Человек-невидимка / The Invisible Man + аудиоприложение

“Why!” said Huxter, suddenly, “that’s not a man at all. It’s just empty clothes. Look! You can see down his collar. I could put my arm-”

He extended his hand, and he drew it back with a sharp exclamation.

“I wish you’d keep your fingers out of my eye,” said the aerial voice. “The fact is, I’m all here-head, hands, legs, and all the rest of it, but I’m invisible.”

The suit of clothes, now all unbuttoned and hanging loosely upon its unseen supports, stood up.

Several men had entered the room, so that it was crowded.

“Invisible, eh?” said Huxter. “Who ever heard of that?”

“It’s strange, perhaps, but it’s not a crime. Why is the policeman here?”

“Ah! that’s a different matter,” said Jaffers. “I got an order and it’s all correct. Invisibility is not a crime, but the burglary is. A house was broken into and money was taken.”

“Well?”

“And circumstances certainly point-”

“Nonsense!” said the Invisible Man.

“I hope so, sir; but I’ve got my instructions.”

“Well,” said the stranger, “I’ll come. I’ll come. But no handcuffs.”

“It’s the regular thing,” said Jaffers.

“No handcuffs,” stipulated the stranger.

“Pardon me,” said Jaffers.

Abruptly the figure sat down, and before any one could realise what was happening, the slippers, socks, and trousers had been kicked off under the table. Then he sprang up again and flung off his coat.

“Stop that!” said Jaffers, suddenly realising what was happening. He gripped at the waistcoat; it struggled, and the shirt slipped out of it.

“Hold him!” said Jaffers, loudly. “Once he gets the things off-”

“Hold him!” cried everyone. A white shirt was now all that was visible of the stranger.

The shirt-sleeve sent Hall backward, and in another moment the garment was lifted up and the shirt hit the man’s head.

“Hold him!” said everybody. “Shut the door! Don’t let him get out! I got something! Here he is!”

Sandy Wadgers got a frightful blow in the nose. He opened the door. The hitting continued. Jaffers was struck under the jaw, and, turning, caught at something that intervened between him and Huxter.

“I got him!” shouted Jaffers, wrestling with purple face and swelling veins against his unseen enemy.

Then Jaffers cried in a strangled voice, and his fingers relaxed.

There were excited cries of “Hold him!” “Invisible!” and so forth, and a young fellow caught something and fell over the constable’s prostrate body. Across the road a woman screamed as something pushed her; a dog, kicked apparently, yelped and ran howling. The Invisible Man ran away. People stood amazed and gesticulating, and then came panic. But Jaffers lay quite still, face upward and knees bent.

Chapter VIII In Transit

The eighth chapter is exceedingly brief, and relates that Gibbons, the amateur naturalist of the district, while lying on the hill without a soul within a couple of miles of him, as he thought, and almost dozing, heard close to him the sound as of a man coughing, sneezing, and then swearing savagely to himself. Gibbons looked out but saw nothing. Yet the voice was indisputable. It was the swearing of an educated man. It grew, diminished again, and died away in the distance. It lifted to a sneeze and ended. Gibbons had heard nothing of the morning’s events, but the phenomenon was so striking and disturbing that his philosophical tranquillity vanished; he got up hastily, and hurried down the hill towards the village, as fast as he could go.

Chapter IX Mr. Thomas Marvel

Mr. Thomas Marvel was a person of copious, flexible visage, with a cylindrical nose, a liquorish, ample, fluctuating mouth, and an eccentric beard. He wore a furry silk hat, and the frequent substitution of shoe-laces for buttons, marked a bachelor.

Mr. Thomas Marvel was sitting with his feet in a ditch by the roadside, about a mile and a half out of Iping. His socks were torn out, his big toes were broad like the ears of a watchful dog. In a leisurely manner-he did everything in a leisurely manner-he was going to try on a pair of boots. They were the best boots he had had for a long time, but too large for him. Mr. Thomas Marvel hated roomy shoes, but he hated damp as well. But he could not understand which he hated most, and it was a pleasant day, and there was nothing better to do. So he put the four shoes in a group on the turf and looked at them. And seeing them there among the grass, it suddenly occurred to him that both pairs were ugly to see. He was not at all startled by a voice behind him.

“They’re boots, anyhow,” said the Voice.

“They are-charity boots,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel; “and I can’t decide which is the ugliest pair here.”

“Hm,” said the Voice.

“I’ve worn worse boots. But not so ugly. My old boots-I am sick of them. They’re good enough, of course. And if you’ll believe me, I’ve got nothing in the whole country, but these boots. Look at them! Ugly, right? What a country! What people!”

“It’s a terrible country,” said the Voice. “And people are like pigs.”

“That’s it!” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “Lord! And their boots!”