 CHAPTER I. THE STRANGER CAME EARLY IN FEBRUARY, ONE WINTERY 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-felled 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-parlor 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 let 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 milly her lymphatic maid had been brisk up a bit by a few deftly chosen expressions of contempt, she carried the cloth, plates, and glasses into the parlor and began to lay them with the utmost ecla. Although the fire was burning up briskly, she was surprised to see that her visitors 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 atten coat, sir? she said, and give him 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 side lights 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 in 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. Churk, chirk, chirk it went, the sound of a spoon being rapidly whisked round a basin. That girl, she said, there, I claim forgot it, it's been so long. And while she herself finished mixing the mustard she gave Millie a few verbal stabs for her excess of 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 golden 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 dryly glancing from her to the door and then at her again. I'll have them nicely dried, sir, at once, she said, and carry his clothes out of the room. She glanced at his white-swiled 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. Oh, never! she whispered. Thie! 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 souls had an accident or an operation or something, 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, it looked more like a diving element than a human man! She hung his muffler on a corner of the horse, and old Nadanke chief over his mouth all the time talking 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 tight as 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 Bramblehus station, and he asked her how he could have it sent. He bowed his bandaged head quite politely in acknowledgement of her explanation. "'Tomorrow,' he said, there is no speedy a 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 row 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 upset a year ago and more. A gentleman killed beside 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, just cut his arm with a scythe, tumbled on it in Yefield, and bless me. It was three months tied up, sir. You'd hardly believe it. It's regular giving me a dread of a size, sir.' "'I can quite understand that,' said the visitor. He was afraid one time that he'd have to have an operation. 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 laugh and matter to them has had that doing for him as I had. My sister being took up with a little one 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 bandages.' "'Thanks,' he said concisely as she put them down and turned his shoulder upon her and stared out of the window again. It was all together 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 Milly had a hot time of it that afternoon. The visitor remained in the parlor 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 fire-light, 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 2 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 the old clock and the parlor a bit of a look at six.' And leading away she went across to the parlor door and wrapped 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 ready, shadowy and indistinct to her, the more so since she had just been lighting the bar-lap 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 shadow, she fancied, had tricked her. Would you mind, sir, this man's 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. Ah, how, said Mr. Henfrey, there is no intrusion. None whatever, said the stranger. Though I understand, he said, turning to Mrs. Hall, that this room is really to be mined for my own private use. Our thoughts, 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 am really glad to have the clock seen too, he said, seeing a certain hesitation in Mr. Henfrey's manner. Very glad. Mr. Henfrey had intended to apologize 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. There are useful things indeed, they are, sir, said Mrs. Hall, and I am very naturally anxious to get on with my inquiries. Of course, sir! My reason for coming to Wiping, 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, 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 boldest 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, gray 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 fix the hour hand on its axle, though 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 time surely. And again, can't a man look at you? Ugly. And yet again, seemingly not. If the police was on you, you couldn't be more wrapped and bandaged. At Gleason'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 Sitterbridge Junction coming towards him on his return from that place. Hall had evidently been stopping at Sitterbridge to judge by his driving. How do, Teddy? he said, passing. You've got a rummin' up home, said Teddy. Hall very sociably pulled up. What's that? he asked. Rum-lookin' customer, stopin' 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 in disguise, don't I like to see a man's face if I ain't stopping in my place? said Enfrey. But women are that trustful were strangers at concern. He's took your rooms and you ain't even givin' a name all. You don't say so, said Hall, who was a man of sluggish apprehension. Yes, said Teddy, but of the week. Whatever he is, you can't get rid of him under the week, and he's got a lot of luggage comin' tomorrow, so he says. Let's hope it won't be stones in boxes all. He told Hall how his aunt at Hastings had been swindled by a stranger with empty portmanteau. Altogether he left Hall vaguely suspicious. Get up, old girl! said Hall. I suppose I must see about this. Teddy trudged on his way with his mind considerably relieved. Instead of seeing about it, however, Hall on his return was severely rated by his wife on the length of time he had spent in Sitterbridge, and his mild inquiries were answered snappishly and in a manner not to the point. But the seat of suspicion Teddy had sown germinated in the mind of Mr. Hall in spite of these discouragements. You women 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 scrutinized 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. Mind your own business, O, said Mrs. Hall, and all mine, 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. End of CHAPTERS I AND II. CHAPTER III. THE THOUSAND AND ONE BOTTLES. So it was that on the twenty-ninth day of February at the beginning of the Faw this singular person fell out of infinity and 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 a 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 Ferencide's cart while Hall was having a word or so of gossip preparatory to helping bring them in. Out he came not noticing Ferencide'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 Ferencide'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. "'Wah!' cried Hall, jumping back, for he was no hero with dogs, and Ferencide held, ah, 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 trousers ring. Then the finer end of Ferencide's whip reached his property, and the dog, yelping with dismay, retreated under the wheels of the wagon. 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 uncorporated stairs to his bedroom. "'You, br-you!' said Ferencide, climbing off the wagon with his whip in his hand, while the dog watched him through the wheel. "'Come here!' said Ferencide. "'You better!' Hall had stood gaping. "'He was big!' said Hall. "'I'd better go and see to him,' and he trotted after the stranger. He met Mrs. Hall in the passage. "'Carrier's dog!' he said. "'Bitten!' 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 fear inside 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 Huckster, the general dealer from over the road, interrogative. And Sandy Wadgers from the Forge, judicial. Besides women and children, all of them saying fortuities. Wouldn't it bite me, I knows. Doesn't I have such dags? Would he bite them 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. Harry, we better be taken of his luggage in. Yuck, to have it quarterised at once, said Mr. Huckster, especially if it's at all inflamed. Odd shooting, that's what I'd do, said a lady in the group. Suddenly the dog began growling again. Come along. Quite 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 fear inside. I'm rare, sorry, the dog. 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 parlor. 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 labelled 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 chiffonier, on the mantel, on the table under the window, round the floor, on the bookshelf everywhere. The chemists' shop and bramble-hurst could not boast have 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 in 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 into 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 she wouldn't come in without knocking, he said in the tone of abnormal exasperation that seemed so characteristic of him. I knock, but seemingly—perhaps you did—but in my investigations, my really very urgent and necessary investigations, the slightest disturbance, the jarred door, 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 straw, sir, if I may 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 shelling, put down a shelling, surely a shelling's enough. So be it, said Mrs. Hall, taking up the tablecloth 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 a thwart 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 Fear Inside 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. At least the way his legs are. I see 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'll tell you, he says, black is my at. My sakes, said Henfrey. It's a rummy case altogether. Why, his nose is as pink as paint. That's true, said Fear Inside. I know that, and I tell you what I'm thinking. That man's a piebald, Teddy. Black ear and white there in patches, and he's ashamed of it. He's a kind of off-breed, and the colours come off patchy instead of mixing. I've heard of such things before, and it's the common way with horses, as anyone can see. Chapter 4. Mr. Cuss interviews the stranger. I have told the circumstances of the stranger's arrival in Iping, with a certain fullness of detail, in order that the curious impression he created may be understood by the reader. But accepting 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 overrode 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 artists are beginning to come, then we'll see. He may be a bit overbearing, but Bill settled punctual, is Bill 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 gobbling spectacles and ghastly bandaged face under the penthouse of his hat came with a disagreeable suddenness out of the darkness upon one or two homegoing 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 indoor. 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 the one he was hoping. 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 discolored 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. 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. Ferencide, and either accepted the piebald view or some modification of it, as for instance Silence Durgan, who was heard to assert that if he chooses to show himself at phase 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. Among 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 hyping 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 humorists 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 Bogeyman. Mistachel sang it at the schoolroom concert in eight 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 Bogeyman 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 Witsentide, 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 parlor door and entered. It was a fairly audible implication from within. Pod 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 parlor. 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 parlor 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 steady. Do I look like an insane person? What's happened? said the vicar, putting the almanite on the loose sheets of his forthcoming sermon. The 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. We're in, he gassed, 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 already took an interest in scientific things. He said, yes. Sniffed again, kept on sniffing all the time, evidently recently caught in infernal cold. No wonder wrapped up like that. I developed the nurse's idea, and all the while kept my eyes open. Bottles, chemicals, everywhere, balance, test tubes and stands, and a smell of, even in 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. An out came the grievance. The man was just on the boil, and my question boiled him over. He'd been given a prescription, most valuable prescription. What for he wouldn't say? Was it medical? Damn you, what are you fishing after? Apologised. Dignified sniff and cough, he resumed. He'd read it. Five ingredients, put it down, turned his head. Draft of air from window lifted the paper. Swish, rustle. He was working in a room with an open fireplace, he said. Saw flicker, and there was the prescription burning and lifting chimney wood. 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 and, just an empty sleeve. I thought, that's a deformity. Got a cork arm, I suppose, and it's 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 the tear of the cloth. Good God, I said. Then he stopped. Steered at me with those black goggles of his, and then it is sleeve. Well, that's all. He never said a word. Just glared and put his sleeve back in his pocket quickly. I was saying, Siddy, that there was the prescription burning, wasn't I? Interrogative cough. Out 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 manged if that bandage knob of his and those blinkers aren't enough to unnerve anyone coming quietly up to you. You said it was an empty sleeve, he said. Certainly I said, at staring, 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. I had to say something. I was beginning to feel frightened. I could see right down it, 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 in a thumb, it felt, knit 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 is coughed hard and turned round and cut out of the room. I left him. Cuss stopped. There was no mistake in 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 is coughed, said Cuss, I'll tell you, it felt exactly like getting an arm. And there wasn't an arm. There wasn't the ghost of an arm. 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. End of chapters three and four. chapters five, six and seven of The Invisible Man. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, The Invisible Man by H. G. Wells. Chapter five, 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 Witt Monday, the day devoted in hyping to the club festivities. Mrs. Bunting, it seems, woke up suddenly in the stillness that comes before the dawn, with a 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 reverend 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 downstairs 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 impenitrably 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 and decided 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 realized that the robber had found the housekeeping reserve of gold, two pounds ten and a 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 stopped 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 scrutinized the waste-paper basket and Mr. Bunting opened the lid of the call-scuttle. Then they came to a stop and stood, with eyes interrogating each other. Ah, could a swan! said Mr. Bunting. The candle! said Mr. Bunting. Who let the candle? Da draw, said Mrs. Bunting, and the money's gone. She went hastily to the doorway. Before 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 they 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 Witt 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 sarsperilla 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 jauntly 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, an interrogative caulking up of the final words to a high note by which the West Sussex Villager is wont to indicate a brisk impatience. George, you got where I want! At that he turned and hurried down to her. Jenny, he said, over the rail of the cellar steps. Does that truth what Henfrey says? It's not in his room, he ain't, and the front door's unbolted. 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 he ain't there, he said, he's closer, and what's he doing without his clothes then? It's a most curious business! As they came up the cellar steps, they both, it was afterwards ascertained, fancy'd 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. A full of 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 more. As she did so a most extraordinary thing happened. The bedclothes 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 a swiftly came the sponge from the wash-stand, and then the chair, flinging the stranger's coat and trousers carelessly aside, and laughing dryly and a voice singly 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 restorative's customary in such cases. "'Twas spirits,' said Mrs. Hall. "'I know to spirits of red and pipers of them, tables and chairs, leaping and dancing.' "'Tite a drop more, Jenny,' said Hall. "'Twas stadia.' "'Lock him out,' said Mrs. Hall. "'Don't let him come in again. I off-gassed. I'm not a known. With him gogling eyes and bandage dead and never go into church of a Sunday. In all they bottles. More than it's right for anyone to have. He's put the spirits into the furniture. More good old furniture. It was in that very chair my poor dear mother used to sit when I was a little girl. Just think it should rise up against me now.' "'Just a drop more, Jenny,' 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. "'Oh, damned if they, witchcroft!' was the view of Mr. Sandy Wadgers. You want all shoes for such gentry as ae.' 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, Huckster's apprentice came out and began taking down the shutters of the tobacco-window. He was called over to join the discussion. Mr. Huckster 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 and busting that there door open. A door on bust is always open to busting, but you can't on bust a door once you've busted in.' 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 sarsaparella hard by the cellar door. Then he entered the parlor 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. "'Aww, go in and ask him about it,' said Wadgers to Mr. Hall. Aww, demand 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 7 The Unveiling of the Stranger The stranger went into a little parlor 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 halls for pulse, 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. "'Amenis, 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 wagers, 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. Huckster came over. Some gay young fellows were splendid in black ready-made jackets and P.K. paper ties, for it was Witt 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 ipping youth presently joined him. It was the finest of all possible Witt Mondays, and down the village streets stood a row of nearly a dozen booths, a shooting gallery, and on the grass by the forge were three yellow and chocolate wagons and some picturesque strangers at both sexes putting up a coconut shy. The gentlemen wore blue jerseys, the ladies white aprons and quite fashionable hats with heavy plumes. Watcher 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 parlor into which only one thin jet of sunlight penetrated, the stranger, hungry we must suppose, and fearful, hidden in his uncomfortable hot wrappings, poured 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 parlor 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, your wanton, sir?' she said. "'Why wasn't my breakfast laid? Why haven't you prepared my meals and answered my bill? 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. "'No, no, no,' from the bar. "'And I think you kindly, sir, if you keep your swear into 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 dare say 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.' "'Hello?' from the bar. "'Now I wonder where you've 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've found it,' said Mrs. Hall. "'And before I take any bills or get any breakfasts or do any such things whatsoever, you've got to tell me one or two things I don't understand, and what nobody don't understand, and what everybody's very anxious to understand. "'I want to know what you've been doing to my chair upstairs, and I want to know how tears your room was empty and how you got in again. "'Their misstraps 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 an 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 God!' said someone. 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 hobbly hoid jump to avoid them. Everyone tumbled on everyone else down the stairs. 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. All 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 jumped 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. Fourth with, everyone all down the street, the sweet-stuff seller, coconut-chai proprietor and his assistant, the swingman, the boys and girls, rustic dandies, smart wenches, smocked elders and apron gypsies, 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 eyewitness. Oh, bogey! What's he been doing, then? Ain't the girl, as he? Run at him with a knife, I believe. No way'd I tell you. I don't mean no manner of speaking. I mean, man without aid. Nonsense to some conjuring trick. Fitched off his rapony, 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, eyed the girl's scream, and he turned. I saw a skirt's whisk, and he went after her. Didn't take ten seconds. Back he comes with a knife in his hand, and a loaf, stood just as if he was staring. Not a moment ago. Winning that there at all. I tell you, he ain't got no head at all. You're just missing. 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 weary Mr. Wadgers, they had come now armed with a warrant. People shouted conflicting information of the recent circumstances. Ed and no Ed, said Jaffers, I got to restin' and restin' all will. Mr. Hall marched up the steps, marched straight to the door of the parlor, 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 is this? Came in a tone of angry expostulation from above the collar of the figure. You're a damned-room customer, Mr. said Mr. Jaffers, but Ed and no Ed, the warrant says buddy, 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 goalkeeper 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. Huckster's, 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. Huckster and the sitter-bridge 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. Ah, the 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. Ah, 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 realisation of the incongruity of the whole business. Down it! Can't use him 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. What! said Huckster 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 and hyping, 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. It visible, eh? said Huckster, 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? Oh, that's a different matter, said Jaffers. No doubt you're a bit difficult to see in this light, but I've got a warrant, and it's all correct. What I'm after ain't no invisibility. It's burglary. There's now been broken into, and money took. Well, in circumstance a certain point, stuff nonsense, said the invisible man. I hope so, sir, but I've got my instructions. Well, so 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 anyone could realize what 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. Eh, stop that, said Jaffers, suddenly realizing 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 his 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 lose, I've got something, here he is! A perfect babel of noises they made. Everybody it seemed was being hit all at once, and sandy waggers, knowing as ever and his wit sharpened by a frightful blow in the nose, reopened the door and led the route. 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 Huckster in the melee 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've 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 strangling 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. Halfway across the road a woman screamed as something pushed by her. A dog, kicked apparently, yelped and ran howling into Huckster'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 Adderdine. 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. TOMAS MARVEL. You must picture Mr. Thomas Marvel as a person of copious, flexible visage, a nose of cylindrical protrusion, a licorice, ample, fluctuating mouth, and a beard of bristling eccentricity. His figure inclined to embank point. His short limbs accentuated this inclination. He wore a furry silk hat and the frequent substitution of twine and shoelaces 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 Adderdine, about a mile and a half out of Iping. His feet, saved for socks of irregular openwork, 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 sold for damp. Mr. 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. Their 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 old blessed universe, I'm darned if I know. Hmm, said the voice. I've worn worse. In fact, I've worn none. But none so audacious, ugly, if you'll allow the expression. I've been caging boots in particular for days, because I was sick of them. They sound enough, of course, but it don't mean on Tramps he's such a thundering lot of his boots, and if you'll believe me, I've raised nothing in the old blessed country, try as I would, but then, look at them, and a good country for boots, too, in a general way, but it's just my promiscuous look. I've got 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. No, 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 you? 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 firs-bushes. I'm all 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 ventriloquies are me, said Mr. Thomas Marvel, rising sharply to his feet. Where are you? I'm 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 you? Let me get my mark on you. Are you buried? said Mr. Thomas Marvel after an interval. There was no answer. Mr. Thomas Marvel stood bootless and amazed, his jacket nearly thrown off. Said a pee-wit very remote. Pee-wit indeed, said Mr. Thomas Marvel. This ain't no charm for fool-reap. 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 pee-wit, the blue sky was empty too. So help me! said Mr. Thomas Marvel, shuffling his coat on to his shoulders again. It's a drink. I'm Martin Owen. 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 a drink, his lips repeated noiselessly. He remained staring about him, rotating slowly backwards. Oh, could a 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 caller and shaken violently, and left more days than ever. Don't be a fool, said the voice. I'm off my blooming jump, said Mr. Marvel. It's no good. It's frittin' about them blastin' boots. I'm off my blessed blooming jump. Oh, it's spirits! Neither one nor the other, said the voice. Listen. Jump, 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 you? The voice made no answer. Whiz came aflint, apparently out of the air, and missed Mr. Marvel's shoulder by a hair's breadth. Mr. Marvel, turning, saw aflint 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. Whiz it came, and ricocheted from a bare toe into the ditch. Mr. Thomas Marvel jumped afoot 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. Right 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 vid? How you do it? I don't know. I'm bi." That's all, said the voice. I'm invisible. That's what I want you to understand. Anyone could see that. There's no need for you to be so confounded and patient, Mr. Now then, give us a notion. How are you id? 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 on, 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, do ya? Vox, it, wood is it, jabber, is that it? 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, I? Yes, real. Let's have a hand of ya, said Marvel. If you are real, you won't be so darned out of the way, like, then... Law! He said, ah, 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 these don't beat cockfighting, most remarkable, then there I can see a rabbit clean through you half a mile away, not a bit of your visible. Except... He scrutinised the apparently empty space keenly. You haven't been eating 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. Sir, ghostly, though. Of course, all this isn't half so wonderful as you think. It's quite wonderful enough for my modest once, said Mr. Thomas Marvel. Ouch, and manage it. How the juice is it done? It's too long a story, and besides... I'll tell you, the old 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 in 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. 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 in comes a voice, a voice out of airing, and stones, in 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 know as 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 shoulders smartly. Mr. Marvel gave a yelp of terror at the touch. What? I don't want to betray you, said Mr. Marvel, edging away from the direction of the fingers. Don't you go thinking now, whatever you do. All I want to do is to help you. Just tell me what I God do. Lord, whatever you want done, that I'm most willing to do. Chapter 10. Mr. Marvel's Visit to Iping After the first gusty panic had spanned itself, Iping became argumentative. Skepticism suddenly reared its head. Rather nervous skepticism, not at all assured of its back, but skepticism nevertheless. It is so much easier not to believe in an invisible man, and those who had actually seen him dissolve into thin 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 parlor of the coach and horses. Great and strange ideas transcending experience often have less effect upon men and women than smaller or more tangible considerations. Iping was gay with bunting, and everybody was in gall address. 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 skeptics he was already a jest. But people, skeptics and believers alike, were remarkably sociable all that day. Hazeman'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 Mrs. Cuss and Sack, but 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 wild 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 coconut shies. There was also a 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 Downes. 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 coconut appeared to be talking to himself, and Mr. Huckster remarked the same thing. He stopped at the foot of the coach and horses' steps, and according to Mr. Huckster 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. Huckster to turn to the left and open the door of the parlor. Mr. Huckster 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. Huckster as assumed. He stood looking about him for some moments, and then Mr. Huckster saw him walk in an oddly furtive manner towards the gates of the yard upon which the parlor window opened. The stranger, after some hesitation, leaned against one of the 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. Huckster 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. Fourth with Mr. Huckster, 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. Marvell reappeared, his hat askew, a big bundle in a blue tablecloth in one hand, and three books tied together as it proved afterwards with the vicar's braces in the other. Directly he saw Huckster, he gave a sort of gasp, and sharply to the left began to run. Stop, thief! cried Huckster, and set off after him. Mr. Huckster'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. Marvell first came into view of Mr. Huckster's window. At that precise moment Mr. Cuss and Mr. Bunting were in the barler. They were seriously investigating the strange occurrences of the morning, and were with Mr. Hull'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. Hull and the room tidied up. And on the table under the window where the stranger had been want to work, Cuss had hit almost at once on three big books in manuscript labeled 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. No name on the fly-leaf. Bother. Cipher and figures. The vicar came round to look over his shoulder. Cuss turned the pages over with a face suddenly disappointed. Oh, dear me, it's all cipher, Bunton. There are no diagrams, asked Mr. Bunting. No illustrations showing 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 generous 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 very low voice, curiously different from the huskiness of its first inquiry. Right you are, said the intruder in the former voice. Staying clear, and he vanished and closed the door. A sailor I should judge, said Mr. Bunting, amusing fellows they are. Staying clear, indeed. A nautical term, referring to as getting back out of the room, I suppose. I dare say so, said Cuss. My nerves are all loose today. It quite made me jump the door opening like that. Mr. Bunting smiled as if he had not jumped. And how, 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 happening 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've ever seen a really good conjurer. I won't argue again, said Cuss. We've thrashed that out, Bunting, and just now there's these books. 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'm 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 and 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 parlor, and while Mr. Huckster 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 hyping topic. He came a violent thud against the door of the parlor, a sharp cry, and then, silence. Hello? said Teddy Henfrey. Hello? 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 parlor door. He and Teddy approached the door together with intent faces, their eyes considered. Some it wrong, said Hall and Henfrey not at agreement. Whiffs of an unpleasant chemical odor met them and there was a muffled sound of conversation very rapid and subdued. You all right there? asked Hall, rapping. The muttered conversation ceased abruptly for a moment's 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 struggle. Silence again. What that dose? exclaimed Henfrey, You all right there? asked Mr. Hall sharply again. The vicar's voice answered with a curious jerking intonation. Quite right. Please, don't interrupt. Odd? said Mr. Henfrey. Odd? said Mr. Hall. Says don't interrupt. said Henfrey. I heard him, 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 you will not, said Hall. Weren't speaking to us was he? Disgraceful, said Mr. Bunting within. Disgraceful, said Mr. Henfrey. I heard it, distinct. Who's that speaker now? asked Henfrey. Mr. Cuss I suppose, said Hall. Can you hear it? Anything? Silence, the sounds within, indistinct and perplexing. Sounds like throwing the table-cloth about, said Hall. Mrs. Hall appeared behind the bar. She made gestures of silence and invitation. This aroused Mrs. Hall's wifely opposition. What are you listening there for, Hall? She asked. Ain't you nothing 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 about it 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 didn't say disgraceful, that I did, said Hall. I hear that, Mrs. Hall, said Henfrey. Like is not, began Mrs. Hall. Hush, said Mr. Teddy Henfrey. Didn't I hear the window? What window, said Mrs. Hall? Pal a 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 shot-front blistering in the dune sun. Abruptly Huxter's door open and Huxter appeared, eyes staring with excitement, arms gesticulating. Yup! cried Huxter. Stop thief! Huxter was completely across the oblong towards the yard gates and vanished. Simultaneously came a tumult from the parlor and a sound of windows being closed. Hall, Henfrey, and the human contents of the tap rushed out at once pale mel 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 laborers 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 appeared 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 to the laborers and bringing him to the ground. He had been charged just as one charges a man at football. The second laborer 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 laborer struggled to his feet, he was kicked sideways by a blow that might have felled an awks. 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 coconut 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 rearmost 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 overhasty people. Now when Hall and Henfrey and the house, Mrs. Hall, who had been disciplined by years of experience, remained in the bar next to Till. And suddenly the parlor 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 effective, 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 thickest clothes. Tend to him in a minute. He cried to Henfrey as he passed the prostrate huckster and coming round the corner to join the tumult was promptly knocked off his feet into an indecorous sprawl. Somebody in full flight tried heavily on his finger. He walked against and thrown on all fours again and became aware that he was involved not in a capture but a route. 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 huckster who was now sitting up on his way. Behind him as he was halfway up the insteps he heard a sudden yell of rage rising sharply out of him. He recognized the voices 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 parlor. He's coming back, Bunton! 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 invisible man, said Cuss and rushed on to the window. We'd better clear out for me. 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, adjust his costume hastily and fled up the village as fast as his fat little legs would see 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 figure the street full of running figures of Doris slamming in 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 gods and flags is deserted save for the still raging unseen and littered with coconuts, overthrown canvas screens and a scattered stock and trade of a sweet stuff 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 parlor window of Mrs. Gribble. He it must have been who cut the telegraph wire to Adderdine just beyond Higgins Cottage on the Adderdine 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 13 Mr. Marvel discusses his resignation When the dusk was gathering and Iping was just beginning to peep timorously 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 beach-woods 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 tablecloth. His Rubicon face expressed consternation and fatigue. He appeared to be in a spesmotic sort of hurry. He was accompanied by a voice other than his own and ever and again he went in a touch of unseen hands. If you give me the slip again, said the voice, if you attempt to give me the slip again. Lo, said Mr. Marvel, that shoulder's a mass of bruises as it is. O 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. Marvel 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? asked Marvel, Soto Vache. 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 rudder 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. I'm Yacht's weak. 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 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 have 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-ard, 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 vigor. I'll see to you all right. Do what you're told. You'll do it all right. You're a fool and all that. But you'll do. I'll tell you so. 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. And try no foolery. It will be the worst for you if you do. Oh, know that! sighed Mr. Marvel. Oh, 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. End of chapters 12 and 13 Chapters 14 and 15 of the invisible man This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells Chapter 14 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 in 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 extraordinary things in books,' said the mariner. "'I believe you,' said Mr. Marvel. "'And some extraordinary things out of them,' said the mariner. "'True likewise,' said Mr. Marvel. He eyed his interlocutor and then glanced about him. "'There's some extraordinary 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 askewed and scratched his cheek and felt his ears glowing. "'What will they be right next?' he asked faintly. "'Australia or America?' "'Neither,' said the mariner. "'Ear?' "'Law,' said Mr. Marvel, starting. "'When I say ear,' said the mariner, to Mr. Marvel's intense relief. "'Ah, don't of course mean ear in this place. I mean ear abouts.' "'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.' "'Ah, I've seen a paper these four days,' said Marvel. "'Oughtn's the place he started at,' said the mariner. "'Indeed,' said Mr. Marvel. "'He started there, and where he came from nobody don't seem to know. "'Here it is, peculiar story from Eyepin.' "'And it says in this paper that the evidence "'is extraordinary strong, extraordinary.' "'Law,' said Mr. Marvel. "'But then it's an extraordinary story. "'There's a clergyman and a medical gent, witnesses. "'So I'm all right and proper.' "'Well, these ways didn't see him.' "'He was staying,' it says, at the coach and horses. "'And nobody 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 observed 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, "'or now a worthy and able constable, Mr. J. A. Jaffas.' "'Pretty straight story, eh? Named in evidence.' "'Law,' 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.' "'Sounds most astonishing.' "'Don't it? Extraordinary, I call it. "'Never heard tell of invisible men before, I haven't. "'But nowadays, one is such a lot of extraordinary things "'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 escape, and that's all, eh?' "'Haw,' 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. "'Don't say he had any pals, does it?' asked Mr. Marvel, anxious. "'Ain't one of the sort enough for you?' asked the mariner. "'No, then Kevin, as one might say, he didn't. "'He nodded his head slowly. "'Makes me regular and comfortable. "'The bear thought that chap running about the country. "'He was present at large, and from certain evidence "'he did suppose 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 you'd be "'if he took a drop over and above "'and had a fancy to go for you. "'Suppose he wants to rob, or can prevent him. "'It can trespass, it can burgle, "'it can walk through a cord in a policeman "'and either you could give the slip to a blind man. "'Easier for these ear-blindchaps ear uncommon sharp, I'm told. "'And wherever there was liquor,' he fancied. "'He's got a tremendous 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, "'bet 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 tremendous.' "'Indeed,' said the mariner. "'The fact is,' began Mr. Marvel eagerly "'in a confidential undertone. "'Suddenly his expression changed marvelously.' "'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. "'Too thick,' 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 is just going to tell me "'about this ear-invisible man,' protested the mariner. "'Mr. Marvel seemed to consult with himself.' "'Hokes,' said a voice. "'It's a hoax,' said Mr. Marvel. "'But it's in the paper,' said the mariner. "'Oaks all the same,' said Marvel. "'I know the chap that started the lie. "'There ain't no invisible man whatsoever. "'Blimey.' "'But how about this paper? "'Do 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. "'Do you mean to say?' "'I do,' said Mr. Marvel. "'Then why did you let me go on "'until you all this blast had stuffed in? "'What do you 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've been talking here this ten minutes,' he said. "'And you, you little pot-bellied leathery face, "'son of an old boot, "'good now the elementary manners, "'don't you come bendin' words with me?' said Mr. Marvel. "'Bendin' words? I'm a jolly good mind.' "'Come up,' said a voice, and Mr. Marvel was suddenly world about and started marching off in a curious, spasmodic manner. "'You better move on,' said the mariner. "'Who's movin' on?' said Mr. Marvel. He was receding, obliquely, with a curious hurrying-gate 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 arse. "'Oaks in 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 extraordinary arses,' he said softly to himself. "'Just to take me down a bit. "'That was his silly game. It's on the paper.' There was another extraordinary thing he was presently to hear, that it happened quite close to him, and that was a vision of a fistful 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, full of shops and inns, door standing that sunny weather entirely open, money had been quietly and dexterously making off that date in handfuls and rouleauxs, 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, indeed only when the Burdick 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 15 The Man Who Was Running In the early evening time Dr. Kemp was sitting in his study in the Belvedere on the hill overlooking Burdick. It was a pleasant little room with three windows, north, west and south, and bookshelves covered with books and illustrations, 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 flax and hair and a mustache almost white, and the work he was upon would earn him, 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, so fast that his legs verily twinkled. Another of those fools, said Dr. Kemp, like that arse who ran into me this morning round a corner with the visible man had come in, sir. I can't imagine what possesses people. One might think we were in the 13th 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. Spurt it, sir, said Dr. Kemp. In another moment the hire of the villas that had clambered up the hill from Burdick 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. Arses, 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 down hill to where the laps were being lit and the people were crowded in the street and his ill-shaped mouth fell apart and a glary foam lay on his lips became 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, it passed in shouts, it passed by instinct down the hill. They were shouting in the street before Marvel was half-way 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! End of chapters 14 and 15 Chapter 16 and 17 of The Invisible Man This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Invisible Man by H. G. Wells Chapter 16 In the Jolly Cricketers The Jolly Cricketers is just at the bottom of the hill where the tram-lines begin. The barman leaned his fat red arms on the counter and talked of horses with an anemic cabman while a black-bearded man in grey snapped up biscuit and cheese, drank and conversed an American with a policeman off duty. What's this shouting about? said the anemic 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. Far 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. Come in! he bawled, his voice shrieking with terror. He's coming! The Invisible Man! After me! For God's sake! Help! Help! Help! 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. Let me go inside! said Marvel, staggering and weeping but still clutching the books. Let me go inside! Lock me in! Somewhere! I'll tell you he's after me. I've given the slip. He said he killed me and he will. You're safe! said the man with the black beard. The door shut. What's it all about? Let me go inside! said Marvel and shrieked aloud and suddenly made the fastened door shiver and was followed by a hurried rapping and a shouting outside. Hello! cried the policeman. Who's there? Mr. Marvel began to make frantic dives at panels that looked like doors. You kill me! He's got a knife or something! For God'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 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 setee 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 parlor 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 and he comes, there's no stopping him. Don't you be in too much hurry about that door! said the anemic 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 lay it off at his legs. Draw them bolts. Not with that blinkin' 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. 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 parlor and supplied information. Are all the doors of the house shut? asked Marvel. He's going round, prowling round. He's as artful as a devil. Good Lord! said the burly barman. There's the back. Just watch them doors. Oh, say! He looked about him helplessly. The bar parlor 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 The outer door was open. He said, and his fat underlip dropped. Maybe 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 parlor door burst open. They heard Marvel squeal like a caught leveret and forthwith they were clamouring over the bar to his rescue. The bearded man's revolver cracked and the looking glass at the back of the parlor 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 opened 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 cabman, 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 keep the watchman 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, kipped under the diaphragm. The door into the bar parlor 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. Out! 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 races in a joker. You'll enter in someone and come and feel about for his body. Chapter 17 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. Hello! said Dr. Kemp putting his pen into his mouth again and listening. Who's letting off revolvers and verdict? What are the arses 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 ship's light shone and a pier glowed a little illuminated faceted pavilion like a gem of yellow light. The pier 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 doorbell rang. He had been writing slackly and with intervals of abstraction 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 valley straight to the housemaid as she appeared in the hall below. Was that a letter? he asked. Only a runaway ring, said she answered. I'm restless tonight. 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 that he was thirsty. He took a candle and went down to the dining-room in search of a siphon 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 siphon 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 bloodstained. He looked at his own hand. It was quite clean and then he remembered that the door of his room had been open in 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 counter-pane 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 bed-clothes were depressed as if someone had been recently sitting there. His low voice said, Good heavens! Kemp! The doctor 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, retained 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. Hey! 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'm 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. Realization 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 a trick! He stepped forward suddenly and extended towards the bandage met invisible fingers. He recoiled at the touch and his color 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. Kemp stood 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! I 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? Gryphon of University College? Let me get up! said Kemp. I'll stop where I am and let me sit quiet for a minute. Gryphon felt his neck. I'm Gryphon of University College and I've made myself invisible. I'm just an ordinary man, a man you have known, made invisible. Gryphon, said Kemp. Gryphon 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'm confused, said Kemp. My brain is rioting. What is this to do with Gryphon? I am Gryphon. 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 sit down here. Kemp stared at the bandages that 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 a 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. Think heaven, you're getting sensible. Oh, silly! said Kemp and knuckled his eyes. Whisky, I'm near dead. It didn't feel so. Where are you? If I get up, shall I run into you? There. All right. Whisky, 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 Whisky tilted itself. Yes, said the invisible man, wrapping 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, too, 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. Draw socks, slippers, would be a comfort, said the unseen, curtly. And food. Nothing, but this is the insaneest 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. Looks 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. A father strange and wonderful. Exactly. But it's all that I should blunder into your house to get my bandaging, my first stroke of luck. Anyhow, I meant to sleep in this house tonight. You must stand that. Since 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. Confounded, 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-gap. Array 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? It 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 neres 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've 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. Call in methodical after the first collapse. I must tell you, we will work together. But how is 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 where 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. A kerr. 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 tonight, he said. He groaned suddenly, lean forward, supporting his invisible head on invisible hands. Kemp, he said, I've had no sleep for near three days. Except a couple of doses of an hour or so. I must sleep soon. Well, have my room, have this room. But how can I sleep? If I sleep, you will get away. Ah! What does it matter? What's the short 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 of a particular objection to being caught by me. Because of 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. End of chapter 16 and 17. Chapter 18 and 19 of The Invisible Man. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Invisible Man by H. G. Wells. Chapter 18. 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 tonight. 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've made a discovery. I meant to keep it to myself. I must have a partner. And you, we can do such things. But tomorrow, 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. Well, Kemp's face changed a little. I thought I'd give 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? Why have I? He laughed and put his hand to the locked door. But 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 noplii and tornarias, all the microscopic things, the jellyfish. 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. Marvell. Kemp read it swiftly. Wrapped up, said Kemp, disguised, hiding it. Now it 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 street striking right and left. Jaffers insensible. Mr. Huckster 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. Comgrano. 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 Burdick. This gave Kemp the essence of the happenings of 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 connection 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 linked. The incredulous tone had vanished and a shawl 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 Addy, Port Burdick. 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-stand tumbler smashed. Kemp hurried upstairs and rapped eagerly. Chapter 19 Certain First Principles What's the matter? asked Kemp when the invisible man admitted him. Nothing was the answer. But confounded the smash. Fit of temper, said the invisible man. Forgot this arm and it saw. 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'd 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, incredible 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 store first at Chesilstow. Chesilstow? 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 worthwhile. 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 them out of six months before a 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 Kemp 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 at 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 reflect 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 a precise little same reason. Yes, said Kemp, that is pretty plain sailing. And here's 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 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! Oh, 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 larva and all jellyfish. 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. All of them, my professor, was a scientific bounder, a journalist by instinct, a thief of ideas. He was always prying. And you know the navish system of the scientific world. I simply would not publish and let him share my credit. I went on working. I got near and nearer making my formula into an experiment, a reality. I told no living soul because I meant to flush my work upon the world with a 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 discovered 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. 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 for hours. 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. If you camp, if you, anyone I tell you would have flung themselves 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 with this 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. End of CHAPTERS 18 & 19 CHAPTERS 20 & 21 OF THE INVISIBLE MAN This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Invisible Man by H. G. Wells CHAPTER 20 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're tired, he said. And while I sit you walk about. Have my chair. He placed himself between Gryphon and the nearest window. For a space Gryphon sat silent and then he resumed abruptly. I'd left the Chelsea Stoke cottage already, he said, when that happened. It was last December. I'd taken a room in London, a large, unfurnished room and 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. 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 was in the 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 in the desecrated fields and ended in rubble-heaps and rank wet weeds. I remember myself as a gaunt-black figure walking 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 can't 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 I could 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 nanity 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 cipher 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. 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 little trouble finding it again. And then came a curious experience. I heard a meow 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. I could have seen her spit at it but I made her comfortable on the pillow of my chuckle-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 in 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 heard her safe. But she woke while she was still misty and meowed dismally and someone came knocking. It was an old woman from downstairs who suspected me of vivisecting such an 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 cat? she said. My cat? Not here, I said, 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, chuckle-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 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 were 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 meowing 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 the 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 meowed 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 meowing in different parts of the room. At last I opened the window and made a bustle. I suppose it went out at last and never saw any more of it. Then, heaven knows why I felt 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 meowing 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. I remember that morning before the change 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 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 that a visible man would have in the world. After a time I crawled home took some food in a strong dose of strictening and went to sleep in my clothes on my unmade bed. Strictening is a grand tonic camp to take the flabbiness out of a man. It's the devil, said Kemp. It's the paleolithic in a bottle. I awoke vastly and rather irritable. You know, I know this stuff. And there was someone wrapping at the door. It was my landlord with threats and inquiries, an old Polish Jew in a long grey coat and greasy slippers. I'd 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 a 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 had drowned me into the room peering about over his German silver spectacles and a sudden dread came into my mind to 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, everything 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. All together 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, a 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 checkbook, the tramp house 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, yet with the door closed I suppose. You would have loved 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 decolorize 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 of 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 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 a fire, all my body a fire. 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 attended in my room. There were times when I sobbed and groaned and talked, but I stuck to it. I became insensible and walk 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 grow clear and thinner as the day went by until at last I could see the sickly disorder 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 swallowed infant, stepping with limbs I could not see. I was weak and very hungry. I went and stared at nothing in my shaving-glass. They were 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 the noise as see 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 landlords 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 onto 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, and I had screwed up some days before stopped him. That startled me, made me angry. I began to tremble and do things hurdly. 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 what 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 flooded 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 rested 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. 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 dynamoes 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 at the chimney. One of my fellow lodgers, a costumonger 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 dynamoes 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 fair well 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 realize 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 Twenty One 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 in noiseless clothes in a city of the blind. I experienced a wild impulse to just to startle people, to clap men on the back, fling people's hats 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 shop there when I heard a clashing concussion and was hit violently behind and turning saw a man carrying a basket of soda water siphons 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 it 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 out of the ear. I let the hole 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 realized what I had done for myself and cursing my folly backed against a shop window and prepared to dodge out of the confusion. At the 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 cabman's four-wheeler. I do not know how they settled the business. I heard 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 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 handsome 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 handsome. A happy thought saved me and as this drove slowly along I followed in its immediate wake, trembling in a astonish to the turn of my adventure 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 be 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 and the small of my back growing upon my attention. Slowly along Oxford Street and past Tottenham Court Road, my mood was as different from that in which I had saluted 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 Moody's and there a tall woman with five or six yellow labelled books held 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 wimpered 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'd never realised it before, but the nose is to the mind of a dog, with 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 of my shoulder as I did so, and went somewhere along Montague Street before I realised what I was running towards. Then I became aware of a blair 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 I could not hope to penetrate and dread in 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 strapped 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 Thud, thud, thud, came the drum with a vibrating resonance and for the moment I did not notice too urchin stopping at the railings by me. See him! said one. See what! said the other. Why them footmarks! Bear! Like what you make sin 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 said when, thud, shall we see thud, his face, thud, thud. There's a barefoot lamb 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. Look 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 paralyzed. Why, that's rum, said the elder. Dashed rum? It's just like the ghost of a foot, ain't it? He hesitated in advance 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 boys 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 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 when 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. Thrice 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 dropped 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, starting with infinite perplexity, a slowly drying footprint that had resulted from a puddle in Tabastock Square, a footprint as isolated and incomprehensible to them as crucial as 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 as I would I could not avoid an occasional sneeze and every dog that came inside with its pointing nose and curious sniffing was a tear 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 checkbook and the three volumes of memoranda that awaited me in Great Portland Street were there. Burning! I'd burnt my boats if ever a man did. The place was blazing. The invisible man paused and thought, kept glanced nervously out of the window. Yes, he said, go on. End of Chapter 21 and 22 Chapter 22 and 23 of The Invisible Man This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Invisible Man by H. G. Wells Chapter 22 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, 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 passerby 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 in the night. Then I had a brilliant idea. I turned down one of the roads leading from Gowstree 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 there 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 a 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 lairs, 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 onto the counters, leaving the floor clear. Directly each of these young people had done what 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 straw dust and carrying pills and brooms. I had to dodge to get out of the way, and as it was my ankle got stung with the straw dust. For some time, wandering through the swalded 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 of wandering through the vast and intricate shops, galleries, showrooms 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 bootheels 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 draw 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 of 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 thought of paint, but the discovery set my mind running on wigs in 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 muffling my face with the white wrapper I had taken, the 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 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 stonely following the service. The old clergyman, too, never faltered, droning and sniffing through the ritual. I realized 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 conversive struggles and awoke. The pale London dawn had come. The place was full of a chilly grey light that filled around 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 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? Stop there, shouted the other. I dashed around a corner and came full tilt, a faceless figure, mind you, on a lanky loud of fifteen. Yeld 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 hence to the doors, asking what was up, asking what was up, and giving one another advice how to catch me. Lying on the ground 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'd made up my mind, I suppose, to get away in them, and that ruled me. 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 rounder corner, sent him spinning, and rushed up the stairs. He kept his footing, 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 passed desperate turn and found myself among lamps and iron-mongery. I went behind the counter of this, and waited for my cook, and as he bolded in at the head of the chase I doubled him up with a lamp. Down he went, and I crouched behind the counter and began whipping off my clothes as fast as I could. Coat, jacket, trousers, shoes were all right, but a lamb's wool-vest fits a man like a skin. I had more men coming, my cook was lying quiet on the other side of the 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 clothes. 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 like the fools they were. I had a magnified account of my depredations and other speculations Then I felt a 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 the biggest plans of action in my mind. Chapter 23 In Drury Lane But you begin now to realize, said the invisible man, the faultless advantage 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 to 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 at 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 new suites, toys, stationary, belated Christmas tomfoolery and so forth, an array of masks and noses. I realized 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 remember, though not very distinctly where, that some theatrical costumeeers 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 street of a passing handsome. 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, thus 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 Drory Lane, with a window full of tinsel robes, sham jewels, wigs, slippers, dominoes and theatrical photographs. The shop was all fashioned and low and dark, and the house rose above it for four stories, 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 chivalr glass. For a minute or so no one came. Then I heard heavy feats driving 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, big, mask, spectacles and costume, and go into the world, perhaps a grotesque but still incredible 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. He slammed the boys, he said. He went to stare up and down the street. He came in again in a minute, kicked the door too 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 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 camped to have to sniff his coffee and stand watching while he came in and resumed his meal. The windows 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 draft 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 really 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 and I 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 aglaire. 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 aid and at last he came up and opened the upstairs door but just managed to get by him. On the staircase he stopped suddenly so that I very nearly blended 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 granted 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. It 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 any one in this house he cried within 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 noiselessly and pugnitiously 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 went into the house and spent some time in doing so noiselessly as possible. The house was very old and tumbled 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 unfinished and others were littered with theatrical lumber bought secondhand I judged from its appearance. In one room next to his I found a lot of old clothes. I began rooting among these and in my eagerness forgot again the sharpness of his ears. I heard a stealthy footsteps 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, mild 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. In 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 and was evidently a little scared. I urged 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 a dew but knocked him on the head. He stood 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 Cato's vest and tied him up in a sheet. Tied him up in a sheet. 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 you're 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! Confounded! 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. Still, of course I was in a 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 ranked cheese, more than sufficient to satisfy my hunger. I took some brandy and water and 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 handsome, a four-wheeler with a pile of boxes, a fish-monger's cart. 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. It was a curious person. Everything that could possibly be of service to me I collected in the clothes-store room and then I made a deliberate selection. I found a handbag I thought a suitable possession of powder, rouge and sticking plaster. I 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 in 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, grayish whiskers and a wig. I could find no under-clothing, subsequently, and for the time I swathed myself in calico dominoes and some white cashmere scarves. 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 where eight pounds in gold. I could go forth into the world again, equipped. Then came a curious hesitation. It was my appearance really credible. I tried myself with a little 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 it was certainly not a physical impossibility. Gathering confidence I took my looking-glass down into the shop, pulled down the shop-lines and surveyed myself from every point of view with the help of the chivalre-glass in the corner. I spent some minutes screwing up my courage and then unlocked the shop-door and marched out into the little man to get out of his sheet again when he liked. In five minutes a dozen turnings intervened between me and the costumee's shop. No one appeared to notice me very pointedly. My last difficulty seemed to overcome. He stopped again. And he travelled 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 came 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 saved to give away my secret. So I thought. Whatever I did, whatever the consequences might be, was nothing to me. I'd merely to fling aside my garments and vanish. No person could hold me. I could take my money where I found it. 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 arse. 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. It was a good camp, 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 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 off 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 realized what a helpless absurdity an invisible man was in a cold and dirty climate and a crowded civilized city. Before I made this mad experiment I 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 when you cannot appear there? What is the good of the love of woman when her name must need be Delilah? I have no taste for politics, for the blabberdisms of fame, for philanthropy, for sport. What was I to do? And for this I had become a wrapped up mystery, a swildened and bandaged caricature of the man. He paused and his attitude suggested a roving glance at the window. But how did you get twiping? said Kemp, anxious to keep twiping. 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, and 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 in my check-book, my luggage and under-clothing, order a quantity of chemicals to work out and show you the calculations as soon as I get my books. Then I started. Chove! I remember the snowstorm now, and the accursed bother it was to keep the snow from damping my paste-board 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 is expected to recover. That is his luck then. I clean lost my temper the fools. Why couldn't they leave me alone, and that grosser out? 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, pearl-blind idiot messing across your cause. 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 them. As it is, they've made things a thousand times more difficult. No doubt it's exasperating, said Kemp, dryly. End of chapters 22 and 23 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 Burdick? 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 tram 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. Then the filthy brute must need to 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. Said the invisible man. That hangs up your plans a little. He 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 there 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 at Kimbo 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 goalkeeper, a place, an arrangement where I can sleep and eat and rest in peace, and unsuspected. I must have a confederate. With a confederate, with food and dressed, a thousand things are possible. Here the two 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, when makes sounds, it's of little help, a little help perhaps, in house-breaking and so forth. You've caught me, you could easily imprison me. But on the other hand, I'm hard to catch. Disinvisibility, 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 among 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 mustache. 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. Hmm! 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 sat 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 Addy, the recipient of Kemp's letter, the chief of the Burdick 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 dishevelled, one side of his face white from a blow, his lip bleeding and a pink dressing-gown and some under-clothing held in his arms. My God! cried Kemp. The game's up! He's gone! Chapter 25 The Hunting of the Invisible Man For a space Kemp was too inarticulate to make Addy 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 Addy 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. Nothing can stop him. He's going out now, furious. You must be caught, said Addy. 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 the gas and 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. Ah, no, said Addy. Ah, no, 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 a stir 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 countryside must begin hunting and keep hunting. I tell you, Addy, 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 Addy. 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 ops to help, and the railway managers. I show if it's urgent. Come along, tell me as we go. What else is there we can do? Put that stuff down. In another moment, Addy was leading the way downstairs. They found the front door open, and the policemen standing outside, staring at empty air. It's got away, sir, said one. We must go to the central station at once, said Addy. 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 Addy. It's not generally known, but the prison officials over at Allstead know a man with blowdowns. 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 Addy. We shall have him yet. And on the roads, said Kemp, and hesitated. Yes, said Addy. Powdered glass, said Kemp. It's cruel, I know, but think of what he may do. Addy drew the air in sharply between his teeth. It sounds sportsman-like. 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'm assure you'll 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 26. The Wicks-Dead 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 4 noon up the hill and onto the open downland behind Port Burdick, raging and sparing at his intolerable fate and sheltering at last, heated and weary, amid the thickets of hint and deen to piece together again his shattered schemes against his species. That seems the most probable refuge for him, for there it was he reasserted 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 defeated 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 cooperation in his brutal dream of a terrorised world. At any rate, he vanished from human can 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 dryly worded proclamation he was presented as a tangible antagonist to be wounded, captured or overcome, beside 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 Burdick, 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 Addy, 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 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 past the story of the murder of Mr. Wicksteed. If our supposition that the invisible man's refuge was the hint and dean 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 Burdick'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 an emergerous 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 Stuart to Lord Burdick 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 the 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 Burdick is ten miles away he may have pursued it. It is quite conceivable that he may not have pursued the invisible man. One can then imagine the invisible man making off quietly in order to avoid discovering his presence in the neighborhood 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 nettles and the gravel pit. To those who appreciate the extraordinary harassability 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 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 a couple of men in a field near Fernbottom. 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 the clover-field and died away towards the hills. That afternoon the invisible man must have learned 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 he read the proclamations and realized 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 he 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. End of Chapter 24 25 and 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 and Epilogue of the Invisible Man This liprivox recording is in the public domain The Invisible Man by H. G. Wells Chapter 27 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 and 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's nothing for it but to start the terror this announces the first day of the terror Port Burdick 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 today he may lock himself away hide himself away get guards about him put on armor 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 today 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 folder sheet over and saw on the addressed side of it the postmark hint and dean the rosaic title tuppence 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 he wrote a number of brief notes one to Colonel Addy gave them to his servant to take with explicit instructions as to her way of leaving the house there's 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 cold wet weather instead of the heat he may be watching me now he went close to the window something wrapped 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 doorbell ringing and hurried downstairs young bolded and unlocked the door examined the chain, put it up and opened cautiously without showing himself a familiar voice hailed him it was Addy your servant's been assaulted Kemp he said round the door what? exclaimed Kemp at that note of yours taken away from her he's close about here let me in Kemp released the chain and Addy 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 end scared irorably 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 Hinton Dean already what's up? said Addy look here, said Kemp he handed Addy the invisible man's letter Addy read it and whispered softly you, said Addy proposed a trap like a fool, said Kemp and sent my proposal out by a maid servant to him Addy followed Kemp's profanity you clear out, said Addy not he, said Kemp a resounding smash of glass came from upstairs Addy 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 stard for a moment and collapsed and jagged shivering triangles into the room what's this for, said Addy 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 hello smash and then whack of boards had hard came from downstairs confound him, said Kemp that must be yes, it's one of the best 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 Addy let me have a stick or something and I'll go down to the station and get the blood-downs put on that ought to settle him there aren't by, not ten minutes another window went the way of its fellows you haven't a revolver, asked Addy Kemp's hand went to his pocket then he hesitated I haven't one, at least to spare I'll bring it back, said Addy you'll be safe here Kemp, ashamed of his momentary lapse from truthfulness, handed him the weapon now for the door, said Addy as they stood hesitating in the hall they heard one of the first floor bedroom windows crack and clash Kemp went to the door Addy slipped the bolts as silently as possible his face was a little paler than usual you must step right out, said Kemp in another moment Addy 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 Addy stopped dead in his hand tightened on the revolver well, said Addy white and grim and every nerve tense obliged me by going back to the house said the voice as tense and grim as Addy's sorry, said Addy 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 Addy's pocket Addy 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 rested from his grip he made a vain clutch at a slippery limb tried to struggle up and fell back damn, said Addy the voice laughed I'd kill you now if it wasn't the waste of a bullet it said he saw the revolver in midair six feet off covering him well, said Addy, sitting up get up, said the voice Addy stood up attention, said the voice and then furiously 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 you won't let me in, said Addy that's a pity, said the invisible man I've got no coil with you Addy 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 coil with you, said the voice Kemp had hurried upstairs after letting Addy out and now crouching among the broken glass unconsciously over the edge of the study window sill he saw Addy 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, Addy has given up the revolver promise not to rush the door, Addy 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 Addy'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 Addy then things happened very quickly Addy 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 Addy writhed, raised himself on one arm fell forward and lay still for a space Kemp remained staring at the quiet carelessness of Addy'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 Addy 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 scrutinized the surroundings of the house for a glimpse of the revolver but it had vanished his eyes came back to Addy 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 Addy lay motionless over the edge of the gravel just as he had fallen coming along the road by the villas where the house made and two policemen everything was deadly still the three people seemed very slow and 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 saved for one cross-bar 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 and 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 a 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 griffon 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 policeman 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 slammed the door again the invisible man said Kemp he has a revolver with two shots left he's killed Addy, shot him anyhow didn't you see him on the lawn? he's lying there who? said one of the policemen Addy? said Kemp we came in the back way said the girl what's that smashing? asked one of the policemen is 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 Poka 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 what? said one policeman ducked and caught the axe on his poker the pistol snapped its penultimate shot and ripped a valuable Sydney 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 the open 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 to know I've hit him he's standing somewhere in the hall unless he slipped past you Dr. Kemp sir pause Dr. 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 yep 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 Dr. Kemp he began and stopped short Dr. Kemp's a hero he said as his companion looked over his shoulder the dining room window was wide open and neither house made nor Kemp was to be seen the second policeman's opinion of Kemp was terse and vivid Chapter 28 The Hunter-Hunted Mr. Helus Dr. Kemp's nearest neighbor among the villa-holders was asleep in his summer house when the siege of Kemp's house began Mr. Helus 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 a violent riot every window was broken and every window saved those of the Belvedere study was blinded by the internal shutters ah 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 mouth 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. Helus 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 like a man who evades observation he vanished behind a labyrinum 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. Helus low cried Mr. Helus struck with an idea it's that invisible man broom it's right up, it's right after all with Mr. Helus 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. Helus 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 plowed through the asparagus and was running across the tennis lawn to the house you can't come in said Mr. Helus, 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 wrapping and then shaking frantically at the French window then seeing his efforts were useless he ran along the veranda again 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. Helus, 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. Helus 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 at 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 cricketers 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 soar 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 navies 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 navies 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 green grocers cart hesitated for the tenth of a second at the door of a sweet stuff 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 open 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 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 someone 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 jar 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 a 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! hurt 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 in 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 let go of him cried the big navvy holding a bloodstained spade he's not shaming, 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 path 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 look 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 hello cried the constable is his feet a-showing and so slowly beginning at his hands and feet and creeping along his limbs to the vital centers of his body that strange change continued it was like the slow spreading of a poison first came the little white nerves a hazy gray 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 gray 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 God'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 unpittied 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 saved for a hat and boots and it's 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 how the lawyers tried to do him out of the treasure found upon him when they found they couldn't prove it was money was which huh, blessed, he says if they didn't try to make me a blooming treasure trove do I look like a treasure trove and then a gentleman gave me a guinea night to tell the story at the empire musical just to tell me my own words bar in 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 the severations that everybody thinks he has them but bless you he hasn't the invisible man it was took him off to item when I caught and ran for Port Stowe is that Mr. Kemp put people on with the idea of my having him 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's 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 Cobbitt 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 parlor bearing a glass of gin faintly tinged with water he 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 and 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 hecks hecks little two up in the air cross in a fiddly day 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 yole of him load I wouldn't do what he did I 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 say the landlord knows those books are there a subtle secret of invisibility and a dozen other strange secrets written therein and none other will know of them until he dies end of chapters twenty-seven twenty-eight and the epilogue end of The Invisible Man by H. G. Wells recording by Kathy Barrett