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
THE INVISIBLE MAN LOSES HIS TEMPER
It is unavoidable that at this point the narrative should break off again, for a certain very painful reason that will presently be apparent. While these things were going on in the parlour, and while Mr. Huxter was watching Mr. Marvel smoking his pipe against the gate, not a dozen yards away were Mr. Hall and Teddy Henfrey discussing in a state of cloudy puzzlement the one Iping topic.
Suddenly there came a violent thud against the door of the parlour, a sharp cry, and then — silence.
“Hul-lo!” said Teddy Henfrey.
“Hul-lo!” from the Tap.
Mr. Hall took things in slowly but surely. “That ain’t right,” he said, and came round from behind the bar towards the parlour door.
He and Teddy approached the door together, with intent faces. Their eyes considered. “Summat wrong,” said Hall, and Henfrey nodded agreement. Whiffs of an unpleasant chemical odour met them, and there was a muffled sound of conversation, very rapid and subdued.
“You all right thur?” asked Hall, rapping.
The muttered conversation ceased abruptly, for a moment silence, then the conversation was resumed, in hissing whispers, then a sharp cry of “No! no, you don’t!” There came a sudden motion and the oversetting of a chair, a brief struggle. Silence again.
“What the dooce?” exclaimed Henfrey, sotto voce.
“You — all — right thur?” asked Mr. Hall, sharply, again.
The Vicar’s voice answered with a curious jerking intonation: “Quite ri-right. Please don’t — interrupt.”
“Odd!” said Mr. Henfrey.
“Odd!” said Mr. Hall.
“Says, ‘Don’t interrupt,’” said Henfrey.
“I heerd’n,” said Hall.
“And a sniff,” said Henfrey.
They remained listening. The conversation was rapid and subdued. “I can’t,” said Mr. Bunting, his voice rising; “I tell you, sir, I will not.”
“What was that?” asked Henfrey.
“Says he wi’ nart,” said Hall. “Warn’t speaking to us, wuz he?”
“Disgraceful!” said Mr. Bunting, within.
“‘Disgraceful,’” said Mr. Henfrey. “I heard it — distinct.”
“Who’s that speaking now?” asked Henfrey.
“Mr. Cuss, I s’pose,” said Hall. “Can you hear — anything?”
Silence. The sounds within indistinct and perplexing.
“Sounds like throwing the tablecloth about,” said Hall.
Mrs. Hall appeared behind the bar. Hall made gestures of silence and invitation. This aroused Mrs. Hall’s wifely opposition. “What yer listenin’ there for, Hall?” she asked. “Ain’t you nothin’ better to do — busy day like this?”
Hall tried to convey everything by grimaces and dumb show, but Mrs. Hall was obdurate. She raised her voice. So Hall and Henfrey, rather crestfallen, tiptoed back to the bar, gesticulating to explain to her.
At first she refused to see anything in what