Chapter XVII
Dr. Kemp's Visitor
Dr. Kemp had continued writing in his study until the shots aroused him. Crack, crack, crack, they came one after the other.
"Hullo!" said Dr. Kemp, putting his pen into his mouth again and listening. "Who's letting off revolvers in Burdock? What are the asses at now?"[1]
He went to the south window, threw it up,[2] and leaning out stared down on the network of windows, beaded gas-lamps and shops with black interstices of roof and yard that made up the town at night. "Looks like a crowd down the hill," he said, "by 'The Cricketers,' " and remained watching. Thence his eyes wandered over the town to far away where the ships' lights shone and the pier glowed—a little illuminated, faceted pavilion like a gem of yellow light. The moon in its first quarter hung over the westward hill, and the stars were clear and almost tropically bright.
After five minutes, during which his mind had travelled into a remote speculation of social conditions of the future, and lost itself at last over the time dimension, Dr. Kemp roused himself with a sigh, pulled down the window again, and returned to his writing-desk.
It must have been about an hour after this that the front door-bell rang. He had been writing slackly, and with intervals of abstraction, since the shots. He sat listening. He heard the servant answer the door, and waited for her feet on the staircase, but she did not come. "Wonder what that was?" said Dr. Kemp.
He tried to resume his work, failed, got up, went downstairs from his study to the landing, rang, and called over the balustrade to the housemaid, as she appeared in the hall below. "Was that a letter?" he asked.
"Only a runaway ring,[3] sir," she answered.
"I'm restless to-night," he said to himself. He went back to his study, and this time attacked his work resolutely.
In a little while he was hard at work again, and the only sounds in the room were the ticking of the clock and the subdued shrillness of his quill, hurrying in the very centre of the circle of light his lampshade threw on his table.
It was two o'clock before Dr. Kemp had finished his work for the night. He rose, yawned, and went upstairs to bed. He had already removed his coat and vest, when he noticed that he was thirsty. He took a candle and went down to the dining-room in search of a siphon and whisky.
Dr. Kemp's scientific pursuits had made him a very observant man, and as he re-crossed the hall he noticed a dark spot on the linoleum near the mat at the foot of the stairs. He went on upstairs, and then it suddenly occurred to him to ask himself what the spot on the linoleum might be. Apparently some subconscious element was at work. At any rate, he turned with his burden, went back to the hall, put down the siphon and whisky, and, bending down, touched the spot. Without any great surprise, he found it had the stickiness and colour of drying blood.
He took up his burden again, and returned upstairs looking about him and trying to account for the blood spot. On the landing he saw something, and stopped astonished. The door-handle of his room was blood-stained.
He looked at his own hand. It was quite clean, and then he remembered that the door of his room had been open when he came down from his study, and that consequently he had not touched the handle at all. He went straight into his own room, his face quite calm—perhaps a trifle more resolute than usual. His glance, wandering inquisitively, fell on the bed. On the counterpane was a mess of blood, and the sheet had been torn. He had not noticed this when he had entered the room before, because then he had walked straight to the dressing-table. On the farther side the bed-clothes were depressed as if some one had recently been sitting there.
Then he had an odd impression that he had heard a low voice say, "Good heavens!—Kemp!" But Dr. Kemp was no believer in voices.
He stood staring at the tumbled sheets. Was that really a voice? He looked about again, but noticed nothing further than the disordered and blood-stained bed. Then he distinctly heard a movement across the room, near the washhand-stand. All men, however highly educated, retain some superstitious inklings. The feeling that is called "eerie" came upon him. He closed the door of the room, came forward to the dressing-table, and put down his burden. Suddenly, with a start, he perceived a coiled and blood-stained bandage of linen rag hanging in midair, between him and the washhand-stand.
He stared at this in amazement, It was an empty bandage—a bandage properly tied, but quite empty. He would have advanced to grasp it, but a touch arrested him and a voice speaking quite close to him.
"Kemp!" said the Voice.
"Eh?" said Kemp, with his mouth open.
"Keep your nerve," said the Voice. "I'm an Invisible Man."
Kemp made no answer for a space, simply stared at the bandage. "Invisible Man?" he said.
"I am an Invisible Man," repeated the Voice.
The story he had been active to ridicule[4] only that morning rushed through Kemp's brain. He does not appear to have been either very much frightened or very greatly surprised at the moment. Realisation came later.
"I thought it was all a lie," he said. The thought uppermost in his mind was the reiterated arguments of the morning. "Have you a bandage on?" he asked.
"Yes," said the Invisible Man.
"Oh!" said Kemp, and then roused himself. "I say!" he said. "But this is nonsense. It's some trick." He stepped forward suddenly and his hand, extended towards the bandage, met invisible fingers.
He recoiled at the touch, and his colour changed.
"Keep steady, Kemp, for God's sake! I want help badly. Stop!"
The hand gripped his arm. He struck at it. "Kemp!" cried the Voice. "Kemp, keep steady!" and the grip tightened.
A frantic desire to free himself took possession of Kemp. The hand of the bandaged arm gripped his shoulder, and he was suddenly tripped and flung backwards upon the bed. He opened his mouth to shout, and the corner of the sheet was thrust between his teeth. The Invisible Man had him down grimly, but his arms were free, and he struck and tried to kick savagely.
"Listen to reason, will you?" said the Invisible Man, sticking to him in spite of a pounding in the ribs. "By heaven, you'll madden me in a minute!
"Lie still, you fool!" bawled the Invisible Man in Kemp's ear.
Kemp struggled for another moment, and then lay still.
"If you shout, I'll smash your face," said the Invisible Man, relieving his mouth. "I'm an Invisible Man. It is no foolishness and no magic. I am really an Invisible Man. And I want your help. I don't want to hurt you, but if you behave like a frantic rustic I must. Don't you remember me, Kemp? Griffin, of University College."[5]
"Let me get up," said Kemp. "I'll stop where I am. And let me sit quiet for a minute."
He sat up and felt his neck.
"I am Griffin, of University College, and I have made myself invisible. I am just an ordinary man—a man you have known—made invisible."
"Griffin?" said Kemp.
"Griffin," answered the Voice. "A younger student than you were, almost an albino,[7] six feet high, and broad—with a pink and white face and red eyes, who won the medal for chemistry."
"I'm confused," said Kemp. "My brain is rioting. What has this to do with Griffin?"
"I am Griffin."
Kemp thought. "It's horrible," he said. "But what devilry must happen to make a man invisible?"
"It's no devilry. It's a process, sane and intelligible enough—"
"It's horrible!" said Kemp. "How on earth—?"
"It's horrible enough. But I'm wounded and in pain, and tired… Great God! Kemp, you are a man. Take it steady. Give me some food and drink, and let me sit down here."
Kemp stared at the bandage as it moved across the room, then saw a basket chair dragged along the floor and come to rest near the bed. It creaked, and the seat was depressed a quarter of an inch or so. He rubbed his eyes and felt his neck again. "This beats ghosts," he said, and laughed stupidly.
"That's better. Thank heaven, you're getting sensible!"
"Or silly," said Kemp, and knuckled his eyes
.
"Give me some whisky. I'm near dead."
"I didn't feel so. Where are you? If I get up shall I run into you? There! All right. Whisky… Here. Where shall I give it you?"
The chair creaked, and Kemp felt the glass drawn away from him. He let it go by an effort; his instinct was all against it. It came to rest poised twenty inches above the front edge of the chair. He stared at it in infinite perplexity.
"This is—this must be—hypnotism. You must have suggested you are invisible."
"Nonsense!" said the Voice.
"It's frantic!"
"Listen to me."
"I demonstrated conclusively this morning," began Kemp, "that invisibility—"
"Never mind what you've demonstrated! I'm starving," said the Voice, "and the night is chilly to a man without clothes."
"Food?" said Kemp.
The tumbler of whisky tilted itself. "Yes," said the Invisible Man, rapping it down. "Have you got a dressing-gown?"
Kemp made some exclamation in an undertone. He walked to a wardrobe, and produced a robe of dingy scarlet. "This do?"[7] he asked. It was taken from him. It hung limp for a moment in mid-air, fluttered weirdly, stood full and decorous buttoning itself, and sat down in his chair.
"Drawers, socks, slippers would be a comfort," said the Unseen curtly. "And food."
"Anything. But this is the insanest thing I was ever in, in my life!"
He turned out his drawers for the articles, and then went downstairs to ransack his larder. He came back with some cold cutlets and bread, pulled up a light table, and placed them before his guest.
"Never mind knives," said his visitor, and a cutlet hung in mid-air with a sound of gnawing.
"I always like to get something about me[8] before I eat," said the Invisible Man, with a full mouth, eating greedily. "Queer fancy."
"I suppose that wrist is all right?" said Kemp.
"Trust me," said the Invisible Man.
"Of all the strange and wonderful—"
"Exactly. But it's odd I should blunder into your house to get my bandaging. My first stroke of luck! Anyhow, I meant to sleep in this house to-night. You must stand that! It's a filthy nuisance, my blood showing, isn't it? Quite a clot over there. Gets visible as it coagulates, I see. It's only the living tissue I've changed, and only for as long as I'm alive… I've been in the house three hours."
"But how's it done ?" began Kemp, in a tone of exasperation. "Confound it! The whole business—it's unreasonable from beginning to end."
"Quite reasonable," said the Invisible Man; "perfectly reasonable."
He reached over and secured the whisky bottle. Kemp stared at the devouring dressing-gown. A ray of candlelight penetrating a torn patch in the right shoulder made a triangle of light under the left ribs.
"What were the shots?" he asked. "How did the shooting begin?"
"There was a fool of a man—a sort of confederate of mine, curse him!—who tried to steal my money. Has done so."
"Is he invisible, too?"
"No."
"Well?"
"Can't I have some more to eat before I tell all that? I'm hungry—in pain. And you want me to tell stories!"
Kemp got up. "You didn't do any shooting?" he asked.
"Not me," said his visitor. "Some fool I'd never seen fired at random. A lot of them got scared. They all got scared at me. Curse them! I say—I want more to eat than this, Kemp."
"I'll see what there is more to eat downstairs," said Kemp. "Not much, I'm afraid."
After he had done eating—and he made a heavy meal—the Invisible Man demanded a cigar. He bit the end savagely, before Kemp could find a knife, and cursed when the outer leaf loosened.
It was strange to see him smoking: his mouth and throat, pharynx and nares,[9] became visible as a sort of whirling smoke cast.
"This blessed gift of smoking," he said, and puffed vigorously. "I'm lucky to have fallen upon you, Kemp. You must help me. Fancy tumbling on you just now! I'm in a devilish scrape—[10] I've been mad, I think. The things I have been through![11] But we will do things yet, let me tell you."
He helped himself to more whisky and soda. Kemp got up, looked about him, and fetched himself a glass from his spare room.
"It's wild—but I suppose I may drink."
"You haven't changed much, Kemp, these dozen years. You fair men don't. Cool and methodical… I must tell you. We will work together!"
"But how was it all done?" said Kemp, "and how did you get like this?"
"For God's sake let me smoke in peace for a little while, and then I will begin to tell you."
But the story was not told that night. The Invisible Man's wrist was growing painful; he was feverish, exhausted, and his mind came round to brood upon his chase down the hill and the struggle about the inn. He began his story and fell away from it. He spoke in fragments of Marvel, he smoked faster, his voice grew angry. Kemp tried to gather what he could.
"He was afraid of me—I could see he was afraid of me," said the Invisible Man many times over. "He meant to give me the slip—he was always casting about![12] What a fool I was!
"The cur!
"I was furious. I should have killed him—"
"Where did you get the money?" asked Kemp abruptly.
The Invisible Man was silent for a space. "I can't tell you to-night."
He groaned suddenly and leaned forward, supporting his invisible head on invisible hands.
"Kemp," he said, "I've had no sleep for near three days, except a couple of dozes of an hour or so. I must sleep soon."
"Well, have my room—have this room."
"But how can I sleep? If I sleep—he will get away. Ugh! What does it matter?"
"What's the shot wound?" asked Kemp.
"Nothing—scratch and blood. Oh, God! How I want sleep!"
"Why not?"
The Invisible Man appeared to be regarding Kemp. "Because I've a particular objection to being caught by my fellow-men," he said slowly.
Kemp started.
"Fool that I am!" said the Invisible Man, striking the table smartly. "I've put the idea into your head."
Chapter XVIII
The Invisible Man Sleeps
Exhausted and wounded as the Invisible Man was, he refused to accept Kemp's word that his freedom should be respected. He examined the two windows of the bedroom, drew up the blinds and opened the sashes to confirm Kemp's statement that a retreat by them would be possible. Outside the night was very quiet and still, and the new moon was setting over the down. Then he examined the keys of the bedroom and the two dressing-room doors, to satisfy himself that these also could be made an assurance of freedom. Finally he expressed himself satisfied. He stood on the hearth-rug and Kemp heard the sound of a yawn.
"I'm sorry," said the Invisible Man, "if I cannot tell you all that I have done to-night. But I am worn out. It's grotesque, no doubt. It's horrible! But, believe me, Kemp, in spite of your arguments of this morning, it is quite a possible thing. I have made a discovery. I meant to keep it to myself. I can't. I must have a partner. And you… We can do such things… But to-morrow. Now, Kemp, I feel as though I must sleep or perish."
Kemp stood in the middle of the room staring at the headless garment. "I suppose I must leave you," he said. "It's—incredible. Three things happening like this, overturning all my preconceptions—would make me insane. But it's real! Is there anything more that I can get you?"
"Only bid me good-night," said Griffin.
"Good-night," said Kemp, and shook an invisible hand. He walked sideways to the door.
Suddenly the dressing-gown walked quickly towards him. "Understand me!" said the dressing-gown. "No attemps to hamper me or capture me! Or—"
Kemp's face changed a little. "I thought I gave you my word," he said.
Kemp closed the door softly behind him, and the key was turned upon him forthwith. Then as he stood with an expression of passive amazement on his face, the rapid feet came to the door of the dressing-room, and
that too was locked. Kemp slapped his brow with his hand. "Am I dreaming? Has the world gone mad, or have I?"
He laughed, and put his hand to the locked door. "Barred out of my own bedroom by a flagrant absurdity!" he said.
He walked to the head of the staircase, turned, and stared at the locked doors. "It's fact," he said. He put his fingers to his slightly bruised neck. "Undeniable fact!
"But—"
He shook his head hopelessly, turned, and went downstairs.
He lit the dining-room lamp, got out a cigar, and began pacing the room, ejaculating. Now and then he would largue with himself.
"Invisible!" he said.
"Is there such a thing as an invisible animal?… In the sea—yes. Thousands—millions. All the larv?, all the little nauplii and tornarias,[1] all the microscopic things—the jelly-fish! In the sea there are more things invisible than visible! I never thought of that before… And in the ponds too! All those little pond-life things—specks of colourless, translucent jelly!… But in air! No!
"It can't be.
"But after all—why not?
"If a man were made of glass he would still be visible."
His meditation became profound. The bulk of three cigars had 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, 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 Marvel. Kemp read it swiftly.
"Wrapped up!" said Kemp. "Disguised! Hiding it! 'No one seems to have been aware of his misfortune.' What the devil is his game?"
He dropped the paper and his eye went seeking. "Ah!" he said, and caught up the St. James's 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.
The Invisible Man Page 10
