MR. MARVEL'S VISIT TO IPING

After the first gusty panic had spent itself Iping became

argumentative. Scepticism suddenly reared its head--rather nervous

scepticism, not at all assured of its back, but scepticism

nevertheless. It is so much easier not to believe in an invisible

man; and those who had actually seen him dissolve into air, or felt

the strength of his arm, could be counted on the fingers of two

hands. And of these witnesses Mr. Wadgers was presently missing,

having retired impregnably behind the bolts and bars of his own

house, and Jaffers was lying stunned in the parlour of the "Coach

and Horses." Great and strange ideas transcending experience often

have less effect upon men and women than smaller, more tangible

considerations. Iping was gay with bunting, and everybody was in

gala dress. Whit Monday had been looked forward to for a month or

more. By the afternoon even those who believed in the Unseen were

beginning to resume their little amusements in a tentative fashion,

on the supposition that he had quite gone away, and with the

sceptics he was already a jest. But people, sceptics and believers

alike, were remarkably sociable all that day.

Haysman's meadow was gay with a tent, in which Mrs. Bunting and

other ladies were preparing tea, while, without, the Sunday-school

children ran races and played games under the noisy guidance of the

curate and the Misses Cuss and Sackbut. No doubt there was a slight

uneasiness in the air, but people for the most part had the sense

to conceal whatever imaginative qualms they experienced. On the

village green an inclined strong, down which, clinging the while

to a pulley-swung handle, one could be hurled violently against a

sack at the other end, came in for considerable favour among the

adolescent, as also did the swings and the cocoanut shies. There

was also promenading, and the steam organ attached to a small

roundabout filled the air with a pungent flavour of oil and with

equally pungent music. Members of the club, who had attended

church in the morning, were splendid in badges of pink and green,

and some of the gayer-minded had also adorned their bowler hats

with brilliant-coloured favours of ribbon. Old Fletcher, whose

conceptions of holiday-making were severe, was visible through the

jasmine about his window or through the open door (whichever way

you chose to look), poised delicately on a plank supported on two

chairs, and whitewashing the ceiling of his front room.

About four o'clock a stranger entered the village from the direction

of the downs. He was a short, stout person in an extraordinarily

shabby top hat, and he appeared to be very much out of breath. His

cheeks were alternately limp and tightly puffed. His mottled face

was apprehensive, and he moved with a sort of reluctant alacrity. He

turned the corner of the church, and directed his way to the "Coach

and Horses." Among others old Fletcher remembers seeing him, and

indeed the old gentleman was so struck by his peculiar agitation

that he inadvertently allowed a quantity of whitewash to run down

the brush into the sleeve of his coat while regarding him.

This stranger, to the perceptions of the proprietor of the cocoanut

shy, appeared to be talking to himself, and Mr. Huxter remarked the

same thing. He stopped at the foot of the "Coach and Horses" steps,

and, according to Mr. Huxter, appeared to undergo a severe internal

struggle before he could induce himself to enter the house. Finally

he marched up the steps, and was seen by Mr. Huxter to turn to the

left and open the door of the parlour. Mr. Huxter heard voices from

within the room and from the bar apprising the man of his error.

"That room's private!" said Hall, and the stranger shut the door

clumsily and went into the bar.

In the course of a few minutes he reappeared, wiping his lips with

the back of his hand with an air of quiet satisfaction that somehow

impressed Mr. Huxter as assumed. He stood looking about him for

some moments, and then Mr. Huxter saw him walk in an oddly furtive

manner towards the gates of the yard, upon which the parlour window

opened. The stranger, after some hesitation, leant against one of

the gate-posts, produced a short clay pipe, and prepared to fill

it. His fingers trembled while doing so. He lit it clumsily, and

folding his arms began to smoke in a languid attitude, an attitude

which his occasional glances up the yard altogether belied.

All this Mr. Huxter saw over the canisters of the tobacco window,

and the singularity of the man's behaviour prompted him to maintain

his observation.

Presently the stranger stood up abruptly and put his pipe in his

pocket. Then he vanished into the yard. Forthwith Mr. Huxter,

conceiving he was witness of some petty larceny, leapt round his

counter and ran out into the road to intercept the thief. As he did

so, Mr. Marvel reappeared, his hat askew, a big bundle in a blue

table-cloth in one hand, and three books tied together--as it proved

afterwards with the Vicar's braces--in the other. Directly he saw

Huxter he gave a sort of gasp, and turning sharply to the left,

began to run. "Stop, thief!" cried Huxter, and set off after him.

Mr. Huxter's sensations were vivid but brief. He saw the man just

before him and spurting briskly for the church corner and the hill

road. He saw the village flags and festivities beyond, and a face or

so turned towards him. He bawled, "Stop!" again. He had hardly gone

ten strides before his shin was caught in some mysterious fashion,

and he was no longer running, but flying with inconceivable rapidity

through the air. He saw the ground suddenly close to his face. The

world seemed to splash into a million whirling specks of light, and

subsequent proceedings interested him no more.

CHAPTER XI

IN THE "COACH AND HORSES"

Now in order clearly to understand what had happened in the inn, it

is necessary to go back to the moment when Mr. Marvel first came

into view of Mr. Huxter's window.

At that precise moment Mr. Cuss and Mr. Bunting were in the parlour.

They were seriously investigating the strange occurrences of the

morning, and were, with Mr. Hall's permission, making a thorough

examination of the Invisible Man's belongings. Jaffers had partially

recovered from his fall and had gone home in the charge of his

sympathetic friends. The stranger's scattered garments had been

removed by Mrs. Hall and the room tidied up. And on the table under

the window where the stranger had been wont to work, Cuss had hit

almost at once on three big books in manuscript labelled "Diary."

"Diary!" said Cuss, putting the three books on the table. "Now, at

any rate, we shall learn something." The Vicar stood with his hands

on the table.

"Diary," repeated Cuss, sitting down, putting two volumes to

support the third, and opening it. "H'm--no name on the fly-leaf.

Bother!--cypher. And figures."

The vicar came round to look over his shoulder.

Cuss turned the pages over with a face suddenly disappointed.

"I'm--dear me! It's all cypher, Bunting."

"There are no diagrams?" asked Mr. Bunting. "No illustrations

throwing light--"

"See for yourself," said Mr. Cuss. "Some of it's mathematical and

some of it's Russian or some such language (to judge by the

letters), and some of it's Greek. Now the Greek I thought _you_--"

"Of course," said Mr. Bunting, taking out and wiping his spectacles

and feeling suddenly very uncomfortable--for he had no Greek

left in his mind worth talking about; "yes--the Greek, of course,

may furnish a clue."

"I'll find you a place."

"I'd rather glance through the volumes first," said Mr. Bunting,

still wiping. "A general impression first, Cuss, and _then_, you

know, we can go looking for clues."

He coughed, put on his glasses, arranged them fastidiously, coughed

again, and wished something would happen to avert the seemingly

inevitable exposure. Then he took the volume Cuss handed him in a

leisurely manner. And then something did happen.

The door opened suddenly.

Both gentlemen started violently, looked round, and were relieved

to see a sporadically rosy face beneath a furry silk hat. "Tap?"

asked the face, and stood staring.

"No," said both gentlemen at once.

"Over the other side, my man," said Mr. Bunting. And "Please shut

that door," said Mr. Cuss, irritably.

"All right," said the intruder, as it seemed in a low voice

curiously different from the huskiness of its first inquiry. "Right

you are," said the intruder in the former voice. "Stand clear!" and

he vanished and closed the door.

"A sailor, I should judge," said Mr. Bunting. "Amusing fellows, they

are. Stand clear! indeed. A nautical term, referring to his getting

back out of the room, I suppose."

"I daresay so," said Cuss. "My nerves are all loose to-day. It quite

made me jump--the door opening like that."

Mr. Bunting smiled as if he had not jumped. "And now," he said with

a sigh, "these books."

Someone sniffed as he did so.

"One thing is indisputable," said Bunting, drawing up a chair next

to that of Cuss. "There certainly have been very strange things

happen in Iping during the last few days--very strange. I cannot

of course believe in this absurd invisibility story--"

"It's incredible," said Cuss--"incredible. But the fact remains

that I saw--I certainly saw right down his sleeve--"

"But did you--are you sure? Suppose a mirror, for instance--

hallucinations are so easily produced. I don't know if you

have ever seen a really good conjuror--"

"I won't argue again," said Cuss. "We've thrashed that out,

Bunting. And just now there's these books--Ah! here's some of

what I take to be Greek! Greek letters certainly."

He pointed to the middle of the page. Mr. Bunting flushed slightly

and brought his face nearer, apparently finding some difficulty

with his glasses. Suddenly he became aware of a strange feeling at

the nape of his neck. He tried to raise his head, and encountered

an immovable resistance. The feeling was a curious pressure, the

grip of a heavy, firm hand, and it bore his chin irresistibly to

the table. "Don't move, little men," whispered a voice, "or I'll

brain you both!" He looked into the face of Cuss, close to his own,

and each saw a horrified reflection of his own sickly astonishment.

"I'm sorry to handle you so roughly," said the Voice, "but it's

unavoidable."

"Since when did you learn to pry into an investigator's private

memoranda," said the Voice; and two chins struck the table

simultaneously, and two sets of teeth rattled.

"Since when did you learn to invade the private rooms of a man in

misfortune?" and the concussion was repeated.

"Where have they put my clothes?"

"Listen," said the Voice. "The windows are fastened and I've taken

the key out of the door. I am a fairly strong man, and I have the

poker handy--besides being invisible. There's not the slightest

doubt that I could kill you both and get away quite easily if I

wanted to--do you understand? Very well. If I let you go will you

promise not to try any nonsense and do what I tell you?"

The vicar and the doctor looked at one another, and the doctor

pulled a face. "Yes," said Mr. Bunting, and the doctor repeated it.

Then the pressure on the necks relaxed, and the doctor and the

vicar sat up, both very red in the face and wriggling their heads.

"Please keep sitting where you are," said the Invisible Man.

"Here's the poker, you see."

"When I came into this room," continued the Invisible Man, after

presenting the poker to the tip of the nose of each of his visitors,

"I did not expect to find it occupied, and I expected to find, in

addition to my books of memoranda, an outfit of clothing. Where is

it? No--don't rise. I can see it's gone. Now, just at present,

though the days are quite warm enough for an invisible man to run

about stark, the evenings are quite chilly. I want clothing--and

other accommodation; and I must also have those three books."

CHAPTER XII

Date: 2015-01-02; view: 813