner, “was ... a desire for solitude. I do not wish +to be disturbed in my work. In addition to my work, an accident—” + +“I thought as much,” said Mrs. Hall to herself. + +“—necessitates a certain retirement. My eyes—are sometimes so weak and +painful that I have to shut myself up in the dark for hours together. +Lock myself up. Sometimes—now and then. Not at present, certainly. At +such times the slightest disturbance, the entry of a stranger into the +room, is a source of excruciating annoyance to me—it is well these +things should be understood.” + +“Certainly, sir,” said Mrs. Hall. “And if I might make so bold as to +ask—” + +“That I think, is all,” said the stranger, with that quietly +irresistible air of finality he could assume at will. Mrs. Hall +reserved her question and sympathy for a better occasion. + +After Mrs. Hall had left the room, he remained standing in front of the +fire, glaring, so Mr. Henfrey puts it, at the clock-mending. Mr. +Henfrey not only took off the hands of the clock, and the face, but +extracted the works; and he tried to work in as slow and quiet and +unassuming a manner as possible. He worked with the lamp close to him, +and the green shade threw a brilliant light upon his hands, and upon +the frame and wheels, and left the rest of the room shadowy. When he +looked up, coloured patches swam in his eyes. Being constitutionally of +a curious nature, he had removed the works—a quite unnecessary +proceeding—with the idea of delaying his departure and perhaps falling +into conversation with the stranger. But the stranger stood there, +perfectly silent and still. So still, it got on Henfrey’s nerves. He +felt alone in the room and looked up, and there, grey and dim, was the +bandaged head and huge blue lenses staring fixedly, with a mist of +green spots drifting in front of them. It was so uncanny to Henfrey +that for a minute they remained staring blankly at one another. Then +Henfrey looked down again. Very uncomfortable position! One would like +to say something. Should he remark that the weather was very cold for +the time of year? + +He looked up as if to take aim with that introductory shot. “The +weather—” he began. + +“Why don’t you finish and go?” said the rigid figure, evidently in a +state of painfully suppressed rage. “All you’ve got to do is to fix the +hour-hand on its axle. You’re simply humbugging—” + +“Certainly, sir—one minute more. I overlooked—” and Mr. Henfrey +finished and went. + +But he went feeling excessively annoyed. “Damn it!” said Mr. Henfrey to +himself, trudging down the village through the thawing snow; “a man +must do a clock at times, surely.” + +And again, “Can’t a man look at you?—Ugly!” + +And yet again, “Seemingly not. If the police was wanting you you +couldn’t be more wropped and bandaged.” + +At Gleeson’s corner he saw Hall, who had recently married the +stranger’s hostess at the “Coach and Horses,” and who now drove the +Iping conveyance, when occasional people required it, to Sidderbridge +Junction, coming towards him on his return from that place. Hall had +evidently been “stopping a bit” at Sidderbridge, to judge by his +driving. “’Ow do, Teddy?” he said, passing. + +“You got a rum un up home!” said Teddy. + +Hall very sociably pulled up. “What’s that?” he asked. + +“Rum-looking customer stopping at the ‘Coach and Horses,’” said Teddy. +“My sakes!” + +And he proceeded to give Hall a vivid description of his grotesque +guest. “Looks a bit like a disguise, don’t it? I’d like to see a man’s +face if I had him stopping in _my_ place,” said Henfrey. “But women are +that trustful—where strangers are concerned. He’s took your rooms and +he ain’t even given a name, Hall.” + +“You don’t say so!” said Hall, who was a man of sluggish apprehension. + +“Yes,” said Teddy. “By the week. Whatever he is, you can’t get rid of +him under the week. And he’s got a lot of luggage coming to-morrow, so +he says. Let’s hope it won’t be stones in boxes, Hall.” + +He told Hall how his aunt at Hastings had been swindled by a stranger +with empty portmanteaux. Altogether he left Hall vaguely suspicious. +“Get up, old girl,” said Hall. “I s’pose I must see ’bout this.” + +Teddy trudged on his way with his mind considerably relieved. + +Instead of “seeing ’bout it,” however, Hall on his return was severely +rated by his wife on the length of time he had spent in Sidderbridge, +and his mild inquiries were answered snappishly and in a manner not to +the point. But the seed of suspicion Teddy had sown germinated in the +mind of Mr. Hall in spite of these discouragements. “You wim’ don’t +know everything,” said Mr. Hall, resolved to ascertain more about the +personality of his guest at the earliest possible opportunity. And +after the stranger had gone to bed, which he did about half-past nine, +Mr. Hall went very aggressively into the parlour and looked very hard +at his wife’s furniture, just to show that the stranger wasn’t master +there, and scrutinised closely and a little contemptuously a sheet of +mathematical computations the stranger had left. When retiring for the +night he instructed Mrs. Hall to look very closely at the stranger’s +luggage when it came next day. + +“You mind your own business, Hall,” said Mrs. Hall, “and I’ll mind +mine.” + +She was all the more inclined to snap at Hall because the stranger was +undoubtedly an unusually strange sort of stranger, and she was by no +means assured about him in her own mind. In the middle of the night she +woke up dreaming of huge white heads like turnips, that came trailing +after her, at the end of interminable necks, and with vast black eyes. +But being a sensible woman, she subdued her terrors and turned over and +went to sleep again. + + + + +CHAPTER III. +THE THOUSAND AND ONE BOTTLES + + +So it was that on the twenty-ninth day of February, at the beginning of +the thaw, this singular person fell out of infinity into Iping village. +Next day his luggage arrived through the slush—and very remarkable +luggage it was. There were a couple of trunks indeed, such as a +rational man might need, but in addition there were a box of books—big, +fat books, of which some were just in an incomprehensible +handwriting—and a dozen or more crates, boxes, and cases, containing +objects packed in straw, as it seemed to Hall, tugging with a casual +curiosity at the straw—glass bottles. The stranger, muffled in hat, +coat, gloves, and wrapper, came out impatiently to meet Fearenside’s +cart, while Hall was having a word or so of gossip preparatory to +helping bring them in. Out he came, not noticing Fearenside’s dog, who +was sniffing in a _dilettante_ spirit at Hall’s legs. “Come along with +those boxes,” he said. “I’ve been waiting long enough.” + +And he came down the steps towards the tail of the cart as if to lay +hands on the smaller crate. + +No sooner had Fearenside’s dog caught sight of him, however, than it +began to bristle and growl savagely, and when he rushed down the steps +it gave an undecided hop, and then sprang straight at his hand. “Whup!” +cried Hall, jumping back, for he was no hero with dogs, and Fearenside +howled, “Lie down!” and snatched his whip. + +They saw the dog’s teeth had slipped the hand, heard a kick, saw the +dog execute a flanking jump and get home on the stranger’s leg, and +heard the rip of his trousering. Then the finer end of Fearenside’s +whip reached his property, and the dog, yelping with dismay, retreated +under the wheels of the waggon. It was all the business of a swift +half-minute. No one spoke, everyone shouted. The stranger glanced +swiftly at his torn glove and at his leg, made as if he would stoop to +the latter, then turned and rushed swiftly up the steps into the inn. +They heard him go headlong across the passage and up the uncarpeted +stairs to his bedroom. + +“You brute, you!” said Fearenside, climbing off the waggon with his +whip in his hand, while the dog watched him through the wheel. “Come +here,” said Fearenside—“You’d better.” + +Hall had stood gaping. “He wuz bit,” said Hall. “I’d better go and see +to en,” and he trotted after the stranger. He met Mrs. Hall in the +passage. “Carrier’s darg,” he said “bit en.” + +He went straight upstairs, and the stranger’s door being ajar, he +pushed it open and was entering without any ceremony, being of a +naturally sympathetic turn of mind. + +The blind was down and the room dim. He caught a glimpse of a most +singular thing, what seemed a handless arm waving towards him, and a +face of three huge indeterminate spots on white, very like the face of +a pale pansy. Then he was struck violently in the chest, hurled back, +and the door slammed in his face and locked. It was so rapid that it +gave him no time to observe. A waving of indecipherable shapes, a blow, +and a concussion. There he stood on the dark little landing, wondering +what it might be that he had seen. + +A couple of minutes after, he rejoined the little group that had formed +outside the “Coach and Horses.” There was Fearenside telling about it +all over again for the second time; there was Mrs. Hall saying his dog +didn’t have no business to bite her guests; there was Huxter, the +general dealer from over the road, interrogative; and Sandy Wadgers +from the forge, judicial; besides women and children, all of them +saying fatuities: “Wouldn’t let en bite _me_, I knows”; “’Tasn’t right +_have_ such dargs”; “Whad ’_e_ bite ’n for, then?” and so forth. + +Mr. Hall, staring at them from the steps and listening, found it +incredible that he had seen anything so very remarkable happen +upstairs. Besides, his vocabulary was altogether too limited to express +his impressions. + +“He don’t want no help, he says,” he said in answer to his wife’s +inquiry. “We’d better be a-takin’ of his luggage in.” + +“He ought to have it cauterised at once,” said Mr. Huxter; “especially +if it’s at all inflamed.” + +“I’d shoot en, that’s what I’d do,” said a lady in the group. + +Suddenly the dog began growling again. + +“Come along,” cried an angry voice in the doorway, and there stood the +muffled stranger with his collar turned up, and his hat-brim bent down. +“The sooner you get those things in the better I’ll be pleased.” It is +stated by an anonymous bystander that his trousers and gloves had been +changed. + +“Was you hurt, sir?” said Fearenside. “I’m rare sorry the darg—” + +“Not a bit,” said the stranger. “Never broke the skin. Hurry up with +those things.” + +He then swore to himself, so Mr. Hall asserts. + +Directly the first crate was, in accordance with his directions, +carried into the parlour, the stranger flung himself upon it with +extraordinary eagerness, and began to unpack it, scattering the straw +with an utter disregard of Mrs. Hall’s carpet. And from it he began to +produce bottles—little fat bottles containing powders, small and +slender bottles containing coloured and white fluids, fluted blue +bottles labeled Poison, bottles with round bodies and slender necks, +large green-glass bottles, large white-glass bottles, bottles with +glass stoppers and frosted labels, bottles with fine corks, bottles +with bungs, bottles with wooden caps, wine bottles, salad-oil +bottles—putting them in rows on the chiffonnier, on the mantel, on the +table under the window, round the floor, on the bookshelf—everywhere. +The chemist’s shop in Bramblehurst could not boast half so many. Quite +a sight it was. Crate after crate yielded bottles, until all six were +empty and the table high with straw; the only things that came out of +these crates besides the bottles were a number of test-tubes and a +carefully packed balance. + +And directly the crates were unpacked, the stranger went to the window +and set to work, not troubling in the least about the litter of straw, +the fire which had gone out, the box of books outside, nor for the +trunks and other luggage that had gone upstairs. + +When Mrs. Hall took his dinner in to him, he was already so absorbed in +his work, pouring little drops out of the bottles into test-tubes, that +he did not hear her until she had swept away the bulk of the straw and +put the tray on the table, with some little emphasis perhaps, seeing +the state that the floor was in. Then he half turned his head and +immediately turned it away again. But she saw he had removed his +glasses; they were beside him on the table, and it seemed to her that +his eye sockets were extraordinarily hollow. He put on his spectacles +again, and then turned and faced her. She was about to complain of the +straw on the floor when he anticipated her. + +“I wish you wouldn’t come in without knocking,” he said in the tone of +abnormal exasperation that seemed so characteristic of him. + +“I knocked, but seemingly—” + +“Perhaps you did. But in my investigations—my really very urgent and +necessary investigations—the slightest disturbance, the jar of a door—I +must ask you—” + +“Certainly, sir. You can turn the lock if you’re like that, you know. +Any time.” + +“A very good idea,” said the stranger. + +“This stror, sir, if I might make so bold as to remark—” + +“Don’t. If the straw makes trouble put it down in the bill.” And he +mumbled at her—words suspiciously like curses. + +He was so odd, standing there, so aggressive and explosive, bottle in +one hand and test-tube in the other, that Mrs. Hall was quite alarmed. +But she was a resolute woman. “In which case, I should like to know, +sir, what you consider—” + +“A shilling—put down a shilling. Surely a shilling’s enough?” + +“So be it,” said Mrs. Hall, taking up the table-cloth and beginning to +spread it over the table. “If you’re satisfied, of course—” + +He turned and sat down, with his coat-collar toward her. + +All the afternoon he worked with the door locked and, as Mrs. Hall +testifies, for the most part in silence. But once there was a +concussion and a sound of bottles ringing together as though the table +had been hit, and the smash of a bottle flung violently down, and then +a rapid pacing athwart the room. Fearing “something was the matter,” +she went to the door and listened, not caring to knock. + +“I can’t go on,” he was raving. “I _can’t_ go on. Three hundred +thousand, four hundred thousand! The huge multitude! Cheated! All my +life it may take me! ... Patience! Patience indeed! ... Fool! fool!” + +There was a noise of hobnails on the bricks in the bar, and Mrs. Hall +had very reluctantly to leave the rest of his soliloquy. When she +returned the room was silent again, save for the faint crepitation of +his chair and the occasional clink of a bottle. It was all over; the +stranger had resumed work. + +When she took in his tea she saw broken glass in the corner of the room +under the concave mirror, and a golden stain that had been carelessly +wiped. She called attention to it. + +“Put it down in the bill,” snapped her visitor. “For God’s sake don’t +worry me. If there’s damage done, put it down in the bill,” and he went +on ticking a list in the exercise book before him. + +“I’ll tell you something,” said Fearenside, mysteriously. It was late +in the afternoon, and they were in the little beer-shop of Iping +Hanger. + +“Well?” said Teddy Henfrey. + +“This chap you’re speaking of, what my dog bit. Well—he’s black. +Leastways, his legs are. I seed through the tear of his trousers and +the tear of his glove. You’d have expected a sort of pinky to show, +wouldn’t you? Well—there wasn’t none. Just blackness. I tell you, he’s +as black as my hat.” + +“My sakes!” said Henfrey. “It’s a rummy case altogether. Why, his nose +is as pink as paint!” + +“That’s true,” said Fearenside. “I knows that. And I tell ’ee what I’m +thinking. That marn’s a piebald, Teddy. Black here and white there—in +patches. And he’s ashamed of it. He’s a kind of half-breed, and the +colour’s come off patchy instead of mixing. I’ve heard of such things +before. And it’s the common way with horses, as any one can see.” + + + + +CHAPTER IV. +MR. CUSS INTERVIEWS THE STRANGER + + +I have told the circumstances of the stranger’s arrival in Iping with a +certain fulness of detail, in order that the curious impression he +created may be understood by the reader. But excepting two odd +incidents, the circumstances of his stay until the extraordinary day of +the club festival may be passed over very cursorily. There were a +number of skirmishes with Mrs. Hall on matters of domestic discipline, +but in every case until late April, when the first signs of penury +began, he over-rode her by the easy expedient of an extra payment. Hall +did not like him, and whenever he dared he talked of the advisability +of getting rid of him; but he showed his dislike chiefly by concealing +it ostentatiously, and avoiding his visitor as much as possible. “Wait +till the summer,” said Mrs. Hall sagely, “when the artisks are +beginning to come. Then we’ll see. He may be a bit overbearing, but +bills settled punctual is bills settled punctual, whatever you’d like +to say.” + +The stranger did not go to church, and indeed made no difference +between Sunday and the irreligious days, even in costume. He worked, as +Mrs. Hall thought, very fitfully. Some days he would come down early +and be continuously busy. On others he would rise late, pace his room, +fretting audibly for hours together, smoke, sleep in the armchair by +the fire. Communication with the world beyond the village he had none. +His temper continued very uncertain; for the most part his manner was +that of a man suffering under almost unendurable provocation, and once +or twice things were snapped, torn, crushed, or broken in spasmodic +gusts of violence. He seemed under a chronic irritation of the greatest +intensity. His habit of talking to himself in a low voice grew steadily +upon him, but though Mrs. Hall listened conscientiously she could make +neither head nor tail of what she heard. + +He rarely went abroad by daylight, but at twilight he would go out +muffled up invisibly, whether the weather were cold or not, and he +chose the loneliest paths and those most overshadowed by trees and +banks. His goggling spectacles and ghastly bandaged face under the +penthouse of his hat, came with a disagreeable suddenness out of the +darkness upon one or two home-going labourers, and Teddy Henfrey, +tumbling out of the “Scarlet Coat” one night, at half-past nine, was +scared shamefully by the stranger’s skull-like head (he was walking hat +in hand) lit by the sudden light of the opened inn door. Such children +as saw him at nightfall dreamt of bogies, and it seemed doubtful +whether he disliked boys more than they disliked him, or the reverse; +but there was certainly a vivid enough dislike on either side. + +It was inevitable that a person of so remarkable an appearance and +bearing should form a frequent topic in such a village as Iping. +Opinion was greatly divided about his occupation. Mrs. Hall was +sensitive on the point. When questioned, she explained very carefully +that he was an “experimental investigator,” going gingerly over the +syllables as one who dreads pitfalls. When asked what an experimental +investigator was, she would say with a touch of superiority that most +educated people knew such things as that, and would thus explain that +he “discovered things.” Her visitor had had an accident, she said, +which temporarily discoloured his face and hands, and being of a +sensitive disposition, he was averse to any public notice of the fact. + +Out of her hearing there was a view largely entertained that he was a +criminal trying to escape from justice by wrapping himself up so as to +conceal himself altogether from the eye of the police. This idea sprang +from the brain of Mr. Teddy Henfrey. No crime of any magnitude dating +from the middle or end of February was known to have occurred. +Elaborated in the imagination of Mr. Gould, the probationary assistant +in the National School, this theory took the form that the stranger was +an Anarchist in disguise, preparing explosives, and he resolved to +undertake such detective operations as his time permitted. These +consisted for the most part in looking very hard at the stranger +whenever they met, or in asking people who had never seen the stranger, +leading questions about him. But he detected nothing. + +Another school of opinion followed Mr. Fearenside, and either accepted +the piebald view or some modification of it; as, for instance, Silas +Durgan, who was heard to assert that “if he chooses to show enself at +fairs he’d make his fortune in no time,” and being a bit of a +theologian, compared the stranger to the man with the one talent. Yet +another view explained the entire matter by regarding the stranger as a +harmless lunatic. That had the advantage of accounting for everything +straight away. + +Between these main groups there were waverers and compromisers. Sussex +folk have few superstitions, and it was only after the events of early +April that the thought of the supernatural was first whispered in the +village. Even then it was only credited among the women folk. + +But whatever they thought of him, people in Iping, on the whole, agreed +in disliking him. His irritability, though it might have been +comprehensible to an urban brain-worker, was an amazing thing to these +quiet Sussex villagers. The frantic gesticulations they surprised now +and then, the headlong pace after nightfall that swept him upon them +round quiet corners, the inhuman bludgeoning of all tentative advances +of curiosity, the taste for twilight that led to the closing of doors, +the pulling down of blinds, the extinction of candles and lamps—who +could agree with such goings on? They drew aside as he passed down the +village, and when he had gone by, young humourists would up with +coat-collars and down with hat-brims, and go pacing nervously after him +in imitation of his occult bearing. There was a song popular at that +time called “The Bogey Man”. Miss Statchell sang it at the schoolroom +concert (in aid of the church lamps), and thereafter whenever one or +two of the villagers were gathered together and the stranger appeared, +a bar or so of this tune, more or less sharp or flat, was whistled in +the midst of them. Also belated little children would call “Bogey Man!” +after him, and make off tremulously elated. + +Cuss, the general practitioner, was devoured by curiosity. The bandages +excited his professional interest, the report of the thousand and one +bottles aroused his jealous regard. All through April and May he +coveted an opportunity of talking to the stranger, and at last, towards +Whitsuntide, he could stand it no longer, but hit upon the +subscription-list for a village nurse as an excuse. He was surprised to +find that Mr. Hall did not know his guest’s name. “He give a name,” +said Mrs. Hall—an assertion which was quite unfounded—“but I didn’t +rightly hear it.” She thought it seemed so silly not to know the man’s +name. + +Cuss rapped at the parlour door and entered. There was a fairly audible +imprecation from within. “Pardon my intrusion,” said Cuss, and then the +door closed and cut Mrs. Hall off from the rest of the conversation. + +She could hear the murmur of voices for the next ten minutes, then a +cry of surprise, a stirring of feet, a chair flung aside, a bark of +laughter, quick steps to the door, and Cuss appeared, his face white, +his eyes staring over his shoulder. He left the door open behind him, +and without looking at her strode across the hall and went down the +steps, and she heard his feet hurrying along the road. He carried his +hat in his hand. She stood behind the door, looking at the open door of +the parlour. Then she heard the stranger laughing quietly, and then his +footsteps came across the room. She could not see his face where she +stood. The parlour door slammed, and the place was silent again. + +Cuss went straight up the village to Bunting the vicar. “Am I mad?” +Cuss began abruptly, as he entered the shabby little study. “Do I look +like an insane person?” + +“What’s happened?” said the vicar, putting the ammonite on the loose +sheets of his forth-coming sermon. + +“That chap at the inn—” + +“Well?” + +“Give me something to drink,” said Cuss, and he sat down. + +When his nerves had been steadied by a glass of cheap sherry—the only +drink the good vicar had available—he told him of the interview he had +just had. “Went in,” he gasped, “and began to demand a subscription for +that Nurse Fund. He’d stuck his hands in his pockets as I came in, and +he sat down lumpily in his chair. Sniffed. I told him I’d heard he took +an interest in scientific things. He said yes. Sniffed again. Kept on +sniffing all the time; evidently recently caught an infernal cold. No +wonder, wrapped up like that! I developed the nurse idea, and all the +while kept my eyes open. Bottles—chemicals—everywhere. Balance, +test-tubes in stands, and a smell of—evening primrose. Would he +subscribe? Said he’d consider it. Asked him, point-blank, was he +researching. Said he was. A long research? Got quite cross. ‘A damnable +long research,’ said he, blowing the cork out, so to speak. ‘Oh,’ said +I. And out came the grievance. The man was just on the boil, and my +question boiled him over. He had been given a prescription, most +valuable prescription—what for he wouldn’t say. Was it medical? ‘Damn +you! What are you fishing after?’ I apologised. Dignified sniff and +cough. He resumed. He’d read it. Five ingredients. Put it down; turned +his head. Draught of air from window lifted the paper. Swish, rustle. +He was working in a room with an open fireplace, he said. Saw a +flicker, and there was the prescription burning and lifting +chimneyward. Rushed towards it just as it whisked up the chimney. So! +Just at that point, to illustrate his story, out came his arm.” + +“Well?” + +“No hand—just an empty sleeve. Lord! I thought, _that’s_ a deformity! +Got a cork arm, I suppose, and has taken it off. Then, I thought, +there’s something odd in that. What the devil keeps that sleeve up and +open, if there’s nothing in it? There was nothing in it, I tell you. +Nothing down it, right down to the joint. I could see right down it to +the elbow, and there was a glimmer of light shining through a tear of +the cloth. ‘Good God!’ I said. Then he stopped. Stared at me with those +black goggles of his, and then at his sleeve.” + +“Well?” + +“That’s all. He never said a word; just glared, and put his sleeve back +in his pocket quickly. ‘I was saying,’ said he, ‘that there was the +prescription burning, wasn’t I?’ Interrogative cough. ‘How the devil,’ +said I, ‘can you move an empty sleeve like that?’ ‘Empty sleeve?’ +‘Yes,’ said I, ‘an empty sleeve.’ + +“‘It’s an empty sleeve, is it? You saw it was an empty sleeve?’ He +stood up right away. I stood up too. He came towards me in three very +slow steps, and stood quite close. Sniffed venomously. I didn’t flinch, +though I’m hanged if that bandaged knob of his, and those blinkers, +aren’t enough to unnerve any one, coming quietly up to you. + +“‘You said it was an empty sleeve?’ he said. ‘Certainly,’ I said. At +staring and saying nothing a barefaced man, unspectacled, starts +scratch. Then very quietly he pulled his sleeve out of his pocket +again, and raised his arm towards me as though he would show it to me +again. He did it very, very slowly. I looked at it. Seemed an age. +‘Well?’ said I, clearing my throat, ‘there’s nothing in it.’ + +“Had to say something. I was beginning to feel frightened. I could see +right down it. He extended it straight towards me, slowly, slowly—just +like that—until the cuff was six inches from my face. Queer thing to +see an empty sleeve come at you like that! And then—” + +“Well?” + +“Something—exactly like a finger and thumb it felt—nipped my nose.” + +Bunting began to laugh. + +“There wasn’t anything there!” said Cuss, his voice running up into a +shriek at the “there.” “It’s all very well for you to laugh, but I tell +you I was so startled, I hit his cuff hard, and turned around, and cut +out of the room—I left him—” + +Cuss stopped. There was no mistaking the sincerity of his panic. He +turned round in a helpless way and took a second glass of the excellent +vicar’s very inferior sherry. “When I hit his cuff,” said Cuss, “I tell +you, it felt exactly like hitting an arm. And there wasn’t an arm! +There wasn’t the ghost of an arm!” + +Mr. Bunting thought it over. He looked suspiciously at Cuss. “It’s a +most remarkable story,” he said. He looked very wise and grave indeed. +“It’s really,” said Mr. Bunting with judicial emphasis, “a most +remarkable story.” + + + + +CHAPTER V. +THE BURGLARY AT THE VICARAGE + + +The facts of the burglary at the vicarage came to us chiefly through +the medium of the vicar and his wife. It occurred in the small hours of +Whit Monday, the day devoted in Iping to the Club festivities. Mrs. +Bunting, it seems, woke up suddenly in the stillness that comes before +the dawn, with the strong impression that the door of their bedroom had +opened and closed. She did not arouse her husband at first, but sat up +in bed listening. She then distinctly heard the pad, pad, pad of bare +feet coming out of the adjoining dressing-room and walking along the +passage towards the staircase. As soon as she felt assured of this, she +aroused the Rev. Mr. Bunting as quietly as possible. He did not strike +a light, but putting on his spectacles, her dressing-gown and his bath +slippers, he went out on the landing to listen. He heard quite +distinctly a fumbling going on at his study desk down-stairs, and then +a violent sneeze. + +At that he returned to his bedroom, armed himself with the most obvious +weapon, the poker, and descended the staircase as noiselessly as +possible. Mrs. Bunting came out on the landing. + +The hour was about four, and the ultimate darkness of the night was +past. There was a faint shimmer of light in the hall, but the study +doorway yawned impenetrably black. Everything was still except the +faint creaking of the stairs under Mr. Bunting’s tread, and the slight +movements in the study. Then something snapped, the drawer was opened, +and there was a rustle of papers. Then came an imprecation, and a match +was struck and the study was flooded with yellow light. Mr. Bunting was +now in the hall, and through the crack of the door he could see the +desk and the open drawer and a candle burning on the desk. But the +robber he could not see. He stood there in the hall undecided what to +do, and Mrs. Bunting, her face white and intent, crept slowly +downstairs after him. One thing kept Mr. Bunting’s courage; the +persuasion that this burglar was a resident in the village. + +They heard the chink of money, and realised that the robber had found +the housekeeping reserve of gold—two pounds ten in half sovereigns +altogether. At that sound Mr. Bunting was nerved to abrupt action. +Gripping the poker firmly, he rushed into the room, closely followed by +Mrs. Bunting. “Surrender!” cried Mr. Bunting, fiercely, and then +stooped amazed. Apparently the room was perfectly empty. + +Yet their conviction that they had, that very moment, heard somebody +moving in the room had amounted to a certainty. For half a minute, +perhaps, they stood gaping, then Mrs. Bunting went across the room and +looked behind the screen, while Mr. Bunting, by a kindred impulse, +peered under the desk. Then Mrs. Bunting turned back the +window-curtains, and Mr. Bunting looked up the chimney and probed it +with the poker. Then Mrs. Bunting scrutinised the waste-paper basket +and Mr. Bunting opened the lid of the coal-scuttle. Then they came to a +stop and stood with eyes interrogating each other. + +“I could have sworn—” said Mr. Bunting. + +“The candle!” said Mr. Bunting. “Who lit the candle?” + +“The drawer!” said Mrs. Bunting. “And the money’s gone!” + +She went hastily to the doorway. + +“Of all the strange occurrences—” + +There was a violent sneeze in the passage. They rushed out, and as they +did so the kitchen door slammed. “Bring the candle,” said Mr. Bunting, +and led the way. They both heard a sound of bolts being hastily shot +back. + +As he opened the kitchen door he saw through the scullery that the back +door was just opening, and the faint light of early dawn displayed the +dark masses of the garden beyond. He is certain that nothing went out +of the door. It opened, stood open for a moment, and then closed with a +slam. As it did so, the candle Mrs. Bunting was carrying from the study +flickered and flared. It was a minute or more before they entered the +kitchen. + +The place was empty. They refastened the back door, examined the +kitchen, pantry, and scullery thoroughly, and at last went down into +the cellar. There was not a soul to be found in the house, search as +they would. + +Daylight found the vicar and his wife, a quaintly-costumed little +couple, still marvelling about on their own ground floor by the +unnecessary light of a guttering candle. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. +THE FURNITURE THAT WENT MAD + + +Now it happened that in the early hours of Whit Monday, before Millie +was hunted out for the day, Mr. Hall and Mrs. Hall both rose and went +noiselessly down into the cellar. Their business there was of a private +nature, and had something to do with the specific gravity of their +beer. They had hardly entered the cellar when Mrs. Hall found she had +forgotten to bring down a bottle of sarsaparilla from their joint-room. +As she was the expert and principal operator in this affair, Hall very +properly went upstairs for it. + +On the landing he was surprised to see that the stranger’s door was +ajar. He went on into his own room and found the bottle as he had been +directed. + +But returning with the bottle, he noticed that the bolts of the front +door had been shot back, that the door was in fact simply on the latch. +And with a flash of inspiration he connected this with the stranger’s +room upstairs and the suggestions of Mr. Teddy Henfrey. He distinctly +remembered holding the candle while Mrs. Hall shot these bolts +overnight. At the sight he stopped, gaping, then with the bottle still +in his hand went upstairs again. He rapped at the stranger’s door. +There was no answer. He rapped again; then pushed the door wide open +and entered. + +It was as he expected. The bed, the room also, was empty. And what was +stranger, even to his heavy intelligence, on the bedroom chair and +along the rail of the bed were scattered the garments, the only +garments so far as he knew, and the bandages of their guest. His big +slouch hat even was cocked jauntily over the bed-post. + +As Hall stood there he heard his wife’s voice coming out of the depth +of the cellar, with that rapid telescoping of the syllables and +interrogative cocking up of the final words to a high note, by which +the West Sussex villager is wont to indicate a brisk impatience. +“George! You gart whad a wand?” + +At that he turned and hurried down to her. “Janny,” he said, over the +rail of the cellar steps, “’tas the truth what Henfrey sez. ’E’s not in +uz room, ’e en’t. And the front door’s onbolted.” + +At first Mrs. Hall did not understand, and as soon as she did she +resolved to see the empty room for herself. Hall, still holding the +bottle, went first. “If ’e en’t there,” he said, “’is close are. And +what’s ’e doin’ ’ithout ’is close, then? ’Tas a most curious business.” + +As they came up the cellar steps they both, it was afterwards +ascertained, fancied they heard the front door open and shut, but +seeing it closed and nothing there, neither said a word to the other +about it at the time. Mrs. Hall passed her husband in the passage and +ran on first upstairs. Someone sneezed on the staircase. Hall, +following six steps behind, thought that he heard her sneeze. She, +going on first, was under the impression that Hall was sneezing. She +flung open the door and stood regarding the room. “Of all the curious!” +she said. + +She heard a sniff close behind her head as it seemed, and turning, was +surprised to see Hall a dozen feet off on the topmost stair. But in +another moment he was beside her. She bent forward and put her hand on +the pillow and then under the clothes. + +“Cold,” she said. “He’s been up this hour or more.” + +As she did so, a most extraordinary thing happened. The bed-clothes +gathered themselves together, leapt up suddenly into a sort of peak, +and then jumped headlong over the bottom rail. It was exactly as if a +hand had clutched them in the centre and flung them aside. Immediately +after, the stranger’s hat hopped off the bed-post, described a whirling +flight in the air through the better part of a circle, and then dashed +straight at Mrs. Hall’s face. Then as swiftly came the sponge from the +washstand; and then the chair, flinging the stranger’s coat and +trousers carelessly aside, and laughing drily in a voice singularly +like the stranger’s, turned itself up with its four legs at Mrs. Hall, +seemed to take aim at her for a moment, and charged at her. She +screamed and turned, and then the chair legs came gently but firmly +against her back and impelled her and Hall out of the room. The door +slammed violently and was locked. The chair and bed seemed to be +executing a dance of triumph for a moment, and then abruptly everything +was still. + +Mrs. Hall was left almost in a fainting condition in Mr. Hall’s arms on +the landing. It was with the greatest difficulty that Mr. Hall and +Millie, who had been roused by her scream of alarm, succeeded in +getting her downstairs, and applying the restoratives customary in such +cases. + +“’Tas sperits,” said Mrs. Hall. “I know ’tas sperits. I’ve read in +papers of en. Tables and chairs leaping and dancing...” + +“Take a drop more, Janny,” said Hall. “’Twill steady ye.” + +“Lock him out,” said Mrs. Hall. “Don’t let him come in again. I half +guessed—I might ha’ known. With them goggling eyes and bandaged head, +and never going to church of a Sunday. And all they bottles—more’n it’s +right for any one to have. He’s put the sperits into the furniture.... +My good old furniture! ’Twas in that very chair my poor dear mother +used to sit when I was a little girl. To think it should rise up +against me now!” + +“Just a drop more, Janny,” said Hall. “Your nerves is all upset.” + +They sent Millie across the street through the golden five o’clock +sunshine to rouse up Mr. Sandy Wadgers, the blacksmith. Mr. Hall’s +compliments and the furniture upstairs was behaving most extraordinary. +Would Mr. Wadgers come round? He was a knowing man, was Mr. Wadgers, +and very resourceful. He took quite a grave view of the case. “Arm +darmed if thet ent witchcraft,” was the view of Mr. Sandy Wadgers. “You +warnt horseshoes for such gentry as he.” + +He came round greatly concerned. They wanted him to lead the way +upstairs to the room, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry. He +preferred to talk in the passage. Over the way Huxter’s apprentice came +out and began taking down the shutters of the tobacco window. He was +called over to join the discussion. Mr. Huxter naturally followed over +in the course of a few minutes. The Anglo-Saxon genius for +parliamentary government asserted itself; there was a great deal of +talk and no decisive action. “Let’s have the facts first,” insisted Mr. +Sandy Wadgers. “Let’s be sure we’d be acting perfectly right in bustin’ +that there door open. A door onbust is always open to bustin’, but ye +can’t onbust a door once you’ve busted en.” + +And suddenly and most wonderfully the door of the room upstairs opened +of its own accord, and as they looked up in amazement, they saw +descending the stairs the muffled figure of the stranger staring more +blackly and blankly than ever with those unreasonably large blue glass +eyes of his. He came down stiffly and slowly, staring all the time; he +walked across the passage staring, then stopped. + +“Look there!” he said, and their eyes followed the direction of his +gloved finger and saw a bottle of sarsaparilla hard by the cellar door. +Then he entered the parlour, and suddenly, swiftly, viciously, slammed +the door in their faces. + +Not a word was spoken until the last echoes of the slam had died away. +They stared at one another. “Well, if that don’t lick everything!” said +Mr. Wadgers, and left the alternative unsaid. + +“I’d go in and ask’n ’bout it,” said Wadgers, to Mr. Hall. “I’d d’mand +an explanation.” + +It took some time to bring the landlady’s husband up to that pitch. At +last he rapped, opened the door, and got as far as, “Excuse me—” + +“Go to the devil!” said the stranger in a tremendous voice, and “Shut +that door after you.” So that brief interview terminated. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. +THE UNVEILING OF THE STRANGER + + +The stranger went into the little parlour of the “Coach and Horses” +about half-past five in the morning, and there he remained until near +midday, the blinds down, the door shut, and none, after Hall’s repulse, +venturing near him. + +All that time he must have fasted. Thrice he rang his bell, the third +time furiously and continuously, but no one answered him. “Him and his +‘go to the devil’ indeed!” said Mrs. Hall. Presently came an imperfect +rumour of the burglary at the vicarage, and two and two were put +together. Hall, assisted by Wadgers, went off to find Mr. Shuckleforth, +the magistrate, and take his advice. No one ventured upstairs. How the +stranger occupied himself is unknown. Now and then he would stride +violently up and down, and twice came an outburst of curses, a tearing +of paper, and a violent smashing of bottles. + +The little group of scared but curious people increased. Mrs. Huxter +came over; some gay young fellows resplendent in black ready-made +jackets and _piqué_ paper ties—for it was Whit Monday—joined the group +with confused interrogations. Young Archie Harker distinguished himself +by going up the yard and trying to peep under the window-blinds. He +could see nothing, but gave reason for supposing that he did, and +others of the Iping youth presently joined him. + +It was the finest of all possible Whit Mondays, and down the village +street stood a row of nearly a dozen booths, a shooting gallery, and on +the grass by the forge were three yellow and chocolate waggons and some +picturesque strangers of both sexes putting up a cocoanut shy. The +gentlemen wore blue jerseys, the ladies white aprons and quite +fashionable hats with heavy plumes. Wodger, of the “Purple Fawn,” and +Mr. Jaggers, the cobbler, who also sold old second-hand ordinary +bicycles, were stretching a string of union-jacks and royal ensigns +(which had originally celebrated the first Victorian Jubilee) across +the road. + +And inside, in the artificial darkness of the parlour, into which only +one thin jet of sunlight penetrated, the stranger, hungry we must +suppose, and fearful, hidden in his uncomfortable hot wrappings, pored +through his dark glasses upon his paper or chinked his dirty little +bottles, and occasionally swore savagely at the boys, audible if +invisible, outside the windows. In the corner by the fireplace lay the +fragments of half a dozen smashed bottles, and a pungent twang of +chlorine tainted the air. So much we know from what was heard at the +time and from what was subsequently seen in the room. + +About noon he suddenly opened his parlour door and stood glaring +fixedly at the three or four people in the bar. “Mrs. Hall,” he said. +Somebody went sheepishly and called for Mrs. Hall. + +Mrs. Hall appeared after an interval, a little short of breath, but all +the fiercer for that. Hall was still out. She had deliberated over this +scene, and she came holding a little tray with an unsettled bill upon +it. “Is it your bill you’re wanting, sir?” she said. + +“Why wasn’t my breakfast laid? Why haven’t you prepared my meals and +answered my bell? Do you think I live without eating?” + +“Why isn’t my bill paid?” said Mrs. Hall. “That’s what I want to know.” + +“I told you three days ago I was awaiting a remittance—” + +“I told you two days ago I wasn’t going to await no remittances. You +can’t grumble if your breakfast waits a bit, if my bill’s been waiting +these five days, can you?” + +The stranger swore briefly but vividly. + +“Nar, nar!” from the bar. + +“And I’d thank you kindly, sir, if you’d keep your swearing to +yourself, sir,” said Mrs. Hall. + +The stranger stood looking more like an angry diving-helmet than ever. +It was universally felt in the bar that Mrs. Hall had the better of +him. His next words showed as much. + +“Look here, my good woman—” he began. + +“Don’t ‘good woman’ _me_,” said Mrs. Hall. + +“I’ve told you my remittance hasn’t come.” + +“Remittance indeed!” said Mrs. Hall. + +“Still, I daresay in my pocket—” + +“You told me three days ago that you hadn’t anything but a sovereign’s +worth of silver upon you.” + +“Well, I’ve found some more—” + +“’Ul-lo!” from the bar. + +“I wonder where you found it,” said Mrs. Hall. + +That seemed to annoy the stranger very much. He stamped his foot. “What +do you mean?” he said. + +“That I wonder where you found it,” said Mrs. Hall. “And before I take +any bills or get any breakfasts, or do any such things whatsoever, you +got to tell me one or two things I don’t understand, and what nobody +don’t understand, and what everybody is very anxious to understand. I +want to know what you been doing t’my chair upstairs, and I want to +know how ’tis your room was empty, and how you got in again. Them as +stops in this house comes in by the doors—that’s the rule of the house, +and that you _didn’t_ do, and what I want to know is how you _did_ come +in. And I want to know—” + +Suddenly the stranger raised his gloved hands clenched, stamped his +foot, and said, “Stop!” with such extraordinary violence that he +silenced her instantly. + +“You don’t understand,” he said, “who I am or what I am. I’ll show you. +By Heaven! I’ll show you.” Then he put his open palm over his face and +withdrew it. The centre of his face became a black cavity. “Here,” he +said. He stepped forward and handed Mrs. Hall something which she, +staring at his metamorphosed face, accepted automatically. Then, when +she saw what it was, she screamed loudly, dropped it, and staggered +back. The nose—it was the stranger’s nose! pink and shining—rolled on +the floor. + +Then he removed his spectacles, and everyone in the bar gasped. He took +off his hat, and with a violent gesture tore at his whiskers and +bandages. For a moment they resisted him. A flash of horrible +anticipation passed through the bar. “Oh, my Gard!” said some one. Then +off they came. + +It was worse than anything. Mrs. Hall, standing open-mouthed and +horror-struck, shrieked at what she saw, and made for the door of the +house. Everyone began to move. They were prepared for scars, +disfigurements, tangible horrors, but nothing! The bandages and false +hair flew across the passage into the bar, making a hobbledehoy jump to +avoid them. Everyone tumbled on everyone else down the steps. For the +man who stood there shouting some incoherent explanation, was a solid +gesticulating figure up to the coat-collar of him, and +then—nothingness, no visible thing at all! + +People down the village heard shouts and shrieks, and looking up the +street saw the “Coach and Horses” violently firing out its humanity. +They saw Mrs. Hall fall down and Mr. Teddy Henfrey jump to avoid +tumbling over her, and then they heard the frightful screams of Millie, +who, emerging suddenly from the kitchen at the noise of the tumult, had +come upon the headless stranger from behind. These increased suddenly. + +Forthwith everyone all down the street, the sweetstuff seller, cocoanut +shy proprietor and his assistant, the swing man, little boys and girls, +rustic dandies, smart wenches, smocked elders and aproned gipsies—began +running towards the inn, and in a miraculously short space of time a +crowd of perhaps forty people, and rapidly increasing, swayed and +hooted and inquired and exclaimed and suggested, in front of Mrs. +Hall’s establishment. Everyone seemed eager to talk at once, and the +result was Babel. A small group supported Mrs. Hall, who was picked up +in a state of collapse. There was a conference, and the incredible +evidence of a vociferous eye-witness. “O Bogey!” “What’s he been doin’, +then?” “Ain’t hurt the girl, ’as ’e?” “Run at en with a knife, I +believe.” “No ’ed, I tell ye. I don’t mean no manner of speaking. I +mean _marn ’ithout a ’ed_!” “Narnsense! ’tis some conjuring trick.” +“Fetched off ’is wrapping, ’e did—” + +In its struggles to see in through the open door, the crowd formed +itself into a straggling wedge, with the more adventurous apex nearest +the inn. “He stood for a moment, I heerd the gal scream, and he turned. +I saw her skirts whisk, and he went after her. Didn’t take ten seconds. +Back he comes with a knife in uz hand and a loaf; stood just as if he +was staring. Not a moment ago. Went in that there door. I tell ’e, ’e +ain’t gart no ’ed at all. You just missed en—” + +There was a disturbance behind, and the speaker stopped to step aside +for a little procession that was marching very resolutely towards the +house; first Mr. Hall, very red and determined, then Mr. Bobby Jaffers, +the village constable, and then the wary Mr. Wadgers. They had come now +armed with a warrant. + +People shouted conflicting information of the recent circumstances. +“’Ed or no ’ed,” said Jaffers, “I got to ’rest en, and ’rest en I +_will_.” + +Mr. Hall marched up the steps, marched straight to the door of the +parlour and flung it open. “Constable,” he said, “do your duty.” + +Jaffers marched in. Hall next, Wadgers last. They saw in the dim light +the headless figure facing them, with a gnawed crust of bread in one +gloved hand and a chunk of cheese in the other. + +“That’s him!” said Hall. + +“What the devil’s this?” came in a tone of angry expostulation from +above the collar of the figure. + +“You’re a damned rum customer, mister,” said Mr. Jaffers. “But ’ed or +no ’ed, the warrant says ‘body,’ and duty’s duty—” + +“Keep off!” said the figure, starting back. + +Abruptly he whipped down the bread and cheese, and Mr. Hall just +grasped the knife on the table in time to save it. Off came the +stranger’s left glove and was slapped in Jaffers’ face. In another +moment Jaffers, cutting short some statement concerning a warrant, had +gripped him by the handless wrist and caught his invisible throat. He +got a sounding kick on the shin that made him shout, but he kept his +grip. Hall sent the knife sliding along the table to Wadgers, who acted +as goal-keeper for the offensive, so to speak, and then stepped forward +as Jaffers and the stranger swayed and staggered towards him, clutching +and hitting in. A chair stood in the way, and went aside with a crash +as they came down together. + +“Get the feet,” said Jaffers between his teeth. + +Mr. Hall, endeavouring to act on instructions, received a sounding kick +in the ribs that disposed of him for a moment, and Mr. Wadgers, seeing +the decapitated stranger had rolled over and got the upper side of +Jaffers, retreated towards the door, knife in hand, and so collided +with Mr. Huxter and the Sidderbridge carter coming to the rescue of law +and order. At the same moment down came three or four bottles from the +chiffonnier and shot a web of pungency into the air of the room. + +“I’ll surrender,” cried the stranger, though he had Jaffers down, and +in another moment he stood up panting, a strange figure, headless and +handless—for he had pulled off his right glove now as well as his left. +“It’s no good,” he said, as if sobbing for breath. + +It was the strangest thing in the world to hear that voice coming as if +out of empty space, but the Sussex peasants are perhaps the most +matter-of-fact people under the sun. Jaffers got up also and produced a +pair of handcuffs. Then he stared. + +“I say!” said Jaffers, brought up short by a dim realization of the +incongruity of the whole business, “Darn it! Can’t use ’em as I can +see.” + +The stranger ran his arm down his waistcoat, and as if by a miracle the +buttons to which his empty sleeve pointed became undone. Then he said +something about his shin, and stooped down. He seemed to be fumbling +with his shoes and socks. + +“Why!” said Huxter, suddenly, “that’s not a man at all. It’s just empty +clothes. Look! You can see down his collar and the linings of his +clothes. I could put my arm—” + +He extended his hand; it seemed to meet something in mid-air, and he +drew it back with a sharp exclamation. “I wish you’d keep your fingers +out of my eye,” said the aerial voice, in a tone of savage +expostulation. “The fact is, I’m all here—head, hands, legs, and all +the rest of it, but it happens I’m invisible. It’s a confounded +nuisance, but I am. That’s no reason why I should be poked to pieces by +every stupid bumpkin in Iping, is it?” + +The suit of clothes, now all unbuttoned and hanging loosely upon its +unseen supports, stood up, arms akimbo. + +Several other of the men folks had now entered the room, so that it was +closely crowded. “Invisible, eh?” said Huxter, ignoring the stranger’s +abuse. “Who ever heard the likes of that?” + +“It’s strange, perhaps, but it’s not a crime. Why am I assaulted by a +policeman in this fashion?” + +“Ah! that’s a different matter,” said Jaffers. “No doubt you are a bit +difficult to see in this light, but I got a warrant and it’s all +correct. What I’m after ain’t no invisibility,—it’s burglary. There’s a +house been broke into and money took.” + +“Well?” + +“And circumstances certainly point—” + +“Stuff and nonsense!” said the Invisible Man. + +“I hope so, sir; but I’ve got my instructions.” + +“Well,” said the stranger, “I’ll come. I’ll _come_. But no handcuffs.” + +“It’s the regular thing,” said Jaffers. + +“No handcuffs,” stipulated the stranger. + +“Pardon me,” said Jaffers. + +Abruptly the figure sat down, and before any one could realise was was +being done, the slippers, socks, and trousers had been kicked off under +the table. Then he sprang up again and flung off his coat. + +“Here, stop that,” said Jaffers, suddenly realising what was happening. +He gripped at the waistcoat; it struggled, and the shirt slipped out of +it and left it limp and empty in his hand. “Hold him!” said Jaffers, +loudly. “Once he gets the things off—” + +“Hold him!” cried everyone, and there was a rush at the fluttering +white shirt which was now all that was visible of the stranger. + +The shirt-sleeve planted a shrewd blow in Hall’s face that stopped his +open-armed advance, and sent him backward into old Toothsome the +sexton, and in another moment the garment was lifted up and became +convulsed and vacantly flapping about the arms, even as a shirt that is +being thrust over a man’s head. Jaffers clutched at it, and only helped +to pull it off; he was struck in the mouth out of the air, and +incontinently threw his truncheon and smote Teddy Henfrey savagely upon +the crown of his head. + +“Look out!” said everybody, fencing at random and hitting at nothing. +“Hold him! Shut the door! Don’t let him loose! I got something! Here he +is!” A perfect Babel of noises they made. Everybody, it seemed, was +being hit all at once, and Sandy Wadgers, knowing as ever and his wits +sharpened by a frightful blow in the nose, reopened the door and led +the rout. The others, following incontinently, were jammed for a moment +in the corner by the doorway. The hitting continued. Phipps, the +Unitarian, had a front tooth broken, and Henfrey was injured in the +cartilage of his ear. Jaffers was struck under the jaw, and, turning, +caught at something that intervened between him and Huxter in the +mêlée, and prevented their coming together. He felt a muscular chest, +and in another moment the whole mass of struggling, excited men shot +out into the crowded hall. + +“I got him!” shouted Jaffers, choking and reeling through them all, and +wrestling with purple face and swelling veins against his unseen enemy. + +Men staggered right and left as the extraordinary conflict swayed +swiftly towards the house door, and went spinning down the half-dozen +steps of the inn. Jaffers cried in a strangled voice—holding tight, +nevertheless, and making play with his knee—spun around, and fell +heavily undermost with his head on the gravel. Only then did his +fingers relax. + +There were excited cries of “Hold him!” “Invisible!” and so forth, and +a young fellow, a stranger in the place whose name did not come to +light, rushed in at once, caught something, missed his hold, and fell +over the constable’s prostrate body. Half-way across the road a woman +screamed as something pushed by her; a dog, kicked apparently, yelped +and ran howling into Huxter’s yard, and with that the transit of the +Invisible Man was accomplished. For a space people stood amazed and +gesticulating, and then came panic, and scattered them abroad through +the village as a gust scatters dead leaves. + +But Jaffers lay quite still, face upward and knees bent, at the foot of +the steps of the inn. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. +IN TRANSIT + + +The eighth chapter is exceedingly brief, and relates that Gibbons, the +amateur naturalist of the district, while lying out on the spacious +open downs without a soul within a couple of miles of him, as he +thought, and almost dozing, heard close to him the sound as of a man +coughing, sneezing, and then swearing savagely to himself; and looking, +beheld nothing. Yet the voice was indisputable. It continued to swear +with that breadth and variety that distinguishes the swearing of a +cultivated man. It grew to a climax, diminished again, and died away in +the distance, going as it seemed to him in the direction of Adderdean. +It lifted to a spasmodic sneeze and ended. Gibbons had heard nothing of +the morning’s occurrences, but the phenomenon was so striking and +disturbing that his philosophical tranquillity vanished; he got up +hastily, and hurried down the steepness of the hill towards the +village, as fast as he could go. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. +MR. THOMAS MARVEL + + +You must picture Mr. Thomas Marvel as a person of copious, flexible +visage, a nose of cylindrical protrusion, a liquorish, ample, +fluctuating mouth, and a beard of bristling eccentricity. His figure +inclined to embonpoint; his short limbs accentuated this inclination. +He wore a furry silk hat, and the frequent substitution of twine and +shoe-laces for buttons, apparent at critical points of his costume, +marked a man essentially bachelor. + +Mr. Thomas Marvel was sitting with his feet in a ditch by the roadside +over the down towards Adderdean, about a mile and a half out of Iping. +His feet, save for socks of irregular open-work, were bare, his big +toes were broad, and pricked like the ears of a watchful dog. In a +leisurely manner—he did everything in a leisurely manner—he was +contemplating trying on a pair of boots. They were the soundest boots +he had come across for a long time, but too large for him; whereas the +ones he had were, in dry weather, a very comfortable fit, but too +thin-soled for damp. Mr. Thomas Marvel hated roomy shoes, but then he +hated damp. He had never properly thought out which he hated most, and +it was a pleasant day, and there was nothing better to do. So he put +the four shoes in a graceful group on the turf and looked at them. And +seeing them there among the grass and springing agrimony, it suddenly +occurred to him that both pairs were exceedingly ugly to see. He was +not at all startled by a voice behind him. + +“They’re boots, anyhow,” said the Voice. + +“They are—charity boots,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, with his head on one +side regarding them distastefully; “and which is the ugliest pair in +the whole blessed universe, I’m darned if I know!” + +“H’m,” said the Voice. + +“I’ve worn worse—in fact, I’ve worn none. But none so owdacious ugly—if +you’ll allow the expression. I’ve been cadging boots—in particular—for +days. Because I was sick of _them_. They’re sound enough, of course. +But a gentleman on tramp sees such a thundering lot of his boots. And +if you’ll believe me, I’ve raised nothing in the whole blessed country, +try as I would, but _them_. Look at ’em! And a good country for boots, +too, in a general way. But it’s just my promiscuous luck. I’ve got my +boots in this country ten years or more. And then they treat you like +this.” + +“It’s a beast of a country,” said the Voice. “And pigs for people.” + +“Ain’t it?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “Lord! But them boots! It beats +it.” + +He turned his head over his shoulder to the right, to look at the boots +of his interlocutor with a view to comparisons, and lo! where the boots +of his interlocutor should have been were neither legs nor boots. He +was irradiated by the dawn of a great amazement. “Where _are_ yer?” +said Mr. Thomas Marvel over his shoulder and coming on all fours. He +saw a stretch of empty downs with the wind swaying the remote +green-pointed furze bushes. + +“Am I drunk?” said Mr. Marvel. “Have I had visions? Was I talking to +myself? What the—” + +“Don’t be alarmed,” said a Voice. + +“None of your ventriloquising _me_,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, rising +sharply to his feet. “Where _are_ yer? Alarmed, indeed!” + +“Don’t be alarmed,” repeated the Voice. + +“_You’ll_ be alarmed in a minute, you silly fool,” said Mr. Thomas +Marvel. “Where _are_ yer? Lemme get my mark on yer... + +“Are yer _buried_?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, after an interval. + +There was no answer. Mr. Thomas Marvel stood bootless and amazed, his +jacket nearly thrown off. + +“Peewit,” said a peewit, very remote. + +“Peewit, indeed!” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “This ain’t no time for +foolery.” The down was desolate, east and west, north and south; the +road with its shallow ditches and white bordering stakes, ran smooth +and empty north and south, and, save for that peewit, the blue sky was +empty too. “So help me,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, shuffling his coat on +to his shoulders again. “It’s the drink! I might ha’ known.” + +“It’s not the drink,” said the Voice. “You keep your nerves steady.” + +“Ow!” said Mr. Marvel, and his face grew white amidst its patches. +“It’s the drink!” his lips repeated noiselessly. He remained staring +about him, rotating slowly backwards. “I could have _swore_ I heard a +voice,” he whispered. + +“Of course you did.” + +“It’s there again,” said Mr. Marvel, closing his eyes and clasping his +hand on his brow with a tragic gesture. He was suddenly taken by the +collar and shaken violently, and left more dazed than ever. “Don’t be a +fool,” said the Voice. + +“I’m—off—my—blooming—chump,” said Mr. Marvel. “It’s no good. It’s +fretting about them blarsted boots. I’m off my blessed blooming chump. +Or it’s spirits.” + +“Neither one thing nor the other,” said the Voice. “Listen!” + +“Chump,” said Mr. Marvel. + +“One minute,” said the Voice, penetratingly, tremulous with +self-control. + +“Well?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, with a strange feeling of having been +dug in the chest by a finger. + +“You think I’m just imagination? Just imagination?” + +“What else _can_ you be?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, rubbing the back of +his neck. + +“Very well,” said the Voice, in a tone of relief. “Then I’m going to +throw flints at you till you think differently.” + +“But where _are_ yer?” + +The Voice made no answer. Whizz came a flint, apparently out of the +air, and missed Mr. Marvel’s shoulder by a hair’s-breadth. Mr. Marvel, +turning, saw a flint jerk up into the air, trace a complicated path, +hang for a moment, and then fling at his feet with almost invisible +rapidity. He was too amazed to dodge. Whizz it came, and ricochetted +from a bare toe into the ditch. Mr. Thomas Marvel jumped a foot and +howled aloud. Then he started to run, tripped over an unseen obstacle, +and came head over heels into a sitting position. + +“_Now_,” said the Voice, as a third stone curved upward and hung in the +air above the tramp. “Am I imagination?” + +Mr. Marvel by way of reply struggled to his feet, and was immediately +rolled over again. He lay quiet for a moment. “If you struggle any +more,” said the Voice, “I shall throw the flint at your head.” + +“It’s a fair do,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, sitting up, taking his +wounded toe in hand and fixing his eye on the third missile. “I don’t +understand it. Stones flinging themselves. Stones talking. Put yourself +down. Rot away. I’m done.” + +The third flint fell. + +“It’s very simple,” said the Voice. “I’m an invisible man.” + +“Tell us something I don’t know,” said Mr. Marvel, gasping with pain. +“Where you’ve hid—how you do it—I _don’t_ know. I’m beat.” + +“That’s all,” said the Voice. “I’m invisible. That’s what I want you to +understand.” + +“Anyone could see that. There is no need for you to be so confounded +impatient, mister. _Now_ then. Give us a notion. How are you hid?” + +“I’m invisible. That’s the great point. And what I want you to +understand is this—” + +“But whereabouts?” interrupted Mr. Marvel. + +“Here! Six yards in front of you.” + +“Oh, _come_! I ain’t blind. You’ll be telling me next you’re just thin +air. I’m not one of your ignorant tramps—” + +“Yes, I am—thin air. You’re looking through me.” + +“What! Ain’t there any stuff to you. _Vox et_—what is it?—jabber. Is it +that?” + +“I am just a human being—solid, needing food and drink, needing +covering too—But I’m invisible. You see? Invisible. Simple idea. +Invisible.” + +“What, real like?” + +“Yes, real.” + +“Let’s have a hand of you,” said Marvel, “if you _are_ real. It won’t +be so darn out-of-the-way like, then—_Lord_!” he said, “how you made me +jump!—gripping me like that!” + +He felt the hand that had closed round his wrist with his disengaged +fingers, and his fingers went timorously up the arm, patted a muscular +chest, and explored a bearded face. Marvel’s face was astonishment. + +“I’m dashed!” he said. “If this don’t beat cock-fighting! Most +remarkable!—And there I can see a rabbit clean through you, ’arf a mile +away! Not a bit of you visible—except—” + +He scrutinised the apparently empty space keenly. “You ’aven’t been +eatin’ bread and cheese?” he asked, holding the invisible arm. + +“You’re quite right, and it’s not quite assimilated into the system.” + +“Ah!” said Mr. Marvel. “Sort of ghostly, though.” + +“Of course, all this isn’t half so wonderful as you think.” + +“It’s quite wonderful enough for _my_ modest wants,” said Mr. Thomas +Marvel. “Howjer manage it! How the dooce is it done?” + +“It’s too long a story. And besides—” + +“I tell you, the whole business fairly beats me,” said Mr. Marvel. + +“What I want to say at present is this: I need help. I have come to +that—I came upon you suddenly. I was wandering, mad with rage, naked, +impotent. I could have murdered. And I saw you—” + +“_Lord_!” said Mr. Marvel. + +“I came up behind you—hesitated—went on—” + +Mr. Marvel’s expression was eloquent. + +“—then stopped. ‘Here,’ I said, ‘is an outcast like myself. This is the +man for me.’ So I turned back and came to you—you. And—” + +“_Lord_!” said Mr. Marvel. “But I’m all in a tizzy. May I ask—How is +it? And what you may be requiring in the way of help?—Invisible!” + +“I want you to help me get clothes—and shelter—and then, with other +things. I’ve left them long enough. If you won’t—well! But you +_will—must_.” + +“Look here,” said Mr. Marvel. “I’m too flabbergasted. Don’t knock me +about any more. And leave me go. I must get steady a bit. And you’ve +pretty near broken my toe. It’s all so unreasonable. Empty downs, empty +sky. Nothing visible for miles except the bosom of Nature. And then +comes a voice. A voice out of heaven! And stones! And a fist—Lord!” + +“Pull yourself together,” said the Voice, “for you have to do the job +I’ve chosen for you.” + +Mr. Marvel blew out his cheeks, and his eyes were round. + +“I’ve chosen you,” said the Voice. “You are the only man except some of +those fools down there, who knows there is such a thing as an invisible +man. You have to be my helper. Help me—and I will do great things for +you. An invisible man is a man of power.” He stopped for a moment to +sneeze violently. + +“But if you betray me,” he said, “if you fail to do as I direct you—” +He paused and tapped Mr. Marvel’s shoulder smartly. Mr. Marvel gave a +yelp of terror at the touch. “I don’t want to betray you,” said Mr. +Marvel, edging away from the direction of the fingers. “Don’t you go +a-thinking that, whatever you do. All I want to do is to help you—just +tell me what I got to do. (Lord!) Whatever you want done, that I’m most +willing to do.” + + + + +CHAPTER X. +MR. MARVEL’S VISIT TO IPING + + +After the first gusty panic had spent itself Iping became +argumentative. Scepticism suddenly reared its head—rather nervous +scepticism, not at all assured of its back, but scepticism +nevertheless. It is so much easier not to believe in an invisible man; +and those who had actually seen him dissolve into air, or felt the +strength of his arm, could be counted on the fingers of two hands. And +of these witnesses Mr. Wadgers was presently missing, having retired +impregnably behind the bolts and bars of his own house, and Jaffers was +lying stunned in the parlour of the “Coach and Horses.” Great and +strange ideas transcending experience often have less effect upon men +and women than smaller, more tangible considerations. Iping was gay +with bunting, and everybody was in gala dress. Whit Monday had been +looked forward to for a month or more. By the afternoon even those who +believed in the Unseen were beginning to resume their little amusements +in a tentative fashion, on the supposition that he had quite gone away, +and with the sceptics he was already a jest. But people, sceptics and +believers alike, were remarkably sociable all that day. + +Haysman’s meadow was gay with a tent, in which Mrs. Bunting and other +ladies were preparing tea, while, without, the Sunday-school children +ran races and played games under the noisy guidance of the curate and +the Misses Cuss and Sackbut. No doubt there was a slight uneasiness in +the air, but people for the most part had the sense to conceal whatever +imaginative qualms they experienced. On the village green an inclined +strong [rope?], down which, clinging the while to a pulley-swung +handle, one could be hurled violently against a sack at the other end, +came in for considerable favour among the adolescents, as also did the +swings and the cocoanut shies. There was also promenading, and the +steam organ attached to a small roundabout filled the air with a +pungent flavour of oil and with equally pungent music. Members of the +club, who had attended church in the morning, were splendid in badges +of pink and green, and some of the gayer-minded had also adorned their +bowler hats with brilliant-coloured favours of ribbon. Old Fletcher, +whose conceptions of holiday-making were severe, was visible through +the jasmine about his window or through the open door (whichever way +you chose to look), poised delicately on a plank supported on two +chairs, and whitewashing the ceiling of his front room. + +About four o’clock a stranger entered the village from the direction of +the downs. He was a short, stout person in an extraordinarily shabby +top hat, and he appeared to be very much out of breath. His cheeks were +alternately limp and tightly puffed. His mottled face was apprehensive, +and he moved with a sort of reluctant alacrity. He turned the corner of +the church, and directed his way to the “Coach and Horses.” Among +others old Fletcher remembers seeing him, and indeed the old gentleman +was so struck by his peculiar agitation that he inadvertently allowed a +quantity of whitewash to run down the brush into the sleeve of his coat +while regarding him. + +This stranger, to the perceptions of the proprietor of the cocoanut +shy, appeared to be talking to himself, and Mr. Huxter remarked the +same thing. He stopped at the foot of the “Coach and Horses” steps, +and, according to Mr. Huxter, appeared to undergo a severe internal +struggle before he could induce himself to enter the house. Finally he +marched up the steps, and was seen by Mr. Huxter to turn to the left +and open the door of the parlour. Mr. Huxter heard voices from within +the room and from the bar apprising the man of his error. “That room’s +private!” said Hall, and the stranger shut the door clumsily and went +into the bar. + +In the course of a few minutes he reappeared, wiping his lips with the +back of his hand with an air of quiet satisfaction that somehow +impressed Mr. Huxter as assumed. He stood looking about him for some +moments, and then Mr. Huxter saw him walk in an oddly furtive manner +towards the gates of the yard, upon which the parlour window opened. +The stranger, after some hesitation, leant against one of the +gate-posts, produced a short clay pipe, and prepared to fill it. His +fingers trembled while doing so. He lit it clumsily, and folding his +arms began to smoke in a languid attitude, an attitude which his +occasional glances up the yard altogether belied. + +All this Mr. Huxter saw over the canisters of the tobacco window, and +the singularity of the man’s behaviour prompted him to maintain his +observation. + +Presently the stranger stood up abruptly and put his pipe in his +pocket. Then he vanished into the yard. Forthwith Mr. Huxter, +conceiving he was witness of some petty larceny, leapt round his +counter and ran out into the road to intercept the thief. As he did so, +Mr. Marvel reappeared, his hat askew, a big bundle in a blue +table-cloth in one hand, and three books tied together—as it proved +afterwards with the Vicar’s braces—in the other. Directly he saw Huxter +he gave a sort of gasp, and turning sharply to the left, began to run. +“Stop, thief!” cried Huxter, and set off after him. Mr. Huxter’s +sensations were vivid but brief. He saw the man just before him and +spurting briskly for the church corner and the hill road. He saw the +village flags and festivities beyond, and a face or so turned towards +him. He bawled, “Stop!” again. He had hardly gone ten strides before +his shin was caught in some mysterious fashion, and he was no longer +running, but flying with inconceivable rapidity through the air. He saw +the ground suddenly close to his face. The world seemed to splash into +a million whirling specks of light, and subsequent proceedings +interested him no more. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. +IN THE “COACH AND HORSES” + + +Now in order clearly to understand what had happened in the inn, it is +necessary to go back to the moment when Mr. Marvel first came into view +of Mr. Huxter’s window. + +At that precise moment Mr. Cuss and Mr. Bunting were in the parlour. +They were seriously investigating the strange occurrences of the +morning, and were, with Mr. Hall’s permission, making a thorough +examination of the Invisible Man’s belongings. Jaffers had partially +recovered from his fall and had gone home in the charge of his +sympathetic friends. The stranger’s scattered garments had been removed +by Mrs. Hall and the room tidied up. And on the table under the window +where the stranger had been wont to work, Cuss had hit almost at once +on three big books in manuscript labelled “Diary.” + +“Diary!” said Cuss, putting the three books on the table. “Now, at any +rate, we shall learn something.” The Vicar stood with his hands on the +table. + +“Diary,” repeated Cuss, sitting down, putting two volumes to support +the third, and opening it. “H’m—no name on the fly-leaf. +Bother!—cypher. And figures.” + +The vicar came round to look over his shoulder. + +Cuss turned the pages over with a face suddenly disappointed. “I’m—dear +me! It’s all cypher, Bunting.” + +“There are no diagrams?” asked Mr. Bunting. “No illustrations throwing +light—” + +“See for yourself,” said Mr. Cuss. “Some of it’s mathematical and some +of it’s Russian or some such language (to judge by the letters), and +some of it’s Greek. Now the Greek I thought _you_—” + +“Of course,” said Mr. Bunting, taking out and wiping his spectacles and +feeling suddenly very uncomfortable—for he had no Greek left in his +mind worth talking about; “yes—the Greek, of course, may furnish a +clue.” + +“I’ll find you a place.” + +“I’d rather glance through the volumes first,” said Mr. Bunting, still +wiping. “A general impression first, Cuss, and _then_, you know, we can +go looking for clues.” + +He coughed, put on his glasses, arranged them fastidiously, coughed +again, and wished something would happen to avert the seemingly +inevitable exposure. Then he took the volume Cuss handed him in a +leisurely manner. And then something did happen. + +The door opened suddenly. + +Both gentlemen started violently, looked round, and were relieved to +see a sporadically rosy face beneath a furry silk hat. “Tap?” asked the +face, and stood staring. + +“No,” said both gentlemen at once. + +“Over the other side, my man,” said Mr. Bunting. And “Please shut that +door,” said Mr. Cuss, irritably. + +“All right,” said the intruder, as it seemed in a low voice curiously +different from the huskiness of its first inquiry. “Right you are,” +said the intruder in the former voice. “Stand clear!” and he vanished +and closed the door. + +“A sailor, I should judge,” said Mr. Bunting. “Amusing fellows, they +are. Stand clear! indeed. A nautical term, referring to his getting +back out of the room, I suppose.” + +“I daresay so,” said Cuss. “My nerves are all loose to-day. It quite +made me jump—the door opening like that.” + +Mr. Bunting smiled as if he had not jumped. “And now,” he said with a +sigh, “these books.” + +Someone sniffed as he did so. + +“One thing is indisputable,” said Bunting, drawing up a chair next to +that of Cuss. “There certainly have been very strange things happen in +Iping during the last few days—very strange. I cannot of course believe +in this absurd invisibility story—” + +“It’s incredible,” said Cuss—“incredible. But the fact remains that I +saw—I certainly saw right down his sleeve—” + +“But did you—are you sure? Suppose a mirror, for instance— +hallucinations are so easily produced. I don’t know if you have ever +seen a really good conjuror—” + +“I won’t argue again,” said Cuss. “We’ve thrashed that out, Bunting. +And just now there’s these books—Ah! here’s some of what I take to be +Greek! Greek letters certainly.” + +He pointed to the middle of the page. Mr. Bunting flushed slightly and +brought his face nearer, apparently finding some difficulty with his +glasses. Suddenly he became aware of a strange feeling at the nape of +his neck. He tried to raise his head, and encountered an immovable +resistance. The feeling was a curious pressure, the grip of a heavy, +firm hand, and it bore his chin irresistibly to the table. “Don’t move, +little men,” whispered a voice, “or I’ll brain you both!” He looked +into the face of Cuss, close to his own, and each saw a horrified +reflection of his own sickly astonishment. + +“I’m sorry to handle you so roughly,” said the Voice, “but it’s +unavoidable.” + +“Since when did you learn to pry into an investigator’s private +memoranda,” said the Voice; and two chins struck the table +simultaneously, and two sets of teeth rattled. + +“Since when did you learn to invade the private rooms of a man in +misfortune?” and the concussion was repeated. + +“Where have they put my clothes?” + +“Listen,” said the Voice. “The windows are fastened and I’ve taken the +key out of the door. I am a fairly strong man, and I have the poker +handy—besides being invisible. There’s not the slightest doubt that I +could kill you both and get away quite easily if I wanted to—do you +understand? Very well. If I let you go will you promise not to try any +nonsense and do what I tell you?” + +The vicar and the doctor looked at one another, and the doctor pulled a +face. “Yes,” said Mr. Bunting, and the doctor repeated it. Then the +pressure on the necks relaxed, and the doctor and the vicar sat up, +both very red in the face and wriggling their heads. + +“Please keep sitting where you are,” said the Invisible Man. “Here’s +the poker, you see.” + +“When I came into this room,” continued the Invisible Man, after +presenting the poker to the tip of the nose of each of his visitors, “I +did not expect to find it occupied, and I expected to find, in addition +to my books of memoranda, an outfit of clothing. Where is it? No—don’t +rise. I can see it’s gone. Now, just at present, though the days are +quite warm enough for an invisible man to run about stark, the evenings +are quite chilly. I want clothing—and other accommodation; and I must +also have those three books.” + + + + +CHAPTER XII. +THE INVISIBLE MAN LOSES HIS TEMPER + + +It is unavoidable that at this point the narrative should break off +again, for a certain very painful reason that will presently be +apparent. While these things were going on in the parlour, and while +Mr. Huxter was watching Mr. Marvel smoking his pipe against the gate, +not a dozen yards away were Mr. Hall and Teddy Henfrey discussing in a +state of cloudy puzzlement the one Iping topic. + +Suddenly there came a violent thud against the door of the parlour, a +sharp cry, and then—silence. + +“Hul-lo!” said Teddy Henfrey. + +“Hul-lo!” from the Tap. + +Mr. Hall took things in slowly but surely. “That ain’t right,” he said, +and came round from behind the bar towards the parlour door. + +He and Teddy approached the door together, with intent faces. Their +eyes considered. “Summat wrong,” said Hall, and Henfrey nodded +agreement. Whiffs of an unpleasant chemical odour met them, and there +was a muffled sound of conversation, very rapid and subdued. + +“You all right thur?” asked Hall, rapping. + +The muttered conversation ceased abruptly, for a moment silence, then +the conversation was resumed, in hissing whispers, then a sharp cry of +“No! no, you don’t!” There came a sudden motion and the oversetting of +a chair, a brief struggle. Silence again. + +“What the dooce?” exclaimed Henfrey, _sotto voce_. + +“You—all—right thur?” asked Mr. Hall, sharply, again. + +The Vicar’s voice answered with a curious jerking intonation: “Quite +ri-right. Please don’t—interrupt.” + +“Odd!” said Mr. Henfrey. + +“Odd!” said Mr. Hall. + +“Says, ‘Don’t interrupt,’” said Henfrey. + +“I heerd’n,” said Hall. + +“And a sniff,” said Henfrey. + +They remained listening. The conversation was rapid and subdued. “I +_can’t_,” said Mr. Bunting, his voice rising; “I tell you, sir, I +_will_ not.” + +“What was that?” asked Henfrey. + +“Says he wi’ nart,” said Hall. “Warn’t speaking to us, wuz he?” + +“Disgraceful!” said Mr. Bunting, within. + +“‘Disgraceful,’” said Mr. Henfrey. “I heard it—distinct.” + +“Who’s that speaking now?” asked Henfrey. + +“Mr. Cuss, I s’pose,” said Hall. “Can you hear—anything?” + +Silence. The sounds within indistinct and perplexing. + +“Sounds like throwing the table-cloth about,” said Hall. + +Mrs. Hall appeared behind the bar. Hall made gestures of silence and +invitation. This aroused Mrs. Hall’s wifely opposition. “What yer +listenin’ there for, Hall?” she asked. “Ain’t you nothin’ better to +do—busy day like this?” + +Hall tried to convey everything by grimaces and dumb show, but Mrs. +Hall was obdurate. She raised her voice. So Hall and Henfrey, rather +crestfallen, tiptoed back to the bar, gesticulating to explain to her. + +At first she refused to see anything in what they had heard at all. +Then she insisted on Hall keeping silence, while Henfrey told her his +story. She was inclined to think the whole business nonsense—perhaps +they were just moving the furniture about. “I heerd’n say +‘disgraceful’; _that_ I did,” said Hall. + +“_I_ heerd that, Mrs. Hall,” said Henfrey. + +“Like as not—” began Mrs. Hall. + +“Hsh!” said Mr. Teddy Henfrey. “Didn’t I hear the window?” + +“What window?” asked Mrs. Hall. + +“Parlour window,” said Henfrey. + +Everyone stood listening intently. Mrs. Hall’s eyes, directed straight +before her, saw without seeing the brilliant oblong of the inn door, +the road white and vivid, and Huxter’s shop-front blistering in the +June sun. Abruptly Huxter’s door opened and Huxter appeared, eyes +staring with excitement, arms gesticulating. “Yap!” cried Huxter. “Stop +thief!” and he ran obliquely across the oblong towards the yard gates, +and vanished. + +Simultaneously came a tumult from the parlour, and a sound of windows +being closed. + +Hall, Henfrey, and the human contents of the tap rushed out at once +pell-mell into the street. They saw someone whisk round the corner +towards the road, and Mr. Huxter executing a complicated leap in the +air that ended on his face and shoulder. Down the street people were +standing astonished or running towards them. + +Mr. Huxter was stunned. Henfrey stopped to discover this, but Hall and +the two labourers from the Tap rushed at once to the corner, shouting +incoherent things, and saw Mr. Marvel vanishing by the corner of the +church wall. They appear to have jumped to the impossible conclusion +that this was the Invisible Man suddenly become visible, and set off at +once along the lane in pursuit. But Hall had hardly run a dozen yards +before he gave a loud shout of astonishment and went flying headlong +sideways, clutching one of the labourers and bringing him to the +ground. He had been charged just as one charges a man at football. The +second labourer came round in a circle, stared, and conceiving that +Hall had tumbled over of his own accord, turned to resume the pursuit, +only to be tripped by the ankle just as Huxter had been. Then, as the +first labourer struggled to his feet, he was kicked sideways by a blow +that might have felled an ox. + +As he went down, the rush from the direction of the village green came +round the corner. The first to appear was the proprietor of the +cocoanut shy, a burly man in a blue jersey. He was astonished to see +the lane empty save for three men sprawling absurdly on the ground. And +then something happened to his rear-most foot, and he went headlong and +rolled sideways just in time to graze the feet of his brother and +partner, following headlong. The two were then kicked, knelt on, fallen +over, and cursed by quite a number of over-hasty people. + +Now when Hall and Henfrey and the labourers ran out of the house, Mrs. +Hall, who had been disciplined by years of experience, remained in the +bar next the till. And suddenly the parlour door was opened, and Mr. +Cuss appeared, and without glancing at her rushed at once down the +steps toward the corner. “Hold him!” he cried. “Don’t let him drop that +parcel.” + +He knew nothing of the existence of Marvel. For the Invisible Man had +handed over the books and bundle in the yard. The face of Mr. Cuss was +angry and resolute, but his costume was defective, a sort of limp white +kilt that could only have passed muster in Greece. “Hold him!” he +bawled. “He’s got my trousers! And every stitch of the Vicar’s +clothes!” + +“’Tend to him in a minute!” he cried to Henfrey as he passed the +prostrate Huxter, and, coming round the corner to join the tumult, was +promptly knocked off his feet into an indecorous sprawl. Somebody in +full flight trod heavily on his finger. He yelled, struggled to regain +his feet, was knocked against and thrown on all fours again, and became +aware that he was involved not in a capture, but a rout. Everyone was +running back to the village. He rose again and was hit severely behind +the ear. He staggered and set off back to the “Coach and Horses” +forthwith, leaping over the deserted Huxter, who was now sitting up, on +his way. + +Behind him as he was halfway up the inn steps he heard a sudden yell of +rage, rising sharply out of the confusion of cries, and a sounding +smack in someone’s face. He recognised the voice as that of the +Invisible Man, and the note was that of a man suddenly infuriated by a +painful blow. + +In another moment Mr. Cuss was back in the parlour. “He’s coming back, +Bunting!” he said, rushing in. “Save yourself!” + +Mr. Bunting was standing in the window engaged in an attempt to clothe +himself in the hearth-rug and a _West Surrey Gazette_. “Who’s coming?” +he said, so startled that his costume narrowly escaped disintegration. + +“Invisible Man,” said Cuss, and rushed on to the window. “We’d better +clear out from here! He’s fighting mad! Mad!” + +In another moment he was out in the yard. + +“Good heavens!” said Mr. Bunting, hesitating between two horrible +alternatives. He heard a frightful struggle in the passage of the inn, +and his decision was made. He clambered out of the window, adjusted his +costume hastily, and fled up the village as fast as his fat little legs +would carry him. + +From the moment when the Invisible Man screamed with rage and Mr. +Bunting made his memorable flight up the village, it became impossible +to give a consecutive account of affairs in Iping. Possibly the +Invisible Man’s original intention was simply to cover Marvel’s retreat +with the clothes and books. But his temper, at no time very good, seems +to have gone completely at some chance blow, and forthwith he set to +smiting and overthrowing, for the mere satisfaction of hurting. + +You must figure the street full of running figures, of doors slamming +and fights for hiding-places. You must figure the tumult suddenly +striking on the unstable equilibrium of old Fletcher’s planks and two +chairs—with cataclysmic results. You must figure an appalled couple +caught dismally in a swing. And then the whole tumultuous rush has +passed and the Iping street with its gauds and flags is deserted save +for the still raging unseen, and littered with cocoanuts, overthrown +canvas screens, and the scattered stock in trade of a sweetstuff stall. +Everywhere there is a sound of closing shutters and shoving bolts, and +the only visible humanity is an occasional flitting eye under a raised +eyebrow in the corner of a window pane. + +The Invisible Man amused himself for a little while by breaking all the +windows in the “Coach and Horses,” and then he thrust a street lamp +through the parlour window of Mrs. Gribble. He it must have been who +cut the telegraph wire to Adderdean just beyond Higgins’ cottage on the +Adderdean road. And after that, as his peculiar qualities allowed, he +passed out of human perceptions altogether, and he was neither heard, +seen, nor felt in Iping any more. He vanished absolutely. + +But it was the best part of two hours before any human being ventured +out again into the desolation of Iping street. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. +MR. MARVEL DISCUSSES HIS RESIGNATION + + +When the dusk was gathering and Iping was just beginning to peep +timorously forth again upon the shattered wreckage of its Bank Holiday, +a short, thick-set man in a shabby silk hat was marching painfully +through the twilight behind the beechwoods on the road to Bramblehurst. +He carried three books bound together by some sort of ornamental +elastic ligature, and a bundle wrapped in a blue table-cloth. His +rubicund face expressed consternation and fatigue; he appeared to be in +a spasmodic sort of hurry. He was accompanied by a voice other than his +own, and ever and again he winced under the touch of unseen hands. + +“If you give me the slip again,” said the Voice, “if you attempt to +give me the slip again—” + +“Lord!” said Mr. Marvel. “That shoulder’s a mass of bruises as it is.” + +“On my honour,” said the Voice, “I will kill you.” + +“I didn’t try to give you the slip,” said Marvel, in a voice that was +not far remote from tears. “I swear I didn’t. I didn’t know the blessed +turning, that was all! How the devil was I to know the blessed turning? +As it is, I’ve been knocked about—” + +“You’ll get knocked about a great deal more if you don’t mind,” said +the Voice, and Mr. Marvel abruptly became silent. He blew out his +cheeks, and his eyes were eloquent of despair. + +“It’s bad enough to let these floundering yokels explode my little +secret, without _your_ cutting off with my books. It’s lucky for some +of them they cut and ran when they did! Here am I ... No one knew I was +invisible! And now what am I to do?” + +“What am _I_ to do?” asked Marvel, _sotto voce_. + +“It’s all about. It will be in the papers! Everybody will be looking +for me; everyone on their guard—” The Voice broke off into vivid curses +and ceased. + +The despair of Mr. Marvel’s face deepened, and his pace slackened. + +“Go on!” said the Voice. + +Mr. Marvel’s face assumed a greyish tint between the ruddier patches. + +“Don’t drop those books, stupid,” said the Voice, sharply—overtaking +him. + +“The fact is,” said the Voice, “I shall have to make use of you.... +You’re a poor tool, but I must.” + +“I’m a _miserable_ tool,” said Marvel. + +“You are,” said the Voice. + +“I’m the worst possible tool you could have,” said Marvel. + +“I’m not strong,” he said after a discouraging silence. + +“I’m not over strong,” he repeated. + +“No?” + +“And my heart’s weak. That little business—I pulled it through, of +course—but bless you! I could have dropped.” + +“Well?” + +“I haven’t the nerve and strength for the sort of thing you want.” + +“_I’ll_ stimulate you.” + +“I wish you wouldn’t. I wouldn’t like to mess up your plans, you know. +But I might—out of sheer funk and misery.” + +“You’d better not,” said the Voice, with quiet emphasis. + +“I wish I was dead,” said Marvel. + +“It ain’t justice,” he said; “you must admit.... It seems to me I’ve a +perfect right—” + +“_Get_ on!” said the Voice. + +Mr. Marvel mended his pace, and for a time they went in silence again. + +“It’s devilish hard,” said Mr. Marvel. + +This was quite ineffectual. He tried another tack. + +“What do I make by it?” he began again in a tone of unendurable wrong. + +“Oh! _shut up_!” said the Voice, with sudden amazing vigour. “I’ll see +to you all right. You do what you’re told. You’ll do it all right. +You’re a fool and all that, but you’ll do—” + +“I tell you, sir, I’m not the man for it. Respectfully—but it _is_ so—” + +“If you don’t shut up I shall twist your wrist again,” said the +Invisible Man. “I want to think.” + +Presently two oblongs of yellow light appeared through the trees, and +the square tower of a church loomed through the gloaming. “I shall keep +my hand on your shoulder,” said the Voice, “all through the village. Go +straight through and try no foolery. It will be the worse for you if +you do.” + +“I know that,” sighed Mr. Marvel, “I know all that.” + +The unhappy-looking figure in the obsolete silk hat passed up the +street of the little village with his burdens, and vanished into the +gathering darkness beyond the lights of the windows. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. +AT PORT STOWE + + +Ten o’clock the next morning found Mr. Marvel, unshaven, dirty, and +travel-stained, sitting with the books beside him and his hands deep in +his pockets, looking very weary, nervous, and uncomfortable, and +inflating his cheeks at infrequent intervals, on the bench outside a +little inn on the outskirts of Port Stowe. Beside him were the books, +but now they were tied with string. The bundle had been abandoned in +the pine-woods beyond Bramblehurst, in accordance with a change in the +plans of the Invisible Man. Mr. Marvel sat on the bench, and although +no one took the slightest notice of him, his agitation remained at +fever heat. His hands would go ever and again to his various pockets +with a curious nervous fumbling. + +When he had been sitting for the best part of an hour, however, an +elderly mariner, carrying a newspaper, came out of the inn and sat down +beside him. “Pleasant day,” said the mariner. + +Mr. Marvel glanced about him with something very like terror. “Very,” +he said. + +“Just seasonable weather for the time of year,” said the mariner, +taking no denial. + +“Quite,” said Mr. Marvel. + +The mariner produced a toothpick, and (saving his regard) was engrossed +thereby for some minutes. His eyes meanwhile were at liberty to examine +Mr. Marvel’s dusty figure, and the books beside him. As he had +approached Mr. Marvel he had heard a sound like the dropping of coins +into a pocket. He was struck by the contrast of Mr. Marvel’s appearance +with this suggestion of opulence. Thence his mind wandered back again +to a topic that had taken a curiously firm hold of his imagination. + +“Books?” he said suddenly, noisily finishing with the toothpick. + +Mr. Marvel started and looked at them. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Yes, +they’re books.” + +“There’s some extra-ordinary things in books,” said the mariner. + +“I believe you,” said Mr. Marvel. + +“And some extra-ordinary things out of ’em,” said the mariner. + +“True likewise,” said Mr. Marvel. He eyed his interlocutor, and then +glanced about him. + +“There’s some extra-ordinary things in newspapers, for example,” said +the mariner. + +“There are.” + +“In _this_ newspaper,” said the mariner. + +“Ah!” said Mr. Marvel. + +“There’s a story,” said the mariner, fixing Mr. Marvel with an eye that +was firm and deliberate; “there’s a story about an Invisible Man, for +instance.” + +Mr. Marvel pulled his mouth askew and scratched his cheek and felt his +ears glowing. “What will they be writing next?” he asked faintly. +“Ostria, or America?” + +“Neither,” said the mariner. “_Here_.” + +“Lord!” said Mr. Marvel, starting. + +“When I say _here_,” said the mariner, to Mr. Marvel’s intense relief, +“I don’t of course mean here in this place, I mean hereabouts.” + +“An Invisible Man!” said Mr. Marvel. “And what’s _he_ been up to?” + +“Everything,” said the mariner, controlling Marvel with his eye, and +then amplifying, “every—blessed—thing.” + +“I ain’t seen a paper these four days,” said Marvel. + +“Iping’s the place he started at,” said the mariner. + +“In-_deed_!” said Mr. Marvel. + +“He started there. And where he came from, nobody don’t seem to know. +Here it is: ‘Pe-culiar Story from Iping.’ And it says in this paper +that the evidence is extra-ordinary strong—extra-ordinary.” + +“Lord!” said Mr. Marvel. + +“But then, it’s an extra-ordinary story. There is a clergyman and a +medical gent witnesses—saw ’im all right and proper—or leastways didn’t +see ’im. He was staying, it says, at the ‘Coach an’ Horses,’ and no one +don’t seem to have been aware of his misfortune, it says, aware of his +misfortune, until in an Altercation in the inn, it says, his bandages +on his head was torn off. It was then ob-served that his head was +invisible. Attempts were At Once made to secure him, but casting off +his garments, it says, he succeeded in escaping, but not until after a +desperate struggle, in which he had inflicted serious injuries, it +says, on our worthy and able constable, Mr. J. A. Jaffers. Pretty +straight story, eh? Names and everything.” + +“Lord!” said Mr. Marvel, looking nervously about him, trying to count +the money in his pockets by his unaided sense of touch, and full of a +strange and novel idea. “It sounds most astonishing.” + +“Don’t it? Extra-ordinary, _I_ call it. Never heard tell of Invisible +Men before, I haven’t, but nowadays one hears such a lot of +extra-ordinary things—that—” + +“That all he did?” asked Marvel, trying to seem at his ease. + +“It’s enough, ain’t it?” said the mariner. + +“Didn’t go Back by any chance?” asked Marvel. “Just escaped and that’s +all, eh?” + +“All!” said the mariner. “Why!—ain’t it enough?” + +“Quite enough,” said Marvel. + +“I should think it was enough,” said the mariner. “I should think it +was enough.” + +“He didn’t have any pals—it don’t say he had any pals, does it?” asked +Mr. Marvel, anxious. + +“Ain’t one of a sort enough for you?” asked the mariner. “No, thank +Heaven, as one might say, he didn’t.” + +He nodded his head slowly. “It makes me regular uncomfortable, the bare +thought of that chap running about the country! He is at present At +Large, and from certain evidence it is supposed that he +has—taken—_took_, I suppose they mean—the road to Port Stowe. You see +we’re right _in_ it! None of your American wonders, this time. And just +think of the things he might do! Where’d you be, if he took a drop over +and above, and had a fancy to go for you? Suppose he wants to rob—who +can prevent him? He can trespass, he can burgle, he could walk through +a cordon of policemen as easy as me or you could give the slip to a +blind man! Easier! For these here blind chaps hear uncommon sharp, I’m +told. And wherever there was liquor he fancied—” + +“He’s got a tremenjous advantage, certainly,” said Mr. Marvel. +“And—well...” + +“You’re right,” said the mariner. “He _has_.” + +All this time Mr. Marvel had been glancing about him intently, +listening for faint footfalls, trying to detect imperceptible +movements. He seemed on the point of some great resolution. He coughed +behind his hand. + +He looked about him again, listened, bent towards the mariner, and +lowered his voice: “The fact of it is—I happen—to know just a thing or +two about this Invisible Man. From private sources.” + +“Oh!” said the mariner, interested. “_You_?” + +“Yes,” said Mr. Marvel. “Me.” + +“Indeed!” said the mariner. “And may I ask—” + +“You’ll be astonished,” said Mr. Marvel behind his hand. “It’s +tremenjous.” + +“Indeed!” said the mariner. + +“The fact is,” began Mr. Marvel eagerly in a confidential undertone. +Suddenly his expression changed marvellously. “Ow!” he said. He rose +stiffly in his seat. His face was eloquent of physical suffering. +“Wow!” he said. + +“What’s up?” said the mariner, concerned. + +“Toothache,” said Mr. Marvel, and put his hand to his ear. He caught +hold of his books. “I must be getting on, I think,” he said. He edged +in a curious way along the seat away from his interlocutor. “But you +was just a-going to tell me about this here Invisible Man!” protested +the mariner. Mr. Marvel seemed to consult with himself. “Hoax,” said a +Voice. “It’s a hoax,” said Mr. Marvel. + +“But it’s in the paper,” said the mariner. + +“Hoax all the same,” said Marvel. “I know the chap that started the +lie. There ain’t no Invisible Man whatsoever—Blimey.” + +“But how ’bout this paper? D’you mean to say—?” + +“Not a word of it,” said Marvel, stoutly. + +The mariner stared, paper in hand. Mr. Marvel jerkily faced about. +“Wait a bit,” said the mariner, rising and speaking slowly, “D’you mean +to say—?” + +“I do,” said Mr. Marvel. + +“Then why did you let me go on and tell you all this blarsted stuff, +then? What d’yer mean by letting a man make a fool of himself like that +for? Eh?” + +Mr. Marvel blew out his cheeks. The mariner was suddenly very red +indeed; he clenched his hands. “I been talking here this ten minutes,” +he said; “and you, you little pot-bellied, leathery-faced son of an old +boot, couldn’t have the elementary manners—” + +“Don’t you come bandying words with _me_,” said Mr. Marvel. + +“Bandying words! I’m a jolly good mind—” + +“Come up,” said a Voice, and Mr. Marvel was suddenly whirled about and +started marching off in a curious spasmodic manner. “You’d better move +on,” said the mariner. “Who’s moving on?” said Mr. Marvel. He was +receding obliquely with a curious hurrying gait, with occasional +violent jerks forward. Some way along the road he began a muttered +monologue, protests and recriminations. + +“Silly devil!” said the mariner, legs wide apart, elbows akimbo, +watching the receding figure. “I’ll show you, you silly ass—hoaxing +_me_! It’s here—on the paper!” + +Mr. Marvel retorted incoherently and, receding, was hidden by a bend in +the road, but the mariner still stood magnificent in the midst of the +way, until the approach of a butcher’s cart dislodged him. Then he +turned himself towards Port Stowe. “Full of extra-ordinary asses,” he +said softly to himself. “Just to take me down a bit—that was his silly +game—It’s on the paper!” + +And there was another extraordinary thing he was presently to hear, +that had happened quite close to him. And that was a vision of a “fist +full of money” (no less) travelling without visible agency, along by +the wall at the corner of St. Michael’s Lane. A brother mariner had +seen this wonderful sight that very morning. He had snatched at the +money forthwith and had been knocked headlong, and when he had got to +his feet the butterfly money had vanished. Our mariner was in the mood +to believe anything, he declared, but that was a bit _too_ stiff. +Afterwards, however, he began to think things over. + +The story of the flying money was true. And all about that +neighbourhood, even from the august London and Country Banking Company, +from the tills of shops and inns—doors standing that sunny weather +entirely open—money had been quietly and dexterously making off that +day in handfuls and rouleaux, floating quietly along by walls and shady +places, dodging quickly from the approaching eyes of men. And it had, +though no man had traced it, invariably ended its mysterious flight in +the pocket of that agitated gentleman in the obsolete silk hat, sitting +outside the little inn on the outskirts of Port Stowe. + +It was ten days after—and indeed only when the Burdock story was +already old—that the mariner collated these facts and began to +understand how near he had been to the wonderful Invisible Man. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. +THE MAN WHO WAS RUNNING + + +In the early evening time Dr. Kemp was sitting in his study in the +belvedere on the hill overlooking Burdock. It was a pleasant little +room, with three windows—north, west, and south—and bookshelves covered +with books and scientific publications, and a broad writing-table, and, +under the north window, a microscope, glass slips, minute instruments, +some cultures, and scattered bottles of reagents. Dr. Kemp’s solar lamp +was lit, albeit the sky was still bright with the sunset light, and his +blinds were up because there was no offence of peering outsiders to +require them pulled down. Dr. Kemp was a tall and slender young man, +with flaxen hair and a moustache almost white, and the work he was upon +would earn him, he hoped, the fellowship of the Royal Society, so +highly did he think of it. + +And his eye, presently wandering from his work, caught the sunset +blazing at the back of the hill that is over against his own. For a +minute perhaps he sat, pen in mouth, admiring the rich golden colour +above the crest, and then his attention was attracted by the little +figure of a man, inky black, running over the hill-brow towards him. He +was a shortish little man, and he wore a high hat, and he was running +so fast that his legs verily twinkled. + +“Another of those fools,” said Dr. Kemp. “Like that ass who ran into me +this morning round a corner, with the ‘’Visible Man a-coming, sir!’ I +can’t imagine what possesses people. One might think we were in the +thirteenth century.” + +He got up, went to the window, and stared at the dusky hillside, and +the dark little figure tearing down it. “He seems in a confounded +hurry,” said Dr. Kemp, “but he doesn’t seem to be getting on. If his +pockets were full of lead, he couldn’t run heavier.” + +“Spurted, sir,” said Dr. Kemp. + +In another moment the higher of the villas that had clambered up the +hill from Burdock had occulted the running figure. He was visible again +for a moment, and again, and then again, three times between the three +detached houses that came next, and then the terrace hid him. + +“Asses!” said Dr. Kemp, swinging round on his heel and walking back to +his writing-table. + +But those who saw the fugitive nearer, and perceived the abject terror +on his perspiring face, being themselves in the open roadway, did not +share in the doctor’s contempt. By the man pounded, and as he ran he +chinked like a well-filled purse that is tossed to and fro. He looked +neither to the right nor the left, but his dilated eyes stared straight +downhill to where the lamps were being lit, and the people were crowded +in the street. And his ill-shaped mouth fell apart, and a glairy foam +lay on his lips, and his breath came hoarse and noisy. All he passed +stopped and began staring up the road and down, and interrogating one +another with an inkling of discomfort for the reason of his haste. + +And then presently, far up the hill, a dog playing in the road yelped +and ran under a gate, and as they still wondered something—a wind—a +pad, pad, pad,—a sound like a panting breathing, rushed by. + +People screamed. People sprang off the pavement: It passed in shouts, +it passed by instinct down the hill. They were shouting in the street +before Marvel was halfway there. They were bolting into houses and +slamming the doors behind them, with the news. He heard it and made one +last desperate spurt. Fear came striding by, rushed ahead of him, and +in a moment had seized the town. + +“The Invisible Man is coming! The Invisible Man!” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. +IN THE “JOLLY CRICKETERS” + + +The “Jolly Cricketers” is just at the bottom of the hill, where the +tram-lines begin. The barman leant his fat red arms on the counter and +talked of horses with an anaemic cabman, while a black-bearded man in +grey snapped up biscuit and cheese, drank Burton, and conversed in +American with a policeman off duty. + +“What’s the shouting about!” said the anaemic cabman, going off at a +tangent, trying to see up the hill over the dirty yellow blind in the +low window of the inn. Somebody ran by outside. “Fire, perhaps,” said +the barman. + +Footsteps approached, running heavily, the door was pushed open +violently, and Marvel, weeping and dishevelled, his hat gone, the neck +of his coat torn open, rushed in, made a convulsive turn, and attempted +to shut the door. It was held half open by a strap. + +“Coming!” he bawled, his voice shrieking with terror. “He’s coming. The +’Visible Man! After me! For Gawd’s sake! ’Elp! ’Elp! ’Elp!” + +“Shut the doors,” said the policeman. “Who’s coming? What’s the row?” +He went to the door, released the strap, and it slammed. The American +closed the other door. + +“Lemme go inside,” said Marvel, staggering and weeping, but still +clutching the books. “Lemme go inside. Lock me in—somewhere. I tell you +he’s after me. I give him the slip. He said he’d kill me and he will.” + +“_You’re_ safe,” said the man with the black beard. “The door’s shut. +What’s it all about?” + +“Lemme go inside,” said Marvel, and shrieked aloud as a blow suddenly +made the fastened door shiver and was followed by a hurried rapping and +a shouting outside. “Hullo,” cried the policeman, “who’s there?” Mr. +Marvel began to make frantic dives at panels that looked like doors. +“He’ll kill me—he’s got a knife or something. For Gawd’s sake—!” + +“Here you are,” said the barman. “Come in here.” And he held up the +flap of the bar. + +Mr. Marvel rushed behind the bar as the summons outside was repeated. +“Don’t open the door,” he screamed. “_Please_ don’t open the door. +_Where_ shall I hide?” + +“This, this Invisible Man, then?” asked the man with the black beard, +with one hand behind him. “I guess it’s about time we saw him.” + +The window of the inn was suddenly smashed in, and there was a +screaming and running to and fro in the street. The policeman had been +standing on the settee staring out, craning to see who was at the door. +He got down with raised eyebrows. “It’s that,” he said. The barman +stood in front of the bar-parlour door which was now locked on Mr. +Marvel, stared at the smashed window, and came round to the two other +men. + +Everything was suddenly quiet. “I wish I had my truncheon,” said the +policeman, going irresolutely to the door. “Once we open, in he comes. +There’s no stopping him.” + +“Don’t you be in too much hurry about that door,” said the anaemic +cabman, anxiously. + +“Draw the bolts,” said the man with the black beard, “and if he comes—” +He showed a revolver in his hand. + +“That won’t do,” said the policeman; “that’s murder.” + +“I know what country I’m in,” said the man with the beard. “I’m going +to let off at his legs. Draw the bolts.” + +“Not with that blinking thing going off behind me,” said the barman, +craning over the blind. + +“Very well,” said the man with the black beard, and stooping down, +revolver ready, drew them himself. Barman, cabman, and policeman faced +about. + +“Come in,” said the bearded man in an undertone, standing back and +facing the unbolted doors with his pistol behind him. No one came in, +the door remained closed. Five minutes afterwards when a second cabman +pushed his head in cautiously, they were still waiting, and an anxious +face peered out of the bar-parlour and supplied information. “Are all +the doors of the house shut?” asked Marvel. “He’s going round—prowling +round. He’s as artful as the devil.” + +“Good Lord!” said the burly barman. “There’s the back! Just watch them +doors! I say—!” He looked about him helplessly. The bar-parlour door +slammed and they heard the key turn. “There’s the yard door and the +private door. The yard door—” + +He rushed out of the bar. + +In a minute he reappeared with a carving-knife in his hand. “The yard +door was open!” he said, and his fat underlip dropped. “He may be in +the house now!” said the first cabman. + +“He’s not in the kitchen,” said the barman. “There’s two women there, +and I’ve stabbed every inch of it with this little beef slicer. And +they don’t think he’s come in. They haven’t noticed—” + +“Have you fastened it?” asked the first cabman. + +“I’m out of frocks,” said the barman. + +The man with the beard replaced his revolver. And even as he did so the +flap of the bar was shut down and the bolt clicked, and then with a +tremendous thud the catch of the door snapped and the bar-parlour door +burst open. They heard Marvel squeal like a caught leveret, and +forthwith they were clambering over the bar to his rescue. The bearded +man’s revolver cracked and the looking-glass at the back of the parlour +starred and came smashing and tinkling down. + +As the barman entered the room he saw Marvel, curiously crumpled up and +struggling against the door that led to the yard and kitchen. The door +flew open while the barman hesitated, and Marvel was dragged into the +kitchen. There was a scream and a clatter of pans. Marvel, head down, +and lugging back obstinately, was forced to the kitchen door, and the +bolts were drawn. + +Then the policeman, who had been trying to pass the barman, rushed in, +followed by one of the cabmen, gripped the wrist of the invisible hand +that collared Marvel, was hit in the face and went reeling back. The +door opened, and Marvel made a frantic effort to obtain a lodgment +behind it. Then the cabman collared something. “I got him,” said the +cabman. The barman’s red hands came clawing at the unseen. “Here he +is!” said the barman. + +Mr. Marvel, released, suddenly dropped to the ground and made an +attempt to crawl behind the legs of the fighting men. The struggle +blundered round the edge of the door. The voice of the Invisible Man +was heard for the first time, yelling out sharply, as the policeman +trod on his foot. Then he cried out passionately and his fists flew +round like flails. The cabman suddenly whooped and doubled up, kicked +under the diaphragm. The door into the bar-parlour from the kitchen +slammed and covered Mr. Marvel’s retreat. The men in the kitchen found +themselves clutching at and struggling with empty air. + +“Where’s he gone?” cried the man with the beard. “Out?” + +“This way,” said the policeman, stepping into the yard and stopping. + +A piece of tile whizzed by his head and smashed among the crockery on +the kitchen table. + +“I’ll show him,” shouted the man with the black beard, and suddenly a +steel barrel shone over the policeman’s shoulder, and five bullets had +followed one another into the twilight whence the missile had come. As +he fired, the man with the beard moved his hand in a horizontal curve, +so that his shots radiated out into the narrow yard like spokes from a +wheel. + +A silence followed. “Five cartridges,” said the man with the black +beard. “That’s the best of all. Four aces and a joker. Get a lantern, +someone, and come and feel about for his body.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. +DR. KEMP’S VISITOR + + +Dr. Kemp had continued writing in his study until the shots aroused +him. Crack, crack, crack, they came one after the other. + +“Hullo!” said Dr. Kemp, putting his pen into his mouth again and +listening. “Who’s letting off revolvers in Burdock? What are the asses +at now?” + +He went to the south window, threw it up, and leaning out stared down +on the network of windows, beaded gas-lamps and shops, with its black +interstices of roof and yard that made up the town at night. “Looks +like a crowd down the hill,” he said, “by ‘The Cricketers,’” and +remained watching. Thence his eyes wandered over the town to far away +where the ships’ lights shone, and the pier glowed—a little +illuminated, facetted pavilion like a gem of yellow light. The moon in +its first quarter hung over the westward hill, and the stars were clear +and almost tropically bright. + +After five minutes, during which his mind had travelled into a remote +speculation of social conditions of the future, and lost itself at last +over the time dimension, Dr. Kemp roused himself with a sigh, pulled +down the window again, and returned to his writing desk. + +It must have been about an hour after this that the front-door bell +rang. He had been writing slackly, and with intervals of abstraction, +since the shots. He sat listening. He heard the servant answer the +door, and waited for her feet on the staircase, but she did not come. +“Wonder what that was,” said Dr. Kemp. + +He tried to resume his work, failed, got up, went downstairs from his +study to the landing, rang, and called over the balustrade to the +housemaid as she appeared in the hall below. “Was that a letter?” he +asked. + +“Only a runaway ring, sir,” she answered. + +“I’m restless to-night,” he said to himself. He went back to his study, +and this time attacked his work resolutely. In a little while he was +hard at work again, and the only sounds in the room were the ticking of +the clock and the subdued shrillness of his quill, hurrying in the very +centre of the circle of light his lampshade threw on his table. + +It was two o’clock before Dr. Kemp had finished his work for the night. +He rose, yawned, and went downstairs to bed. He had already removed his +coat and vest, when he noticed that he was thirsty. He took a candle +and went down to the dining-room in search of a syphon and whiskey. + +Dr. Kemp’s scientific pursuits have made him a very observant man, and +as he recrossed the hall, he noticed a dark spot on the linoleum near +the mat at the foot of the stairs. He went on upstairs, and then it +suddenly occurred to him to ask himself what the spot on the linoleum +might be. Apparently some subconscious element was at work. At any +rate, he turned with his burden, went back to the hall, put down the +syphon and whiskey, and bending down, touched the spot. Without any +great surprise he found it had the stickiness and colour of drying +blood. + +He took up his burden again, and returned upstairs, looking about him +and trying to account for the blood-spot. On the landing he saw +something and stopped astonished. The door-handle of his own room was +blood-stained. + +He looked at his own hand. It was quite clean, and then he remembered +that the door of his room had been open when he came down from his +study, and that consequently he had not touched the handle at all. He +went straight into his room, his face quite calm—perhaps a trifle more +resolute than usual. His glance, wandering inquisitively, fell on the +bed. On the counterpane was a mess of blood, and the sheet had been +torn. He had not noticed this before because he had walked straight to +the dressing-table. On the further side the bedclothes were depressed +as if someone had been recently sitting there. + +Then he had an odd impression that he had heard a low voice say, “Good +Heavens!—Kemp!” But Dr. Kemp was no believer in voices. + +He stood staring at the tumbled sheets. Was that really a voice? He +looked about again, but noticed nothing further than the disordered and +blood-stained bed. Then he distinctly heard a movement across the room, +near the wash-hand stand. All men, however highly educated, retain some +superstitious inklings. The feeling that is called “eerie” came upon +him. He closed the door of the room, came forward to the +dressing-table, and put down his burdens. Suddenly, with a start, he +perceived a coiled and blood-stained bandage of linen rag hanging in +mid-air, between him and the wash-hand stand. + +He stared at this in amazement. It was an empty bandage, a bandage +properly tied but quite empty. He would have advanced to grasp it, but +a touch arrested him, and a voice speaking quite close to him. + +“Kemp!” said the Voice. + +“Eh?” said Kemp, with his mouth open. + +“Keep your nerve,” said the Voice. “I’m an Invisible Man.” + +Kemp made no answer for a space, simply stared at the bandage. +“Invisible Man,” he said. + +“I am an Invisible Man,” repeated the Voice. + +The story he had been active to ridicule only that morning rushed +through Kemp’s brain. He does not appear to have been either very much +frightened or very greatly surprised at the moment. Realisation came +later. + +“I thought it was all a lie,” he said. The thought uppermost in his +mind was the reiterated arguments of the morning. “Have you a bandage +on?” he asked. + +“Yes,” said the Invisible Man. + +“Oh!” said Kemp, and then roused himself. “I say!” he said. “But this +is nonsense. It’s some trick.” He stepped forward suddenly, and his +hand, extended towards the bandage, met invisible fingers. + +He recoiled at the touch and his colour changed. + +“Keep steady, Kemp, for God’s sake! I want help badly. Stop!” + +The hand gripped his arm. He struck at it. + +“Kemp!” cried the Voice. “Kemp! Keep steady!” and the grip tightened. + +A frantic desire to free himself took possession of Kemp. The hand of +the bandaged arm gripped his shoulder, and he was suddenly tripped and +flung backwards upon the bed. He opened his mouth to shout, and the +corner of the sheet was thrust between his teeth. The Invisible Man had +him down grimly, but his arms were free and he struck and tried to kick +savagely. + +“Listen to reason, will you?” said the Invisible Man, sticking to him +in spite of a pounding in the ribs. “By Heaven! you’ll madden me in a +minute! + +“Lie still, you fool!” bawled the Invisible Man in Kemp’s ear. + +Kemp struggled for another moment and then lay still. + +“If you shout, I’ll smash your face,” said the Invisible Man, relieving +his mouth. + +“I’m an Invisible Man. It’s no foolishness, and no magic. I really am +an Invisible Man. And I want your help. I don’t want to hurt you, but +if you behave like a frantic rustic, I must. Don’t you remember me, +Kemp? Griffin, of University College?” + +“Let me get up,” said Kemp. “I’ll stop where I am. And let me sit quiet +for a minute.” + +He sat up and felt his neck. + +“I am Griffin, of University College, and I have made myself invisible. +I am just an ordinary man—a man you have known—made invisible.” + +“Griffin?” said Kemp. + +“Griffin,” answered the Voice. A younger student than you were, almost +an albino, six feet high, and broad, with a pink and white face and red +eyes, who won the medal for chemistry.” + +“I am confused,” said Kemp. “My brain is rioting. What has this to do +with Griffin?” + +“I _am_ Griffin.” + +Kemp thought. “It’s horrible,” he said. “But what devilry must happen +to make a man invisible?” + +“It’s no devilry. It’s a process, sane and intelligible enough—” + +“It’s horrible!” said Kemp. “How on earth—?” + +“It’s horrible enough. But I’m wounded and in pain, and tired ... Great +God! Kemp, you are a man. Take it steady. Give me some food and drink, +and let me sit down here.” + +Kemp stared at the bandage as it moved across the room, then saw a +basket chair dragged across the floor and come to rest near the bed. It +creaked, and the seat was depressed the quarter of an inch or so. He +rubbed his eyes and felt his neck again. “This beats ghosts,” he said, +and laughed stupidly. + +“That’s better. Thank Heaven, you’re getting sensible!” + +“Or silly,” said Kemp, and knuckled his eyes. + +“Give me some whiskey. I’m near dead.” + +“It didn’t feel so. Where are you? If I get up shall I run into you? +_There_! all right. Whiskey? Here. Where shall I give it to you?” + +The chair creaked and Kemp felt the glass drawn away from him. He let +go by an effort; his instinct was all against it. It came to rest +poised twenty inches above the front edge of the seat of the chair. He +stared at it in infinite perplexity. “This is—this must be—hypnotism. +You have suggested you are invisible.” + +“Nonsense,” said the Voice. + +“It’s frantic.” + +“Listen to me.” + +“I demonstrated conclusively this morning,” began Kemp, “that +invisibility—” + +“Never mind what you’ve demonstrated!—I’m starving,” said the Voice, +“and the night is chilly to a man without clothes.” + +“Food?” said Kemp. + +The tumbler of whiskey tilted itself. “Yes,” said the Invisible Man +rapping it down. “Have you a dressing-gown?” + +Kemp made some exclamation in an undertone. He walked to a wardrobe and +produced a robe of dingy scarlet. “This do?” he asked. It was taken +from him. It hung limp for a moment in mid-air, fluttered weirdly, +stood full and decorous buttoning itself, and sat down in his chair. +“Drawers, socks, slippers would be a comfort,” said the Unseen, curtly. +“And food.” + +“Anything. But this is the insanest thing I ever was in, in my life!” + +He turned out his drawers for the articles, and then went downstairs to +ransack his larder. He came back with some cold cutlets and bread, +pulled up a light table, and placed them before his guest. “Never mind +knives,” said his visitor, and a cutlet hung in mid-air, with a sound +of gnawing. + +“Invisible!” said Kemp, and sat down on a bedroom chair. + +“I always like to get something about me before I eat,” said the +Invisible Man, with a full mouth, eating greedily. “Queer fancy!” + +“I suppose that wrist is all right,” said Kemp. + +“Trust me,” said the Invisible Man. + +“Of all the strange and wonderful—” + +“Exactly. But it’s odd I should blunder into _your_ house to get my +bandaging. My first stroke of luck! Anyhow I meant to sleep in this +house to-night. You must stand that! It’s a filthy nuisance, my blood +showing, isn’t it? Quite a clot over there. Gets visible as it +coagulates, I see. It’s only the living tissue I’ve changed, and only +for as long as I’m alive.... I’ve been in the house three hours.” + +“But how’s it done?” began Kemp, in a tone of exasperation. “Confound +it! The whole business—it’s unreasonable from beginning to end.” + +“Quite reasonable,” said the Invisible Man. “Perfectly reasonable.” + +He reached over and secured the whiskey bottle. Kemp stared at the +devouring dressing gown. A ray of candle-light penetrating a torn patch +in the right shoulder, made a triangle of light under the left ribs. +“What were the shots?” he asked. “How did the shooting begin?” + +“There was a real fool of a man—a sort of confederate of mine—curse +him!—who tried to steal my money. _Has_ done so.” + +“Is _he_ invisible too?” + +“No.” + +“Well?” + +“Can’t I have some more to eat before I tell you all that? I’m +hungry—in pain. And you want me to tell stories!” + +Kemp got up. “_You_ didn’t do any shooting?” he asked. + +“Not me,” said his visitor. “Some fool I’d never seen fired at random. +A lot of them got scared. They all got scared at me. Curse them!—I +say—I want more to eat than this, Kemp.” + +“I’ll see what there is to eat downstairs,” said Kemp. “Not much, I’m +afraid.” + +After he had done eating, and he made a heavy meal, the Invisible Man +demanded a cigar. He bit the end savagely before Kemp could find a +knife, and cursed when the outer leaf loosened. It was strange to see +him smoking; his mouth, and throat, pharynx and nares, became visible +as a sort of whirling smoke cast. + +“This blessed gift of smoking!” he said, and puffed vigorously. “I’m +lucky to have fallen upon you, Kemp. You must help me. Fancy tumbling +on you just now! I’m in a devilish scrape—I’ve been mad, I think. The +things I have been through! But we will do things yet. Let me tell +you—” + +He helped himself to more whiskey and soda. Kemp got up, looked about +him, and fetched a glass from his spare room. “It’s wild—but I suppose +I may drink.” + +“You haven’t changed much, Kemp, these dozen years. You fair men don’t. +Cool and methodical—after the first collapse. I must tell you. We will +work together!” + +“But how was it all done?” said Kemp, “and how did you get like this?” + +“For God’s sake, let me smoke in peace for a little while! And then I +will begin to tell you.” + +But the story was not told that night. The Invisible Man’s wrist was +growing painful; he was feverish, exhausted, and his mind came round to +brood upon his chase down the hill and the struggle about the inn. He +spoke in fragments of Marvel, he smoked faster, his voice grew angry. +Kemp tried to gather what he could. + +“He was afraid of me, I could see that he was afraid of me,” said the +Invisible Man many times over. “He meant to give me the slip—he was +always casting about! What a fool I was! + +“The cur! + +“I should have killed him!” + +“Where did you get the money?” asked Kemp, abruptly. + +The Invisible Man was silent for a space. “I can’t tell you to-night,” +he said. + +He groaned suddenly and leant forward, supporting his invisible head on +invisible hands. “Kemp,” he said, “I’ve had no sleep for near three +days, except a couple of dozes of an hour or so. I must sleep soon.” + +“Well, have my room—have this room.” + +“But how can I sleep? If I sleep—he will get away. Ugh! What does it +matter?” + +“What’s the shot wound?” asked Kemp, abruptly. + +“Nothing—scratch and blood. Oh, God! How I want sleep!” + +“Why not?” + +The Invisible Man appeared to be regarding Kemp. “Because I’ve a +particular objection to being caught by my fellow-men,” he said slowly. + +Kemp started. + +“Fool that I am!” said the Invisible Man, striking the table smartly. +“I’ve put the idea into your head.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. +THE INVISIBLE MAN SLEEPS + + +Exhausted and wounded as the Invisible Man was, he refused to accept +Kemp’s word that his freedom should be respected. He examined the two +windows of the bedroom, drew up the blinds and opened the sashes, to +confirm Kemp’s statement that a retreat by them would be possible. +Outside the night was very quiet and still, and the new moon was +setting over the down. Then he examined the keys of the bedroom and the +two dressing-room doors, to satisfy himself that these also could be +made an assurance of freedom. Finally he expressed himself satisfied. +He stood on the hearth rug and Kemp heard the sound of a yawn. + +“I’m sorry,” said the Invisible Man, “if I cannot tell you all that I +have done to-night. But I am worn out. It’s grotesque, no doubt. It’s +horrible! But believe me, Kemp, in spite of your arguments of this +morning, it is quite a possible thing. I have made a discovery. I meant +to keep it to myself. I can’t. I must have a partner. And you.... We +can do such things ... But to-morrow. Now, Kemp, I feel as though I +must sleep or perish.” + +Kemp stood in the middle of the room staring at the headless garment. +“I suppose I must leave you,” he said. “It’s—incredible. Three things +happening like this, overturning all my preconceptions—would make me +insane. But it’s real! Is there anything more that I can get you?” + +“Only bid me good-night,” said Griffin. + +“Good-night,” said Kemp, and shook an invisible hand. He walked +sideways to the door. Suddenly the dressing-gown walked quickly towards +him. “Understand me!” said the dressing-gown. “No attempts to hamper +me, or capture me! Or—” + +Kemp’s face changed a little. “I thought I gave you my word,” he said. + +Kemp closed the door softly behind him, and the key was turned upon him +forthwith. Then, as he stood with an expression of passive amazement on +his face, the rapid feet came to the door of the dressing-room and that +too was locked. Kemp slapped his brow with his hand. “Am I dreaming? +Has the world gone mad—or have I?” + +He laughed, and put his hand to the locked door. “Barred out of my own +bedroom, by a flagrant absurdity!” he said. + +He walked to the head of the staircase, turned, and stared at the +locked doors. “It’s fact,” he said. He put his fingers to his slightly +bruised neck. “Undeniable fact! + +“But—” + +He shook his head hopelessly, turned, and went downstairs. + +He lit the dining-room lamp, got out a cigar, and began pacing the +room, ejaculating. Now and then he would argue with himself. + +“Invisible!” he said. + +“Is there such a thing as an invisible animal? ... In the sea, yes. +Thousands—millions. All the larvae, all the little nauplii and +tornarias, all the microscopic things, the jelly-fish. In the sea there +are more things invisible than visible! I never thought of that before. +And in the ponds too! All those little pond-life things—specks of +colourless translucent jelly! But in air? No! + +“It can’t be. + +“But after all—why not? + +“If a man was made of glass he would still be visible.” + +His meditation became profound. The bulk of three cigars had passed +into the invisible or diffused as a white ash over the carpet before he +spoke again. Then it was merely an exclamation. He turned aside, walked +out of the room, and went into his little consulting-room and lit the +gas there. It was a little room, because Dr. Kemp did not live by +practice, and in it were the day’s newspapers. The morning’s paper lay +carelessly opened and thrown aside. He caught it up, turned it over, +and read the account of a “Strange Story from Iping” that the mariner +at Port Stowe had spelt over so painfully to Mr. Marvel. Kemp read it +swiftly. + +“Wrapped up!” said Kemp. “Disguised! Hiding it! ‘No one seems to have +been aware of his misfortune.’ What the devil _is_ his game?” + +He dropped the paper, and his eye went seeking. “Ah!” he said, and +caught up the _St. James’ Gazette_, lying folded up as it arrived. “Now +we shall get at the truth,” said Dr. Kemp. He rent the paper open; a +couple of columns confronted him. “An Entire Village in Sussex goes +Mad” was the heading. + +“Good Heavens!” said Kemp, reading eagerly an incredulous account of +the events in Iping, of the previous afternoon, that have already been +described. Over the leaf the report in the morning paper had been +reprinted. + +He re-read it. “Ran through the streets striking right and left. +Jaffers insensible. Mr. Huxter in great pain—still unable to describe +what he saw. Painful humiliation—vicar. Woman ill with terror! Windows +smashed. This extraordinary story probably a fabrication. Too good not +to print—_cum grano_!” + +He dropped the paper and stared blankly in front of him. “Probably a +fabrication!” + +He caught up the paper again, and re-read the whole business. “But when +does the Tramp come in? Why the deuce was he chasing a tramp?” + +He sat down abruptly on the surgical bench. “He’s not only invisible,” +he said, “but he’s mad! Homicidal!” + +When dawn came to mingle its pallor with the lamp-light and cigar smoke +of the dining-room, Kemp was still pacing up and down, trying to grasp +the incredible. + +He was altogether too excited to sleep. His servants, descending +sleepily, discovered him, and were inclined to think that over-study +had worked this ill on him. He gave them extraordinary but quite +explicit instructions to lay breakfast for two in the belvedere +study—and then to confine themselves to the basement and ground-floor. +Then he continued to pace the dining-room until the morning’s paper +came. That had much to say and little to tell, beyond the confirmation +of the evening before, and a very badly written account of another +remarkable tale from Port Burdock. This gave Kemp the essence of the +happenings at the “Jolly Cricketers,” and the name of Marvel. “He has +made me keep with him twenty-four hours,” Marvel testified. Certain +minor facts were added to the Iping story, notably the cutting of the +village telegraph-wire. But there was nothing to throw light on the +connexion between the Invisible Man and the Tramp; for Mr. Marvel had +supplied no information about the three books, or the money with which +he was lined. The incredulous tone had vanished and a shoal of +reporters and inquirers were already at work elaborating the matter. + +Kemp read every scrap of the report and sent his housemaid out to get +every one of the morning papers she could. These also he devoured. + +“He is invisible!” he said. “And it reads like rage growing to mania! +The things he may do! The things he may do! And he’s upstairs free as +the air. What on earth ought I to do?” + +“For instance, would it be a breach of faith if—? No.” + +He went to a little untidy desk in the corner, and began a note. He +tore this up half written, and wrote another. He read it over and +considered it. Then he took an envelope and addressed it to “Colonel +Adye, Port Burdock.” + +The Invisible Man awoke even as Kemp was doing this. He awoke in an +evil temper, and Kemp, alert for every sound, heard his pattering feet +rush suddenly across the bedroom overhead. Then a chair was flung over +and the wash-hand stand tumbler smashed. Kemp hurried upstairs and +rapped eagerly. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. +CERTAIN FIRST PRINCIPLES + + +“What’s the matter?” asked Kemp, when the Invisible Man admitted him. + +“Nothing,” was the answer. + +“But, confound it! The smash?” + +“Fit of temper,” said the Invisible Man. “Forgot this arm; and it’s +sore.” + +“You’re rather liable to that sort of thing.” + +“I am.” + +Kemp walked across the room and picked up the fragments of broken +glass. “All the facts are out about you,” said Kemp, standing up with +the glass in his hand; “all that happened in Iping, and down the hill. +The world has become aware of its invisible citizen. But no one knows +you are here.” + +The Invisible Man swore. + +“The secret’s out. I gather it was a secret. I don’t know what your +plans are, but of course I’m anxious to help you.” + +The Invisible Man sat down on the bed. + +“There’s breakfast upstairs,” said Kemp, speaking as easily as +possible, and he was delighted to find his strange guest rose +willingly. Kemp led the way up the narrow staircase to the belvedere. + +“Before we can do anything else,” said Kemp, “I must understand a +little more about this invisibility of yours.” He had sat down, after +one nervous glance out of the window, with the air of a man who has +talking to do. His doubts of the sanity of the entire business flashed +and vanished again as he looked across to where Griffin sat at the +breakfast-table—a headless, handless dressing-gown, wiping unseen lips +on a miraculously held serviette. + +“It’s simple enough—and credible enough,” said Griffin, putting the +serviette aside and leaning the invisible head on an invisible hand. + +“No doubt, to you, but—” Kemp laughed. + +“Well, yes; to me it seemed wonderful at first, no doubt. But now, +great God! ... But we will do great things yet! I came on the stuff +first at Chesilstowe.” + +“Chesilstowe?” + +“I went there after I left London. You know I dropped medicine and took +up physics? No; well, I did. _Light_ fascinated me.” + +“Ah!” + +“Optical density! The whole subject is a network of riddles—a network +with solutions glimmering elusively through. And being but +two-and-twenty and full of enthusiasm, I said, ‘I will devote my life +to this. This is worth while.’ You know what fools we are at +two-and-twenty?” + +“Fools then or fools now,” said Kemp. + +“As though knowing could be any satisfaction to a man! + +“But I went to work—like a slave. And I had hardly worked and thought +about the matter six months before light came through one of the meshes +suddenly—blindingly! I found a general principle of pigments and +refraction—a formula, a geometrical expression involving four +dimensions. Fools, common men, even common mathematicians, do not know +anything of what some general expression may mean to the student of +molecular physics. In the books—the books that tramp has hidden—there +are marvels, miracles! But this was not a method, it was an idea, that +might lead to a method by which it would be possible, without changing +any other property of matter—except, in some instances colours—to lower +the refractive index of a substance, solid or liquid, to that of air—so +far as all practical purposes are concerned.” + +“Phew!” said Kemp. “That’s odd! But still I don’t see quite ... I can +understand that thereby you could spoil a valuable stone, but personal +invisibility is a far cry.” + +“Precisely,” said Griffin. “But consider, visibility depends on the +action of the visible bodies on light. Either a body absorbs light, or +it reflects or refracts it, or does all these things. If it neither +reflects nor refracts nor absorbs light, it cannot of itself be +visible. You see an opaque red box, for instance, because the colour +absorbs some of the light and reflects the rest, all the red part of +the light, to you. If it did not absorb any particular part of the +light, but reflected it all, then it would be a shining white box. +Silver! A diamond box would neither absorb much of the light nor +reflect much from the general surface, but just here and there where +the surfaces were favourable the light would be reflected and +refracted, so that you would get a brilliant appearance of flashing +reflections and translucencies—a sort of skeleton of light. A glass box +would not be so brilliant, nor so clearly visible, as a diamond box, +because there would be less refraction and reflection. See that? From +certain points of view you would see quite clearly through it. Some +kinds of glass would be more visible than others, a box of flint glass +would be brighter than a box of ordinary window glass. A box of very +thin common glass would be hard to see in a bad light, because it would +absorb hardly any light and refract and reflect very little. And if you +put a sheet of common white glass in water, still more if you put it in +some denser liquid than water, it would vanish almost altogether, +because light passing from water to glass is only slightly refracted or +reflected or indeed affected in any way. It is almost as invisible as a +jet of coal gas or hydrogen is in air. And for precisely the same +reason!” + +“Yes,” said Kemp, “that is pretty plain sailing.” + +“And here is another fact you will know to be true. If a sheet of glass +is smashed, Kemp, and beaten into a powder, it becomes much more +visible while it is in the air; it becomes at last an opaque white +powder. This is because the powdering multiplies the surfaces of the +glass at which refraction and reflection occur. In the sheet of glass +there are only two surfaces; in the powder the light is reflected or +refracted by each grain it passes through, and very little gets right +through the powder. But if the white powdered glass is put into water, +it forthwith vanishes. The powdered glass and water have much the same +refractive index; that is, the light undergoes very little refraction +or reflection in passing from one to the other. + +“You make the glass invisible by putting it into a liquid of nearly the +same refractive index; a transparent thing becomes invisible if it is +put in any medium of almost the same refractive index. And if you will +consider only a second, you will see also that the powder of glass +might be made to vanish in air, if its refractive index could be made +the same as that of air; for then there would be no refraction or +reflection as the light passed from glass to air.” + +“Yes, yes,” said Kemp. “But a man’s not powdered glass!” + +“No,” said Griffin. “He’s more transparent!” + +“Nonsense!” + +“That from a doctor! How one forgets! Have you already forgotten your +physics, in ten years? Just think of all the things that are +transparent and seem not to be so. Paper, for instance, is made up of +transparent fibres, and it is white and opaque only for the same reason +that a powder of glass is white and opaque. Oil white paper, fill up +the interstices between the particles with oil so that there is no +longer refraction or reflection except at the surfaces, and it becomes +as transparent as glass. And not only paper, but cotton fibre, linen +fibre, wool fibre, woody fibre, and _bone_, Kemp, _flesh_, Kemp, +_hair_, Kemp, _nails_ and _nerves_, Kemp, in fact the whole fabric of a +man except the red of his blood and the black pigment of hair, are all +made up of transparent, colourless tissue. So little suffices to make +us visible one to the other. For the most part the fibres of a living +creature are no more opaque than water.” + +“Great Heavens!” cried Kemp. “Of course, of course! I was thinking only +last night of the sea larvae and all jelly-fish!” + +“_Now_ you have me! And all that I knew and had in mind a year after I +left London—six years ago. But I kept it to myself. I had to do my work +under frightful disadvantages. Oliver, my professor, was a scientific +bounder, a journalist by instinct, a thief of ideas—he was always +prying! And you know the knavish system of the scientific world. I +simply would not publish, and let him share my credit. I went on +working; I got nearer and nearer making my formula into an experiment, +a reality. I told no living soul, because I meant to flash my work upon +the world with crushing effect and become famous at a blow. I took up +the question of pigments to fill up certain gaps. And suddenly, not by +design but by accident, I made a discovery in physiology.” + +“Yes?” + +“You know the red colouring matter of blood; it can be made +white—colourless—and remain with all the functions it has now!” + +Kemp gave a cry of incredulous amazement. + +The Invisible Man rose and began pacing the little study. “You may well +exclaim. I remember that night. It was late at night—in the daytime one +was bothered with the gaping, silly students—and I worked then +sometimes till dawn. It came suddenly, splendid and complete in my +mind. I was alone; the laboratory was still, with the tall lights +burning brightly and silently. In all my great moments I have been +alone. ‘One could make an animal—a tissue—transparent! One could make +it invisible! All except the pigments—I could be invisible!’ I said, +suddenly realising what it meant to be an albino with such knowledge. +It was overwhelming. I left the filtering I was doing, and went and +stared out of the great window at the stars. ‘I could be invisible!’ I +repeated. + +“To do such a thing would be to transcend magic. And I beheld, +unclouded by doubt, a magnificent vision of all that invisibility might +mean to a man—the mystery, the power, the freedom. Drawbacks I saw +none. You have only to think! And I, a shabby, poverty-struck, +hemmed-in demonstrator, teaching fools in a provincial college, might +suddenly become—this. I ask you, Kemp if _you_ ... Anyone, I tell you, +would have flung himself upon that research. And I worked three years, +and every mountain of difficulty I toiled over showed another from its +summit. The infinite details! And the exasperation! A professor, a +provincial professor, always prying. ‘When are you going to publish +this work of yours?’ was his everlasting question. And the students, +the cramped means! Three years I had of it— + +“And after three years of secrecy and exasperation, I found that to +complete it was impossible—impossible.” + +“How?” asked Kemp. + +“Money,” said the Invisible Man, and went again to stare out of the +window. + +He turned around abruptly. “I robbed the old man—robbed my father. + +“The money was not his, and he shot himself.” + + + + +CHAPTER XX. +AT THE HOUSE IN GREAT PORTLAND STREET + + +For a moment Kemp sat in silence, staring at the back of the headless +figure at the window. Then he started, struck by a thought, rose, took +the Invisible Man’s arm, and turned him away from the outlook. + +“You are tired,” he said, “and while I sit, you walk about. Have my +chair.” + +He placed himself between Griffin and the nearest window. + +For a space Griffin sat silent, and then he resumed abruptly: + +“I had left the Chesilstowe cottage already,” he said, “when that +happened. It was last December. I had taken a room in London, a large +unfurnished room in a big ill-managed lodging-house in a slum near +Great Portland Street. The room was soon full of the appliances I had +bought with his money; the work was going on steadily, successfully, +drawing near an end. I was like a man emerging from a thicket, and +suddenly coming on some unmeaning tragedy. I went to bury him. My mind +was still on this research, and I did not lift a finger to save his +character. I remember the funeral, the cheap hearse, the scant +ceremony, the windy frost-bitten hillside, and the old college friend +of his who read the service over him—a shabby, black, bent old man with +a snivelling cold. + +“I remember walking back to the empty house, through the place that had +once been a village and was now patched and tinkered by the jerry +builders into the ugly likeness of a town. Every way the roads ran out +at last into the desecrated fields and ended in rubble heaps and rank +wet weeds. I remember myself as a gaunt black figure, going along the +slippery, shiny pavement, and the strange sense of detachment I felt +from the squalid respectability, the sordid commercialism of the place. + +“I did not feel a bit sorry for my father. He seemed to me to be the +victim of his own foolish sentimentality. The current cant required my +attendance at his funeral, but it was really not my affair. + +“But going along the High Street, my old life came back to me for a +space, for I met the girl I had known ten years since. Our eyes met. + +“Something moved me to turn back and talk to her. She was a very +ordinary person. + +“It was all like a dream, that visit to the old places. I did not feel +then that I was lonely, that I had come out from the world into a +desolate place. I appreciated my loss of sympathy, but I put it down to +the general inanity of things. Re-entering my room seemed like the +recovery of reality. There were the things I knew and loved. There +stood the apparatus, the experiments arranged and waiting. And now +there was scarcely a difficulty left, beyond the planning of details. + +“I will tell you, Kemp, sooner or later, all the complicated processes. +We need not go into that now. For the most part, saving certain gaps I +chose to remember, they are written in cypher in those books that tramp +has hidden. We must hunt him down. We must get those books again. But +the essential phase was to place the transparent object whose +refractive index was to be lowered between two radiating centres of a +sort of ethereal vibration, of which I will tell you more fully later. +No, not those Röntgen vibrations—I don’t know that these others of mine +have been described. Yet they are obvious enough. I needed two little +dynamos, and these I worked with a cheap gas engine. My first +experiment was with a bit of white wool fabric. It was the strangest +thing in the world to see it in the flicker of the flashes soft and +white, and then to watch it fade like a wreath of smoke and vanish. + +“I could scarcely believe I had done it. I put my hand into the +emptiness, and there was the thing as solid as ever. I felt it +awkwardly, and threw it on the floor. I had a little trouble finding it +again. + +“And then came a curious experience. I heard a miaow behind me, and +turning, saw a lean white cat, very dirty, on the cistern cover outside +the window. A thought came into my head. ‘Everything ready for you,’ I +said, and went to the window, opened it, and called softly. She came +in, purring—the poor beast was starving—and I gave her some milk. All +my food was in a cupboard in the corner of the room. After that she +went smelling round the room, evidently with the idea of making herself +at home. The invisible rag upset her a bit; you should have seen her +spit at it! But I made her comfortable on the pillow of my truckle-bed. +And I gave her butter to get her to wash.” + +“And you processed her?” + +“I processed her. But giving drugs to a cat is no joke, Kemp! And the +process failed.” + +“Failed!” + +“In two particulars. These were the claws and the pigment stuff, what +is it?—at the back of the eye in a cat. You know?” + +“_Tapetum_.” + +“Yes, the _tapetum_. It didn’t go. After I’d given the stuff to bleach +the blood and done certain other things to her, I gave the beast opium, +and put her and the pillow she was sleeping on, on the apparatus. And +after all the rest had faded and vanished, there remained two little +ghosts of her eyes.” + +“Odd!” + +“I can’t explain it. She was bandaged and clamped, of course—so I had +her safe; but she woke while she was still misty, and miaowed dismally, +and someone came knocking. It was an old woman from downstairs, who +suspected me of vivisecting—a drink-sodden old creature, with only a +white cat to care for in all the world. I whipped out some chloroform, +applied it, and answered the door. ‘Did I hear a cat?’ she asked. ‘My +cat?’ ‘Not here,’ said I, very politely. She was a little doubtful and +tried to peer past me into the room; strange enough to her no +doubt—bare walls, uncurtained windows, truckle-bed, with the gas engine +vibrating, and the seethe of the radiant points, and that faint ghastly +stinging of chloroform in the air. She had to be satisfied at last and +went away again.” + +“How long did it take?” asked Kemp. + +“Three or four hours—the cat. The bones and sinews and the fat were the +last to go, and the tips of the coloured hairs. And, as I say, the back +part of the eye, tough, iridescent stuff it is, wouldn’t go at all. + +“It was night outside long before the business was over, and nothing +was to be seen but the dim eyes and the claws. I stopped the gas +engine, felt for and stroked the beast, which was still insensible, and +then, being tired, left it sleeping on the invisible pillow and went to +bed. I found it hard to sleep. I lay awake thinking weak aimless stuff, +going over the experiment over and over again, or dreaming feverishly +of things growing misty and vanishing about me, until everything, the +ground I stood on, vanished, and so I came to that sickly falling +nightmare one gets. About two, the cat began miaowing about the room. I +tried to hush it by talking to it, and then I decided to turn it out. I +remember the shock I had when striking a light—there were just the +round eyes shining green—and nothing round them. I would have given it +milk, but I hadn’t any. It wouldn’t be quiet, it just sat down and +miaowed at the door. I tried to catch it, with an idea of putting it +out of the window, but it wouldn’t be caught, it vanished. Then it +began miaowing in different parts of the room. At last I opened the +window and made a bustle. I suppose it went out at last. I never saw +any more of it. + +“Then—Heaven knows why—I fell thinking of my father’s funeral again, +and the dismal windy hillside, until the day had come. I found sleeping +was hopeless, and, locking my door after me, wandered out into the +morning streets.” + +“You don’t mean to say there’s an invisible cat at large!” said Kemp. + +“If it hasn’t been killed,” said the Invisible Man. “Why not?” + +“Why not?” said Kemp. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” + +“It’s very probably been killed,” said the Invisible Man. “It was alive +four days after, I know, and down a grating in Great Titchfield Street; +because I saw a crowd round the place, trying to see whence the +miaowing came.” + +He was silent for the best part of a minute. Then he resumed abruptly: + +“I remember that morning before the change very vividly. I must have +gone up Great Portland Street. I remember the barracks in Albany +Street, and the horse soldiers coming out, and at last I found the +summit of Primrose Hill. It was a sunny day in January—one of those +sunny, frosty days that came before the snow this year. My weary brain +tried to formulate the position, to plot out a plan of action. + +“I was surprised to find, now that my prize was within my grasp, how +inconclusive its attainment seemed. As a matter of fact I was worked +out; the intense stress of nearly four years’ continuous work left me +incapable of any strength of feeling. I was apathetic, and I tried in +vain to recover the enthusiasm of my first inquiries, the passion of +discovery that had enabled me to compass even the downfall of my +father’s grey hairs. Nothing seemed to matter. I saw pretty clearly +this was a transient mood, due to overwork and want of sleep, and that +either by drugs or rest it would be possible to recover my energies. + +“All I could think clearly was that the thing had to be carried +through; the fixed idea still ruled me. And soon, for the money I had +was almost exhausted. I looked about me at the hillside, with children +playing and girls watching them, and tried to think of all the +fantastic advantages an invisible man would have in the world. After a +time I crawled home, took some food and a strong dose of strychnine, +and went to sleep in my clothes on my unmade bed. Strychnine is a grand +tonic, Kemp, to take the flabbiness out of a man.” + +“It’s the devil,” said Kemp. “It’s the palaeolithic in a bottle.” + +“I awoke vastly invigorated and rather irritable. You know?” + +“I know the stuff.” + +“And there was someone rapping at the door. It was my landlord with +threats and inquiries, an old Polish Jew in a long grey coat and greasy +slippers. I had been tormenting a cat in the night, he was sure—the old +woman’s tongue had been busy. He insisted on knowing all about it. The +laws in this country against vivisection were very severe—he might be +liable. I denied the cat. Then the vibration of the little gas engine +could be felt all over the house, he said. That was true, certainly. He +edged round me into the room, peering about over his German-silver +spectacles, and a sudden dread came into my mind that he might carry +away something of my secret. I tried to keep between him and the +concentrating apparatus I had arranged, and that only made him more +curious. What was I doing? Why was I always alone and secretive? Was it +legal? Was it dangerous? I paid nothing but the usual rent. His had +always been a most respectable house—in a disreputable neighbourhood. +Suddenly my temper gave way. I told him to get out. He began to +protest, to jabber of his right of entry. In a moment I had him by the +collar; something ripped, and he went spinning out into his own +passage. I slammed and locked the door and sat down quivering. + +“He made a fuss outside, which I disregarded, and after a time he went +away. + +“But this brought matters to a crisis. I did not know what he would do, +nor even what he had the power to do. To move to fresh apartments would +have meant delay; altogether I had barely twenty pounds left in the +world, for the most part in a bank—and I could not afford that. Vanish! +It was irresistible. Then there would be an inquiry, the sacking of my +room. + +“At the thought of the possibility of my work being exposed or +interrupted at its very climax, I became very angry and active. I +hurried out with my three books of notes, my cheque-book—the tramp has +them now—and directed them from the nearest Post Office to a house of +call for letters and parcels in Great Portland Street. I tried to go +out noiselessly. Coming in, I found my landlord going quietly upstairs; +he had heard the door close, I suppose. You would have laughed to see +him jump aside on the landing as I came tearing after him. He glared at +me as I went by him, and I made the house quiver with the slamming of +my door. I heard him come shuffling up to my floor, hesitate, and go +down. I set to work upon my preparations forthwith. + +“It was all done that evening and night. While I was still sitting +under the sickly, drowsy influence of the drugs that decolourise blood, +there came a repeated knocking at the door. It ceased, footsteps went +away and returned, and the knocking was resumed. There was an attempt +to push something under the door—a blue paper. Then in a fit of +irritation I rose and went and flung the door wide open. ‘Now then?’ +said I. + +“It was my landlord, with a notice of ejectment or something. He held +it out to me, saw something odd about my hands, I expect, and lifted +his eyes to my face. + +“For a moment he gaped. Then he gave a sort of inarticulate cry, +dropped candle and writ together, and went blundering down the dark +passage to the stairs. I shut the door, locked it, and went to the +looking-glass. Then I understood his terror.... My face was white—like +white stone. + +“But it was all horrible. I had not expected the suffering. A night of +racking anguish, sickness and fainting. I set my teeth, though my skin +was presently afire, all my body afire; but I lay there like grim +death. I understood now how it was the cat had howled until I +chloroformed it. Lucky it was I lived alone and untended in my room. +There were times when I sobbed and groaned and talked. But I stuck to +it.... I became insensible and woke languid in the darkness. + +“The pain had passed. I thought I was killing myself and I did not +care. I shall never forget that dawn, and the strange horror of seeing +that my hands had become as clouded glass, and watching them grow +clearer and thinner as the day went by, until at last I could see the +sickly disorder of my room through them, though I closed my transparent +eyelids. My limbs became glassy, the bones and arteries faded, +vanished, and the little white nerves went last. I gritted my teeth and +stayed there to the end. At last only the dead tips of the fingernails +remained, pallid and white, and the brown stain of some acid upon my +fingers. + +“I struggled up. At first I was as incapable as a swathed +infant—stepping with limbs I could not see. I was weak and very hungry. +I went and stared at nothing in my shaving-glass, at nothing save where +an attenuated pigment still remained behind the retina of my eyes, +fainter than mist. I had to hang on to the table and press my forehead +against the glass. + +“It was only by a frantic effort of will that I dragged myself back to +the apparatus and completed the process. + +“I slept during the forenoon, pulling the sheet over my eyes to shut +out the light, and about midday I was awakened again by a knocking. My +strength had returned. I sat up and listened and heard a whispering. I +sprang to my feet and as noiselessly as possible began to detach the +connections of my apparatus, and to distribute it about the room, so as +to destroy the suggestions of its arrangement. Presently the knocking +was renewed and voices called, first my landlord’s, and then two +others. To gain time I answered them. The invisible rag and pillow came +to hand and I opened the window and pitched them out on to the cistern +cover. As the window opened, a heavy crash came at the door. Someone +had charged it with the idea of smashing the lock. But the stout bolts +I had screwed up some days before stopped him. That startled me, made +me angry. I began to tremble and do things hurriedly. + +“I tossed together some loose paper, straw, packing paper and so forth, +in the middle of the room, and turned on the gas. Heavy blows began to +rain upon the door. I could not find the matches. I beat my hands on +the wall with rage. I turned down the gas again, stepped out of the +window on the cistern cover, very softly lowered the sash, and sat +down, secure and invisible, but quivering with anger, to watch events. +They split a panel, I saw, and in another moment they had broken away +the staples of the bolts and stood in the open doorway. It was the +landlord and his two step-sons, sturdy young men of three or four and +twenty. Behind them fluttered the old hag of a woman from downstairs. + +“You may imagine their astonishment to find the room empty. One of the +younger men rushed to the window at once, flung it up and stared out. +His staring eyes and thick-lipped bearded face came a foot from my +face. I was half minded to hit his silly countenance, but I arrested my +doubled fist. He stared right through me. So did the others as they +joined him. The old man went and peered under the bed, and then they +all made a rush for the cupboard. They had to argue about it at length +in Yiddish and Cockney English. They concluded I had not answered them, +that their imagination had deceived them. A feeling of extraordinary +elation took the place of my anger as I sat outside the window and +watched these four people—for the old lady came in, glancing +suspiciously about her like a cat, trying to understand the riddle of +my behaviour. + +“The old man, so far as I could understand his _patois_, agreed with +the old lady that I was a vivisectionist. The sons protested in garbled +English that I was an electrician, and appealed to the dynamos and +radiators. They were all nervous about my arrival, although I found +subsequently that they had bolted the front door. The old lady peered +into the cupboard and under the bed, and one of the young men pushed up +the register and stared up the chimney. One of my fellow lodgers, a +coster-monger who shared the opposite room with a butcher, appeared on +the landing, and he was called in and told incoherent things. + +“It occurred to me that the radiators, if they fell into the hands of +some acute well-educated person, would give me away too much, and +watching my opportunity, I came into the room and tilted one of the +little dynamos off its fellow on which it was standing, and smashed +both apparatus. Then, while they were trying to explain the smash, I +dodged out of the room and went softly downstairs. + +“I went into one of the sitting-rooms and waited until they came down, +still speculating and argumentative, all a little disappointed at +finding no ‘horrors,’ and all a little puzzled how they stood legally +towards me. Then I slipped up again with a box of matches, fired my +heap of paper and rubbish, put the chairs and bedding thereby, led the +gas to the affair, by means of an india-rubber tube, and waving a +farewell to the room left it for the last time.” + +“You fired the house!” exclaimed Kemp. + +“Fired the house. It was the only way to cover my trail—and no doubt it +was insured. I slipped the bolts of the front door quietly and went out +into the street. I was invisible, and I was only just beginning to +realise the extraordinary advantage my invisibility gave me. My head +was already teeming with plans of all the wild and wonderful things I +had now impunity to do.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. +IN OXFORD STREET + + +“In going downstairs the first time I found an unexpected difficulty +because I could not see my feet; indeed I stumbled twice, and there was +an unaccustomed clumsiness in gripping the bolt. By not looking down, +however, I managed to walk on the level passably well. + +“My mood, I say, was one of exaltation. I felt as a seeing man might +do, with padded feet and noiseless clothes, in a city of the blind. I +experienced a wild impulse to jest, to startle people, to clap men on +the back, fling people’s hats astray, and generally revel in my +extraordinary advantage. + +“But hardly had I emerged upon Great Portland Street, however (my +lodging was close to the big draper’s shop there), when I heard a +clashing concussion and was hit violently behind, and turning saw a man +carrying a basket of soda-water syphons, and looking in amazement at +his burden. Although the blow had really hurt me, I found something so +irresistible in his astonishment that I laughed aloud. ‘The devil’s in +the basket,’ I said, and suddenly twisted it out of his hand. He let go +incontinently, and I swung the whole weight into the air. + +“But a fool of a cabman, standing outside a public house, made a sudden +rush for this, and his extending fingers took me with excruciating +violence under the ear. I let the whole down with a smash on the +cabman, and then, with shouts and the clatter of feet about me, people +coming out of shops, vehicles pulling up, I realised what I had done +for myself, and cursing my folly, backed against a shop window and +prepared to dodge out of the confusion. In a moment I should be wedged +into a crowd and inevitably discovered. I pushed by a butcher boy, who +luckily did not turn to see the nothingness that shoved him aside, and +dodged behind the cab-man’s four-wheeler. I do not know how they +settled the business. I hurried straight across the road, which was +happily clear, and hardly heeding which way I went, in the fright of +detection the incident had given me, plunged into the afternoon throng +of Oxford Street. + +“I tried to get into the stream of people, but they were too thick for +me, and in a moment my heels were being trodden upon. I took to the +gutter, the roughness of which I found painful to my feet, and +forthwith the shaft of a crawling hansom dug me forcibly under the +shoulder blade, reminding me that I was already bruised severely. I +staggered out of the way of the cab, avoided a perambulator by a +convulsive movement, and found myself behind the hansom. A happy +thought saved me, and as this drove slowly along I followed in its +immediate wake, trembling and astonished at the turn of my adventure. +And not only trembling, but shivering. It was a bright day in January +and I was stark naked and the thin slime of mud that covered the road +was freezing. Foolish as it seems to me now, I had not reckoned that, +transparent or not, I was still amenable to the weather and all its +consequences. + +“Then suddenly a bright idea came into my head. I ran round and got +into the cab. And so, shivering, scared, and sniffing with the first +intimations of a cold, and with the bruises in the small of my back +growing upon my attention, I drove slowly along Oxford Street and past +Tottenham Court Road. My mood was as different from that in which I had +sallied forth ten minutes ago as it is possible to imagine. This +invisibility indeed! The one thought that possessed me was—how was I to +get out of the scrape I was in. + +“We crawled past Mudie’s, and there a tall woman with five or six +yellow-labelled books hailed my cab, and I sprang out just in time to +escape her, shaving a railway van narrowly in my flight. I made off up +the roadway to Bloomsbury Square, intending to strike north past the +Museum and so get into the quiet district. I was now cruelly chilled, +and the strangeness of my situation so unnerved me that I whimpered as +I ran. At the northward corner of the Square a little white dog ran out +of the Pharmaceutical Society’s offices, and incontinently made for me, +nose down. + +“I had never realised it before, but the nose is to the mind of a dog +what the eye is to the mind of a seeing man. Dogs perceive the scent of +a man moving as men perceive his vision. This brute began barking and +leaping, showing, as it seemed to me, only too plainly that he was +aware of me. I crossed Great Russell Street, glancing over my shoulder +as I did so, and went some way along Montague Street before I realised +what I was running towards. + +“Then I became aware of a blare of music, and looking along the street +saw a number of people advancing out of Russell Square, red shirts, and +the banner of the Salvation Army to the fore. Such a crowd, chanting in +the roadway and scoffing on the pavement, I could not hope to +penetrate, and dreading to go back and farther from home again, and +deciding on the spur of the moment, I ran up the white steps of a house +facing the museum railings, and stood there until the crowd should have +passed. Happily the dog stopped at the noise of the band too, +hesitated, and turned tail, running back to Bloomsbury Square again. + +“On came the band, bawling with unconscious irony some hymn about ‘When +shall we see His face?’ and it seemed an interminable time to me before +the tide of the crowd washed along the pavement by me. Thud, thud, +thud, came the drum with a vibrating resonance, and for the moment I +did not notice two urchins stopping at the railings by me. ‘See ’em,’ +said one. ‘See what?’ said the other. ‘Why—them footmarks—bare. Like +what you makes in mud.’ + +“I looked down and saw the youngsters had stopped and were gaping at +the muddy footmarks I had left behind me up the newly whitened steps. +The passing people elbowed and jostled them, but their confounded +intelligence was arrested. ‘Thud, thud, thud, when, thud, shall we see, +thud, his face, thud, thud.’ ‘There’s a barefoot man gone up them +steps, or I don’t know nothing,’ said one. ‘And he ain’t never come +down again. And his foot was a-bleeding.’ + +“The thick of the crowd had already passed. ‘Looky there, Ted,’ quoth +the younger of the detectives, with the sharpness of surprise in his +voice, and pointed straight to my feet. I looked down and saw at once +the dim suggestion of their outline sketched in splashes of mud. For a +moment I was paralysed. + +“‘Why, that’s rum,’ said the elder. ‘Dashed rum! It’s just like the +ghost of a foot, ain’t it?’ He hesitated and advanced with outstretched +hand. A man pulled up short to see what he was catching, and then a +girl. In another moment he would have touched me. Then I saw what to +do. I made a step, the boy started back with an exclamation, and with a +rapid movement I swung myself over into the portico of the next house. +But the smaller boy was sharp-eyed enough to follow the movement, and +before I was well down the steps and upon the pavement, he had +recovered from his momentary astonishment and was shouting out that the +feet had gone over the wall. + +“They rushed round and saw my new footmarks flash into being on the +lower step and upon the pavement. ‘What’s up?’ asked someone. ‘Feet! +Look! Feet running!’ + +“Everybody in the road, except my three pursuers, was pouring along +after the Salvation Army, and this blow not only impeded me but them. +There was an eddy of surprise and interrogation. At the cost of bowling +over one young fellow I got through, and in another moment I was +rushing headlong round the circuit of Russell Square, with six or seven +astonished people following my footmarks. There was no time for +explanation, or else the whole host would have been after me. + +“Twice I doubled round corners, thrice I crossed the road and came back +upon my tracks, and then, as my feet grew hot and dry, the damp +impressions began to fade. At last I had a breathing space and rubbed +my feet clean with my hands, and so got away altogether. The last I saw +of the chase was a little group of a dozen people perhaps, studying +with infinite perplexity a slowly drying footprint that had resulted +from a puddle in Tavistock Square, a footprint as isolated and +incomprehensible to them as Crusoe’s solitary discovery. + +“This running warmed me to a certain extent, and I went on with a +better courage through the maze of less frequented roads that runs +hereabouts. My back had now become very stiff and sore, my tonsils were +painful from the cabman’s fingers, and the skin of my neck had been +scratched by his nails; my feet hurt exceedingly and I was lame from a +little cut on one foot. I saw in time a blind man approaching me, and +fled limping, for I feared his subtle intuitions. Once or twice +accidental collisions occurred and I left people amazed, with +unaccountable curses ringing in their ears. Then came something silent +and quiet against my face, and across the Square fell a thin veil of +slowly falling flakes of snow. I had caught a cold, and do as I would I +could not avoid an occasional sneeze. And every dog that came in sight, +with its pointing nose and curious sniffing, was a terror to me. + +“Then came men and boys running, first one and then others, and +shouting as they ran. It was a fire. They ran in the direction of my +lodging, and looking back down a street I saw a mass of black smoke +streaming up above the roofs and telephone wires. It was my lodging +burning; my clothes, my apparatus, all my resources indeed, except my +cheque-book and the three volumes of memoranda that awaited me in Great +Portland Street, were there. Burning! I had burnt my boats—if ever a +man did! The place was blazing.” + +The Invisible Man paused and thought. Kemp glanced nervously out of the +window. “Yes?” he said. “Go on.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. +IN THE EMPORIUM + + +“So last January, with the beginning of a snowstorm in the air about +me—and if it settled on me it would betray me!—weary, cold, painful, +inexpressibly wretched, and still but half convinced of my invisible +quality, I began this new life to which I am committed. I had no +refuge, no appliances, no human being in the world in whom I could +confide. To have told my secret would have given me away—made a mere +show and rarity of me. Nevertheless, I was half-minded to accost some +passer-by and throw myself upon his mercy. But I knew too clearly the +terror and brutal cruelty my advances would evoke. I made no plans in +the street. My sole object was to get shelter from the snow, to get +myself covered and warm; then I might hope to plan. But even to me, an +Invisible Man, the rows of London houses stood latched, barred, and +bolted impregnably. + +“Only one thing could I see clearly before me—the cold exposure and +misery of the snowstorm and the night. + +“And then I had a brilliant idea. I turned down one of the roads +leading from Gower Street to Tottenham Court Road, and found myself +outside Omniums, the big establishment where everything is to be +bought—you know the place: meat, grocery, linen, furniture, clothing, +oil paintings even—a huge meandering collection of shops rather than a +shop. I had thought I should find the doors open, but they were closed, +and as I stood in the wide entrance a carriage stopped outside, and a +man in uniform—you know the kind of personage with ‘Omnium’ on his +cap—flung open the door. I contrived to enter, and walking down the +shop—it was a department where they were selling ribbons and gloves and +stockings and that kind of thing—came to a more spacious region devoted +to picnic baskets and wicker furniture. + +“I did not feel safe there, however; people were going to and fro, and +I prowled restlessly about until I came upon a huge section in an upper +floor containing multitudes of bedsteads, and over these I clambered, +and found a resting-place at last among a huge pile of folded flock +mattresses. The place was already lit up and agreeably warm, and I +decided to remain where I was, keeping a cautious eye on the two or +three sets of shopmen and customers who were meandering through the +place, until closing time came. Then I should be able, I thought, to +rob the place for food and clothing, and disguised, prowl through it +and examine its resources, perhaps sleep on some of the bedding. That +seemed an acceptable plan. My idea was to procure clothing to make +myself a muffled but acceptable figure, to get money, and then to +recover my books and parcels where they awaited me, take a lodging +somewhere and elaborate plans for the complete realisation of the +advantages my invisibility gave me (as I still imagined) over my +fellow-men. + +“Closing time arrived quickly enough. It could not have been more than +an hour after I took up my position on the mattresses before I noticed +the blinds of the windows being drawn, and customers being marched +doorward. And then a number of brisk young men began with remarkable +alacrity to tidy up the goods that remained disturbed. I left my lair +as the crowds diminished, and prowled cautiously out into the less +desolate parts of the shop. I was really surprised to observe how +rapidly the young men and women whipped away the goods displayed for +sale during the day. All the boxes of goods, the hanging fabrics, the +festoons of lace, the boxes of sweets in the grocery section, the +displays of this and that, were being whipped down, folded up, slapped +into tidy receptacles, and everything that could not be taken down and +put away had sheets of some coarse stuff like sacking flung over them. +Finally all the chairs were turned up on to the counters, leaving the +floor clear. Directly each of these young people had done, he or she +made promptly for the door with such an expression of animation as I +have rarely observed in a shop assistant before. Then came a lot of +youngsters scattering sawdust and carrying pails and brooms. I had to +dodge to get out of the way, and as it was, my ankle got stung with the +sawdust. For some time, wandering through the swathed and darkened +departments, I could hear the brooms at work. And at last a good hour +or more after the shop had been closed, came a noise of locking doors. +Silence came upon the place, and I found myself wandering through the +vast and intricate shops, galleries, show-rooms of the place, alone. It +was very still; in one place I remember passing near one of the +Tottenham Court Road entrances and listening to the tapping of +boot-heels of the passers-by. + +“My first visit was to the place where I had seen stockings and gloves +for sale. It was dark, and I had the devil of a hunt after matches, +which I found at last in the drawer of the little cash desk. Then I had +to get a candle. I had to tear down wrappings and ransack a number of +boxes and drawers, but at last I managed to turn out what I sought; the +box label called them lambswool pants, and lambswool vests. Then socks, +a thick comforter, and then I went to the clothing place and got +trousers, a lounge jacket, an overcoat and a slouch hat—a clerical sort +of hat with the brim turned down. I began to feel a human being again, +and my next thought was food. + +“Upstairs was a refreshment department, and there I got cold meat. +There was coffee still in the urn, and I lit the gas and warmed it up +again, and altogether I did not do badly. Afterwards, prowling through +the place in search of blankets—I had to put up at last with a heap of +down quilts—I came upon a grocery section with a lot of chocolate and +candied fruits, more than was good for me indeed—and some white +burgundy. And near that was a toy department, and I had a brilliant +idea. I found some artificial noses—dummy noses, you know, and I +thought of dark spectacles. But Omniums had no optical department. My +nose had been a difficulty indeed—I had thought of paint. But the +discovery set my mind running on wigs and masks and the like. Finally I +went to sleep in a heap of down quilts, very warm and comfortable. + +“My last thoughts before sleeping were the most agreeable I had had +since the change. I was in a state of physical serenity, and that was +reflected in my mind. I thought that I should be able to slip out +unobserved in the morning with my clothes upon me, muffling my face +with a white wrapper I had taken, purchase, with the money I had taken, +spectacles and so forth, and so complete my disguise. I lapsed into +disorderly dreams of all the fantastic things that had happened during +the last few days. I saw the ugly little Jew of a landlord vociferating +in his rooms; I saw his two sons marvelling, and the wrinkled old +woman’s gnarled face as she asked for her cat. I experienced again the +strange sensation of seeing the cloth disappear, and so I came round to +the windy hillside and the sniffing old clergyman mumbling ‘Earth to +earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,’ at my father’s open grave. + +“‘You also,’ said a voice, and suddenly I was being forced towards the +grave. I struggled, shouted, appealed to the mourners, but they +continued stonily following the service; the old clergyman, too, never +faltered droning and sniffing through the ritual. I realised I was +invisible and inaudible, that overwhelming forces had their grip on me. +I struggled in vain, I was forced over the brink, the coffin rang +hollow as I fell upon it, and the gravel came flying after me in +spadefuls. Nobody heeded me, nobody was aware of me. I made convulsive +struggles and awoke. + +“The pale London dawn had come, the place was full of a chilly grey +light that filtered round the edges of the window blinds. I sat up, and +for a time I could not think where this ample apartment, with its +counters, its piles of rolled stuff, its heap of quilts and cushions, +its iron pillars, might be. Then, as recollection came back to me, I +heard voices in conversation. + +“Then far down the place, in the brighter light of some department +which had already raised its blinds, I saw two men approaching. I +scrambled to my feet, looking about me for some way of escape, and even +as I did so the sound of my movement made them aware of me. I suppose +they saw merely a figure moving quietly and quickly away. ‘Who’s that?’ +cried one, and ‘Stop there!’ shouted the other. I dashed around a +corner and came full tilt—a faceless figure, mind you!—on a lanky lad +of fifteen. He yelled and I bowled him over, rushed past him, turned +another corner, and by a happy inspiration threw myself behind a +counter. In another moment feet went running past and I heard voices +shouting, ‘All hands to the doors!’ asking what was ‘up,’ and giving +one another advice how to catch me. + +“Lying on the ground, I felt scared out of my wits. But—odd as it may +seem—it did not occur to me at the moment to take off my clothes as I +should have done. I had made up my mind, I suppose, to get away in +them, and that ruled me. And then down the vista of the counters came a +bawling of ‘Here he is!’ + +“I sprang to my feet, whipped a chair off the counter, and sent it +whirling at the fool who had shouted, turned, came into another round a +corner, sent him spinning, and rushed up the stairs. He kept his +footing, gave a view hallo, and came up the staircase hot after me. Up +the staircase were piled a multitude of those bright-coloured pot +things—what are they?” + +“Art pots,” suggested Kemp. + +“That’s it! Art pots. Well, I turned at the top step and swung round, +plucked one out of a pile and smashed it on his silly head as he came +at me. The whole pile of pots went headlong, and I heard shouting and +footsteps running from all parts. I made a mad rush for the refreshment +place, and there was a man in white like a man cook, who took up the +chase. I made one last desperate turn and found myself among lamps and +ironmongery. I went behind the counter of this, and waited for my cook, +and as he bolted in at the head of the chase, I doubled him up with a +lamp. Down he went, and I crouched down behind the counter and began +whipping off my clothes as fast as I could. Coat, jacket, trousers, +shoes were all right, but a lambswool vest fits a man like a skin. I +heard more men coming, my cook was lying quiet on the other side of the +counter, stunned or scared speechless, and I had to make another dash +for it, like a rabbit hunted out of a wood-pile. + +“‘This way, policeman!’ I heard someone shouting. I found myself in my +bedstead storeroom again, and at the end of a wilderness of wardrobes. +I rushed among them, went flat, got rid of my vest after infinite +wriggling, and stood a free man again, panting and scared, as the +policeman and three of the shopmen came round the corner. They made a +rush for the vest and pants, and collared the trousers. ‘He’s dropping +his plunder,’ said one of the young men. ‘He _must_ be somewhere here.’ + +“But they did not find me all the same. + +“I stood watching them hunt for me for a time, and cursing my ill-luck +in losing the clothes. Then I went into the refreshment-room, drank a +little milk I found there, and sat down by the fire to consider my +position. + +“In a little while two assistants came in and began to talk over the +business very excitedly and like the fools they were. I heard a +magnified account of my depredations, and other speculations as to my +whereabouts. Then I fell to scheming again. The insurmountable +difficulty of the place, especially now it was alarmed, was to get any +plunder out of it. I went down into the warehouse to see if there was +any chance of packing and addressing a parcel, but I could not +understand the system of checking. About eleven o’clock, the snow +having thawed as it fell, and the day being finer and a little warmer +than the previous one, I decided that the Emporium was hopeless, and +went out again, exasperated at my want of success, with only the +vaguest plans of action in my mind.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. +IN DRURY LANE + + +“But you begin now to realise,” said the Invisible Man, “the full +disadvantage of my condition. I had no shelter—no covering—to get +clothing was to forego all my advantage, to make myself a strange and +terrible thing. I was fasting; for to eat, to fill myself with +unassimilated matter, would be to become grotesquely visible again.” + +“I never thought of that,” said Kemp. + +“Nor had I. And the snow had warned me of other dangers. I could not go +abroad in snow—it would settle on me and expose me. Rain, too, would +make me a watery outline, a glistening surface of a man—a bubble. And +fog—I should be like a fainter bubble in a fog, a surface, a greasy +glimmer of humanity. Moreover, as I went abroad—in the London air—I +gathered dirt about my ankles, floating smuts and dust upon my skin. I +did not know how long it would be before I should become visible from +that cause also. But I saw clearly it could not be for long. + +“Not in London at any rate. + +“I went into the slums towards Great Portland Street, and found myself +at the end of the street in which I had lodged. I did not go that way, +because of the crowd halfway down it opposite to the still smoking +ruins of the house I had fired. My most immediate problem was to get +clothing. What to do with my face puzzled me. Then I saw in one of +those little miscellaneous shops—news, sweets, toys, stationery, +belated Christmas tomfoolery, and so forth—an array of masks and noses. +I realised that problem was solved. In a flash I saw my course. I +turned about, no longer aimless, and went—circuitously in order to +avoid the busy ways, towards the back streets north of the Strand; for +I remembered, though not very distinctly where, that some theatrical +costumiers had shops in that district. + +“The day was cold, with a nipping wind down the northward running +streets. I walked fast to avoid being overtaken. Every crossing was a +danger, every passenger a thing to watch alertly. One man as I was +about to pass him at the top of Bedford Street, turned upon me abruptly +and came into me, sending me into the road and almost under the wheel +of a passing hansom. The verdict of the cab-rank was that he had had +some sort of stroke. I was so unnerved by this encounter that I went +into Covent Garden Market and sat down for some time in a quiet corner +by a stall of violets, panting and trembling. I found I had caught a +fresh cold, and had to turn out after a time lest my sneezes should +attract attention. + +“At last I reached the object of my quest, a dirty, fly-blown little +shop in a by-way near Drury Lane, with a window full of tinsel robes, +sham jewels, wigs, slippers, dominoes and theatrical photographs. The +shop was old-fashioned and low and dark, and the house rose above it +for four storeys, dark and dismal. I peered through the window and, +seeing no one within, entered. The opening of the door set a clanking +bell ringing. I left it open, and walked round a bare costume stand, +into a corner behind a cheval glass. For a minute or so no one came. +Then I heard heavy feet striding across a room, and a man appeared down +the shop. + +“My plans were now perfectly definite. I proposed to make my way into +the house, secrete myself upstairs, watch my opportunity, and when +everything was quiet, rummage out a wig, mask, spectacles, and costume, +and go into the world, perhaps a grotesque but still a credible figure. +And incidentally of course I could rob the house of any available +money. + +“The man who had just entered the shop was a short, slight, hunched, +beetle-browed man, with long arms and very short bandy legs. Apparently +I had interrupted a meal. He stared about the shop with an expression +of expectation. This gave way to surprise, and then to anger, as he saw +the shop empty. ‘Damn the boys!’ he said. He went to stare up and down +the street. He came in again in a minute, kicked the door to with his +foot spitefully, and went muttering back to the house door. + +“I came forward to follow him, and at the noise of my movement he +stopped dead. I did so too, startled by his quickness of ear. He +slammed the house door in my face. + +“I stood hesitating. Suddenly I heard his quick footsteps returning, +and the door reopened. He stood looking about the shop like one who was +still not satisfied. Then, murmuring to himself, he examined the back +of the counter and peered behind some fixtures. Then he stood doubtful. +He had left the house door open and I slipped into the inner room. + +“It was a queer little room, poorly furnished and with a number of big +masks in the corner. On the table was his belated breakfast, and it was +a confoundedly exasperating thing for me, Kemp, to have to sniff his +coffee and stand watching while he came in and resumed his meal. And +his table manners were irritating. Three doors opened into the little +room, one going upstairs and one down, but they were all shut. I could +not get out of the room while he was there; I could scarcely move +because of his alertness, and there was a draught down my back. Twice I +strangled a sneeze just in time. + +“The spectacular quality of my sensations was curious and novel, but +for all that I was heartily tired and angry long before he had done his +eating. But at last he made an end and putting his beggarly crockery on +the black tin tray upon which he had had his teapot, and gathering all +the crumbs up on the mustard stained cloth, he took the whole lot of +things after him. His burden prevented his shutting the door behind +him—as he would have done; I never saw such a man for shutting +doors—and I followed him into a very dirty underground kitchen and +scullery. I had the pleasure of seeing him begin to wash up, and then, +finding no good in keeping down there, and the brick floor being cold +on my feet, I returned upstairs and sat in his chair by the fire. It +was burning low, and scarcely thinking, I put on a little coal. The +noise of this brought him up at once, and he stood aglare. He peered +about the room and was within an ace of touching me. Even after that +examination, he scarcely seemed satisfied. He stopped in the doorway +and took a final inspection before he went down. + +“I waited in the little parlour for an age, and at last he came up and +opened the upstairs door. I just managed to get by him. + +“On the staircase he stopped suddenly, so that I very nearly blundered +into him. He stood looking back right into my face and listening. ‘I +could have sworn,’ he said. His long hairy hand pulled at his lower +lip. His eye went up and down the staircase. Then he grunted and went +on up again. + +“His hand was on the handle of a door, and then he stopped again with +the same puzzled anger on his face. He was becoming aware of the faint +sounds of my movements about him. The man must have had diabolically +acute hearing. He suddenly flashed into rage. ‘If there’s anyone in +this house—’ he cried with an oath, and left the threat unfinished. He +put his hand in his pocket, failed to find what he wanted, and rushing +past me went blundering noisily and pugnaciously downstairs. But I did +not follow him. I sat on the head of the staircase until his return. + +“Presently he came up again, still muttering. He opened the door of the +room, and before I could enter, slammed it in my face. + +“I resolved to explore the house, and spent some time in doing so as +noiselessly as possible. The house was very old and tumble-down, damp +so that the paper in the attics was peeling from the walls, and rat +infested. Some of the door handles were stiff and I was afraid to turn +them. Several rooms I did inspect were unfurnished, and others were +littered with theatrical lumber, bought second-hand, I judged, from its +appearance. In one room next to his I found a lot of old clothes. I +began routing among these, and in my eagerness forgot again the evident +sharpness of his ears. I heard a stealthy footstep and, looking up just +in time, saw him peering in at the tumbled heap and holding an +old-fashioned revolver in his hand. I stood perfectly still while he +stared about open-mouthed and suspicious. ‘It must have been her,’ he +said slowly. ‘Damn her!’ + +“He shut the door quietly, and immediately I heard the key turn in the +lock. Then his footsteps retreated. I realised abruptly that I was +locked in. For a minute I did not know what to do. I walked from door +to window and back, and stood perplexed. A gust of anger came upon me. +But I decided to inspect the clothes before I did anything further, and +my first attempt brought down a pile from an upper shelf. This brought +him back, more sinister than ever. That time he actually touched me, +jumped back with amazement and stood astonished in the middle of the +room. + +“Presently he calmed a little. ‘Rats,’ he said in an undertone, fingers +on lips. He was evidently a little scared. I edged quietly out of the +room, but a plank creaked. Then the infernal little brute started going +all over the house, revolver in hand and locking door after door and +pocketing the keys. When I realised what he was up to I had a fit of +rage—I could hardly control myself sufficiently to watch my +opportunity. By this time I knew he was alone in the house, and so I +made no more ado, but knocked him on the head.” + +“Knocked him on the head?” exclaimed Kemp. + +“Yes—stunned him—as he was going downstairs. Hit him from behind with a +stool that stood on the landing. He went downstairs like a bag of old +boots.” + +“But—I say! The common conventions of humanity—” + +“Are all very well for common people. But the point was, Kemp, that I +had to get out of that house in a disguise without his seeing me. I +couldn’t think of any other way of doing it. And then I gagged him with +a Louis Quatorze vest and tied him up in a sheet.” + +“Tied him up in a sheet!” + +“Made a sort of bag of it. It was rather a good idea to keep the idiot +scared and quiet, and a devilish hard thing to get out of—head away +from the string. My dear Kemp, it’s no good your sitting glaring as +though I was a murderer. It had to be done. He had his revolver. If +once he saw me he would be able to describe me—” + +“But still,” said Kemp, “in England—to-day. And the man was in his own +house, and you were—well, robbing.” + +“Robbing! Confound it! You’ll call me a thief next! Surely, Kemp, +you’re not fool enough to dance on the old strings. Can’t you see my +position?” + +“And his too,” said Kemp. + +The Invisible Man stood up sharply. “What do you mean to say?” + +Kemp’s face grew a trifle hard. He was about to speak and checked +himself. “I suppose, after all,” he said with a sudden change of +manner, “the thing had to be done. You were in a fix. But still—” + +“Of course I was in a fix—an infernal fix. And he made me wild +too—hunting me about the house, fooling about with his revolver, +locking and unlocking doors. He was simply exasperating. You don’t +blame me, do you? You don’t blame me?” + +“I never blame anyone,” said Kemp. “It’s quite out of fashion. What did +you do next?” + +“I was hungry. Downstairs I found a loaf and some rank cheese—more than +sufficient to satisfy my hunger. I took some brandy and water, and then +went up past my impromptu bag—he was lying quite still—to the room +containing the old clothes. This looked out upon the street, two lace +curtains brown with dirt guarding the window. I went and peered out +through their interstices. Outside the day was bright—by contrast with +the brown shadows of the dismal house in which I found myself, +dazzlingly bright. A brisk traffic was going by, fruit carts, a hansom, +a four-wheeler with a pile of boxes, a fishmonger’s cart. I turned with +spots of colour swimming before my eyes to the shadowy fixtures behind +me. My excitement was giving place to a clear apprehension of my +position again. The room was full of a faint scent of benzoline, used, +I suppose, in cleaning the garments. + +“I began a systematic search of the place. I should judge the hunchback +had been alone in the house for some time. He was a curious person. +Everything that could possibly be of service to me I collected in the +clothes storeroom, and then I made a deliberate selection. I found a +handbag I thought a suitable possession, and some powder, rouge, and +sticking-plaster. + +“I had thought of painting and powdering my face and all that there was +to show of me, in order to render myself visible, but the disadvantage +of this lay in the fact that I should require turpentine and other +appliances and a considerable amount of time before I could vanish +again. Finally I chose a mask of the better type, slightly grotesque +but not more so than many human beings, dark glasses, greyish whiskers, +and a wig. I could find no underclothing, but that I could buy +subsequently, and for the time I swathed myself in calico dominoes and +some white cashmere scarfs. I could find no socks, but the hunchback’s +boots were rather a loose fit and sufficed. In a desk in the shop were +three sovereigns and about thirty shillings’ worth of silver, and in a +locked cupboard I burst in the inner room were eight pounds in gold. I +could go forth into the world again, equipped. + +“Then came a curious hesitation. Was my appearance really credible? I +tried myself with a little bedroom looking-glass, inspecting myself +from every point of view to discover any forgotten chink, but it all +seemed sound. I was grotesque to the theatrical pitch, a stage miser, +but I was certainly not a physical impossibility. Gathering confidence, +I took my looking-glass down into the shop, pulled down the shop +blinds, and surveyed myself from every point of view with the help of +the cheval glass in the corner. + +“I spent some minutes screwing up my courage and then unlocked the shop +door and marched out into the street, leaving the little man to get out +of his sheet again when he liked. In five minutes a dozen turnings +intervened between me and the costumier’s shop. No one appeared to +notice me very pointedly. My last difficulty seemed overcome.” + +He stopped again. + +“And you troubled no more about the hunchback?” said Kemp. + +“No,” said the Invisible Man. “Nor have I heard what became of him. I +suppose he untied himself or kicked himself out. The knots were pretty +tight.” + +He became silent and went to the window and stared out. + +“What happened when you went out into the Strand?” + +“Oh!—disillusionment again. I thought my troubles were over. +Practically I thought I had impunity to do whatever I chose, +everything—save to give away my secret. So I thought. Whatever I did, +whatever the consequences might be, was nothing to me. I had merely to +fling aside my garments and vanish. No person could hold me. I could +take my money where I found it. I decided to treat myself to a +sumptuous feast, and then put up at a good hotel, and accumulate a new +outfit of property. I felt amazingly confident; it’s not particularly +pleasant recalling that I was an ass. I went into a place and was +already ordering lunch, when it occurred to me that I could not eat +unless I exposed my invisible face. I finished ordering the lunch, told +the man I should be back in ten minutes, and went out exasperated. I +don’t know if you have ever been disappointed in your appetite.” + +“Not quite so badly,” said Kemp, “but I can imagine it.” + +“I could have smashed the silly devils. At last, faint with the desire +for tasteful food, I went into another place and demanded a private +room. ‘I am disfigured,’ I said. ‘Badly.’ They looked at me curiously, +but of course it was not their affair—and so at last I got my lunch. It +was not particularly well served, but it sufficed; and when I had had +it, I sat over a cigar, trying to plan my line of action. And outside a +snowstorm was beginning. + +“The more I thought it over, Kemp, the more I realised what a helpless +absurdity an Invisible Man was—in a cold and dirty climate and a +crowded civilised city. Before I made this mad experiment I had dreamt +of a thousand advantages. That afternoon it seemed all disappointment. +I went over the heads of the things a man reckons desirable. No doubt +invisibility made it possible to get them, but it made it impossible to +enjoy them when they are got. Ambition—what is the good of pride of +place when you cannot appear there? What is the good of the love of +woman when her name must needs be Delilah? I have no taste for +politics, for the blackguardisms of fame, for philanthropy, for sport. +What was I to do? And for this I had become a wrapped-up mystery, a +swathed and bandaged caricature of a man!” + +He paused, and his attitude suggested a roving glance at the window. + +“But how did you get to Iping?” said Kemp, anxious to keep his guest +busy talking. + +“I went there to work. I had one hope. It was a half idea! I have it +still. It is a full blown idea now. A way of getting back! Of restoring +what I have done. When I choose. When I have done all I mean to do +invisibly. And that is what I chiefly want to talk to you about now.” + +“You went straight to Iping?” + +“Yes. I had simply to get my three volumes of memoranda and my +cheque-book, my luggage and underclothing, order a quantity of +chemicals to work out this idea of mine—I will show you the +calculations as soon as I get my books—and then I started. Jove! I +remember the snowstorm now, and the accursed bother it was to keep the +snow from damping my pasteboard nose.” + +“At the end,” said Kemp, “the day before yesterday, when they found you +out, you rather—to judge by the papers—” + +“I did. Rather. Did I kill that fool of a constable?” + +“No,” said Kemp. “He’s expected to recover.” + +“That’s his luck, then. I clean lost my temper, the fools! Why couldn’t +they leave me alone? And that grocer lout?” + +“There are no deaths expected,” said Kemp. + +“I don’t know about that tramp of mine,” said the Invisible Man, with +an unpleasant laugh. + +“By Heaven, Kemp, you don’t know what rage _is_! ... To have worked for +years, to have planned and plotted, and then to get some fumbling +purblind idiot messing across your course! ... Every conceivable sort +of silly creature that has ever been created has been sent to cross me. + +“If I have much more of it, I shall go wild—I shall start mowing ’em. + +“As it is, they’ve made things a thousand times more difficult.” + +“No doubt it’s exasperating,” said Kemp, drily. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. +THE PLAN THAT FAILED + + +“But now,” said Kemp, with a side glance out of the window, “what are +we to do?” + +He moved nearer his guest as he spoke in such a manner as to prevent +the possibility of a sudden glimpse of the three men who were advancing +up the hill road—with an intolerable slowness, as it seemed to Kemp. + +“What were you planning to do when you were heading for Port Burdock? +_Had_ you any plan?” + +“I was going to clear out of the country. But I have altered that plan +rather since seeing you. I thought it would be wise, now the weather is +hot and invisibility possible, to make for the South. Especially as my +secret was known, and everyone would be on the lookout for a masked and +muffled man. You have a line of steamers from here to France. My idea +was to get aboard one and run the risks of the passage. Thence I could +go by train into Spain, or else get to Algiers. It would not be +difficult. There a man might always be invisible—and yet live. And do +things. I was using that tramp as a money box and luggage carrier, +until I decided how to get my books and things sent over to meet me.” + +“That’s clear.” + +“And then the filthy brute must needs try and rob me! He _has_ hidden +my books, Kemp. Hidden my books! If I can lay my hands on him!” + +“Best plan to get the books out of him first.” + +“But where is he? Do you know?” + +“He’s in the town police station, locked up, by his own request, in the +strongest cell in the place.” + +“Cur!” said the Invisible Man. + +“But that hangs up your plans a little.” + +“We must get those books; those books are vital.” + +“Certainly,” said Kemp, a little nervously, wondering if he heard +footsteps outside. “Certainly we must get those books. But that won’t +be difficult, if he doesn’t know they’re for you.” + +“No,” said the Invisible Man, and thought. + +Kemp tried to think of something to keep the talk going, but the +Invisible Man resumed of his own accord. + +“Blundering into your house, Kemp,” he said, “changes all my plans. For +you are a man that can understand. In spite of all that has happened, +in spite of this publicity, of the loss of my books, of what I have +suffered, there still remain great possibilities, huge possibilities—” + +“You have told no one I am here?” he asked abruptly. + +Kemp hesitated. “That was implied,” he said. + +“No one?” insisted Griffin. + +“Not a soul.” + +“Ah! Now—” The Invisible Man stood up, and sticking his arms akimbo +began to pace the study. + +“I made a mistake, Kemp, a huge mistake, in carrying this thing through +alone. I have wasted strength, time, opportunities. Alone—it is +wonderful how little a man can do alone! To rob a little, to hurt a +little, and there is the end. + +“What I want, Kemp, is a goal-keeper, a helper, and a hiding-place, an +arrangement whereby I can sleep and eat and rest in peace, and +unsuspected. I must have a confederate. With a confederate, with food +and rest—a thousand things are possible. + +“Hitherto I have gone on vague lines. We have to consider all that +invisibility means, all that it does not mean. It means little +advantage for eavesdropping and so forth—one makes sounds. It’s of +little help—a little help perhaps—in housebreaking and so forth. Once +you’ve caught me you could easily imprison me. But on the other hand I +am hard to catch. This invisibility, in fact, is only good in two +cases: It’s useful in getting away, it’s useful in approaching. It’s +particularly useful, therefore, in killing. I can walk round a man, +whatever weapon he has, choose my point, strike as I like. Dodge as I +like. Escape as I like.” + +Kemp’s hand went to his moustache. Was that a movement downstairs? + +“And it is killing we must do, Kemp.” + +“It is killing we must do,” repeated Kemp. “I’m listening to your plan, +Griffin, but I’m not agreeing, mind. _Why_ killing?” + +“Not wanton killing, but a judicious slaying. The point is, they know +there is an Invisible Man—as well as we know there is an Invisible Man. +And that Invisible Man, Kemp, must now establish a Reign of Terror. +Yes; no doubt it’s startling. But I mean it. A Reign of Terror. He must +take some town like your Burdock and terrify and dominate it. He must +issue his orders. He can do that in a thousand ways—scraps of paper +thrust under doors would suffice. And all who disobey his orders he +must kill, and kill all who would defend them.” + +“Humph!” said Kemp, no longer listening to Griffin but to the sound of +his front door opening and closing. + +“It seems to me, Griffin,” he said, to cover his wandering attention, +“that your confederate would be in a difficult position.” + +“No one would know he was a confederate,” said the Invisible Man, +eagerly. And then suddenly, “Hush! What’s that downstairs?” + +“Nothing,” said Kemp, and suddenly began to speak loud and fast. “I +don’t agree to this, Griffin,” he said. “Understand me, I don’t agree +to this. Why dream of playing a game against the race? How can you hope +to gain happiness? Don’t be a lone wolf. Publish your results; take the +world—take the nation at least—into your confidence. Think what you +might do with a million helpers—” + +The Invisible Man interrupted—arm extended. “There are footsteps coming +upstairs,” he said in a low voice. + +“Nonsense,” said Kemp. + +“Let me see,” said the Invisible Man, and advanced, arm extended, to +the door. + +And then things happened very swiftly. Kemp hesitated for a second and +then moved to intercept him. The Invisible Man started and stood still. +“Traitor!” cried the Voice, and suddenly the dressing-gown opened, and +sitting down the Unseen began to disrobe. Kemp made three swift steps +to the door, and forthwith the Invisible Man—his legs had +vanished—sprang to his feet with a shout. Kemp flung the door open. + +As it opened, there came a sound of hurrying feet downstairs and +voices. + +With a quick movement Kemp thrust the Invisible Man back, sprang aside, +and slammed the door. The key was outside and ready. In another moment +Griffin would have been alone in the belvedere study, a prisoner. Save +for one little thing. The key had been slipped in hastily that morning. +As Kemp slammed the door it fell noisily upon the carpet. + +Kemp’s face became white. He tried to grip the door handle with both +hands. For a moment he stood lugging. Then the door gave six inches. +But he got it closed again. The second time it was jerked a foot wide, +and the dressing-gown came wedging itself into the opening. His throat +was gripped by invisible fingers, and he left his hold on the handle to +defend himself. He was forced back, tripped and pitched heavily into +the corner of the landing. The empty dressing-gown was flung on the top +of him. + +Halfway up the staircase was Colonel Adye, the recipient of Kemp’s +letter, the chief of the Burdock police. He was staring aghast at the +sudden appearance of Kemp, followed by the extraordinary sight of +clothing tossing empty in the air. He saw Kemp felled, and struggling +to his feet. He saw him rush forward, and go down again, felled like an +ox. + +Then suddenly he was struck violently. By nothing! A vast weight, it +seemed, leapt upon him, and he was hurled headlong down the staircase, +with a grip on his throat and a knee in his groin. An invisible foot +trod on his back, a ghostly patter passed downstairs, he heard the two +police officers in the hall shout and run, and the front door of the +house slammed violently. + +He rolled over and sat up staring. He saw, staggering down the +staircase, Kemp, dusty and disheveled, one side of his face white from +a blow, his lip bleeding, and a pink dressing-gown and some +underclothing held in his arms. + +“My God!” cried Kemp, “the game’s up! He’s gone!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. +THE HUNTING OF THE INVISIBLE MAN + + +For a space Kemp was too inarticulate to make Adye understand the swift +things that had just happened. They stood on the landing, Kemp speaking +swiftly, the grotesque swathings of Griffin still on his arm. But +presently Adye began to grasp something of the situation. + +“He is mad,” said Kemp; “inhuman. He is pure selfishness. He thinks of +nothing but his own advantage, his own safety. I have listened to such +a story this morning of brutal self-seeking.... He has wounded men. He +will kill them unless we can prevent him. He will create a panic. +Nothing can stop him. He is going out now—furious!” + +“He must be caught,” said Adye. “That is certain.” + +“But how?” cried Kemp, and suddenly became full of ideas. “You must +begin at once. You must set every available man to work; you must +prevent his leaving this district. Once he gets away, he may go through +the countryside as he wills, killing and maiming. He dreams of a reign +of terror! A reign of terror, I tell you. You must set a watch on +trains and roads and shipping. The garrison must help. You must wire +for help. The only thing that may keep him here is the thought of +recovering some books of notes he counts of value. I will tell you of +that! There is a man in your police station—Marvel.” + +“I know,” said Adye, “I know. Those books—yes. But the tramp....” + +“Says he hasn’t them. But he thinks the tramp has. And you must prevent +him from eating or sleeping; day and night the country must be astir +for him. Food must be locked up and secured, all food, so that he will +have to break his way to it. The houses everywhere must be barred +against him. Heaven send us cold nights and rain! The whole +country-side must begin hunting and keep hunting. I tell you, Adye, he +is a danger, a disaster; unless he is pinned and secured, it is +frightful to think of the things that may happen.” + +“What else can we do?” said Adye. “I must go down at once and begin +organising. But why not come? Yes—you come too! Come, and we must hold +a sort of council of war—get Hopps to help—and the railway managers. By +Jove! it’s urgent. Come along—tell me as we go. What else is there we +can do? Put that stuff down.” + +In another moment Adye was leading the way downstairs. They found the +front door open and the policemen standing outside staring at empty +air. “He’s got away, sir,” said one. + +“We must go to the central station at once,” said Adye. “One of you go +on down and get a cab to come up and meet us—quickly. And now, Kemp, +what else?” + +“Dogs,” said Kemp. “Get dogs. They don’t see him, but they wind him. +Get dogs.” + +“Good,” said Adye. “It’s not generally known, but the prison officials +over at Halstead know a man with bloodhounds. Dogs. What else?” + +“Bear in mind,” said Kemp, “his food shows. After eating, his food +shows until it is assimilated. So that he has to hide after eating. You +must keep on beating. Every thicket, every quiet corner. And put all +weapons—all implements that might be weapons, away. He can’t carry such +things for long. And what he can snatch up and strike men with must be +hidden away.” + +“Good again,” said Adye. “We shall have him yet!” + +“And on the roads,” said Kemp, and hesitated. + +“Yes?” said Adye. + +“Powdered glass,” said Kemp. “It’s cruel, I know. But think of what he +may do!” + +Adye drew the air in sharply between his teeth. “It’s unsportsmanlike. +I don’t know. But I’ll have powdered glass got ready. If he goes too +far....” + +“The man’s become inhuman, I tell you,” said Kemp. “I am as sure he +will establish a reign of terror—so soon as he has got over the +emotions of this escape—as I am sure I am talking to you. Our only +chance is to be ahead. He has cut himself off from his kind. His blood +be upon his own head.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. +THE WICKSTEED MURDER + + +The Invisible Man seems to have rushed out of Kemp’s house in a state +of blind fury. A little child playing near Kemp’s gateway was violently +caught up and thrown aside, so that its ankle was broken, and +thereafter for some hours the Invisible Man passed out of human +perceptions. No one knows where he went nor what he did. But one can +imagine him hurrying through the hot June forenoon, up the hill and on +to the open downland behind Port Burdock, raging and despairing at his +intolerable fate, and sheltering at last, heated and weary, amid the +thickets of Hintondean, to piece together again his shattered schemes +against his species. That seems the most probable refuge for him, for +there it was he re-asserted himself in a grimly tragical manner about +two in the afternoon. + +One wonders what his state of mind may have been during that time, and +what plans he devised. No doubt he was almost ecstatically exasperated +by Kemp’s treachery, and though we may be able to understand the +motives that led to that deceit, we may still imagine and even +sympathise a little with the fury the attempted surprise must have +occasioned. Perhaps something of the stunned astonishment of his Oxford +Street experiences may have returned to him, for he had evidently +counted on Kemp’s co-operation in his brutal dream of a terrorised +world. At any rate he vanished from human ken about midday, and no +living witness can tell what he did until about half-past two. It was a +fortunate thing, perhaps, for humanity, but for him it was a fatal +inaction. + +During that time a growing multitude of men scattered over the +countryside were busy. In the morning he had still been simply a +legend, a terror; in the afternoon, by virtue chiefly of Kemp’s drily +worded proclamation, he was presented as a tangible antagonist, to be +wounded, captured, or overcome, and the countryside began organising +itself with inconceivable rapidity. By two o’clock even he might still +have removed himself out of the district by getting aboard a train, but +after two that became impossible. Every passenger train along the lines +on a great parallelogram between Southampton, Manchester, Brighton and +Horsham, travelled with locked doors, and the goods traffic was almost +entirely suspended. And in a great circle of twenty miles round Port +Burdock, men armed with guns and bludgeons were presently setting out +in groups of three and four, with dogs, to beat the roads and fields. + +Mounted policemen rode along the country lanes, stopping at every +cottage and warning the people to lock up their houses, and keep +indoors unless they were armed, and all the elementary schools had +broken up by three o’clock, and the children, scared and keeping +together in groups, were hurrying home. Kemp’s proclamation—signed +indeed by Adye—was posted over almost the whole district by four or +five o’clock in the afternoon. It gave briefly but clearly all the +conditions of the struggle, the necessity of keeping the Invisible Man +from food and sleep, the necessity for incessant watchfulness and for a +prompt attention to any evidence of his movements. And so swift and +decided was the action of the authorities, so prompt and universal was +the belief in this strange being, that before nightfall an area of +several hundred square miles was in a stringent state of siege. And +before nightfall, too, a thrill of horror went through the whole +watching nervous countryside. Going from whispering mouth to mouth, +swift and certain over the length and breadth of the country, passed +the story of the murder of Mr. Wicksteed. + +If our supposition that the Invisible Man’s refuge was the Hintondean +thickets, then we must suppose that in the early afternoon he sallied +out again bent upon some project that involved the use of a weapon. We +cannot know what the project was, but the evidence that he had the iron +rod in hand before he met Wicksteed is to me at least overwhelming. + +Of course we can know nothing of the details of that encounter. It +occurred on the edge of a gravel pit, not two hundred yards from Lord +Burdock’s lodge gate. Everything points to a desperate struggle—the +trampled ground, the numerous wounds Mr. Wicksteed received, his +splintered walking-stick; but why the attack was made, save in a +murderous frenzy, it is impossible to imagine. Indeed the theory of +madness is almost unavoidable. Mr. Wicksteed was a man of forty-five or +forty-six, steward to Lord Burdock, of inoffensive habits and +appearance, the very last person in the world to provoke such a +terrible antagonist. Against him it would seem the Invisible Man used +an iron rod dragged from a broken piece of fence. He stopped this quiet +man, going quietly home to his midday meal, attacked him, beat down his +feeble defences, broke his arm, felled him, and smashed his head to a +jelly. + +Of course, he must have dragged this rod out of the fencing before he +met his victim—he must have been carrying it ready in his hand. Only +two details beyond what has already been stated seem to bear on the +matter. One is the circumstance that the gravel pit was not in Mr. +Wicksteed’s direct path home, but nearly a couple of hundred yards out +of his way. The other is the assertion of a little girl to the effect +that, going to her afternoon school, she saw the murdered man +“trotting” in a peculiar manner across a field towards the gravel pit. +Her pantomime of his action suggests a man pursuing something on the +ground before him and striking at it ever and again with his +walking-stick. She was the last person to see him alive. He passed out +of her sight to his death, the struggle being hidden from her only by a +clump of beech trees and a slight depression in the ground. + +Now this, to the present writer’s mind at least, lifts the murder out +of the realm of the absolutely wanton. We may imagine that Griffin had +taken the rod as a weapon indeed, but without any deliberate intention +of using it in murder. Wicksteed may then have come by and noticed this +rod inexplicably moving through the air. Without any thought of the +Invisible Man—for Port Burdock is ten miles away—he may have pursued +it. It is quite conceivable that he may not even have heard of the +Invisible Man. One can then imagine the Invisible Man making +off—quietly in order to avoid discovering his presence in the +neighbourhood, and Wicksteed, excited and curious, pursuing this +unaccountably locomotive object—finally striking at it. + +No doubt the Invisible Man could easily have distanced his middle-aged +pursuer under ordinary circumstances, but the position in which +Wicksteed’s body was found suggests that he had the ill luck to drive +his quarry into a corner between a drift of stinging nettles and the +gravel pit. To those who appreciate the extraordinary irascibility of +the Invisible Man, the rest of the encounter will be easy to imagine. + +But this is pure hypothesis. The only undeniable facts—for stories of +children are often unreliable—are the discovery of Wicksteed’s body, +done to death, and of the blood-stained iron rod flung among the +nettles. The abandonment of the rod by Griffin, suggests that in the +emotional excitement of the affair, the purpose for which he took it—if +he had a purpose—was abandoned. He was certainly an intensely +egotistical and unfeeling man, but the sight of his victim, his first +victim, bloody and pitiful at his feet, may have released some long +pent fountain of remorse which for a time may have flooded whatever +scheme of action he had contrived. + +After the murder of Mr. Wicksteed, he would seem to have struck across +the country towards the downland. There is a story of a voice heard +about sunset by a couple of men in a field near Fern Bottom. It was +wailing and laughing, sobbing and groaning, and ever and again it +shouted. It must have been queer hearing. It drove up across the middle +of a clover field and died away towards the hills. + +That afternoon the Invisible Man must have learnt something of the +rapid use Kemp had made of his confidences. He must have found houses +locked and secured; he may have loitered about railway stations and +prowled about inns, and no doubt he read the proclamations and realised +something of the nature of the campaign against him. And as the evening +advanced, the fields became dotted here and there with groups of three +or four men, and noisy with the yelping of dogs. These men-hunters had +particular instructions in the case of an encounter as to the way they +should support one another. But he avoided them all. We may understand +something of his exasperation, and it could have been none the less +because he himself had supplied the information that was being used so +remorselessly against him. For that day at least he lost heart; for +nearly twenty-four hours, save when he turned on Wicksteed, he was a +hunted man. In the night, he must have eaten and slept; for in the +morning he was himself again, active, powerful, angry, and malignant, +prepared for his last great struggle against the world. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. +THE SIEGE OF KEMP’S HOUSE + + +Kemp read a strange missive, written in pencil on a greasy sheet of +paper. + +“You have been amazingly energetic and clever,” this letter ran, +“though what you stand to gain by it I cannot imagine. You are against +me. For a whole day you have chased me; you have tried to rob me of a +night’s rest. But I have had food in spite of you, I have slept in +spite of you, and the game is only beginning. The game is only +beginning. There is nothing for it, but to start the Terror. This +announces the first day of the Terror. Port Burdock is no longer under +the Queen, tell your Colonel of Police, and the rest of them; it is +under me—the Terror! This is day one of year one of the new epoch—the +Epoch of the Invisible Man. I am Invisible Man the First. To begin with +the rule will be easy. The first day there will be one execution for +the sake of example—a man named Kemp. Death starts for him to-day. He +may lock himself away, hide himself away, get guards about him, put on +armour if he likes—Death, the unseen Death, is coming. Let him take +precautions; it will impress my people. Death starts from the pillar +box by midday. The letter will fall in as the postman comes along, then +off! The game begins. Death starts. Help him not, my people, lest Death +fall upon you also. To-day Kemp is to die.” + +Kemp read this letter twice, “It’s no hoax,” he said. “That’s his +voice! And he means it.” + +He turned the folded sheet over and saw on the addressed side of it the +postmark Hintondean, and the prosaic detail “2d. to pay.” + +He got up slowly, leaving his lunch unfinished—the letter had come by +the one o’clock post—and went into his study. He rang for his +housekeeper, and told her to go round the house at once, examine all +the fastenings of the windows, and close all the shutters. He closed +the shutters of his study himself. From a locked drawer in his bedroom +he took a little revolver, examined it carefully, and put it into the +pocket of his lounge jacket. He wrote a number of brief notes, one to +Colonel Adye, gave them to his servant to take, with explicit +instructions as to her way of leaving the house. “There is no danger,” +he said, and added a mental reservation, “to you.” He remained +meditative for a space after doing this, and then returned to his +cooling lunch. + +He ate with gaps of thought. Finally he struck the table sharply. “We +will have him!” he said; “and I am the bait. He will come too far.” + +He went up to the belvedere, carefully shutting every door after him. +“It’s a game,” he said, “an odd game—but the chances are all for me, +Mr. Griffin, in spite of your invisibility. Griffin _contra mundum_ ... +with a vengeance.” + +He stood at the window staring at the hot hillside. “He must get food +every day—and I don’t envy him. Did he really sleep last night? Out in +the open somewhere—secure from collisions. I wish we could get some +good cold wet weather instead of the heat. + +“He may be watching me now.” + +He went close to the window. Something rapped smartly against the +brickwork over the frame, and made him start violently back. + +“I’m getting nervous,” said Kemp. But it was five minutes before he +went to the window again. “It must have been a sparrow,” he said. + +Presently he heard the front-door bell ringing, and hurried downstairs. +He unbolted and unlocked the door, examined the chain, put it up, and +opened cautiously without showing himself. A familiar voice hailed him. +It was Adye. + +“Your servant’s been assaulted, Kemp,” he said round the door. + +“What!” exclaimed Kemp. + +“Had that note of yours taken away from her. He’s close about here. Let +me in.” + +Kemp released the chain, and Adye entered through as narrow an opening +as possible. He stood in the hall, looking with infinite relief at Kemp +refastening the door. “Note was snatched out of her hand. Scared her +horribly. She’s down at the station. Hysterics. He’s close here. What +was it about?” + +Kemp swore. + +“What a fool I was,” said Kemp. “I might have known. It’s not an hour’s +walk from Hintondean. Already?” + +“What’s up?” said Adye. + +“Look here!” said Kemp, and led the way into his study. He handed Adye +the Invisible Man’s letter. Adye read it and whistled softly. “And +you—?” said Adye. + +“Proposed a trap—like a fool,” said Kemp, “and sent my proposal out by +a maid servant. To him.” + +Adye followed Kemp’s profanity. + +“He’ll clear out,” said Adye. + +“Not he,” said Kemp. + +A resounding smash of glass came from upstairs. Adye had a silvery +glimpse of a little revolver half out of Kemp’s pocket. “It’s a window, +upstairs!” said Kemp, and led the way up. There came a second smash +while they were still on the staircase. When they reached the study +they found two of the three windows smashed, half the room littered +with splintered glass, and one big flint lying on the writing table. +The two men stopped in the doorway, contemplating the wreckage. Kemp +swore again, and as he did so the third window went with a snap like a +pistol, hung starred for a moment, and collapsed in jagged, shivering +triangles into the room. + +“What’s this for?” said Adye. + +“It’s a beginning,” said Kemp. + +“There’s no way of climbing up here?” + +“Not for a cat,” said Kemp. + +“No shutters?” + +“Not here. All the downstairs rooms—Hullo!” + +Smash, and then whack of boards hit hard came from downstairs. +“Confound him!” said Kemp. “That must be—yes—it’s one of the bedrooms. +He’s going to do all the house. But he’s a fool. The shutters are up, +and the glass will fall outside. He’ll cut his feet.” + +Another window proclaimed its destruction. The two men stood on the +landing perplexed. “I have it!” said Adye. “Let me have a stick or +something, and I’ll go down to the station and get the bloodhounds put +on. That ought to settle him! They’re hard by—not ten minutes—” + +Another window went the way of its fellows. + +“You haven’t a revolver?” asked Adye. + +Kemp’s hand went to his pocket. Then he hesitated. “I haven’t one—at +least to spare.” + +“I’ll bring it back,” said Adye, “you’ll be safe here.” + +Kemp, ashamed of his momentary lapse from truthfulness, handed him the +weapon. + +“Now for the door,” said Adye. + +As they stood hesitating in the hall, they heard one of the first-floor +bedroom windows crack and clash. Kemp went to the door and began to +slip the bolts as silently as possible. His face was a little paler +than usual. “You must step straight out,” said Kemp. In another moment +Adye was on the doorstep and the bolts were dropping back into the +staples. He hesitated for a moment, feeling more comfortable with his +back against the door. Then he marched, upright and square, down the +steps. He crossed the lawn and approached the gate. A little breeze +seemed to ripple over the grass. Something moved near him. “Stop a +bit,” said a Voice, and Adye stopped dead and his hand tightened on the +revolver. + +“Well?” said Adye, white and grim, and every nerve tense. + +“Oblige me by going back to the house,” said the Voice, as tense and +grim as Adye’s. + +“Sorry,” said Adye a little hoarsely, and moistened his lips with his +tongue. The Voice was on his left front, he thought. Suppose he were to +take his luck with a shot? + +“What are you going for?” said the Voice, and there was a quick +movement of the two, and a flash of sunlight from the open lip of +Adye’s pocket. + +Adye desisted and thought. “Where I go,” he said slowly, “is my own +business.” The words were still on his lips, when an arm came round his +neck, his back felt a knee, and he was sprawling backward. He drew +clumsily and fired absurdly, and in another moment he was struck in the +mouth and the revolver wrested from his grip. He made a vain clutch at +a slippery limb, tried to struggle up and fell back. “Damn!” said Adye. +The Voice laughed. “I’d kill you now if it wasn’t the waste of a +bullet,” it said. He saw the revolver in mid-air, six feet off, +covering him. + +“Well?” said Adye, sitting up. + +“Get up,” said the Voice. + +Adye stood up. + +“Attention,” said the Voice, and then fiercely, “Don’t try any games. +Remember I can see your face if you can’t see mine. You’ve got to go +back to the house.” + +“He won’t let me in,” said Adye. + +“That’s a pity,” said the Invisible Man. “I’ve got no quarrel with +you.” + +Adye moistened his lips again. He glanced away from the barrel of the +revolver and saw the sea far off very blue and dark under the midday +sun, the smooth green down, the white cliff of the Head, and the +multitudinous town, and suddenly he knew that life was very sweet. His +eyes came back to this little metal thing hanging between heaven and +earth, six yards away. “What am I to do?” he said sullenly. + +“What am _I_ to do?” asked the Invisible Man. “You will get help. The +only thing is for you to go back.” + +“I will try. If he lets me in will you promise not to rush the door?” + +“I’ve got no quarrel with you,” said the Voice. + +Kemp had hurried upstairs after letting Adye out, and now crouching +among the broken glass and peering cautiously over the edge of the +study window sill, he saw Adye stand parleying with the Unseen. “Why +doesn’t he fire?” whispered Kemp to himself. Then the revolver moved a +little and the glint of the sunlight flashed in Kemp’s eyes. He shaded +his eyes and tried to see the source of the blinding beam. + +“Surely!” he said, “Adye has given up the revolver.” + +“Promise not to rush the door,” Adye was saying. “Don’t push a winning +game too far. Give a man a chance.” + +“You go back to the house. I tell you flatly I will not promise +anything.” + +Adye’s decision seemed suddenly made. He turned towards the house, +walking slowly with his hands behind him. Kemp watched him—puzzled. The +revolver vanished, flashed again into sight, vanished again, and became +evident on a closer scrutiny as a little dark object following Adye. +Then things happened very quickly. Adye leapt backwards, swung around, +clutched at this little object, missed it, threw up his hands and fell +forward on his face, leaving a little puff of blue in the air. Kemp did +not hear the sound of the shot. Adye writhed, raised himself on one +arm, fell forward, and lay still. + +For a space Kemp remained staring at the quiet carelessness of Adye’s +attitude. The afternoon was very hot and still, nothing seemed stirring +in all the world save a couple of yellow butterflies chasing each other +through the shrubbery between the house and the road gate. Adye lay on +the lawn near the gate. The blinds of all the villas down the hill-road +were drawn, but in one little green summer-house was a white figure, +apparently an old man asleep. Kemp scrutinised the surroundings of the +house for a glimpse of the revolver, but it had vanished. His eyes came +back to Adye. The game was opening well. + +Then came a ringing and knocking at the front door, that grew at last +tumultuous, but pursuant to Kemp’s instructions the servants had locked +themselves into their rooms. This was followed by a silence. Kemp sat +listening and then began peering cautiously out of the three windows, +one after another. He went to the staircase head and stood listening +uneasily. He armed himself with his bedroom poker, and went to examine +the interior fastenings of the ground-floor windows again. Everything +was safe and quiet. He returned to the belvedere. Adye lay motionless +over the edge of the gravel just as he had fallen. Coming along the +road by the villas were the housemaid and two policemen. + +Everything was deadly still. The three people seemed very slow in +approaching. He wondered what his antagonist was doing. + +He started. There was a smash from below. He hesitated and went +downstairs again. Suddenly the house resounded with heavy blows and the +splintering of wood. He heard a smash and the destructive clang of the +iron fastenings of the shutters. He turned the key and opened the +kitchen door. As he did so, the shutters, split and splintering, came +flying inward. He stood aghast. The window frame, save for one +crossbar, was still intact, but only little teeth of glass remained in +the frame. The shutters had been driven in with an axe, and now the axe +was descending in sweeping blows upon the window frame and the iron +bars defending it. Then suddenly it leapt aside and vanished. He saw +the revolver lying on the path outside, and then the little weapon +sprang into the air. He dodged back. The revolver cracked just too +late, and a splinter from the edge of the closing door flashed over his +head. He slammed and locked the door, and as he stood outside he heard +Griffin shouting and laughing. Then the blows of the axe with its +splitting and smashing consequences, were resumed. + +Kemp stood in the passage trying to think. In a moment the Invisible +Man would be in the kitchen. This door would not keep him a moment, and +then— + +A ringing came at the front door again. It would be the policemen. He +ran into the hall, put up the chain, and drew the bolts. He made the +girl speak before he dropped the chain, and the three people blundered +into the house in a heap, and Kemp slammed the door again. + +“The Invisible Man!” said Kemp. “He has a revolver, with two +shots—left. He’s killed Adye. Shot him anyhow. Didn’t you see him on +the lawn? He’s lying there.” + +“Who?” said one of the policemen. + +“Adye,” said Kemp. + +“We came in the back way,” said the girl. + +“What’s that smashing?” asked one of the policemen. + +“He’s in the kitchen—or will be. He has found an axe—” + +Suddenly the house was full of the Invisible Man’s resounding blows on +the kitchen door. The girl stared towards the kitchen, shuddered, and +retreated into the dining-room. Kemp tried to explain in broken +sentences. They heard the kitchen door give. + +“This way,” said Kemp, starting into activity, and bundled the +policemen into the dining-room doorway. + +“Poker,” said Kemp, and rushed to the fender. He handed the poker he +had carried to the policeman and the dining-room one to the other. He +suddenly flung himself backward. + +“Whup!” said one policeman, ducked, and caught the axe on his poker. +The pistol snapped its penultimate shot and ripped a valuable Sidney +Cooper. The second policeman brought his poker down on the little +weapon, as one might knock down a wasp, and sent it rattling to the +floor. + +At the first clash the girl screamed, stood screaming for a moment by +the fireplace, and then ran to open the shutters—possibly with an idea +of escaping by the shattered window. + +The axe receded into the passage, and fell to a position about two feet +from the ground. They could hear the Invisible Man breathing. “Stand +away, you two,” he said. “I want that man Kemp.” + +“We want you,” said the first policeman, making a quick step forward +and wiping with his poker at the Voice. The Invisible Man must have +started back, and he blundered into the umbrella stand. + +Then, as the policeman staggered with the swing of the blow he had +aimed, the Invisible Man countered with the axe, the helmet crumpled +like paper, and the blow sent the man spinning to the floor at the head +of the kitchen stairs. But the second policeman, aiming behind the axe +with his poker, hit something soft that snapped. There was a sharp +exclamation of pain and then the axe fell to the ground. The policeman +wiped again at vacancy and hit nothing; he put his foot on the axe, and +struck again. Then he stood, poker clubbed, listening intent for the +slightest movement. + +He heard the dining-room window open, and a quick rush of feet within. +His companion rolled over and sat up, with the blood running down +between his eye and ear. “Where is he?” asked the man on the floor. + +“Don’t know. I’ve hit him. He’s standing somewhere in the hall. Unless +he’s slipped past you. Doctor Kemp—sir.” + +Pause. + +“Doctor Kemp,” cried the policeman again. + +The second policeman began struggling to his feet. He stood up. +Suddenly the faint pad of bare feet on the kitchen stairs could be +heard. “Yap!” cried the first policeman, and incontinently flung his +poker. It smashed a little gas bracket. + +He made as if he would pursue the Invisible Man downstairs. Then he +thought better of it and stepped into the dining-room. + +“Doctor Kemp—” he began, and stopped short. + +“Doctor Kemp’s a hero,” he said, as his companion looked over his +shoulder. + +The dining-room window was wide open, and neither housemaid nor Kemp +was to be seen. + +The second policeman’s opinion of Kemp was terse and vivid. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. +THE HUNTER HUNTED + + +Mr. Heelas, Mr. Kemp’s nearest neighbour among the villa holders, was +asleep in his summer house when the siege of Kemp’s house began. Mr. +Heelas was one of the sturdy minority who refused to believe “in all +this nonsense” about an Invisible Man. His wife, however, as he was +subsequently to be reminded, did. He insisted upon walking about his +garden just as if nothing was the matter, and he went to sleep in the +afternoon in accordance with the custom of years. He slept through the +smashing of the windows, and then woke up suddenly with a curious +persuasion of something wrong. He looked across at Kemp’s house, rubbed +his eyes and looked again. Then he put his feet to the ground, and sat +listening. He said he was damned, but still the strange thing was +visible. The house looked as though it had been deserted for +weeks—after a violent riot. Every window was broken, and every window, +save those of the belvedere study, was blinded by the internal +shutters. + +“I could have sworn it was all right”—he looked at his watch—“twenty +minutes ago.” + +He became aware of a measured concussion and the clash of glass, far +away in the distance. And then, as he sat open-mouthed, came a still +more wonderful thing. The shutters of the drawing-room window were +flung open violently, and the housemaid in her outdoor hat and +garments, appeared struggling in a frantic manner to throw up the sash. +Suddenly a man appeared beside her, helping her—Dr. Kemp! In another +moment the window was open, and the housemaid was struggling out; she +pitched forward and vanished among the shrubs. Mr. Heelas stood up, +exclaiming vaguely and vehemently at all these wonderful things. He saw +Kemp stand on the sill, spring from the window, and reappear almost +instantaneously running along a path in the shrubbery and stooping as +he ran, like a man who evades observation. He vanished behind a +laburnum, and appeared again clambering over a fence that abutted on +the open down. In a second he had tumbled over and was running at a +tremendous pace down the slope towards Mr. Heelas. + +“Lord!” cried Mr. Heelas, struck with an idea; “it’s that Invisible Man +brute! It’s right, after all!” + +With Mr. Heelas to think things like that was to act, and his cook +watching him from the top window was amazed to see him come pelting +towards the house at a good nine miles an hour. There was a slamming of +doors, a ringing of bells, and the voice of Mr. Heelas bellowing like a +bull. “Shut the doors, shut the windows, shut everything!—the Invisible +Man is coming!” Instantly the house was full of screams and directions, +and scurrying feet. He ran himself to shut the French windows that +opened on the veranda; as he did so Kemp’s head and shoulders and knee +appeared over the edge of the garden fence. In another moment Kemp had +ploughed through the asparagus, and was running across the tennis lawn +to the house. + +“You can’t come in,” said Mr. Heelas, shutting the bolts. “I’m very +sorry if he’s after you, but you can’t come in!” + +Kemp appeared with a face of terror close to the glass, rapping and +then shaking frantically at the French window. Then, seeing his efforts +were useless, he ran along the veranda, vaulted the end, and went to +hammer at the side door. Then he ran round by the side gate to the +front of the house, and so into the hill-road. And Mr. Heelas staring +from his window—a face of horror—had scarcely witnessed Kemp vanish, +ere the asparagus was being trampled this way and that by feet unseen. +At that Mr. Heelas fled precipitately upstairs, and the rest of the +chase is beyond his purview. But as he passed the staircase window, he +heard the side gate slam. + +Emerging into the hill-road, Kemp naturally took the downward +direction, and so it was he came to run in his own person the very race +he had watched with such a critical eye from the belvedere study only +four days ago. He ran it well, for a man out of training, and though +his face was white and wet, his wits were cool to the last. He ran with +wide strides, and wherever a patch of rough ground intervened, wherever +there came a patch of raw flints, or a bit of broken glass shone +dazzling, he crossed it and left the bare invisible feet that followed +to take what line they would. + +For the first time in his life Kemp discovered that the hill-road was +indescribably vast and desolate, and that the beginnings of the town +far below at the hill foot were strangely remote. Never had there been +a slower or more painful method of progression than running. All the +gaunt villas, sleeping in the afternoon sun, looked locked and barred; +no doubt they were locked and barred—by his own orders. But at any rate +they might have kept a lookout for an eventuality like this! The town +was rising up now, the sea had dropped out of sight behind it, and +people down below were stirring. A tram was just arriving at the hill +foot. Beyond that was the police station. Was that footsteps he heard +behind him? Spurt. + +The people below were staring at him, one or two were running, and his +breath was beginning to saw in his throat. The tram was quite near now, +and the “Jolly Cricketers” was noisily barring its doors. Beyond the +tram were posts and heaps of gravel—the drainage works. He had a +transitory idea of jumping into the tram and slamming the doors, and +then he resolved to go for the police station. In another moment he had +passed the door of the “Jolly Cricketers,” and was in the blistering +fag end of the street, with human beings about him. The tram driver and +his helper—arrested by the sight of his furious haste—stood staring +with the tram horses unhitched. Further on the astonished features of +navvies appeared above the mounds of gravel. + +His pace broke a little, and then he heard the swift pad of his +pursuer, and leapt forward again. “The Invisible Man!” he cried to the +navvies, with a vague indicative gesture, and by an inspiration leapt +the excavation and placed a burly group between him and the chase. Then +abandoning the idea of the police station he turned into a little side +street, rushed by a greengrocer’s cart, hesitated for the tenth of a +second at the door of a sweetstuff shop, and then made for the mouth of +an alley that ran back into the main Hill Street again. Two or three +little children were playing here, and shrieked and scattered at his +apparition, and forthwith doors and windows opened and excited mothers +revealed their hearts. Out he shot into Hill Street again, three +hundred yards from the tram-line end, and immediately he became aware +of a tumultuous vociferation and running people. + +He glanced up the street towards the hill. Hardly a dozen yards off ran +a huge navvy, cursing in fragments and slashing viciously with a spade, +and hard behind him came the tram conductor with his fists clenched. Up +the street others followed these two, striking and shouting. Down +towards the town, men and women were running, and he noticed clearly +one man coming out of a shop-door with a stick in his hand. “Spread +out! Spread out!” cried some one. Kemp suddenly grasped the altered +condition of the chase. He stopped, and looked round, panting. “He’s +close here!” he cried. “Form a line across—” + +He was hit hard under the ear, and went reeling, trying to face round +towards his unseen antagonist. He just managed to keep his feet, and he +struck a vain counter in the air. Then he was hit again under the jaw, +and sprawled headlong on the ground. In another moment a knee +compressed his diaphragm, and a couple of eager hands gripped his +throat, but the grip of one was weaker than the other; he grasped the +wrists, heard a cry of pain from his assailant, and then the spade of +the navvy came whirling through the air above him, and struck something +with a dull thud. He felt a drop of moisture on his face. The grip at +his throat suddenly relaxed, and with a convulsive effort, Kemp loosed +himself, grasped a limp shoulder, and rolled uppermost. He gripped the +unseen elbows near the ground. “I’ve got him!” screamed Kemp. “Help! +Help—hold! He’s down! Hold his feet!” + +In another second there was a simultaneous rush upon the struggle, and +a stranger coming into the road suddenly might have thought an +exceptionally savage game of Rugby football was in progress. And there +was no shouting after Kemp’s cry—only a sound of blows and feet and +heavy breathing. + +Then came a mighty effort, and the Invisible Man threw off a couple of +his antagonists and rose to his knees. Kemp clung to him in front like +a hound to a stag, and a dozen hands gripped, clutched, and tore at the +Unseen. The tram conductor suddenly got the neck and shoulders and +lugged him back. + +Down went the heap of struggling men again and rolled over. There was, +I am afraid, some savage kicking. Then suddenly a wild scream of +“Mercy! Mercy!” that died down swiftly to a sound like choking. + +“Get back, you fools!” cried the muffled voice of Kemp, and there was a +vigorous shoving back of stalwart forms. “He’s hurt, I tell you. Stand +back!” + +There was a brief struggle to clear a space, and then the circle of +eager faces saw the doctor kneeling, as it seemed, fifteen inches in +the air, and holding invisible arms to the ground. Behind him a +constable gripped invisible ankles. + +“Don’t you leave go of en,” cried the big navvy, holding a +blood-stained spade; “he’s shamming.” + +“He’s not shamming,” said the doctor, cautiously raising his knee; “and +I’ll hold him.” His face was bruised and already going red; he spoke +thickly because of a bleeding lip. He released one hand and seemed to +be feeling at the face. “The mouth’s all wet,” he said. And then, “Good +God!” + +He stood up abruptly and then knelt down on the ground by the side of +the thing unseen. There was a pushing and shuffling, a sound of heavy +feet as fresh people turned up to increase the pressure of the crowd. +People now were coming out of the houses. The doors of the “Jolly +Cricketers” stood suddenly wide open. Very little was said. + +Kemp felt about, his hand seeming to pass through empty air. “He’s not +breathing,” he said, and then, “I can’t feel his heart. His side—ugh!” + +Suddenly an old woman, peering under the arm of the big navvy, screamed +sharply. “Looky there!” she said, and thrust out a wrinkled finger. + +And looking where she pointed, everyone saw, faint and transparent as +though it was made of glass, so that veins and arteries and bones and +nerves could be distinguished, the outline of a hand, a hand limp and +prone. It grew clouded and opaque even as they stared. + +“Hullo!” cried the constable. “Here’s his feet a-showing!” + +And so, slowly, beginning at his hands and feet and creeping along his +limbs to the vital centres of his body, that strange change continued. +It was like the slow spreading of a poison. First came the little white +nerves, a hazy grey sketch of a limb, then the glassy bones and +intricate arteries, then the flesh and skin, first a faint fogginess, +and then growing rapidly dense and opaque. Presently they could see his +crushed chest and his shoulders, and the dim outline of his drawn and +battered features. + +When at last the crowd made way for Kemp to stand erect, there lay, +naked and pitiful on the ground, the bruised and broken body of a young +man about thirty. His hair and brow were white—not grey with age, but +white with the whiteness of albinism—and his eyes were like garnets. +His hands were clenched, his eyes wide open, and his expression was one +of anger and dismay. + +“Cover his face!” said a man. “For Gawd’s sake, cover that face!” and +three little children, pushing forward through the crowd, were suddenly +twisted round and sent packing off again. + +Someone brought a sheet from the “Jolly Cricketers,” and having covered +him, they carried him into that house. And there it was, on a shabby +bed in a tawdry, ill-lighted bedroom, surrounded by a crowd of ignorant +and excited people, broken and wounded, betrayed and unpitied, that +Griffin, the first of all men to make himself invisible, Griffin, the +most gifted physicist the world has ever seen, ended in infinite +disaster his strange and terrible career. + + + +THE EPILOGUE + + +So ends the story of the strange and evil experiments of the Invisible +Man. And if you would learn more of him you must go to a little inn +near Port Stowe and talk to the landlord. The sign of the inn is an +empty board save for a hat and boots, and the name is the title of this +story. The landlord is a short and corpulent little man with a nose of +cylindrical proportions, wiry hair, and a sporadic rosiness of visage. +Drink generously, and he will tell you generously of all the things +that happened to him after that time, and of how the lawyers tried to +do him out of the treasure found upon him. + +“When they found they couldn’t prove whose money was which, I’m +blessed,” he says, “if they didn’t try to make me out a blooming +treasure trove! Do I _look_ like a Treasure Trove? And then a gentleman +gave me a guinea a night to tell the story at the Empire Music +’All—just to tell ’em in my own words—barring one.” + +And if you want to cut off the flow of his reminiscences abruptly, you +can always do so by asking if there weren’t three manuscript books in +the story. He admits there were and proceeds to explain, with +asseverations that everybody thinks _he_ has ’em! But bless you! he +hasn’t. “The Invisible Man it was took ’em off to hide ’em when I cut +and ran for Port Stowe. It’s that Mr. Kemp put people on with the idea +of _my_ having ’em.” + +And then he subsides into a pensive state, watches you furtively, +bustles nervously with glasses, and presently leaves the bar. + +He is a bachelor man—his tastes were ever bachelor, and there are no +women folk in the house. Outwardly he buttons—it is expected of him—but +in his more vital privacies, in the matter of braces for example, he +still turns to string. He conducts his house without enterprise, but +with eminent decorum. His movements are slow, and he is a great +thinker. But he has a reputation for wisdom and for a respectable +parsimony in the village, and his knowledge of the roads of the South +of England would beat Cobbett. + +And on Sunday mornings, every Sunday morning, all the year round, while +he is closed to the outer world, and every night after ten, he goes +into his bar parlour, bearing a glass of gin faintly tinged with water, +and having placed this down, he locks the door and examines the blinds, +and even looks under the table. And then, being satisfied of his +solitude, he unlocks the cupboard and a box in the cupboard and a +drawer in that box, and produces three volumes bound in brown leather, +and places them solemnly in the middle of the table. The covers are +weather-worn and tinged with an algal green—for once they sojourned in +a ditch and some of the pages have been washed blank by dirty water. +The landlord sits down in an armchair, fills a long clay pipe +slowly—gloating over the books the while. Then he pulls one towards him +and opens it, and begins to study it—turning over the leaves backwards +and forwards. + +His brows are knit and his lips move painfully. “Hex, little two up in +the air, cross and a fiddle-de-dee. Lord! what a one he was for +intellect!” + +Presently he relaxes and leans back, and blinks through his smoke +across the room at things invisible to other eyes. “Full of secrets,” +he says. “Wonderful secrets!” + +“Once I get the haul of them—_Lord_!” + +“I wouldn’t do what _he_ did; I’d just—well!” He pulls at his pipe. + +So he lapses into a dream, the undying wonderful dream of his life. And +though Kemp has fished unceasingly, no human being save the landlord +knows those books are there, with the subtle secret of invisibility and +a dozen other strange secrets written therein. And none other will know +of them until he dies. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INVISIBLE MAN *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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