IN DRURY LANE

"But you begin now to realise," said the Invisible Man, "the full

disadvantage of my condition. 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 humanity. 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 clothing. 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 unfinished. 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 possible. 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 it. 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."

"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 interstices. 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 sticking-plaster.

"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. 'Badly.' 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?"

"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.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE PLAN THAT FAILED

"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!"

CHAPTER XXV

Date: 2015-01-02; view: 718