The Invisible Man (17 page)

He paused, and his attitude suggested a roving glance at the
window.

"But how did you get to Iping?" said Kemp, anxious to keep his
guest busy talking.

"I went there to work. I had one hope. It was a half idea! I have
it still. It is a full blown idea now. A way of getting back! Of
restoring what I have done. When I choose. When I have done all I
mean to do invisibly. And that is what I chiefly want to talk to
you about now."

"You went straight to Iping?"

"Yes. I had simply to get my three volumes of memoranda and my
cheque-book, my luggage and underclothing, order a quantity of
chemicals to work out this idea of mine—I will show you the
calculations as soon as I get my books—and then I started. Jove!
I remember the snowstorm now, and the accursed bother it was to
keep the snow from damping my pasteboard nose."

"At the end," said Kemp, "the day before yesterday, when they found
you out, you rather—to judge by the papers—"

"I did. Rather. Did I kill that fool of a constable?"

"No," said Kemp. "He's expected to recover."

"That's his luck, then. I clean lost my temper, the fools! Why
couldn't they leave me alone? And that grocer lout?"

"There are no deaths expected," said Kemp.

"I don't know about that tramp of mine," said the Invisible Man,
with an unpleasant laugh.

"By Heaven, Kemp, you don't know what rage
is
! ... To have worked
for years, to have planned and plotted, and then to get some
fumbling purblind idiot messing across your course! ... Every
conceivable sort of silly creature that has ever been created has
been sent to cross me.

"If I have much more of it, I shall go wild—I shall start
mowing 'em.

"As it is, they've made things a thousand times more difficult."

"No doubt it's exasperating," said Kemp, drily.

"But now," said Kemp, with a side glance out of the window, "what
are we to do?"

He moved nearer his guest as he spoke in such a manner as to
prevent the possibility of a sudden glimpse of the three men who
were advancing up the hill road—with an intolerable slowness, as
it seemed to Kemp.

"What were you planning to do when you were heading for Port
Burdock?
Had
you any plan?"

"I was going to clear out of the country. But I have altered that
plan rather since seeing you. I thought it would be wise, now the
weather is hot and invisibility possible, to make for the South.
Especially as my secret was known, and everyone would be on the
lookout for a masked and muffled man. You have a line of steamers
from here to France. My idea was to get aboard one and run the
risks of the passage. Thence I could go by train into Spain, or else
get to Algiers. It would not be difficult. There a man might always
be invisible—and yet live. And do things. I was using that tramp
as a money box and luggage carrier, until I decided how to get my
books and things sent over to meet me."

"That's clear."

"And then the filthy brute must needs try and rob me! He
has
hidden
my books, Kemp. Hidden my books! If I can lay my hands on him!"

"Best plan to get the books out of him first."

"But where is he? Do you know?"

"He's in the town police station, locked up, by his own request, in
the strongest cell in the place."

"Cur!" said the Invisible Man.

"But that hangs up your plans a little."

"We must get those books; those books are vital."

"Certainly," said Kemp, a little nervously, wondering if he heard
footsteps outside. "Certainly we must get those books. But that
won't be difficult, if he doesn't know they're for you."

"No," said the Invisible Man, and thought.

Kemp tried to think of something to keep the talk going, but the
Invisible Man resumed of his own accord.

"Blundering into your house, Kemp," he said, "changes all my plans.
For you are a man that can understand. In spite of all that has
happened, in spite of this publicity, of the loss of my books, of
what I have suffered, there still remain great possibilities, huge
possibilities—"

"You have told no one I am here?" he asked abruptly.

Kemp hesitated. "That was implied," he said.

"No one?" insisted Griffin.

"Not a soul."

"Ah! Now—" The Invisible Man stood up, and sticking his arms akimbo
began to pace the study.

"I made a mistake, Kemp, a huge mistake, in carrying this thing
through alone. I have wasted strength, time, opportunities. Alone—it
is wonderful how little a man can do alone! To rob a little,
to hurt a little, and there is the end.

"What I want, Kemp, is a goal-keeper, a helper, and a hiding-place,
an arrangement whereby I can sleep and eat and rest in peace, and
unsuspected. I must have a confederate. With a confederate, with
food and rest—a thousand things are possible.

"Hitherto I have gone on vague lines. We have to consider all that
invisibility means, all that it does not mean. It means little
advantage for eavesdropping and so forth—one makes sounds. It's
of little help—a little help perhaps—in housebreaking and so
forth. Once you've caught me you could easily imprison me. But on
the other hand I am hard to catch. This invisibility, in fact, is
only good in two cases: It's useful in getting away, it's useful in
approaching. It's particularly useful, therefore, in killing. I can
walk round a man, whatever weapon he has, choose my point, strike
as I like. Dodge as I like. Escape as I like."

Kemp's hand went to his moustache. Was that a movement
downstairs?

"And it is killing we must do, Kemp."

"It is killing we must do," repeated Kemp. "I'm listening to your
plan, Griffin, but I'm not agreeing, mind.
Why
killing?"

"Not wanton killing, but a judicious slaying. The point is, they
know there is an Invisible Man—as well as we know there is an
Invisible Man. And that Invisible Man, Kemp, must now establish a
Reign of Terror. Yes; no doubt it's startling. But I mean it. A
Reign of Terror. He must take some town like your Burdock and
terrify and dominate it. He must issue his orders. He can do that
in a thousand ways—scraps of paper thrust under doors would
suffice. And all who disobey his orders he must kill, and kill
all who would defend them."

"Humph!" said Kemp, no longer listening to Griffin but to the sound
of his front door opening and closing.

"It seems to me, Griffin," he said, to cover his wandering
attention, "that your confederate would be in a difficult
position."

"No one would know he was a confederate," said the Invisible Man,
eagerly. And then suddenly, "Hush! What's that downstairs?"

"Nothing," said Kemp, and suddenly began to speak loud and fast.
"I don't agree to this, Griffin," he said. "Understand me, I don't
agree to this. Why dream of playing a game against the race? How
can you hope to gain happiness? Don't be a lone wolf. Publish
your results; take the world—take the nation at least—into your
confidence. Think what you might do with a million helpers—"

The Invisible Man interrupted—arm extended. "There are
footsteps coming upstairs," he said in a low voice.

"Nonsense," said Kemp.

"Let me see," said the Invisible Man, and advanced, arm extended,
to the door.

And then things happened very swiftly. Kemp hesitated for a second
and then moved to intercept him. The Invisible Man started and stood
still. "Traitor!" cried the Voice, and suddenly the dressing-gown
opened, and sitting down the Unseen began to disrobe. Kemp made
three swift steps to the door, and forthwith the Invisible Man—his
legs had vanished—sprang to his feet with a shout. Kemp flung the
door open.

As it opened, there came a sound of hurrying feet downstairs and
voices.

With a quick movement Kemp thrust the Invisible Man back, sprang
aside, and slammed the door. The key was outside and ready. In
another moment Griffin would have been alone in the belvedere
study, a prisoner. Save for one little thing. The key had been
slipped in hastily that morning. As Kemp slammed the door it fell
noisily upon the carpet.

Kemp's face became white. He tried to grip the door handle with
both hands. For a moment he stood lugging. Then the door gave six
inches. But he got it closed again. The second time it was jerked a
foot wide, and the dressing-gown came wedging itself into the
opening. His throat was gripped by invisible fingers, and he left
his hold on the handle to defend himself. He was forced back,
tripped and pitched heavily into the corner of the landing. The
empty dressing-gown was flung on the top of him.

Halfway up the staircase was Colonel Adye, the recipient of Kemp's
letter, the chief of the Burdock police. He was staring aghast at
the sudden appearance of Kemp, followed by the extraordinary sight
of clothing tossing empty in the air. He saw Kemp felled, and
struggling to his feet. He saw him rush forward, and go down again,
felled like an ox.

Then suddenly he was struck violently. By nothing! A vast weight,
it seemed, leapt upon him, and he was hurled headlong down the
staircase, with a grip on his throat and a knee in his groin. An
invisible foot trod on his back, a ghostly patter passed downstairs,
he heard the two police officers in the hall shout and run, and the
front door of the house slammed violently.

He rolled over and sat up staring. He saw, staggering down the
staircase, Kemp, dusty and disheveled, one side of his face white
from a blow, his lip bleeding, and a pink dressing-gown and some
underclothing held in his arms.

"My God!" cried Kemp, "the game's up! He's gone!"

For a space Kemp was too inarticulate to make Adye understand the
swift things that had just happened. They stood on the landing,
Kemp speaking swiftly, the grotesque swathings of Griffin still on
his arm. But presently Adye began to grasp something of the
situation.

"He is mad," said Kemp; "inhuman. He is pure selfishness. He thinks
of nothing but his own advantage, his own safety. I have listened
to such a story this morning of brutal self-seeking.... He has wounded
men. He will kill them unless we can prevent him. He will create a
panic. Nothing can stop him. He is going out now—furious!"

"He must be caught," said Adye. "That is certain."

"But how?" cried Kemp, and suddenly became full of ideas. "You must
begin at once. You must set every available man to work; you must
prevent his leaving this district. Once he gets away, he may go
through the countryside as he wills, killing and maiming. He dreams
of a reign of terror! A reign of terror, I tell you. You must set a
watch on trains and roads and shipping. The garrison must help. You
must wire for help. The only thing that may keep him here is the
thought of recovering some books of notes he counts of value. I will
tell you of that! There is a man in your police station—Marvel."

"I know," said Adye, "I know. Those books—yes. But the tramp...."

"Says he hasn't them. But he thinks the tramp has. And you must
prevent him from eating or sleeping; day and night the country must
be astir for him. Food must be locked up and secured, all food, so
that he will have to break his way to it. The houses everywhere must
be barred against him. Heaven send us cold nights and rain! The
whole country-side must begin hunting and keep hunting. I tell you,
Adye, he is a danger, a disaster; unless he is pinned and secured,
it is frightful to think of the things that may happen."

"What else can we do?" said Adye. "I must go down at once and begin
organising. But why not come? Yes—you come too! Come, and we
must hold a sort of council of war—get Hopps to help—and the
railway managers. By Jove! it's urgent. Come along—tell me as we
go. What else is there we can do? Put that stuff down."

In another moment Adye was leading the way downstairs. They found
the front door open and the policemen standing outside staring at
empty air. "He's got away, sir," said one.

"We must go to the central station at once," said Adye. "One of you
go on down and get a cab to come up and meet us—quickly. And
now, Kemp, what else?"

"Dogs," said Kemp. "Get dogs. They don't see him, but they wind
him. Get dogs."

"Good," said Adye. "It's not generally known, but the prison
officials over at Halstead know a man with bloodhounds. Dogs. What
else?"

"Bear in mind," said Kemp, "his food shows. After eating, his food
shows until it is assimilated. So that he has to hide after eating.
You must keep on beating. Every thicket, every quiet corner. And
put all weapons—all implements that might be weapons, away. He
can't carry such things for long. And what he can snatch up and
strike men with must be hidden away."

"Good again," said Adye. "We shall have him yet!"

"And on the roads," said Kemp, and hesitated.

"Yes?" said Adye.

"Powdered glass," said Kemp. "It's cruel, I know. But think of what
he may do!"

Adye drew the air in sharply between his teeth. "It's
unsportsmanlike. I don't know. But I'll have powdered glass got
ready. If he goes too far...."

"The man's become inhuman, I tell you," said Kemp. "I am as sure he
will establish a reign of terror—so soon as he has got over the
emotions of this escape—as I am sure I am talking to you. Our
only chance is to be ahead. He has cut himself off from his kind.
His blood be upon his own head."

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.