Part 2 - The Invisible Man Audiobook by H. G. Wells (Chs 18-28)

Uploaded by CCProse on 24.09.2011

Exhausted and wounded as the Invisible Man was, he refused to accept Kemp's word that
his freedom should be respected.
He examined the two windows of the bedroom, drew up the blinds and opened the sashes,
to confirm Kemp's statement that a retreat by them would be possible.
Outside the night was very quiet and still, and the new moon was setting over the down.
Then he examined the keys of the bedroom and the two dressing-room doors, to satisfy
himself that these also could be made an assurance of freedom.
Finally he expressed himself satisfied.
He stood on the hearth rug and Kemp heard the sound of a yawn.
"I'm sorry," said the Invisible Man, "if I cannot tell you all that I have done to-
But I am worn out. It's grotesque, no doubt.
It's horrible!
But believe me, Kemp, in spite of your arguments of this morning, it is quite a
possible thing. I have made a discovery.
I meant to keep it to myself.
I can't. I must have a partner.
And you.... We can do such things ...
But to-morrow.
Now, Kemp, I feel as though I must sleep or perish."
Kemp stood in the middle of the room staring at the headless garment.
"I suppose I must leave you," he said.
"It's--incredible. Three things happening like this,
overturning all my preconceptions--would make me insane.
But it's real!
Is there anything more that I can get you?" "Only bid me good-night," said Griffin.
"Good-night," said Kemp, and shook an invisible hand.
He walked sideways to the door.
Suddenly the dressing-gown walked quickly towards him.
"Understand me!" said the dressing-gown. "No attempts to hamper me, or capture me!
Kemp's face changed a little. "I thought I gave you my word," he said.
Kemp closed the door softly behind him, and the key was turned upon him forthwith.
Then, as he stood with an expression of passive amazement on his face, the rapid
feet came to the door of the dressing-room and that too was locked.
Kemp slapped his brow with his hand.
"Am I dreaming? Has the world gone mad--or have I?"
He laughed, and put his hand to the locked door.
"Barred out of my own bedroom, by a flagrant absurdity!" he said.
He walked to the head of the staircase, turned, and stared at the locked doors.
"It's fact," he said.
He put his fingers to his slightly bruised neck.
"Undeniable fact! "But--"
He shook his head hopelessly, turned, and went downstairs.
He lit the dining-room lamp, got out a cigar, and began pacing the room,
Now and then he would argue with himself. "Invisible!" he said.
"Is there such a thing as an invisible animal?
In the sea, yes. Thousands--millions.
All the larvae, all the little nauplii and tornarias, all the microscopic things, the
In the sea there are more things invisible than visible!
I never thought of that before. And in the ponds too!
All those little pond-life things--specks of colourless translucent jelly!
But in air? No!
"It can't be.
"But after all--why not? "If a man was made of glass he would still
be visible." His meditation became profound.
The bulk of three cigars had passed into the invisible or diffused as a white ash
over the carpet before he spoke again. Then it was merely an exclamation.
He turned aside, walked out of the room, and went into his little consulting-room
and lit the gas there.
It was a little room, because Dr. Kemp did not live by practice, and in it were the
day's newspapers. The morning's paper lay carelessly opened
and thrown aside.
He caught it up, turned it over, and read the account of a "Strange Story from Iping"
that the mariner at Port Stowe had spelt over so painfully to Mr. Marvel.
Kemp read it swiftly.
"Wrapped up!" said Kemp. "Disguised!
Hiding it! 'No one seems to have been aware of his
What the devil is his game?" He dropped the paper, and his eye went
seeking. "Ah!" he said, and caught up the St. James'
Gazette, lying folded up as it arrived.
"Now we shall get at the truth," said Dr. Kemp.
He rent the paper open; a couple of columns confronted him.
"An Entire Village in Sussex goes Mad" was the heading.
"Good Heavens!" said Kemp, reading eagerly an incredulous account of the events in
Iping, of the previous afternoon, that have already been described.
Over the leaf the report in the morning paper had been reprinted.
He re-read it. "Ran through the streets striking right and
Jaffers insensible. Mr. Huxter in great pain--still unable to
describe what he saw. Painful humiliation--vicar.
Woman ill with terror!
Windows smashed. This extraordinary story probably a
fabrication. Too good not to print--cum grano!"
He dropped the paper and stared blankly in front of him.
"Probably a fabrication!" He caught up the paper again, and re-read
the whole business.
"But when does the Tramp come in? Why the deuce was he chasing a tramp?"
He sat down abruptly on the surgical bench. "He's not only invisible," he said, "but
he's mad!
Homicidal!" When dawn came to mingle its pallor with
the lamp-light and cigar smoke of the dining-room, Kemp was still pacing up and
down, trying to grasp the incredible.
He was altogether too excited to sleep. His servants, descending sleepily,
discovered him, and were inclined to think that over-study had worked this ill on him.
He gave them extraordinary but quite explicit instructions to lay breakfast for
two in the belvedere study--and then to confine themselves to the basement and
Then he continued to pace the dining-room until the morning's paper came.
That had much to say and little to tell, beyond the confirmation of the evening
before, and a very badly written account of another remarkable tale from Port Burdock.
This gave Kemp the essence of the happenings at the "Jolly Cricketers," and
the name of Marvel. "He has made me keep with him twenty-four
hours," Marvel testified.
Certain minor facts were added to the Iping story, notably the cutting of the village
But there was nothing to throw light on the connexion between the Invisible Man and the
Tramp; for Mr. Marvel had supplied no information about the three books, or the
money with which he was lined.
The incredulous tone had vanished and a shoal of reporters and inquirers were
already at work elaborating the matter.
Kemp read every scrap of the report and sent his housemaid out to get everyone of
the morning papers she could. These also he devoured.
"He is invisible!" he said.
"And it reads like rage growing to mania! The things he may do!
The things he may do! And he's upstairs free as the air.
What on earth ought I to do?"
"For instance, would it be a breach of faith if--?
No." He went to a little untidy desk in the
corner, and began a note.
He tore this up half written, and wrote another.
He read it over and considered it. Then he took an envelope and addressed it
to "Colonel Adye, Port Burdock."
The Invisible Man awoke even as Kemp was doing this.
He awoke in an evil temper, and Kemp, alert for every sound, heard his pattering feet
rush suddenly across the bedroom overhead.
Then a chair was flung over and the wash- hand stand tumbler smashed.
Kemp hurried upstairs and rapped eagerly.
"What's the matter?" asked Kemp, when the Invisible Man admitted him.
"Nothing," was the answer. "But, confound it!
The smash?"
"Fit of temper," said the Invisible Man. "Forgot this arm; and it's sore."
"You're rather liable to that sort of thing."
"I am."
Kemp walked across the room and picked up the fragments of broken glass.
"All the facts are out about you," said Kemp, standing up with the glass in his
hand; "all that happened in Iping, and down the hill.
The world has become aware of its invisible citizen.
But no one knows you are here." The Invisible Man swore.
"The secret's out.
I gather it was a secret. I don't know what your plans are, but of
course I'm anxious to help you." The Invisible Man sat down on the bed.
"There's breakfast upstairs," said Kemp, speaking as easily as possible, and he was
delighted to find his strange guest rose willingly.
Kemp led the way up the narrow staircase to the belvedere.
"Before we can do anything else," said Kemp, "I must understand a little more
about this invisibility of yours."
He had sat down, after one nervous glance out of the window, with the air of a man
who has talking to do.
His doubts of the sanity of the entire business flashed and vanished again as he
looked across to where Griffin sat at the breakfast-table--a headless, handless
dressing-gown, wiping unseen lips on a miraculously held serviette.
"It's simple enough--and credible enough," said Griffin, putting the serviette aside
and leaning the invisible head on an invisible hand.
"No doubt, to you, but--" Kemp laughed.
"Well, yes; to me it seemed wonderful at first, no doubt.
But now, great God! ...
But we will do great things yet!
I came on the stuff first at Chesilstowe." "Chesilstowe?"
"I went there after I left London. You know I dropped medicine and took up
No; well, I did. Light fascinated me."
"Ah!" "Optical density!
The whole subject is a network of riddles-- a network with solutions glimmering
elusively through.
And being but two-and-twenty and full of enthusiasm, I said, 'I will devote my life
to this. This is worth while.'
You know what fools we are at two-and- twenty?"
"Fools then or fools now," said Kemp. "As though knowing could be any
satisfaction to a man!
"But I went to work--like a slave. And I had hardly worked and thought about
the matter six months before light came through one of the meshes suddenly--
I found a general principle of pigments and refraction--a formula, a geometrical
expression involving four dimensions.
Fools, common men, even common mathematicians, do not know anything of
what some general expression may mean to the student of molecular physics.
In the books--the books that tramp has hidden--there are marvels, miracles!
But this was not a method, it was an idea, that might lead to a method by which it
would be possible, without changing any other property of matter--except, in some
instances colours--to lower the refractive
index of a substance, solid or liquid, to that of air--so far as all practical
purposes are concerned." "Phew!" said Kemp.
"That's odd!
But still I don't see quite ... I can understand that thereby you could
spoil a valuable stone, but personal invisibility is a far cry."
"Precisely," said Griffin.
"But consider, visibility depends on the action of the visible bodies on light.
Either a body absorbs light, or it reflects or refracts it, or does all these things.
If it neither reflects nor refracts nor absorbs light, it cannot of itself be
You see an opaque red box, for instance, because the colour absorbs some of the
light and reflects the rest, all the red part of the light, to you.
If it did not absorb any particular part of the light, but reflected it all, then it
would be a shining white box. Silver!
A diamond box would neither absorb much of the light nor reflect much from the general
surface, but just here and there where the surfaces were favourable the light would be
reflected and refracted, so that you would
get a brilliant appearance of flashing reflections and translucencies--a sort of
skeleton of light.
A glass box would not be so brilliant, not so clearly visible, as a diamond box,
because there would be less refraction and reflection.
See that?
From certain points of view you would see quite clearly through it.
Some kinds of glass would be more visible than others, a box of flint glass would be
brighter than a box of ordinary window glass.
A box of very thin common glass would be hard to see in a bad light, because it
would absorb hardly any light and refract and reflect very little.
And if you put a sheet of common white glass in water, still more if you put it in
some denser liquid than water, it would vanish almost altogether, because light
passing from water to glass is only
slightly refracted or reflected or indeed affected in any way.
It is almost as invisible as a jet of coal gas or hydrogen is in air.
And for precisely the same reason!"
"Yes," said Kemp, "that is pretty plain sailing."
"And here is another fact you will know to be true.
If a sheet of glass is smashed, Kemp, and beaten into a powder, it becomes much more
visible while it is in the air; it becomes at last an opaque white powder.
This is because the powdering multiplies the surfaces of the glass at which
refraction and reflection occur.
In the sheet of glass there are only two surfaces; in the powder the light is
reflected or refracted by each grain it passes through, and very little gets right
through the powder.
But if the white powdered glass is put into water, it forthwith vanishes.
The powdered glass and water have much the same refractive index; that is, the light
undergoes very little refraction or reflection in passing from one to the
"You make the glass invisible by putting it into a liquid of nearly the same refractive
index; a transparent thing becomes invisible if it is put in any medium of
almost the same refractive index.
And if you will consider only a second, you will see also that the powder of glass
might be made to vanish in air, if its refractive index could be made the same as
that of air; for then there would be no
refraction or reflection as the light passed from glass to air."
"Yes, yes," said Kemp. "But a man's not powdered glass!"
"No," said Griffin.
"He's more transparent!" "Nonsense!"
"That from a doctor! How one forgets!
Have you already forgotten your physics, in ten years?
Just think of all the things that are transparent and seem not to be so.
Paper, for instance, is made up of transparent fibres, and it is white and
opaque only for the same reason that a powder of glass is white and opaque.
Oil white paper, fill up the interstices between the particles with oil so that
there is no longer refraction or reflection except at the surfaces, and it becomes as
transparent as glass.
And not only paper, but cotton fibre, linen fibre, wool fibre, woody fibre, and bone,
Kemp, flesh, Kemp, hair, Kemp, nails and nerves, Kemp, in fact the whole fabric of a
man except the red of his blood and the
black pigment of hair, are all made up of transparent, colourless tissue.
So little suffices to make us visible one to the other.
For the most part the fibres of a living creature are no more opaque than water."
"Great Heavens!" cried Kemp. "Of course, of course!
I was thinking only last night of the sea larvae and all jelly-fish!"
"Now you have me! And all that I knew and had in mind a year
after I left London--six years ago.
But I kept it to myself. I had to do my work under frightful
Oliver, my professor, was a scientific bounder, a journalist by instinct, a thief
of ideas--he was always prying! And you know the knavish system of the
scientific world.
I simply would not publish, and let him share my credit.
I went on working; I got nearer and nearer making my formula into an experiment, a
I told no living soul, because I meant to flash my work upon the world with crushing
effect and become famous at a blow. I took up the question of pigments to fill
up certain gaps.
And suddenly, not by design but by accident, I made a discovery in
physiology." "Yes?"
"You know the red colouring matter of blood; it can be made white--colourless--
and remain with all the functions it has now!"
Kemp gave a cry of incredulous amazement.
The Invisible Man rose and began pacing the little study.
"You may well exclaim. I remember that night.
It was late at night--in the daytime one was bothered with the gaping, silly
students--and I worked then sometimes till dawn.
It came suddenly, splendid and complete in my mind.
I was alone; the laboratory was still, with the tall lights burning brightly and
In all my great moments I have been alone. 'One could make an animal--a tissue--
transparent! One could make it invisible!
All except the pigments--I could be invisible!'
I said, suddenly realising what it meant to be an albino with such knowledge.
It was overwhelming.
I left the filtering I was doing, and went and stared out of the great window at the
stars. 'I could be invisible!'
I repeated.
"To do such a thing would be to transcend magic.
And I beheld, unclouded by doubt, a magnificent vision of all that invisibility
might mean to a man--the mystery, the power, the freedom.
Drawbacks I saw none.
You have only to think! And I, a shabby, poverty-struck, hemmed-in
demonstrator, teaching fools in a provincial college, might suddenly become--
I ask you, Kemp if you ... Anyone, I tell you, would have flung
himself upon that research.
And I worked three years, and every mountain of difficulty I toiled over showed
another from its summit. The infinite details!
And the exasperation!
A professor, a provincial professor, always prying.
'When are you going to publish this work of yours?' was his everlasting question.
And the students, the cramped means!
Three years I had of it-- "And after three years of secrecy and
exasperation, I found that to complete it was impossible--impossible."
"How?" asked Kemp.
"Money," said the Invisible Man, and went again to stare out of the window.
He turned around abruptly. "I robbed the old man--robbed my father.
"The money was not his, and he shot himself."
For a moment Kemp sat in silence, staring at the back of the headless figure at the
Then he started, struck by a thought, rose, took the Invisible Man's arm, and turned
him away from the outlook. "You are tired," he said, "and while I sit,
you walk about.
Have my chair." He placed himself between Griffin and the
nearest window. For a space Griffin sat silent, and then he
resumed abruptly:
"I had left the Chesilstowe cottage already," he said, "when that happened.
It was last December.
I had taken a room in London, a large unfurnished room in a big ill-managed
lodging-house in a slum near Great Portland Street.
The room was soon full of the appliances I had bought with his money; the work was
going on steadily, successfully, drawing near an end.
I was like a man emerging from a thicket, and suddenly coming on some unmeaning
tragedy. I went to bury him.
My mind was still on this research, and I did not lift a finger to save his
I remember the funeral, the cheap hearse, the scant ceremony, the windy frost-bitten
hillside, and the old college friend of his who read the service over him--a shabby,
black, bent old man with a snivelling cold.
"I remember walking back to the empty house, through the place that had once been
a village and was now patched and tinkered by the jerry builders into the ugly
likeness of a town.
Every way the roads ran out at last into the desecrated fields and ended in rubble
heaps and rank wet weeds.
I remember myself as a gaunt black figure, going along the slippery, shiny pavement,
and the strange sense of detachment I felt from the squalid respectability, the sordid
commercialism of the place.
"I did not feel a bit sorry for my father. He seemed to me to be the victim of his own
foolish sentimentality.
The current cant required my attendance at his funeral, but it was really not my
"But going along the High Street, my old life came back to me for a space, for I met
the girl I had known ten years since. Our eyes met.
"Something moved me to turn back and talk to her.
She was a very ordinary person. "It was all like a dream, that visit to the
old places.
I did not feel then that I was lonely, that I had come out from the world into a
desolate place.
I appreciated my loss of sympathy, but I put it down to the general inanity of
things. Re-entering my room seemed like the
recovery of reality.
There were the things I knew and loved. There stood the apparatus, the experiments
arranged and waiting. And now there was scarcely a difficulty
left, beyond the planning of details.
"I will tell you, Kemp, sooner or later, all the complicated processes.
We need not go into that now.
For the most part, saving certain gaps I chose to remember, they are written in
cypher in those books that tramp has hidden.
We must hunt him down.
We must get those books again.
But the essential phase was to place the transparent object whose refractive index
was to be lowered between two radiating centres of a sort of ethereal vibration, of
which I will tell you more fully later.
No, not those Roentgen vibrations--I don't know that these others of mine have been
described. Yet they are obvious enough.
I needed two little dynamos, and these I worked with a cheap gas engine.
My first experiment was with a bit of white wool fabric.
It was the strangest thing in the world to see it in the flicker of the flashes soft
and white, and then to watch it fade like a wreath of smoke and vanish.
"I could scarcely believe I had done it.
I put my hand into the emptiness, and there was the thing as solid as ever.
I felt it awkwardly, and threw it on the floor.
I had a little trouble finding it again.
"And then came a curious experience. I heard a miaow behind me, and turning, saw
a lean white cat, very dirty, on the cistern cover outside the window.
A thought came into my head.
'Everything ready for you,' I said, and went to the window, opened it, and called
softly. She came in, purring--the poor beast was
starving--and I gave her some milk.
All my food was in a cupboard in the corner of the room.
After that she went smelling round the room, evidently with the idea of making
herself at home.
The invisible rag upset her a bit; you should have seen her spit at it!
But I made her comfortable on the pillow of my truckle-bed.
And I gave her butter to get her to wash."
"And you processed her?" "I processed her.
But giving drugs to a cat is no joke, Kemp! And the process failed."
"In two particulars. These were the claws and the pigment stuff,
what is it?--at the back of the eye in a cat.
You know?"
"Tapetum." "Yes, the tapetum.
It didn't go.
After I'd given the stuff to bleach the blood and done certain other things to her,
I gave the beast opium, and put her and the pillow she was sleeping on, on the
And after all the rest had faded and vanished, there remained two little ghosts
of her eyes." "Odd!"
"I can't explain it.
She was bandaged and clamped, of course--so I had her safe; but she woke while she was
still misty, and miaowed dismally, and someone came knocking.
It was an old woman from downstairs, who suspected me of vivisecting--a drink-sodden
old creature, with only a white cat to care for in all the world.
I whipped out some chloroform, applied it, and answered the door.
'Did I hear a cat?' she asked. 'My cat?'
'Not here,' said I, very politely.
She was a little doubtful and tried to peer past me into the room; strange enough to
her no doubt--bare walls, uncurtained windows, truckle-bed, with the gas engine
vibrating, and the seethe of the radiant
points, and that faint ghastly stinging of chloroform in the air.
She had to be satisfied at last and went away again."
"How long did it take?" asked Kemp.
"Three or four hours--the cat. The bones and sinews and the fat were the
last to go, and the tips of the coloured hairs.
And, as I say, the back part of the eye, tough, iridescent stuff it is, wouldn't go
at all.
"It was night outside long before the business was over, and nothing was to be
seen but the dim eyes and the claws.
I stopped the gas engine, felt for and stroked the beast, which was still
insensible, and then, being tired, left it sleeping on the invisible pillow and went
to bed.
I found it hard to sleep.
I lay awake thinking weak aimless stuff, going over the experiment over and over
again, or dreaming feverishly of things growing misty and vanishing about me, until
everything, the ground I stood on,
vanished, and so I came to that sickly falling nightmare one gets.
About two, the cat began miaowing about the room.
I tried to hush it by talking to it, and then I decided to turn it out.
I remember the shock I had when striking a light--there were just the round eyes
shining green--and nothing round them.
I would have given it milk, but I hadn't any.
It wouldn't be quiet, it just sat down and miaowed at the door.
I tried to catch it, with an idea of putting it out of the window, but it
wouldn't be caught, it vanished. Then it began miaowing in different parts
of the room.
At last I opened the window and made a bustle.
I suppose it went out at last. I never saw any more of it.
"Then--Heaven knows why--I fell thinking of my father's funeral again, and the dismal
windy hillside, until the day had come.
I found sleeping was hopeless, and, locking my door after me, wandered out into the
morning streets." "You don't mean to say there's an invisible
cat at large!" said Kemp.
"If it hasn't been killed," said the Invisible Man.
"Why not?" "Why not?" said Kemp.
"I didn't mean to interrupt."
"It's very probably been killed," said the Invisible Man.
"It was alive four days after, I know, and down a grating in Great Titchfield Street;
because I saw a crowd round the place, trying to see whence the miaowing came."
He was silent for the best part of a minute.
Then he resumed abruptly: "I remember that morning before the change
very vividly.
I must have gone up Great Portland Street. I remember the barracks in Albany Street,
and the horse soldiers coming out, and at last I found the summit of Primrose Hill.
It was a sunny day in January--one of those sunny, frosty days that came before the
snow this year. My weary brain tried to formulate the
position, to plot out a plan of action.
"I was surprised to find, now that my prize was within my grasp, how inconclusive its
attainment seemed.
As a matter of fact I was worked out; the intense stress of nearly four years'
continuous work left me incapable of any strength of feeling.
I was apathetic, and I tried in vain to recover the enthusiasm of my first
inquiries, the passion of discovery that had enabled me to compass even the downfall
of my father's grey hairs.
Nothing seemed to matter. I saw pretty clearly this was a transient
mood, due to overwork and want of sleep, and that either by drugs or rest it would
be possible to recover my energies.
"All I could think clearly was that the thing had to be carried through; the fixed
idea still ruled me. And soon, for the money I had was almost
I looked about me at the hillside, with children playing and girls watching them,
and tried to think of all the fantastic advantages an invisible man would have in
the world.
After a time I crawled home, took some food and a strong dose of strychnine, and went
to sleep in my clothes on my unmade bed. Strychnine is a grand tonic, Kemp, to take
the flabbiness out of a man."
"It's the devil," said Kemp. "It's the palaeolithic in a bottle."
"I awoke vastly invigorated and rather irritable.
You know?"
"I know the stuff." "And there was someone rapping at the door.
It was my landlord with threats and inquiries, an old Polish Jew in a long grey
coat and greasy slippers.
I had been tormenting a cat in the night, he was sure--the old woman's tongue had
been busy. He insisted on knowing all about it.
The laws in this country against vivisection were very severe--he might be
liable. I denied the cat.
Then the vibration of the little gas engine could be felt all over the house, he said.
That was true, certainly.
He edged round me into the room, peering about over his German-silver spectacles,
and a sudden dread came into my mind that he might carry away something of my secret.
I tried to keep between him and the concentrating apparatus I had arranged, and
that only made him more curious. What was I doing?
Why was I always alone and secretive?
Was it legal? Was it dangerous?
I paid nothing but the usual rent. His had always been a most respectable
house--in a disreputable neighbourhood.
Suddenly my temper gave way. I told him to get out.
He began to protest, to jabber of his right of entry.
In a moment I had him by the collar; something ripped, and he went spinning out
into his own passage. I slammed and locked the door and sat down
"He made a fuss outside, which I disregarded, and after a time he went away.
"But this brought matters to a crisis. I did not know what he would do, nor even
what he had the power to do.
To move to fresh apartments would have meant delay; altogether I had barely twenty
pounds left in the world, for the most part in a bank--and I could not afford that.
It was irresistible. Then there would be an inquiry, the sacking
of my room.
"At the thought of the possibility of my work being exposed or interrupted at its
very climax, I became very angry and active.
I hurried out with my three books of notes, my cheque-book--the tramp has them now--and
directed them from the nearest Post Office to a house of call for letters and parcels
in Great Portland Street.
I tried to go out noiselessly. Coming in, I found my landlord going
quietly upstairs; he had heard the door close, I suppose.
You would have laughed to see him jump aside on the landing as I came tearing
after him.
He glared at me as I went by him, and I made the house quiver with the slamming of
my door. I heard him come shuffling up to my floor,
hesitate, and go down.
I set to work upon my preparations forthwith.
"It was all done that evening and night.
While I was still sitting under the sickly, drowsy influence of the drugs that
decolourise blood, there came a repeated knocking at the door.
It ceased, footsteps went away and returned, and the knocking was resumed.
There was an attempt to push something under the door--a blue paper.
Then in a fit of irritation I rose and went and flung the door wide open.
'Now then?' said I. "It was my landlord, with a notice of
ejectment or something.
He held it out to me, saw something odd about my hands, I expect, and lifted his
eyes to my face. "For a moment he gaped.
Then he gave a sort of inarticulate cry, dropped candle and writ together, and went
blundering down the dark passage to the stairs.
I shut the door, locked it, and went to the looking-glass.
Then I understood his terror.... My face was white--like white stone.
"But it was all horrible.
I had not expected the suffering. A night of racking anguish, sickness and
I set my teeth, though my skin was presently afire, all my body afire; but I
lay there like grim death. I understood now how it was the cat had
howled until I chloroformed it.
Lucky it was I lived alone and untended in my room.
There were times when I sobbed and groaned and talked.
But I stuck to it....
I became insensible and woke languid in the darkness.
"The pain had passed. I thought I was killing myself and I did
not care.
I shall never forget that dawn, and the strange horror of seeing that my hands had
become as clouded glass, and watching them grow clearer and thinner as the day went
by, until at last I could see the sickly
disorder of my room through them, though I closed my transparent eyelids.
My limbs became glassy, the bones and arteries faded, vanished, and the little
white nerves went last.
I gritted my teeth and stayed there to the end.
At last only the dead tips of the fingernails remained, pallid and white, and
the brown stain of some acid upon my fingers.
"I struggled up.
At first I was as incapable as a swathed infant--stepping with limbs I could not
see. I was weak and very hungry.
I went and stared at nothing in my shaving- glass, at nothing save where an attenuated
pigment still remained behind the retina of my eyes, fainter than mist.
I had to hang on to the table and press my forehead against the glass.
"It was only by a frantic effort of will that I dragged myself back to the apparatus
and completed the process.
"I slept during the forenoon, pulling the sheet over my eyes to shut out the light,
and about midday I was awakened again by a knocking.
My strength had returned.
I sat up and listened and heard a whispering.
I sprang to my feet and as noiselessly as possible began to detach the connections of
my apparatus, and to distribute it about the room, so as to destroy the suggestions
of its arrangement.
Presently the knocking was renewed and voices called, first my landlord's, and
then two others. To gain time I answered them.
The invisible rag and pillow came to hand and I opened the window and pitched them
out on to the cistern cover. As the window opened, a heavy crash came at
the door.
Someone had charged it with the idea of smashing the lock.
But the stout bolts I had screwed up some days before stopped him.
That startled me, made me angry.
I began to tremble and do things hurriedly. "I tossed together some loose paper, straw,
packing paper and so forth, in the middle of the room, and turned on the gas.
Heavy blows began to rain upon the door.
I could not find the matches. I beat my hands on the wall with rage.
I turned down the gas again, stepped out of the window on the cistern cover, very
softly lowered the sash, and sat down, secure and invisible, but quivering with
anger, to watch events.
They split a panel, I saw, and in another moment they had broken away the staples of
the bolts and stood in the open doorway.
It was the landlord and his two step-sons, sturdy young men of three or four and
twenty. Behind them fluttered the old hag of a
woman from downstairs.
"You may imagine their astonishment to find the room empty.
One of the younger men rushed to the window at once, flung it up and stared out.
His staring eyes and thick-lipped bearded face came a foot from my face.
I was half minded to hit his silly countenance, but I arrested my doubled
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
They had to argue about it at length in Yiddish and Cockney English.
They concluded I had not answered them, that their imagination had deceived them.
A feeling of extraordinary elation took the place of my anger as I sat outside the
window and watched these four people--for the old lady came in, glancing suspiciously
about her like a cat, trying to understand the riddle of my behaviour.
"The old man, so far as I could understand his patois, agreed with the old lady that I
was a vivisectionist.
The sons protested in garbled English that I was an electrician, and appealed to the
dynamos and radiators.
They were all nervous about my arrival, although I found subsequently that they had
bolted the front door.
The old lady peered into the cupboard and under the bed, and one of the young men
pushed up the register and stared up the chimney.
One of my fellow lodgers, a coster-monger who shared the opposite room with a
butcher, appeared on the landing, and he was called in and told incoherent things.
"It occurred to me that the radiators, if they fell into the hands of some acute
well-educated person, would give me away too much, and watching my opportunity, I
came into the room and tilted one of the
little dynamos off its fellow on which it was standing, and smashed both apparatus.
Then, while they were trying to explain the smash, I dodged out of the room and went
softly downstairs.
"I went into one of the sitting-rooms and waited until they came down, still
speculating and argumentative, all a little disappointed at finding no 'horrors,' and
all a little puzzled how they stood legally towards me.
Then I slipped up again with a box of matches, fired my heap of paper and
rubbish, put the chairs and bedding thereby, led the gas to the affair, by
means of an india-rubber tube, and waving a
farewell to the room left it for the last time."
"You fired the house!" exclaimed Kemp. "Fired the house.
It was the only way to cover my trail--and no doubt it was insured.
I slipped the bolts of the front door quietly and went out into the street.
I was invisible, and I was only just beginning to realise the extraordinary
advantage my invisibility gave me.
My head was already teeming with plans of all the wild and wonderful things I had now
impunity to do."
"In going downstairs the first time I found an unexpected difficulty because I could
not see my feet; indeed I stumbled twice, and there was an unaccustomed clumsiness in
gripping the bolt.
By not looking down, however, I managed to walk on the level passably well.
"My mood, I say, was one of exaltation.
I felt as a seeing man might do, with padded feet and noiseless clothes, in a
city of the blind.
I experienced a wild impulse to jest, to startle people, to clap men on the back,
fling people's hats astray, and generally revel in my extraordinary advantage.
"But hardly had I emerged upon Great Portland Street, however (my lodging was
close to the big draper's shop there), when I heard a clashing concussion and was hit
violently behind, and turning saw a man
carrying a basket of soda-water syphons, and looking in amazement at his burden.
Although the blow had really hurt me, I found something so irresistible in his
astonishment that I laughed aloud.
'The devil's in the basket,' I said, and suddenly twisted it out of his hand.
He let go incontinently, and I swung the whole weight into the air.
"But a fool of a cabman, standing outside a public house, made a sudden rush for this,
and his extending fingers took me with excruciating violence under the ear.
I let the whole down with a smash on the cabman, and then, with shouts and the
clatter of feet about me, people coming out of shops, vehicles pulling up, I realised
what I had done for myself, and cursing my
folly, backed against a shop window and prepared to dodge out of the confusion.
In a moment I should be wedged into a crowd and inevitably discovered.
I pushed by a butcher boy, who luckily did not turn to see the nothingness that shoved
him aside, and dodged behind the cab-man's four-wheeler.
I do not know how they settled the business, I hurried straight across the
road, which was happily clear, and hardly heeding which way I went, in the fright of
detection the incident had given me,
plunged into the afternoon throng of Oxford Street.
"I tried to get into the stream of people, but they were too thick for me, and in a
moment my heels were being trodden upon.
I took to the gutter, the roughness of which I found painful to my feet, and
forthwith the shaft of a crawling hansom dug me forcibly under the shoulder blade,
reminding me that I was already bruised severely.
I staggered out of the way of the cab, avoided a perambulator by a convulsive
movement, and found myself behind the hansom.
A happy thought saved me, and as this drove slowly along I followed in its immediate
wake, trembling and astonished at the turn of my adventure.
And not only trembling, but shivering.
It was a bright day in January and I was stark naked and the thin slime of mud that
covered the road was freezing.
Foolish as it seems to me now, I had not reckoned that, transparent or not, I was
still amenable to the weather and all its consequences.
"Then suddenly a bright idea came into my head.
I ran round and got into the cab.
And so, shivering, scared, and sniffing with the first intimations of a cold, and
with the bruises in the small of my back growing upon my attention, I drove slowly
along Oxford Street and past Tottenham Court Road.
My mood was as different from that in which I had sallied forth ten minutes ago as it
is possible to imagine.
This invisibility indeed! The one thought that possessed me was--how
was I to get out of the scrape I was in.
"We crawled past Mudie's, and there a tall woman with five or six yellow-labelled
books hailed my cab, and I sprang out just in time to escape her, shaving a railway
van narrowly in my flight.
I made off up the roadway to Bloomsbury Square, intending to strike north past the
Museum and so get into the quiet district.
I was now cruelly chilled, and the strangeness of my situation so unnerved me
that I whimpered as I ran.
At the northward corner of the Square a little white dog ran out of the
Pharmaceutical Society's offices, and incontinently made for me, nose down.
"I had never realised it before, but the nose is to the mind of a dog what the eye
is to the mind of a seeing man. Dogs perceive the scent of a man moving as
men perceive his vision.
This brute began barking and leaping, showing, as it seemed to me, only too
plainly that he was aware of me.
I crossed Great Russell Street, glancing over my shoulder as I did so, and went some
way along Montague Street before I realised what I was running towards.
"Then I became aware of a blare of music, and looking along the street saw a number
of people advancing out of Russell Square, red shirts, and the banner of the Salvation
Army to the fore.
Such a crowd, chanting in the roadway and scoffing on the pavement, I could not hope
to penetrate, and dreading to go back and farther from home again, and deciding on
the spur of the moment, I ran up the white
steps of a house facing the museum railings, and stood there until the crowd
should have passed.
Happily the dog stopped at the noise of the band too, hesitated, and turned tail,
running back to Bloomsbury Square again.
"On came the band, bawling with unconscious irony some hymn about 'When shall we see
His face?' and it seemed an interminable time to me before the tide of the crowd
washed along the pavement by me.
Thud, thud, thud, came the drum with a vibrating resonance, and for the moment I
did not notice two urchins stopping at the railings by me.
'See 'em,' said one.
'See what?' said the other. 'Why--them footmarks--bare.
Like what you makes in mud.'
"I looked down and saw the youngsters had stopped and were gaping at the muddy
footmarks I had left behind me up the newly whitened steps.
The passing people elbowed and jostled them, but their confounded intelligence was
arrested. 'Thud, thud, thud, when, thud, shall we
see, thud, his face, thud, thud.'
'There's a barefoot man gone up them steps, or I don't know nothing,' said one.
'And he ain't never come down again. And his foot was a-bleeding.'
"The thick of the crowd had already passed.
'Looky there, Ted,' quoth the younger of the detectives, with the sharpness of
surprise in his voice, and pointed straight to my feet.
I looked down and saw at once the dim suggestion of their outline sketched in
splashes of mud. For a moment I was paralysed.
"'Why, that's rum,' said the elder.
'Dashed rum! It's just like the ghost of a foot, ain't
it?' He hesitated and advanced with outstretched
A man pulled up short to see what he was catching, and then a girl.
In another moment he would have touched me. Then I saw what to do.
I made a step, the boy started back with an exclamation, and with a rapid movement I
swung myself over into the portico of the next house.
But the smaller boy was sharp-eyed enough to follow the movement, and before I was
well down the steps and upon the pavement, he had recovered from his momentary
astonishment and was shouting out that the feet had gone over the wall.
"They rushed round and saw my new footmarks flash into being on the lower step and upon
the pavement.
'What's up?' asked someone. 'Feet!
Look! Feet running!'
"Everybody in the road, except my three pursuers, was pouring along after the
Salvation Army, and this blow not only impeded me but them.
There was an eddy of surprise and interrogation.
At the cost of bowling over one young fellow I got through, and in another moment
I was rushing headlong round the circuit of Russell Square, with six or seven
astonished people following my footmarks.
There was no time for explanation, or else the whole host would have been after me.
"Twice I doubled round corners, thrice I crossed the road and came back upon my
tracks, and then, as my feet grew hot and dry, the damp impressions began to fade.
At last I had a breathing space and rubbed my feet clean with my hands, and so got
away altogether.
The last I saw of the chase was a little group of a dozen people perhaps, studying
with infinite perplexity a slowly drying footprint that had resulted from a puddle
in Tavistock Square, a footprint as
isolated and incomprehensible to them as Crusoe's solitary discovery.
"This running warmed me to a certain extent, and I went on with a better courage
through the maze of less frequented roads that runs hereabouts.
My back had now become very stiff and sore, my tonsils were painful from the cabman's
fingers, and the skin of my neck had been scratched by his nails; my feet hurt
exceedingly and I was lame from a little cut on one foot.
I saw in time a blind man approaching me, and fled limping, for I feared his subtle
Once or twice accidental collisions occurred and I left people amazed, with
unaccountable curses ringing in their ears.
Then came something silent and quiet against my face, and across the Square fell
a thin veil of slowly falling flakes of snow.
I had caught a cold, and do as I would I could not avoid an occasional sneeze.
And every dog that came in sight, with its pointing nose and curious sniffing, was a
terror to me.
"Then came men and boys running, first one and then others, and shouting as they ran.
It was a fire.
They ran in the direction of my lodging, and looking back down a street I saw a mass
of black smoke streaming up above the roofs and telephone wires.
It was my lodging burning; my clothes, my apparatus, all my resources indeed, except
my cheque-book and the three volumes of memoranda that awaited me in Great Portland
Street, were there.
Burning! I had burnt my boats--if ever a man did!
The place was blazing." The Invisible Man paused and thought.
Kemp glanced nervously out of the window.
"Yes?" he said. "Go on."
"So last January, with the beginning of a snowstorm in the air about me--and if it
settled on me it would betray me!--weary, cold, painful, inexpressibly wretched, and
still but half convinced of my invisible
quality, I began this new life to which I am committed.
I had no refuge, no appliances, no human being in the world in whom I could confide.
To have told my secret would have given me away--made a mere show and rarity of me.
Nevertheless, I was half-minded to accost some passer-by and throw myself upon his
But I knew too clearly the terror and brutal cruelty my advances would evoke.
I made no plans in the street.
My sole object was to get shelter from the snow, to get myself covered and warm; then
I might hope to plan.
But even to me, an Invisible Man, the rows of London houses stood latched, barred, and
bolted impregnably.
"Only one thing could I see clearly before me--the cold exposure and misery of the
snowstorm and the night. "And then I had a brilliant idea.
I turned down one of the roads leading from Gower Street to Tottenham Court Road, and
found myself outside Omniums, the big establishment where everything is to be
bought--you know the place: meat, grocery,
linen, furniture, clothing, oil paintings even--a huge meandering collection of shops
rather than a shop.
I had thought I should find the doors open, but they were closed, and as I stood in the
wide entrance a carriage stopped outside, and a man in uniform--you know the kind of
personage with 'Omnium' on his cap--flung open the door.
I contrived to enter, and walking down the shop--it was a department where they were
selling ribbons and gloves and stockings and that kind of thing--came to a more
spacious region devoted to picnic baskets and wicker furniture.
"I did not feel safe there, however; people were going to and fro, and I prowled
restlessly about until I came upon a huge section in an upper floor containing
multitudes of bedsteads, and over these I
clambered, and found a resting-place at last among a huge pile of folded flock
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
That seemed an acceptable plan.
My idea was to procure clothing to make myself a muffled but acceptable figure, to
get money, and then to recover my books and parcels where they awaited me, take a
lodging somewhere and elaborate plans for
the complete realisation of the advantages my invisibility gave me (as I still
imagined) over my fellow-men. "Closing time arrived quickly enough.
It could not have been more than an hour after I took up my position on the
mattresses before I noticed the blinds of the windows being drawn, and customers
being marched doorward.
And then a number of brisk young men began with remarkable alacrity to tidy up the
goods that remained disturbed.
I left my lair as the crowds diminished, and prowled cautiously out into the less
desolate parts of the shop.
I was really surprised to observe how rapidly the young men and women whipped
away the goods displayed for sale during the day.
All the boxes of goods, the hanging fabrics, the festoons of lace, the boxes of
sweets in the grocery section, the displays of this and that, were being whipped down,
folded up, slapped into tidy receptacles,
and everything that could not be taken down and put away had sheets of some coarse
stuff like sacking flung over them. Finally all the chairs were turned up on to
the counters, leaving the floor clear.
Directly each of these young people had done, he or she made promptly for the door
with such an expression of animation as I have rarely observed in a shop assistant
Then came a lot of youngsters scattering sawdust and carrying pails and brooms.
I had to dodge to get out of the way, and as it was, my ankle got stung with the
For some time, wandering through the swathed and darkened departments, I could
hear the brooms at work.
And at last a good hour or more after the shop had been closed, came a noise of
locking doors.
Silence came upon the place, and I found myself wandering through the vast and
intricate shops, galleries, show-rooms of the place, alone.
It was very still; in one place I remember passing near one of the Tottenham Court
Road entrances and listening to the tapping of boot-heels of the passers-by.
"My first visit was to the place where I had seen stockings and gloves for sale.
It was dark, and I had the devil of a hunt after matches, which I found at last in the
drawer of the little cash desk.
Then I had to get a candle.
I had to tear down wrappings and ransack a number of boxes and drawers, but at last I
managed to turn out what I sought; the box label called them lambswool pants, and
lambswool vests.
Then socks, a thick comforter, and then I went to the clothing place and got
trousers, a lounge jacket, an overcoat and a slouch hat--a clerical sort of hat with
the brim turned down.
I began to feel a human being again, and my next thought was food.
"Upstairs was a refreshment department, and there I got cold meat.
There was coffee still in the urn, and I lit the gas and warmed it up again, and
altogether I did not do badly.
Afterwards, prowling through the place in search of blankets--I had to put up at last
with a heap of down quilts--I came upon a grocery section with a lot of chocolate and
candied fruits, more than was good for me indeed--and some white burgundy.
And near that was a toy department, and I had a brilliant idea.
I found some artificial noses--dummy noses, you know, and I thought of dark spectacles.
But Omniums had no optical department. My nose had been a difficulty indeed--I had
thought of paint.
But the discovery set my mind running on wigs and masks and the like.
Finally I went to sleep in a heap of down quilts, very warm and comfortable.
"My last thoughts before sleeping were the most agreeable I had had since the change.
I was in a state of physical serenity, and that was reflected in my mind.
I thought that I should be able to slip out unobserved in the morning with my clothes
upon me, muffling my face with a white wrapper I had taken, purchase, with the
money I had taken, spectacles and so forth, and so complete my disguise.
I lapsed into disorderly dreams of all the fantastic things that had happened during
the last few days.
I saw the ugly little Jew of a landlord vociferating in his rooms; I saw his two
sons marvelling, and the wrinkled old woman's gnarled face as she asked for her
I experienced again the strange sensation of seeing the cloth disappear, and so I
came round to the windy hillside and the sniffing old clergyman mumbling 'Earth to
earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,' at my father's open grave.
"'You also,' said a voice, and suddenly I was being forced towards the grave.
I struggled, shouted, appealed to the mourners, but they continued stonily
following the service; the old clergyman, too, never faltered droning and sniffing
through the ritual.
I realised I was invisible and inaudible, that overwhelming forces had their grip on
I struggled in vain, I was forced over the brink, the coffin rang hollow as I fell
upon it, and the gravel came flying after me in spadefuls.
Nobody heeded me, nobody was aware of me.
I made convulsive struggles and awoke. "The pale London dawn had come, the place
was full of a chilly grey light that filtered round the edges of the window
I sat up, and for a time I could not think where this ample apartment, with its
counters, its piles of rolled stuff, its heap of quilts and cushions, its iron
pillars, might be.
Then, as recollection came back to me, I heard voices in conversation.
"Then far down the place, in the brighter light of some department which had already
raised its blinds, I saw two men approaching.
I scrambled to my feet, looking about me for some way of escape, and even as I did
so the sound of my movement made them aware of me.
I suppose they saw merely a figure moving quietly and quickly away.
'Who's that?' cried one, and 'Stop there!' shouted the other.
I dashed around a corner and came full tilt--a faceless figure, mind you!--on a
lanky lad of fifteen.
He yelled and I bowled him over, rushed past him, turned another corner, and by a
happy inspiration threw myself behind a counter.
In another moment feet went running past and I heard voices shouting, 'All hands to
the doors!' asking what was 'up,' and giving one another advice how to catch me.
"Lying on the ground, I felt scared out of my wits.
But--odd as it may seem--it did not occur to me at the moment to take off my clothes
as I should have done.
I had made up my mind, I suppose, to get away in them, and that ruled me.
And then down the vista of the counters came a bawling of 'Here he is!'
"I sprang to my feet, whipped a chair off the counter, and sent it whirling at the
fool who had shouted, turned, came into another round a corner, sent him spinning,
and rushed up the stairs.
He kept his footing, gave a view hallo, and came up the staircase hot after me.
Up the staircase were piled a multitude of those bright-coloured pot things--what are
"Art pots," suggested Kemp. "That's it!
Art pots.
Well, I turned at the top step and swung round, plucked one out of a pile and
smashed it on his silly head as he came at me.
The whole pile of pots went headlong, and I heard shouting and footsteps running from
all parts.
I made a mad rush for the refreshment place, and there was a man in white like a
man cook, who took up the chase. I made one last desperate turn and found
myself among lamps and ironmongery.
I went behind the counter of this, and waited for my cook, and as he bolted in at
the head of the chase, I doubled him up with a lamp.
Down he went, and I crouched down behind the counter and began whipping off my
clothes as fast as I could.
Coat, jacket, trousers, shoes were all right, but a lambswool vest fits a man like
a skin.
I heard more men coming, my cook was lying quiet on the other side of the counter,
stunned or scared speechless, and I had to make another dash for it, like a rabbit
hunted out of a wood-pile.
"'This way, policeman!' I heard someone shouting.
I found myself in my bedstead storeroom again, and at the end of a wilderness of
I rushed among them, went flat, got rid of my vest after infinite wriggling, and stood
a free man again, panting and scared, as the policeman and three of the shopmen came
round the corner.
They made a rush for the vest and pants, and collared the trousers.
'He's dropping his plunder,' said one of the young men.
'He must be somewhere here.'
"But they did not find me all the same. "I stood watching them hunt for me for a
time, and cursing my ill-luck in losing the clothes.
Then I went into the refreshment-room, drank a little milk I found there, and sat
down by the fire to consider my position.
"In a little while two assistants came in and began to talk over the business very
excitedly and like the fools they were.
I heard a magnified account of my depredations, and other speculations as to
my whereabouts. Then I fell to scheming again.
The insurmountable difficulty of the place, especially now it was alarmed, was to get
any plunder out of it.
I went down into the warehouse to see if there was any chance of packing and
addressing a parcel, but I could not understand the system of checking.
About eleven o'clock, the snow having thawed as it fell, and the day being finer
and a little warmer than the previous one, I decided that the Emporium was hopeless,
and went out again, exasperated at my want
of success, with only the vaguest plans of action in my mind."
"But you begin now to realise," said the Invisible Man, "the full disadvantage of my
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
Moreover, as I went abroad--in the London air--I gathered dirt about my ankles,
floating smuts and dust upon my skin.
I did not know how long it would be before I should become visible from that cause
also. But I saw clearly it could not be for long.
"Not in London at any rate.
"I went into the slums towards Great Portland Street, and found myself at the
end of the street in which I had lodged.
I did not go that way, because of the crowd halfway down it opposite to the still
smoking ruins of the house I had fired. My most immediate problem was to get
What to do with my face puzzled me. Then I saw in one of those little
miscellaneous shops--news, sweets, toys, stationery, belated Christmas tomfoolery,
and so forth--an array of masks and noses.
I realised that problem was solved. In a flash I saw my course.
I turned about, no longer aimless, and went--circuitously in order to avoid the
busy ways, towards the back streets north of the Strand; for I remembered, though not
very distinctly where, that some theatrical costumiers had shops in that district.
"The day was cold, with a nipping wind down the northward running streets.
I walked fast to avoid being overtaken.
Every crossing was a danger, every passenger a thing to watch alertly.
One man as I was about to pass him at the top of Bedford Street, turned upon me
abruptly and came into me, sending me into the road and almost under the wheel of a
passing hansom.
The verdict of the cab-rank was that he had had some sort of stroke.
I was so unnerved by this encounter that I went into Covent Garden Market and sat down
for some time in a quiet corner by a stall of violets, panting and trembling.
I found I had caught a fresh cold, and had to turn out after a time lest my sneezes
should attract attention.
"At last I reached the object of my quest, a dirty, fly-blown little shop in a by-way
near Drury Lane, with a window full of tinsel robes, sham jewels, wigs, slippers,
dominoes and theatrical photographs.
The shop was old-fashioned and low and dark, and the house rose above it for four
storeys, dark and dismal. I peered through the window and, seeing no
one within, entered.
The opening of the door set a clanking bell ringing.
I left it open, and walked round a bare costume stand, into a corner behind a
cheval glass.
For a minute or so no one came. Then I heard heavy feet striding across a
room, and a man appeared down the shop. "My plans were now perfectly definite.
I proposed to make my way into the house, secrete myself upstairs, watch my
opportunity, and when everything was quiet, rummage out a wig, mask, spectacles, and
costume, and go into the world, perhaps a grotesque but still a credible figure.
And incidentally of course I could rob the house of any available money.
"The man who had just entered the shop was a short, slight, hunched, beetle-browed
man, with long arms and very short bandy legs.
Apparently I had interrupted a meal.
He stared about the shop with an expression of expectation.
This gave way to surprise, and then to anger, as he saw the shop empty.
'Damn the boys!' he said.
He went to stare up and down the street. He came in again in a minute, kicked the
door to with his foot spitefully, and went muttering back to the house door.
"I came forward to follow him, and at the noise of my movement he stopped dead.
I did so too, startled by his quickness of ear.
He slammed the house door in my face.
"I stood hesitating. Suddenly I heard his quick footsteps
returning, and the door reopened. He stood looking about the shop like one
who was still not satisfied.
Then, murmuring to himself, he examined the back of the counter and peered behind some
fixtures. Then he stood doubtful.
He had left the house door open and I slipped into the inner room.
"It was a queer little room, poorly furnished and with a number of big masks in
the corner.
On the table was his belated breakfast, and it was a confoundedly exasperating thing
for me, Kemp, to have to sniff his coffee and stand watching while he came in and
resumed his meal.
And his table manners were irritating. Three doors opened into the little room,
one going upstairs and one down, but they were all shut.
I could not get out of the room while he was there; I could scarcely move because of
his alertness, and there was a draught down my back.
Twice I strangled a sneeze just in time.
"The spectacular quality of my sensations was curious and novel, but for all that I
was heartily tired and angry long before he had done his eating.
But at last he made an end and putting his beggarly crockery on the black tin tray
upon which he had had his teapot, and gathering all the crumbs up on the mustard
stained cloth, he took the whole lot of things after him.
His burden prevented his shutting the door behind him--as he would have done; I never
saw such a man for shutting doors--and I followed him into a very dirty underground
kitchen and scullery.
I had the pleasure of seeing him begin to wash up, and then, finding no good in
keeping down there, and the brick floor being cold on my feet, I returned upstairs
and sat in his chair by the fire.
It was burning low, and scarcely thinking, I put on a little coal.
The noise of this brought him up at once, and he stood aglare.
He peered about the room and was within an ace of touching me.
Even after that examination, he scarcely seemed satisfied.
He stopped in the doorway and took a final inspection before he went down.
"I waited in the little parlour for an age, and at last he came up and opened the
upstairs door.
I just managed to get by him. "On the staircase he stopped suddenly, so
that I very nearly blundered into him. He stood looking back right into my face
and listening.
'I could have sworn,' he said. His long hairy hand pulled at his lower
lip. His eye went up and down the staircase.
Then he grunted and went on up again.
"His hand was on the handle of a door, and then he stopped again with the same puzzled
anger on his face. He was becoming aware of the faint sounds
of my movements about him.
The man must have had diabolically acute hearing.
He suddenly flashed into rage.
'If there's anyone in this house--' he cried with an oath, and left the threat
He put his hand in his pocket, failed to find what he wanted, and rushing past me
went blundering noisily and pugnaciously downstairs.
But I did not follow him.
I sat on the head of the staircase until his return.
"Presently he came up again, still muttering.
He opened the door of the room, and before I could enter, slammed it in my face.
"I resolved to explore the house, and spent some time in doing so as noiselessly as
The house was very old and tumble-down, damp so that the paper in the attics was
peeling from the walls, and rat infested. Some of the door handles were stiff and I
was afraid to turn them.
Several rooms I did inspect were unfurnished, and others were littered with
theatrical lumber, bought second-hand, I judged, from its appearance.
In one room next to his I found a lot of old clothes.
I began routing among these, and in my eagerness forgot again the evident
sharpness of his ears.
I heard a stealthy footstep and, looking up just in time, saw him peering in at the
tumbled heap and holding an old-fashioned revolver in his hand.
I stood perfectly still while he stared about open-mouthed and suspicious.
'It must have been her,' he said slowly. 'Damn her!'
"He shut the door quietly, and immediately I heard the key turn in the lock.
Then his footsteps retreated. I realised abruptly that I was locked in.
For a minute I did not know what to do.
I walked from door to window and back, and stood perplexed.
A gust of anger came upon me.
But I decided to inspect the clothes before I did anything further, and my first
attempt brought down a pile from an upper shelf.
This brought him back, more sinister than ever.
That time he actually touched me, jumped back with amazement and stood astonished in
the middle of the room.
"Presently he calmed a little. 'Rats,' he said in an undertone, fingers on
lips. He was evidently a little scared.
I edged quietly out of the room, but a plank creaked.
Then the infernal little brute started going all over the house, revolver in hand
and locking door after door and pocketing the keys.
When I realised what he was up to I had a fit of rage--I could hardly control myself
sufficiently to watch my opportunity.
By this time I knew he was alone in the house, and so I made no more ado, but
knocked him on the head." "Knocked him on the head?" exclaimed Kemp.
"Yes--stunned him--as he was going downstairs.
Hit him from behind with a stool that stood on the landing.
He went downstairs like a bag of old boots."
"But--I say! The common conventions of humanity--"
"Are all very well for common people.
But the point was, Kemp, that I had to get out of that house in a disguise without his
seeing me. I couldn't think of any other way of doing
And then I gagged him with a Louis Quatorze vest and tied him up in a sheet."
"Tied him up in a sheet!" "Made a sort of bag of it.
It was rather a good idea to keep the idiot scared and quiet, and a devilish hard thing
to get out of--head away from the string. My dear Kemp, it's no good your sitting
glaring as though I was a murderer.
It had to be done. He had his revolver.
If once he saw me he would be able to describe me--"
"But still," said Kemp, "in England--to- day.
And the man was in his own house, and you were--well, robbing."
Confound it! You'll call me a thief next!
Surely, Kemp, you're not fool enough to dance on the old strings.
Can't you see my position?"
"And his too," said Kemp. The Invisible Man stood up sharply.
"What do you mean to say?" Kemp's face grew a trifle hard.
He was about to speak and checked himself.
"I suppose, after all," he said with a sudden change of manner, "the thing had to
be done. You were in a fix.
But still--"
"Of course I was in a fix--an infernal fix. And he made me wild too--hunting me about
the house, fooling about with his revolver, locking and unlocking doors.
He was simply exasperating.
You don't blame me, do you? You don't blame me?"
"I never blame anyone," said Kemp. "It's quite out of fashion.
What did you do next?"
"I was hungry. Downstairs I found a loaf and some rank
cheese--more than sufficient to satisfy my hunger.
I took some brandy and water, and then went up past my impromptu bag--he was lying
quite still--to the room containing the old clothes.
This looked out upon the street, two lace curtains brown with dirt guarding the
window. I went and peered out through their
Outside the day was bright--by contrast with the brown shadows of the dismal house
in which I found myself, dazzlingly bright.
A brisk traffic was going by, fruit carts, a hansom, a four-wheeler with a pile of
boxes, a fishmonger's cart.
I turned with spots of colour swimming before my eyes to the shadowy fixtures
behind me. My excitement was giving place to a clear
apprehension of my position again.
The room was full of a faint scent of benzoline, used, I suppose, in cleaning the
garments. "I began a systematic search of the place.
I should judge the hunchback had been alone in the house for some time.
He was a curious person.
Everything that could possibly be of service to me I collected in the clothes
storeroom, and then I made a deliberate selection.
I found a handbag I thought a suitable possession, and some powder, rouge, and
"I had thought of painting and powdering my face and all that there was to show of me,
in order to render myself visible, but the disadvantage of this lay in the fact that I
should require turpentine and other
appliances and a considerable amount of time before I could vanish again.
Finally I chose a mask of the better type, slightly grotesque but not more so than
many human beings, dark glasses, greyish whiskers, and a wig.
I could find no underclothing, but that I could buy subsequently, and for the time I
swathed myself in calico dominoes and some white cashmere scarfs.
I could find no socks, but the hunchback's boots were rather a loose fit and sufficed.
In a desk in the shop were three sovereigns and about thirty shillings' worth of
silver, and in a locked cupboard I burst in the inner room were eight pounds in gold.
I could go forth into the world again, equipped.
"Then came a curious hesitation. Was my appearance really credible?
I tried myself with a little bedroom looking-glass, inspecting myself from every
point of view to discover any forgotten chink, but it all seemed sound.
I was grotesque to the theatrical pitch, a stage miser, but I was certainly not a
physical impossibility.
Gathering confidence, I took my looking- glass down into the shop, pulled down the
shop blinds, and surveyed myself from every point of view with the help of the cheval
glass in the corner.
"I spent some minutes screwing up my courage and then unlocked the shop door and
marched out into the street, leaving the little man to get out of his sheet again
when he liked.
In five minutes a dozen turnings intervened between me and the costumier's shop.
No one appeared to notice me very pointedly.
My last difficulty seemed overcome."
He stopped again. "And you troubled no more about the
hunchback?" said Kemp. "No," said the Invisible Man.
"Nor have I heard what became of him.
I suppose he untied himself or kicked himself out.
The knots were pretty tight." He became silent and went to the window and
stared out.
"What happened when you went out into the Strand?"
"Oh!--disillusionment again. I thought my troubles were over.
Practically I thought I had impunity to do whatever I chose, everything--save to give
away my secret. So I thought.
Whatever I did, whatever the consequences might be, was nothing to me.
I had merely to fling aside my garments and vanish.
No person could hold me.
I could take my money where I found it. I decided to treat myself to a sumptuous
feast, and then put up at a good hotel, and accumulate a new outfit of property.
I felt amazingly confident; it's not particularly pleasant recalling that I was
an ass.
I went into a place and was already ordering lunch, when it occurred to me that
I could not eat unless I exposed my invisible face.
I finished ordering the lunch, told the man I should be back in ten minutes, and went
out exasperated. I don't know if you have ever been
disappointed in your appetite."
"Not quite so badly," said Kemp, "but I can imagine it."
"I could have smashed the silly devils.
At last, faint with the desire for tasteful food, I went into another place and
demanded a private room. 'I am disfigured,' I said.
They looked at me curiously, but of course it was not their affair--and so at last I
got my lunch.
It was not particularly well served, but it sufficed; and when I had had it, I sat over
a cigar, trying to plan my line of action. And outside a snowstorm was beginning.
"The more I thought it over, Kemp, the more I realised what a helpless absurdity an
Invisible Man was--in a cold and dirty climate and a crowded civilised city.
Before I made this mad experiment I had dreamt of a thousand advantages.
That afternoon it seemed all disappointment.
I went over the heads of the things a man reckons desirable.
No doubt invisibility made it possible to get them, but it made it impossible to
enjoy them when they are got.
Ambition--what is the good of pride of place when you cannot appear there?
What is the good of the love of woman when her name must needs be Delilah?
I have no taste for politics, for the blackguardisms of fame, for philanthropy,
for sport. What was I to do?
And for this I had become a wrapped-up mystery, a swathed and bandaged caricature
of a man!" He paused, and his attitude suggested a
roving glance at the window.
"But how did you get to Iping?" said Kemp, anxious to keep his guest busy talking.
"I went there to work. I had one hope.
It was a half idea!
I have it still. It is a full blown idea now.
A way of getting back! Of restoring what I have done.
When I choose.
When I have done all I mean to do invisibly.
And that is what I chiefly want to talk to you about now."
"You went straight to Iping?"
I had simply to get my three volumes of memoranda and my cheque-book, my luggage
and underclothing, order a quantity of chemicals to work out this idea of mine--I
will show you the calculations as soon as I get my books--and then I started.
I remember the snowstorm now, and the accursed bother it was to keep the snow
from damping my pasteboard nose."
"At the end," said Kemp, "the day before yesterday, when they found you out, you
rather--to judge by the papers--" "I did.
Did I kill that fool of a constable?" "No," said Kemp.
"He's expected to recover." "That's his luck, then.
I clean lost my temper, the fools!
Why couldn't they leave me alone? And that grocer lout?"
"There are no deaths expected," said Kemp.
"I don't know about that tramp of mine," said the Invisible Man, with an unpleasant
laugh. "By Heaven, Kemp, you don't know what rage
... To have worked for years, to have planned
and plotted, and then to get some fumbling purblind idiot messing across your course!
Every conceivable sort of silly creature that has ever been created has been sent to
cross me. "If I have much more of it, I shall go
wild--I shall start mowing 'em.
"As it is, they've made things a thousand times more difficult."
"No doubt it's exasperating," said Kemp, drily.
"But now," said Kemp, with a side glance out of the window, "what are we to do?"
He moved nearer his guest as he spoke in such a manner as to prevent the possibility
of a sudden glimpse of the three men who were advancing up the hill road--with an
intolerable slowness, as it seemed to Kemp.
"What were you planning to do when you were heading for Port Burdock?
Had you any plan?" "I was going to clear out of the country.
But I have altered that plan rather since seeing you.
I thought it would be wise, now the weather is hot and invisibility possible, to make
for the South.
Especially as my secret was known, and everyone would be on the lookout for a
masked and muffled man. You have a line of steamers from here to
My idea was to get aboard one and run the risks of the passage.
Thence I could go by train into Spain, or else get to Algiers.
It would not be difficult.
There a man might always be invisible--and yet live.
And do things.
I was using that tramp as a money box and luggage carrier, until I decided how to get
my books and things sent over to meet me." "That's clear."
"And then the filthy brute must needs try and rob me!
He has hidden my books, Kemp. Hidden my books!
If I can lay my hands on him!"
"Best plan to get the books out of him first."
"But where is he? Do you know?"
"He's in the town police station, locked up, by his own request, in the strongest
cell in the place." "Cur!" said the Invisible Man.
"But that hangs up your plans a little."
"We must get those books; those books are vital."
"Certainly," said Kemp, a little nervously, wondering if he heard footsteps outside.
"Certainly we must get those books.
But that won't be difficult, if he doesn't know they're for you."
"No," said the Invisible Man, and thought.
Kemp tried to think of something to keep the talk going, but the Invisible Man
resumed of his own accord. "Blundering into your house, Kemp," he
said, "changes all my plans.
For you are a man that can understand. In spite of all that has happened, in spite
of this publicity, of the loss of my books, of what I have suffered, there still remain
great possibilities, huge possibilities--"
"You have told no one I am here?" he asked abruptly.
Kemp hesitated. "That was implied," he said.
"No one?" insisted Griffin.
"Not a soul." "Ah!
Now--" The Invisible Man stood up, and sticking his arms akimbo began to pace the
"I made a mistake, Kemp, a huge mistake, in carrying this thing through alone.
I have wasted strength, time, opportunities.
Alone--it is wonderful how little a man can do alone!
To rob a little, to hurt a little, and there is the end.
"What I want, Kemp, is a goal-keeper, a helper, and a hiding-place, an arrangement
whereby I can sleep and eat and rest in peace, and unsuspected.
I must have a confederate.
With a confederate, with food and rest--a thousand things are possible.
"Hitherto I have gone on vague lines. We have to consider all that invisibility
means, all that it does not mean.
It means little advantage for eavesdropping and so forth--one makes sounds.
It's of little help--a little help perhaps- -in housebreaking and so forth.
Once you've caught me you could easily imprison me.
But on the other hand I am hard to catch.
This invisibility, in fact, is only good in two cases: It's useful in getting away,
it's useful in approaching. It's particularly useful, therefore, in
I can walk round a man, whatever weapon he has, choose my point, strike as I like.
Dodge as I like. Escape as I like."
Kemp's hand went to his moustache.
Was that a movement downstairs? "And it is killing we must do, Kemp."
"It is killing we must do," repeated Kemp. "I'm listening to your plan, Griffin, but
I'm not agreeing, mind.
Why killing?" "Not wanton killing, but a judicious
The point is, they know there is an Invisible Man--as well as we know there is
an Invisible Man. And that Invisible Man, Kemp, must now
establish a Reign of Terror.
Yes; no doubt it's startling. But I mean it.
A Reign of Terror. He must take some town like your Burdock
and terrify and dominate it.
He must issue his orders. He can do that in a thousand ways--scraps
of paper thrust under doors would suffice. And all who disobey his orders he must
kill, and kill all who would defend them."
"Humph!" said Kemp, no longer listening to Griffin but to the sound of his front door
opening and closing.
"It seems to me, Griffin," he said, to cover his wandering attention, "that your
confederate would be in a difficult position."
"No one would know he was a confederate," said the Invisible Man, eagerly.
And then suddenly, "Hush! What's that downstairs?"
"Nothing," said Kemp, and suddenly began to speak loud and fast.
"I don't agree to this, Griffin," he said. "Understand me, I don't agree to this.
Why dream of playing a game against the race?
How can you hope to gain happiness? Don't be a lone wolf.
Publish your results; take the world--take the nation at least--into your confidence.
Think what you might do with a million helpers--"
The Invisible Man interrupted--arm extended.
"There are footsteps coming upstairs," he said in a low voice.
"Nonsense," said Kemp.
"Let me see," said the Invisible Man, and advanced, arm extended, to the door.
And then things happened very swiftly. Kemp hesitated for a second and then moved
to intercept him.
The Invisible Man started and stood still. "Traitor!" cried the Voice, and suddenly
the dressing-gown opened, and sitting down the Unseen began to disrobe.
Kemp made three swift steps to the door, and forthwith the Invisible Man--his legs
had vanished--sprang to his feet with a shout.
Kemp flung the door open.
As it opened, there came a sound of hurrying feet downstairs and voices.
With a quick movement Kemp thrust the Invisible Man back, sprang aside, and
slammed the door.
The key was outside and ready. In another moment Griffin would have been
alone in the belvedere study, a prisoner. Save for one little thing.
The key had been slipped in hastily that morning.
As Kemp slammed the door it fell noisily upon the carpet.
Kemp's face became white.
He tried to grip the door handle with both hands.
For a moment he stood lugging. Then the door gave six inches.
But he got it closed again.
The second time it was jerked a foot wide, and the dressing-gown came wedging itself
into the opening.
His throat was gripped by invisible fingers, and he left his hold on the handle
to defend himself. He was forced back, tripped and pitched
heavily into the corner of the landing.
The empty dressing-gown was flung on the top of him.
Halfway up the staircase was Colonel Adye, the recipient of Kemp's letter, the chief
of the Burdock police.
He was staring aghast at the sudden appearance of Kemp, followed by the
extraordinary sight of clothing tossing empty in the air.
He saw Kemp felled, and struggling to his feet.
He saw him rush forward, and go down again, felled like an ox.
Then suddenly he was struck violently.
By nothing! A vast weight, it seemed, leapt upon him,
and he was hurled headlong down the staircase, with a grip on his throat and a
knee in his groin.
An invisible foot trod on his back, a ghostly patter passed downstairs, he heard
the two police officers in the hall shout and run, and the front door of the house
slammed violently.
He rolled over and sat up staring.
He saw, staggering down the staircase, Kemp, dusty and disheveled, one side of his
face white from a blow, his lip bleeding, and a pink dressing-gown and some
underclothing held in his arms.
"My God!" cried Kemp, "the game's up! He's gone!"
For a space Kemp was too inarticulate to make Adye understand the swift things that
had just happened.
They stood on the landing, Kemp speaking swiftly, the grotesque swathings of Griffin
still on his arm. But presently Adye began to grasp something
of the situation.
"He is mad," said Kemp; "inhuman. He is pure selfishness.
He thinks of nothing but his own advantage, his own safety.
I have listened to such a story this morning of brutal self-seeking....
He has wounded men. He will kill them unless we can prevent
He will create a panic. Nothing can stop him.
He is going out now--furious!" "He must be caught," said Adye.
"That is certain."
"But how?" cried Kemp, and suddenly became full of ideas.
"You must begin at once. You must set every available man to work;
you must prevent his leaving this district.
Once he gets away, he may go through the countryside as he wills, killing and
maiming. He dreams of a reign of terror!
A reign of terror, I tell you.
You must set a watch on trains and roads and shipping.
The garrison must help. You must wire for help.
The only thing that may keep him here is the thought of recovering some books of
notes he counts of value. I will tell you of that!
There is a man in your police station-- Marvel."
"I know," said Adye, "I know. Those books--yes.
But the tramp...."
"Says he hasn't them. But he thinks the tramp has.
And you must prevent him from eating or sleeping; day and night the country must be
astir for him.
Food must be locked up and secured, all food, so that he will have to break his way
to it. The houses everywhere must be barred
against him.
Heaven send us cold nights and rain! The whole country-side must begin hunting
and keep hunting.
I tell you, Adye, he is a danger, a disaster; unless he is pinned and secured,
it is frightful to think of the things that may happen."
"What else can we do?" said Adye.
"I must go down at once and begin organising.
But why not come? Yes--you come too!
Come, and we must hold a sort of council of war--get Hopps to help--and the railway
managers. By Jove! it's urgent.
Come along--tell me as we go.
What else is there we can do? Put that stuff down."
In another moment Adye was leading the way downstairs.
They found the front door open and the policemen standing outside staring at empty
air. "He's got away, sir," said one.
"We must go to the central station at once," said Adye.
"One of you go on down and get a cab to come up and meet us--quickly.
And now, Kemp, what else?"
"Dogs," said Kemp. "Get dogs.
They don't see him, but they wind him. Get dogs."
"Good," said Adye.
"It's not generally known, but the prison officials over at Halstead know a man with
bloodhounds. Dogs.
What else?"
"Bear in mind," said Kemp, "his food shows. After eating, his food shows until it is
assimilated. So that he has to hide after eating.
You must keep on beating.
Every thicket, every quiet corner. And put all weapons--all implements that
might be weapons, away. He can't carry such things for long.
And what he can snatch up and strike men with must be hidden away."
"Good again," said Adye. "We shall have him yet!"
"And on the roads," said Kemp, and hesitated.
"Yes?" said Adye. "Powdered glass," said Kemp.
"It's cruel, I know.
But think of what he may do!" Adye drew the air in sharply between his
teeth. "It's unsportsmanlike.
I don't know.
But I'll have powdered glass got ready. If he goes too far...."
"The man's become inhuman, I tell you," said Kemp.
"I am as sure he will establish a reign of terror--so soon as he has got over the
emotions of this escape--as I am sure I am talking to you.
Our only chance is to be ahead.
He has cut himself off from his kind. His blood be upon his own head."
The Invisible Man seems to have rushed out of Kemp's house in a state of blind fury.
A little child playing near Kemp's gateway was violently caught up and thrown aside,
so that its ankle was broken, and thereafter for some hours the Invisible Man
passed out of human perceptions.
No one knows where he went nor what he did.
But one can imagine him hurrying through the hot June forenoon, up the hill and on
to the open downland behind Port Burdock, raging and despairing at his intolerable
fate, and sheltering at last, heated and
weary, amid the thickets of Hintondean, to piece together again his shattered schemes
against his species.
That seems to most probable refuge for him, for there it was he re-asserted himself in
a grimly tragical manner about two in the afternoon.
One wonders what his state of mind may have been during that time, and what plans he
No doubt he was almost ecstatically exasperated by Kemp's treachery, and though
we may be able to understand the motives that led to that deceit, we may still
imagine and even sympathise a little with
the fury the attempted surprise must have occasioned.
Perhaps something of the stunned astonishment of his Oxford Street
experiences may have returned to him, for he had evidently counted on Kemp's co-
operation in his brutal dream of a terrorised world.
At any rate he vanished from human ken about midday, and no living witness can
tell what he did until about half-past two.
It was a fortunate thing, perhaps, for humanity, but for him it was a fatal
inaction. During that time a growing multitude of men
scattered over the countryside were busy.
In the morning he had still been simply a legend, a terror; in the afternoon, by
virtue chiefly of Kemp's drily worded proclamation, he was presented as a
tangible antagonist, to be wounded,
captured, or overcome, and the countryside began organising itself with inconceivable
By two o'clock even he might still have removed himself out of the district by
getting aboard a train, but after two that became impossible.
Every passenger train along the lines on a great parallelogram between Southampton,
Manchester, Brighton and Horsham, travelled with locked doors, and the goods traffic
was almost entirely suspended.
And in a great circle of twenty miles round Port Burdock, men armed with guns and
bludgeons were presently setting out in groups of three and four, with dogs, to
beat the roads and fields.
Mounted policemen rode along the country lanes, stopping at every cottage and
warning the people to lock up their houses, and keep indoors unless they were armed,
and all the elementary schools had broken
up by three o'clock, and the children, scared and keeping together in groups, were
hurrying home.
Kemp's proclamation--signed indeed by Adye- -was posted over almost the whole district
by four or five o'clock in the afternoon.
It gave briefly but clearly all the conditions of the struggle, the necessity
of keeping the Invisible Man from food and sleep, the necessity for incessant
watchfulness and for a prompt attention to any evidence of his movements.
And so swift and decided was the action of the authorities, so prompt and universal
was the belief in this strange being, that before nightfall an area of several hundred
square miles was in a stringent state of siege.
And before nightfall, too, a thrill of horror went through the whole watching
nervous countryside.
Going from whispering mouth to mouth, swift and certain over the length and breadth of
the country, passed the story of the murder of Mr. Wicksteed.
If our supposition that the Invisible Man's refuge was the Hintondean thickets, then we
must suppose that in the early afternoon he sallied out again bent upon some project
that involved the use of a weapon.
We cannot know what the project was, but the evidence that he had the iron rod in
hand before he met Wicksteed is to me at least overwhelming.
Of course we can know nothing of the details of that encounter.
It occurred on the edge of a gravel pit, not two hundred yards from Lord Burdock's
lodge gate.
Everything points to a desperate struggle-- the trampled ground, the numerous wounds
Mr. Wicksteed received, his splintered walking-stick; but why the attack was made,
save in a murderous frenzy, it is impossible to imagine.
Indeed the theory of madness is almost unavoidable.
Mr. Wicksteed was a man of forty-five or forty-six, steward to Lord Burdock, of
inoffensive habits and appearance, the very last person in the world to provoke such a
terrible antagonist.
Against him it would seem the Invisible Man used an iron rod dragged from a broken
piece of fence.
He stopped this quiet man, going quietly home to his midday meal, attacked him, beat
down his feeble defences, broke his arm, felled him, and smashed his head to a
Of course, he must have dragged this rod out of the fencing before he met his
victim--he must have been carrying it ready in his hand.
Only two details beyond what has already been stated seem to bear on the matter.
One is the circumstance that the gravel pit was not in Mr. Wicksteed's direct path
home, but nearly a couple of hundred yards out of his way.
The other is the assertion of a little girl to the effect that, going to her afternoon
school, she saw the murdered man "trotting" in a peculiar manner across a field towards
the gravel pit.
Her pantomime of his action suggests a man pursuing something on the ground before him
and striking at it ever and again with his walking-stick.
She was the last person to see him alive.
He passed out of her sight to his death, the struggle being hidden from her only by
a clump of beech trees and a slight depression in the ground.
Now this, to the present writer's mind at least, lifts the murder out of the realm of
the absolutely wanton.
We may imagine that Griffin had taken the rod as a weapon indeed, but without any
deliberate intention of using it in murder.
Wicksteed may then have come by and noticed this rod inexplicably moving through the
Without any thought of the Invisible Man-- for Port Burdock is ten miles away--he may
have pursued it. It is quite conceivable that he may not
even have heard of the Invisible Man.
One can then imagine the Invisible Man making off--quietly in order to avoid
discovering his presence in the neighbourhood, and Wicksteed, excited and
curious, pursuing this unaccountably locomotive object--finally striking at it.
No doubt the Invisible Man could easily have distanced his middle-aged pursuer
under ordinary circumstances, but the position in which Wicksteed's body was
found suggests that he had the ill luck to
drive his quarry into a corner between a drift of stinging nettles and the gravel
To those who appreciate the extraordinary irascibility of the Invisible Man, the rest
of the encounter will be easy to imagine. But this is pure hypothesis.
The only undeniable facts--for stories of children are often unreliable--are the
discovery of Wicksteed's body, done to death, and of the blood-stained iron rod
flung among the nettles.
The abandonment of the rod by Griffin, suggests that in the emotional excitement
of the affair, the purpose for which he took it--if he had a purpose--was
He was certainly an intensely egotistical and unfeeling man, but the sight of his
victim, his first victim, bloody and pitiful at his feet, may have released some
long pent fountain of remorse which for a
time may have flooded whatever scheme of action he had contrived.
After the murder of Mr. Wicksteed, he would seem to have struck across the country
towards the downland.
There is a story of a voice heard about sunset by a couple of men in a field near
Fern Bottom. It was wailing and laughing, sobbing and
groaning, and ever and again it shouted.
It must have been queer hearing. It drove up across the middle of a clover
field and died away towards the hills.
That afternoon the Invisible Man must have learnt something of the rapid use Kemp had
made of his confidences.
He must have found houses locked and secured; he may have loitered about railway
stations and prowled about inns, and no doubt he read the proclamations and
realised something of the nature of the campaign against him.
And as the evening advanced, the fields became dotted here and there with groups of
three or four men, and noisy with the yelping of dogs.
These men-hunters had particular instructions in the case of an encounter as
to the way they should support one another. But he avoided them all.
We may understand something of his exasperation, and it could have been none
the less because he himself had supplied the information that was being used so
remorselessly against him.
For that day at least he lost heart; for nearly twenty-four hours, save when he
turned on Wicksteed, he was a hunted man.
In the night, he must have eaten and slept; for in the morning he was himself again,
active, powerful, angry, and malignant, prepared for his last great struggle
against the world.
Kemp read a strange missive, written in pencil on a greasy sheet of paper.
"You have been amazingly energetic and clever," this letter ran, "though what you
stand to gain by it I cannot imagine.
You are against me. For a whole day you have chased me; you
have tried to rob me of a night's rest.
But I have had food in spite of you, I have slept in spite of you, and the game is only
beginning. The game is only beginning.
There is nothing for it, but to start the Terror.
This announces the first day of the Terror.
Port Burdock is no longer under the Queen, tell your Colonel of Police, and the rest
of them; it is under me--the Terror! This is day one of year one of the new
epoch--the Epoch of the Invisible Man.
I am Invisible Man the First. To begin with the rule will be easy.
The first day there will be one execution for the sake of example--a man named Kemp.
Death starts for him to-day.
He may lock himself away, hide himself away, get guards about him, put on armour
if he likes--Death, the unseen Death, is coming.
Let him take precautions; it will impress my people.
Death starts from the pillar box by midday. The letter will fall in as the postman
comes along, then off!
The game begins. Death starts.
Help him not, my people, lest Death fall upon you also.
To-day Kemp is to die."
Kemp read this letter twice, "It's no hoax," he said.
"That's his voice! And he means it."
He turned the folded sheet over and saw on the addressed side of it the postmark
Hintondean, and the prosaic detail "2d. to pay."
He got up slowly, leaving his lunch unfinished--the letter had come by the one
o'clock post--and went into his study.
He rang for his housekeeper, and told her to go round the house at once, examine all
the fastenings of the windows, and close all the shutters.
He closed the shutters of his study himself.
From a locked drawer in his bedroom he took a little revolver, examined it carefully,
and put it into the pocket of his lounge jacket.
He wrote a number of brief notes, one to Colonel Adye, gave them to his servant to
take, with explicit instructions as to her way of leaving the house.
"There is no danger," he said, and added a mental reservation, "to you."
He remained meditative for a space after doing this, and then returned to his
cooling lunch.
He ate with gaps of thought. Finally he struck the table sharply.
"We will have him!" he said; "and I am the bait.
He will come too far."
He went up to the belvedere, carefully shutting every door after him.
"It's a game," he said, "an odd game--but the chances are all for me, Mr. Griffin, in
spite of your invisibility.
Griffin contra mundum ... with a vengeance."
He stood at the window staring at the hot hillside.
"He must get food every day--and I don't envy him.
Did he really sleep last night? Out in the open somewhere--secure from
I wish we could get some good cold wet weather instead of the heat.
"He may be watching me now." He went close to the window.
Something rapped smartly against the brickwork over the frame, and made him
start violently back. "I'm getting nervous," said Kemp.
But it was five minutes before he went to the window again.
"It must have been a sparrow," he said. Presently he heard the front-door bell
ringing, and hurried downstairs.
He unbolted and unlocked the door, examined the chain, put it up, and opened cautiously
without showing himself. A familiar voice hailed him.
It was Adye.
"Your servant's been assaulted, Kemp," he said round the door.
"What!" exclaimed Kemp. "Had that note of yours taken away from
He's close about here. Let me in."
Kemp released the chain, and Adye entered through as narrow an opening as possible.
He stood in the hall, looking with infinite relief at Kemp refastening the door.
"Note was snatched out of her hand. Scared her horribly.
She's down at the station.
Hysterics. He's close here.
What was it about?" Kemp swore.
"What a fool I was," said Kemp.
"I might have known. It's not an hour's walk from Hintondean.
Already?" "What's up?" said Adye.
"Look here!" said Kemp, and led the way into his study.
He handed Adye the Invisible Man's letter. Adye read it and whistled softly.
"And you--?" said Adye.
"Proposed a trap--like a fool," said Kemp, "and sent my proposal out by a maid
servant. To him."
Adye followed Kemp's profanity.
"He'll clear out," said Adye. "Not he," said Kemp.
A resounding smash of glass came from upstairs.
Adye had a silvery glimpse of a little revolver half out of Kemp's pocket.
"It's a window, upstairs!" said Kemp, and led the way up.
There came a second smash while they were still on the staircase.
When they reached the study they found two of the three windows smashed, half the room
littered with splintered glass, and one big flint lying on the writing table.
The two men stopped in the doorway, contemplating the wreckage.
Kemp swore again, and as he did so the third window went with a snap like a
pistol, hung starred for a moment, and collapsed in jagged, shivering triangles
into the room.
"What's this for?" said Adye. "It's a beginning," said Kemp.
"There's no way of climbing up here?" "Not for a cat," said Kemp.
"No shutters?"
"Not here. All the downstairs rooms--Hullo!"
Smash, and then whack of boards hit hard came from downstairs.
"Confound him!" said Kemp.
"That must be--yes--it's one of the bedrooms.
He's going to do all the house. But he's a fool.
The shutters are up, and the glass will fall outside.
He'll cut his feet." Another window proclaimed its destruction.
The two men stood on the landing perplexed.
"I have it!" said Adye. "Let me have a stick or something, and I'll
go down to the station and get the bloodhounds put on.
That ought to settle him!
They're hard by--not ten minutes--" Another window went the way of its fellows.
"You haven't a revolver?" asked Adye. Kemp's hand went to his pocket.
Then he hesitated.
"I haven't one--at least to spare." "I'll bring it back," said Adye, "you'll be
safe here." Kemp, ashamed of his momentary lapse from
truthfulness, handed him the weapon.
"Now for the door," said Adye. As they stood hesitating in the hall, they
heard one of the first-floor bedroom windows crack and clash.
Kemp went to the door and began to slip the bolts as silently as possible.
His face was a little paler than usual. "You must step straight out," said Kemp.
In another moment Adye was on the doorstep and the bolts were dropping back into the
staples. He hesitated for a moment, feeling more
comfortable with his back against the door.
Then he marched, upright and square, down the steps.
He crossed the lawn and approached the gate.
A little breeze seemed to ripple over the grass.
Something moved near him.
"Stop a bit," said a Voice, and Adye stopped dead and his hand tightened on the
revolver. "Well?" said Adye, white and grim, and
every nerve tense.
"Oblige me by going back to the house," said the Voice, as tense and grim as
Adye's. "Sorry," said Adye a little hoarsely, and
moistened his lips with his tongue.
The Voice was on his left front, he thought.
Suppose he were to take his luck with a shot?
"What are you going for?" said the Voice, and there was a quick movement of the two,
and a flash of sunlight from the open lip of Adye's pocket.
Adye desisted and thought.
"Where I go," he said slowly, "is my own business."
The words were still on his lips, when an arm came round his neck, his back felt a
knee, and he was sprawling backward.
He drew clumsily and fired absurdly, and in another moment he was struck in the mouth
and the revolver wrested from his grip. He made a vain clutch at a slippery limb,
tried to struggle up and fell back.
"Damn!" said Adye. The Voice laughed.
"I'd kill you now if it wasn't the waste of a bullet," it said.
He saw the revolver in mid-air, six feet off, covering him.
"Well?" said Adye, sitting up. "Get up," said the Voice.
Adye stood up.
"Attention," said the Voice, and then fiercely, "Don't try any games.
Remember I can see your face if you can't see mine.
You've got to go back to the house."
"He won't let me in," said Adye. "That's a pity," said the Invisible Man.
"I've got no quarrel with you." Adye moistened his lips again.
He glanced away from the barrel of the revolver and saw the sea far off very blue
and dark under the midday sun, the smooth green down, the white cliff of the Head,
and the multitudinous town, and suddenly he knew that life was very sweet.
His eyes came back to this little metal thing hanging between heaven and earth, six
yards away.
"What am I to do?" he said sullenly. "What am I to do?" asked the Invisible Man.
"You will get help. The only thing is for you to go back."
"I will try.
If he lets me in will you promise not to rush the door?"
"I've got no quarrel with you," said the Voice.
Kemp had hurried upstairs after letting Adye out, and now crouching among the
broken glass and peering cautiously over the edge of the study window sill, he saw
Adye stand parleying with the Unseen.
"Why doesn't he fire?" whispered Kemp to himself.
Then the revolver moved a little and the glint of the sunlight flashed in Kemp's
He shaded his eyes and tried to see the source of the blinding beam.
"Surely!" he said, "Adye has given up the revolver."
"Promise not to rush the door," Adye was saying.
"Don't push a winning game too far. Give a man a chance."
"You go back to the house.
I tell you flatly I will not promise anything."
Adye's decision seemed suddenly made. He turned towards the house, walking slowly
with his hands behind him.
Kemp watched him--puzzled. The revolver vanished, flashed again into
sight, vanished again, and became evident on a closer scrutiny as a little dark
object following Adye.
Then things happened very quickly.
Adye leapt backwards, swung around, clutched at this little object, missed it,
threw up his hands and fell forward on his face, leaving a little puff of blue in the
Kemp did not hear the sound of the shot. Adye writhed, raised himself on one arm,
fell forward, and lay still. For a space Kemp remained staring at the
quiet carelessness of Adye's attitude.
The afternoon was very hot and still, nothing seemed stirring in all the world
save a couple of yellow butterflies chasing each other through the shrubbery between
the house and the road gate.
Adye lay on the lawn near the gate. The blinds of all the villas down the hill-
road were drawn, but in one little green summer-house was a white figure, apparently
an old man asleep.
Kemp scrutinised the surroundings of the house for a glimpse of the revolver, but it
had vanished. His eyes came back to Adye.
The game was opening well.
Then came a ringing and knocking at the front door, that grew at last tumultuous,
but pursuant to Kemp's instructions the servants had locked themselves into their
This was followed by a silence. Kemp sat listening and then began peering
cautiously out of the three windows, one after another.
He went to the staircase head and stood listening uneasily.
He armed himself with his bedroom poker, and went to examine the interior fastenings
of the ground-floor windows again.
Everything was safe and quiet. He returned to the belvedere.
Adye lay motionless over the edge of the gravel just as he had fallen.
Coming along the road by the villas were the housemaid and two policemen.
Everything was deadly still. The three people seemed very slow in
He wondered what his antagonist was doing. He started.
There was a smash from below. He hesitated and went downstairs again.
Suddenly the house resounded with heavy blows and the splintering of wood.
He heard a smash and the destructive clang of the iron fastenings of the shutters.
He turned the key and opened the kitchen door.
As he did so, the shutters, split and splintering, came flying inward.
He stood aghast.
The window frame, save for one crossbar, was still intact, but only little teeth of
glass remained in the frame.
The shutters had been driven in with an axe, and now the axe was descending in
sweeping blows upon the window frame and the iron bars defending it.
Then suddenly it leapt aside and vanished.
He saw the revolver lying on the path outside, and then the little weapon sprang
into the air. He dodged back.
The revolver cracked just too late, and a splinter from the edge of the closing door
flashed over his head.
He slammed and locked the door, and as he stood outside he heard Griffin shouting and
Then the blows of the axe with its splitting and smashing consequences, were
resumed. Kemp stood in the passage trying to think.
In a moment the Invisible Man would be in the kitchen.
This door would not keep him a moment, and then--
A ringing came at the front door again.
It would be the policemen. He ran into the hall, put up the chain, and
drew the bolts.
He made the girl speak before he dropped the chain, and the three people blundered
into the house in a heap, and Kemp slammed the door again.
"The Invisible Man!" said Kemp.
"He has a revolver, with two shots--left. He's killed Adye.
Shot him anyhow. Didn't you see him on the lawn?
He's lying there."
"Who?" said one of the policemen. "Adye," said Kemp.
"We came in the back way," said the girl. "What's that smashing?" asked one of the
"He's in the kitchen--or will be. He has found an axe--"
Suddenly the house was full of the Invisible Man's resounding blows on the
kitchen door.
The girl stared towards the kitchen, shuddered, and retreated into the dining-
room. Kemp tried to explain in broken sentences.
They heard the kitchen door give.
"This way," said Kemp, starting into activity, and bundled the policemen into
the dining-room doorway. "Poker," said Kemp, and rushed to the
He handed the poker he had carried to the policeman and the dining-room one to the
other. He suddenly flung himself backward.
"Whup!" said one policeman, ducked, and caught the axe on his poker.
The pistol snapped its penultimate shot and ripped a valuable Sidney Cooper.
The second policeman brought his poker down on the little weapon, as one might knock
down a wasp, and sent it rattling to the floor.
At the first clash the girl screamed, stood screaming for a moment by the fireplace,
and then ran to open the shutters--possibly with an idea of escaping by the shattered
The axe receded into the passage, and fell to a position about two feet from the
ground. They could hear the Invisible Man
"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
There was a sharp exclamation of pain and then the axe fell to the ground.
The policeman wiped again at vacancy and hit nothing; he put his foot on the axe,
and struck again.
Then he stood, poker clubbed, listening intent for the slightest movement.
He heard the dining-room window open, and a quick rush of feet within.
His companion rolled over and sat up, with the blood running down between his eye and
ear. "Where is he?" asked the man on the floor.
"Don't know.
I've hit him. He's standing somewhere in the hall.
Unless he's slipped past you. Doctor Kemp--sir."
"Doctor Kemp," cried the policeman again. The second policeman began struggling to
his feet. He stood up.
Suddenly the faint pad of bare feet on the kitchen stairs could be heard.
"Yap!" cried the first policeman, and incontinently flung his poker.
It smashed a little gas bracket.
He made as if he would pursue the Invisible Man downstairs.
Then he thought better of it and stepped into the dining-room.
"Doctor Kemp--" he began, and stopped short.
"Doctor Kemp's a hero," he said, as his companion looked over his shoulder.
The dining-room window was wide open, and neither housemaid nor Kemp was to be seen.
The second policeman's opinion of Kemp was terse and vivid.
Mr. Heelas, Mr. Kemp's nearest neighbour among the villa holders, was asleep in his
summer house when the siege of Kemp's house began.
Mr. Heelas was one of the sturdy minority who refused to believe "in all this
nonsense" about an Invisible Man. His wife, however, as he was subsequently
to be reminded, did.
He insisted upon walking about his garden just as if nothing was the matter, and he
went to sleep in the afternoon in accordance with the custom of years.
He slept through the smashing of the windows, and then woke up suddenly with a
curious persuasion of something wrong. He looked across at Kemp's house, rubbed
his eyes and looked again.
Then he put his feet to the ground, and sat listening.
He said he was damned, but still the strange thing was visible.
The house looked as though it had been deserted for weeks--after a violent riot.
Every window was broken, and every window, save those of the belvedere study, was
blinded by the internal shutters.
"I could have sworn it was all right"--he looked at his watch--"twenty minutes ago."
He became aware of a measured concussion and the clash of glass, far away in the
And then, as he sat open-mouthed, came a still more wonderful thing.
The shutters of the drawing-room window were flung open violently, and the
housemaid in her outdoor hat and garments, appeared struggling in a frantic manner to
throw up the sash.
Suddenly a man appeared beside her, helping her--Dr. Kemp!
In another moment the window was open, and the housemaid was struggling out; she
pitched forward and vanished among the shrubs.
Mr. Heelas stood up, exclaiming vaguely and vehemently at all these wonderful things.
He saw Kemp stand on the sill, spring from the window, and reappear almost
instantaneously running along a path in the shrubbery and stooping as he ran, like a
man who evades observation.
He vanished behind a laburnum, and appeared again clambering over a fence that abutted
on the open down.
In a second he had tumbled over and was running at a tremendous pace down the slope
towards Mr. Heelas. "Lord!" cried Mr. Heelas, struck with an
idea; "it's that Invisible Man brute!
It's right, after all!"
With Mr. Heelas to think things like that was to act, and his cook watching him from
the top window was amazed to see him come pelting towards the house at a good nine
miles an hour.
There was a slamming of doors, a ringing of bells, and the voice of Mr. Heelas
bellowing like a bull. "Shut the doors, shut the windows, shut
everything!--the Invisible Man is coming!"
Instantly the house was full of screams and directions, and scurrying feet.
He ran himself to shut the French windows that opened on the veranda; as he did so
Kemp's head and shoulders and knee appeared over the edge of the garden fence.
In another moment Kemp had ploughed through the asparagus, and was running across the
tennis lawn to the house. "You can't come in," said Mr. Heelas,
shutting the bolts.
"I'm very sorry if he's after you, but you can't come in!"
Kemp appeared with a face of terror close to the glass, rapping and then shaking
frantically at the French window.
Then, seeing his efforts were useless, he ran along the veranda, vaulted the end, and
went to hammer at the side door.
Then he ran round by the side gate to the front of the house, and so into the hill-
And Mr. Heelas staring from his window--a face of horror--had scarcely witnessed Kemp
vanish, ere the asparagus was being trampled this way and that by feet unseen.
At that Mr. Heelas fled precipitately upstairs, and the rest of the chase is
beyond his purview. But as he passed the staircase window, he
heard the side gate slam.
Emerging into the hill-road, Kemp naturally took the downward direction, and so it was
he came to run in his own person the very race he had watched with such a critical
eye from the belvedere study only four days ago.
He ran it well, for a man out of training, and though his face was white and wet, his
wits were cool to the last.
He ran with wide strides, and wherever a patch of rough ground intervened, wherever
there came a patch of raw flints, or a bit of broken glass shone dazzling, he crossed
it and left the bare invisible feet that followed to take what line they would.
For the first time in his life Kemp discovered that the hill-road was
indescribably vast and desolate, and that the beginnings of the town far below at the
hill foot were strangely remote.
Never had there been a slower or more painful method of progression than running.
All the gaunt villas, sleeping in the afternoon sun, looked locked and barred; no
doubt they were locked and barred--by his own orders.
But at any rate they might have kept a lookout for an eventuality like this!
The town was rising up now, the sea had dropped out of sight behind it, and people
down below were stirring.
A tram was just arriving at the hill foot. Beyond that was the police station.
Was that footsteps he heard behind him? Spurt.
The people below were staring at him, one or two were running, and his breath was
beginning to saw in his throat. The tram was quite near now, and the "Jolly
Cricketers" was noisily barring its doors.
Beyond the tram were posts and heaps of gravel--the drainage works.
He had a transitory idea of jumping into the tram and slamming the doors, and then
he resolved to go for the police station.
In another moment he had passed the door of the "Jolly Cricketers," and was in the
blistering fag end of the street, with human beings about him.
The tram driver and his helper--arrested by the sight of his furious haste--stood
staring with the tram horses unhitched.
Further on the astonished features of navvies appeared above the mounds of
His pace broke a little, and then he heard the swift pad of his pursuer, and leapt
forward again.
"The Invisible Man!" he cried to the navvies, with a vague indicative gesture,
and by an inspiration leapt the excavation and placed a burly group between him and
the chase.
Then abandoning the idea of the police station he turned into a little side
street, rushed by a greengrocer's cart, hesitated for the tenth of a second at the
door of a sweetstuff shop, and then made
for the mouth of an alley that ran back into the main Hill Street again.
Two or three little children were playing here, and shrieked and scattered at his
apparition, and forthwith doors and windows opened and excited mothers revealed their
Out he shot into Hill Street again, three hundred yards from the tram-line end, and
immediately he became aware of a tumultuous vociferation and running people.
He glanced up the street towards the hill.
Hardly a dozen yards off ran a huge navvy, cursing in fragments and slashing viciously
with a spade, and hard behind him came the tram conductor with his fists clenched.
Up the street others followed these two, striking and shouting.
Down towards the town, men and women were running, and he noticed clearly one man
coming out of a shop-door with a stick in his hand.
"Spread out!
Spread out!" cried some one. Kemp suddenly grasped the altered condition
of the chase. He stopped, and looked round, panting.
"He's close here!" he cried.
"Form a line across--" He was hit hard under the ear, and went
reeling, trying to face round towards his unseen antagonist.
He just managed to keep his feet, and he struck a vain counter in the air.
Then he was hit again under the jaw, and sprawled headlong on the ground.
In another moment a knee compressed his diaphragm, and a couple of eager hands
gripped his throat, but the grip of one was weaker than the other; he grasped the
wrists, heard a cry of pain from his
assailant, and then the spade of the navvy came whirling through the air above him,
and struck something with a dull thud. He felt a drop of moisture on his face.
The grip at his throat suddenly relaxed, and with a convulsive effort, Kemp loosed
himself, grasped a limp shoulder, and rolled uppermost.
He gripped the unseen elbows near the ground.
"I've got him!" screamed Kemp. "Help!
He's down! Hold his feet!"
In another second there was a simultaneous rush upon the struggle, and a stranger
coming into the road suddenly might have thought an exceptionally savage game of
Rugby football was in progress.
And there was no shouting after Kemp's cry- -only a sound of blows and feet and heavy
Then came a mighty effort, and the Invisible Man threw off a couple of his
antagonists and rose to his knees.
Kemp clung to him in front like a hound to a stag, and a dozen hands gripped,
clutched, and tore at the Unseen. The tram conductor suddenly got the neck
and shoulders and lugged him back.
Down went the heap of struggling men again and rolled over.
There was, I am afraid, some savage kicking.
Then suddenly a wild scream of "Mercy!
Mercy!" that died down swiftly to a sound like choking.
"Get back, you fools!" cried the muffled voice of Kemp, and there was a vigorous
shoving back of stalwart forms.
"He's hurt, I tell you. Stand back!"
There was a brief struggle to clear a space, and then the circle of eager faces
saw the doctor kneeling, as it seemed, fifteen inches in the air, and holding
invisible arms to the ground.
Behind him a constable gripped invisible ankles.
"Don't you leave go of en," cried the big navvy, holding a blood-stained spade; "he's
"He's not shamming," said the doctor, cautiously raising his knee; "and I'll hold
him." His face was bruised and already going red;
he spoke thickly because of a bleeding lip.
He released one hand and seemed to be feeling at the face.
"The mouth's all wet," he said. And then, "Good God!"
He stood up abruptly and then knelt down on the ground by the side of the thing unseen.
There was a pushing and shuffling, a sound of heavy feet as fresh people turned up to
increase the pressure of the crowd.
People now were coming out of the houses. The doors of the "Jolly Cricketers" stood
suddenly wide open. Very little was said.
Kemp felt about, his hand seeming to pass through empty air.
"He's not breathing," he said, and then, "I can't feel his heart.
His side--ugh!"
Suddenly an old woman, peering under the arm of the big navvy, screamed sharply.
"Looky there!" she said, and thrust out a wrinkled finger.
And looking where she pointed, everyone saw, faint and transparent as though it was
made of glass, so that veins and arteries and bones and nerves could be
distinguished, the outline of a hand, a hand limp and prone.
It grew clouded and opaque even as they stared.
"Hullo!" cried the constable.
"Here's his feet a-showing!" And so, slowly, beginning at his hands and
feet and creeping along his limbs to the vital centres of his body, that strange
change continued.
It was like the slow spreading of a poison.
First came the little white nerves, a hazy grey sketch of a limb, then the glassy
bones and intricate arteries, then the flesh and skin, first a faint fogginess,
and then growing rapidly dense and opaque.
Presently they could see his crushed chest and his shoulders, and the dim outline of
his drawn and battered features.
When at last the crowd made way for Kemp to stand erect, there lay, naked and pitiful
on the ground, the bruised and broken body of a young man about thirty.
His hair and brow were white--not grey with age, but white with the whiteness of
albinism--and his eyes were like garnets.
His hands were clenched, his eyes wide open, and his expression was one of anger
and dismay. "Cover his face!" said a man.
"For Gawd's sake, cover that face!" and three little children, pushing forward
through the crowd, were suddenly twisted round and sent packing off again.
Someone brought a sheet from the "Jolly Cricketers," and having covered him, they
carried him into that house.
And there it was, on a shabby bed in a tawdry, ill-lighted bedroom, surrounded by
a crowd of ignorant and excited people, broken and wounded, betrayed and unpitied,
that Griffin, the first of all men to make
himself invisible, Griffin, the most gifted physicist the world has ever seen, ended in
infinite disaster his strange and terrible career.
So ends the story of the strange and evil experiments of the Invisible Man.
And if you would learn more of him you must go to a little inn near Port Stowe and talk
to the landlord.
The sign of the inn is an empty board save for a hat and boots, and the name is the
title of this story.
The landlord is a short and corpulent little man with a nose of cylindrical
proportions, wiry hair, and a sporadic rosiness of visage.
Drink generously, and he will tell you generously of all the things that happened
to him after that time, and of how the lawyers tried to do him out of the treasure
found upon him.
"When they found they couldn't prove who's money was which, I'm blessed," he says, "if
they didn't try to make me out a blooming treasure trove!
Do I look like a Treasure Trove?
And then a gentleman gave me a guinea a night to tell the story at the Empire Music
'All--just to tell 'em in my own words-- barring one."
And if you want to cut off the flow of his reminiscences abruptly, you can always do
so by asking if there weren't three manuscript books in the story.
He admits there were and proceeds to explain, with asseverations that everybody
thinks he has 'em! But bless you! he hasn't.
"The Invisible Man it was took 'em off to hide 'em when I cut and ran for Port Stowe.
It's that Mr. Kemp put people on with the idea of my having 'em."
And then he subsides into a pensive state, watches you furtively, bustles nervously
with glasses, and presently leaves the bar.
He is a bachelor man--his tastes were ever bachelor, and there are no women folk in
the house.
Outwardly he buttons--it is expected of him--but in his more vital privacies, in
the matter of braces for example, he still turns to string.
He conducts his house without enterprise, but with eminent decorum.
His movements are slow, and he is a great thinker.
But he has a reputation for wisdom and for a respectable parsimony in the village, and
his knowledge of the roads of the South of England would beat Cobbett.
And on Sunday mornings, every Sunday morning, all the year round, while he is
closed to the outer world, and every night after ten, he goes into his bar parlour,
bearing a glass of gin faintly tinged with
water, and having placed this down, he locks the door and examines the blinds, and
even looks under the table.
And then, being satisfied of his solitude, he unlocks the cupboard and a box in the
cupboard and a drawer in that box, and produces three volumes bound in brown
leather, and places them solemnly in the middle of the table.
The covers are weather-worn and tinged with an algal green--for once they sojourned in
a ditch and some of the pages have been washed blank by dirty water.
The landlord sits down in an armchair, fills a long clay pipe slowly--gloating
over the books the while.
Then he pulls one towards him and opens it, and begins to study it--turning over the
leaves backwards and forwards. His brows are knit and his lips move
"Hex, little two up in the air, cross and a fiddle-de-dee.
Lord! what a one he was for intellect!"
Presently he relaxes and leans back, and blinks through his smoke across the room at
things invisible to other eyes. "Full of secrets," he says.
"Wonderful secrets!"
"Once I get the haul of them--Lord!" "I wouldn't do what he did; I'd just--
well!" He pulls at his pipe.
So he lapses into a dream, the undying wonderful dream of his life.
And though Kemp has fished unceasingly, no human being save the landlord knows those
books are there, with the subtle secret of invisibility and a dozen other strange
secrets written therein.
And none other will know of them until he dies.