THE MAN WHO WAS RUNNING

In the early evening time Dr. Kemp was sitting in his study in the

belvedere on the hill overlooking Burdock. It was a pleasant little

room, with three windows--north, west, and south--and bookshelves

covered with books and scientific publications, and a broad

writing-table, and, under the north window, a microscope, glass

slips, minute instruments, some cultures, and scattered bottles of

reagents. Dr. Kemp's solar lamp was lit, albeit the sky was still

bright with the sunset light, and his blinds were up because there

was no offence of peering outsiders to require them pulled down.

Dr. Kemp was a tall and slender young man, with flaxen hair and a

moustache almost white, and the work he was upon would earn him, he

hoped, the fellowship of the Royal Society, so highly did he think

of it.

And his eye, presently wandering from his work, caught the sunset

blazing at the back of the hill that is over against his own. For a

minute perhaps he sat, pen in mouth, admiring the rich golden

colour above the crest, and then his attention was attracted by the

little figure of a man, inky black, running over the hill-brow

towards him. He was a shortish little man, and he wore a high hat,

and he was running so fast that his legs verily twinkled.

"Another of those fools," said Dr. Kemp. "Like that ass who ran

into me this morning round a corner, with the ''Visible Man

a-coming, sir!' I can't imagine what possess people. One might

think we were in the thirteenth century."

He got up, went to the window, and stared at the dusky hillside, and

the dark little figure tearing down it. "He seems in a confounded

hurry," said Dr. Kemp, "but he doesn't seem to be getting on. If

his pockets were full of lead, he couldn't run heavier."

"Spurted, sir," said Dr. Kemp.

In another moment the higher of the villas that had clambered up the

hill from Burdock had occulted the running figure. He was visible

again for a moment, and again, and then again, three times between

the three detached houses that came next, and then the terrace hid

him.

"Asses!" said Dr. Kemp, swinging round on his heel and walking

back to his writing-table.

But those who saw the fugitive nearer, and perceived the abject

terror on his perspiring face, being themselves in the open roadway,

did not share in the doctor's contempt. By the man pounded, and as

he ran he chinked like a well-filled purse that is tossed to and

fro. He looked neither to the right nor the left, but his dilated

eyes stared straight downhill to where the lamps were being lit, and

the people were crowded in the street. And his ill-shaped mouth fell

apart, and a glairy foam lay on his lips, and his breath came hoarse

and noisy. All he passed stopped and began staring up the road and

down, and interrogating one another with an inkling of discomfort

for the reason of his haste.

And then presently, far up the hill, a dog playing in the road

yelped and ran under a gate, and as they still wondered

something--a wind--a pad, pad, pad,--a sound like a panting breathing,

rushed by.

People screamed. People sprang off the pavement: It passed in

shouts, it passed by instinct down the hill. They were shouting in

the street before Marvel was halfway there. They were bolting into

houses and slamming the doors behind them, with the news. He heard

it and made one last desperate spurt. Fear came striding by, rushed

ahead of him, and in a moment had seized the town.

"The Invisible Man is coming! The Invisible Man!"

CHAPTER XVI

IN THE "JOLLY CRICKETERS"

The "Jolly Cricketers" is just at the bottom of the hill, where the

tram-lines begin. The barman leant his fat red arms on the counter

and talked of horses with an anaemic cabman, while a black-bearded

man in grey snapped up biscuit and cheese, drank Burton, and

conversed in American with a policeman off duty.

"What's the shouting about!" said the anaemic cabman, going off at a

tangent, trying to see up the hill over the dirty yellow blind in

the low window of the inn. Somebody ran by outside. "Fire, perhaps,"

said the barman.

Footsteps approached, running heavily, the door was pushed open

violently, and Marvel, weeping and dishevelled, his hat gone, the

neck of his coat torn open, rushed in, made a convulsive turn, and

attempted to shut the door. It was held half open by a strap.

"Coming!" he bawled, his voice shrieking with terror. "He's coming.

The 'Visible Man! After me! For Gawd's sake! 'Elp! 'Elp! 'Elp!"

"Shut the doors," said the policeman. "Who's coming? What's the

row?" He went to the door, released the strap, and it slammed. The

American closed the other door.

"Lemme go inside," said Marvel, staggering and weeping, but still

clutching the books. "Lemme go inside. Lock me in--somewhere. I

tell you he's after me. I give him the slip. He said he'd kill me

and he will."

"_You're_ safe," said the man with the black beard. "The door's shut.

What's it all about?"

"Lemme go inside," said Marvel, and shrieked aloud as a blow

suddenly made the fastened door shiver and was followed by a hurried

rapping and a shouting outside. "Hullo," cried the policeman, "who's

there?" Mr. Marvel began to make frantic dives at panels that looked

like doors. "He'll kill me--he's got a knife or something. For

Gawd's sake--!"

"Here you are," said the barman. "Come in here." And he held up the

flap of the bar.

Mr. Marvel rushed behind the bar as the summons outside was

repeated. "Don't open the door," he screamed. "_Please_ don't open

the door. _Where_ shall I hide?"

"This, this Invisible Man, then?" asked the man with the black

beard, with one hand behind him. "I guess it's about time we saw

him."

The window of the inn was suddenly smashed in, and there was a

screaming and running to and fro in the street. The policeman had

been standing on the settee staring out, craning to see who was at

the door. He got down with raised eyebrows. "It's that," he said.

The barman stood in front of the bar-parlour door which was now

locked on Mr. Marvel, stared at the smashed window, and came round

to the two other men.

Everything was suddenly quiet. "I wish I had my truncheon," said

the policeman, going irresolutely to the door. "Once we open, in he

comes. There's no stopping him."

"Don't you be in too much hurry about that door," said the anaemic

cabman, anxiously.

"Draw the bolts," said the man with the black beard, "and if he

comes--" He showed a revolver in his hand.

"That won't do," said the policeman; "that's murder."

"I know what country I'm in," said the man with the beard. "I'm

going to let off at his legs. Draw the bolts."

"Not with that blinking thing going off behind me," said the

barman, craning over the blind.

"Very well," said the man with the black beard, and stooping down,

revolver ready, drew them himself. Barman, cabman, and policeman

faced about.

"Come in," said the bearded man in an undertone, standing back and

facing the unbolted doors with his pistol behind him. No one came

in, the door remained closed. Five minutes afterwards when a second

cabman pushed his head in cautiously, they were still waiting, and

an anxious face peered out of the bar-parlour and supplied

information. "Are all the doors of the house shut?" asked Marvel.

"He's going round--prowling round. He's as artful as the devil."

"Good Lord!" said the burly barman. "There's the back! Just watch

them doors! I say--!" He looked about him helplessly. The

bar-parlour door slammed and they heard the key turn. "There's

the yard door and the private door. The yard door--"

He rushed out of the bar.

In a minute he reappeared with a carving-knife in his hand. "The

yard door was open!" he said, and his fat underlip dropped. "He may

be in the house now!" said the first cabman.

"He's not in the kitchen," said the barman. "There's two women

there, and I've stabbed every inch of it with this little beef

slicer. And they don't think he's come in. They haven't noticed--"

"Have you fastened it?" asked the first cabman.

"I'm out of frocks," said the barman.

The man with the beard replaced his revolver. And even as he did so

the flap of the bar was shut down and the bolt clicked, and then

with a tremendous thud the catch of the door snapped and the

bar-parlour door burst open. They heard Marvel squeal like a caught

leveret, and forthwith they were clambering over the bar to his

rescue. The bearded man's revolver cracked and the looking-glass at

the back of the parlour starred and came smashing and tinkling down.

As the barman entered the room he saw Marvel, curiously crumpled up

and struggling against the door that led to the yard and kitchen.

The door flew open while the barman hesitated, and Marvel was

dragged into the kitchen. There was a scream and a clatter of pans.

Marvel, head down, and lugging back obstinately, was forced to the

kitchen door, and the bolts were drawn.

Then the policeman, who had been trying to pass the barman, rushed

in, followed by one of the cabmen, gripped the wrist of the

invisible hand that collared Marvel, was hit in the face and went

reeling back. The door opened, and Marvel made a frantic effort to

obtain a lodgment behind it. Then the cabman collared something.

"I got him," said the cabman. The barman's red hands came clawing

at the unseen. "Here he is!" said the barman.

Mr. Marvel, released, suddenly dropped to the ground and made an

attempt to crawl behind the legs of the fighting men. The struggle

blundered round the edge of the door. The voice of the Invisible

Man was heard for the first time, yelling out sharply, as the

policeman trod on his foot. Then he cried out passionately and

his fists flew round like flails. The cabman suddenly whooped

and doubled up, kicked under the diaphragm. The door into the

bar-parlour from the kitchen slammed and covered Mr. Marvel's

retreat. The men in the kitchen found themselves clutching at and

struggling with empty air.

"Where's he gone?" cried the man with the beard. "Out?"

"This way," said the policeman, stepping into the yard and

stopping.

A piece of tile whizzed by his head and smashed among the crockery

on the kitchen table.

"I'll show him," shouted the man with the black beard, and suddenly

a steel barrel shone over the policeman's shoulder, and five

bullets had followed one another into the twilight whence the

missile had come. As he fired, the man with the beard moved his

hand in a horizontal curve, so that his shots radiated out into the

narrow yard like spokes from a wheel.

A silence followed. "Five cartridges," said the man with the black

beard. "That's the best of all. Four aces and a joker. Get a

lantern, someone, and come and feel about for his body."

CHAPTER XVII

Date: 2015-01-02; view: 1001