The Invisible Man

“I didn’t feel so. Where are you? If I get up shall I run into you? There! All right. Whisky… Here. Where shall I give it you?”

The chair creaked, and Kemp felt the glass drawn away from him. He let it go by an effort; his instinct was all against it. It came to rest poised twenty inches above the front edge of the chair. He stared at it in infinite perplexity.

“This is—this must be—hypnotism. You must have suggested you are invisible.”

“Nonsense!” said the Voice.

“It’s frantic!”

“Listen to me.”

“I demonstrated conclusively this morning,” began Kemp, “that invisibility—”

“Never mind what you’ve demonstrated! I’m starving,” said the Voice, “and the night is chilly to a man without clothes.”

“Food?” said Kemp.

The tumbler of whisky tilted itself. “Yes,” said the Invisible Man, rapping it down. “Have you got a dressing–gown?”

Kemp made some exclamation in an undertone. He walked to a wardrobe, and produced a robe of dingy scarlet. “This do?”[7] he asked. It was taken from him. It hung limp for a moment in mid–air, fluttered weirdly, stood full and decorous buttoning itself, and sat down in his chair.

“Drawers, socks, slippers would be a comfort,” said the Unseen curtly. “And food.”

“Anything. But this is the insanest thing I was ever in, in my life!”

He turned out his drawers for the articles, and then went downstairs to ransack his larder. He came back with some cold cutlets and bread, pulled up a light table, and placed them before his guest.

“Never mind knives,” said his visitor, and a cutlet hung in mid–air with a sound of gnawing.

“I always like to get something about me[8] before I eat,” said the Invisible Man, with a full mouth, eating greedily. “Queer fancy.”

“I suppose that wrist is all right?” said Kemp.

“Trust me,” said the Invisible Man.

“Of all the strange and wonderful—”

“Exactly. But it’s odd I should blunder into your house to get my bandaging. My first stroke of luck! Anyhow, I meant to sleep in this house to–night. You must stand that! It’s a filthy nuisance, my blood showing, isn’t it? Quite a clot over there. Gets visible as it coagulates, I see. It’s only the living tissue I’ve changed, and only for as long as I’m alive… I’ve been in the house three hours.”

“But how’s it done ?” began Kemp, in a tone of exasperation. “Confound it! The whole business—it’s unreasonable from beginning to end.”

“Quite reasonable,” said the Invisible Man; "perfectly reasonable.”

He reached over and secured the whisky bottle. Kemp stared at the devouring dressing–gown. A ray of candlelight penetrating a torn patch in the right shoulder made a triangle of light under the left ribs.

“What were the shots?” he asked. “How did the shooting begin?”

“There was a fool of a man—a sort of confederate of mine, curse him!—who tried to steal my money. Has done so.”

“Is he invisible, too?”

“No.”

“Well?”

“Can’t I have some more to eat before I tell all that? I’m hungry—in pain. And you want me to tell stories!”

Kemp got up. “You didn’t do any shooting?” he asked.

“Not me,” said his visitor. “Some fool I’d never seen fired at random. A lot of them got scared. They all got scared at me. Curse them! I say—I want more to eat than this, Kemp.”

“I’ll see what there is more to eat downstairs,” said Kemp. “Not much, I’m afraid.”

After he had done eating—and he made a heavy meal —the Invisible Man demanded a cigar. He bit the end savagely, before Kemp could find a knife, and cursed when the outer leaf loosened.

It was strange to see him smoking: his mouth and throat, pharynx and nares,[9] became visible as a sort of whirling smoke cast.

“This blessed gift of smoking,” he said, and puffed vigorously. “I’m lucky to have fallen upon you, Kemp. You must help me. Fancy tumbling on you just now! I’m in a devilish scrape—[10] I’ve been mad, I think. The things I have been through![11] But we will do things yet, let me tell you.”

He helped himself to more whisky and soda. Kemp got up, looked about him, and fetched himself a glass from his spare room.

“It’s wild—but I suppose I may drink.”

“You haven’t changed much, Kemp, these dozen years. You fair men don’t. Cool and methodical… I must tell you. We will work together!”

“But how was it all done?” said Kemp, “and how did you get like this?”

“For God’s sake let me smoke in peace for a little while, and then I will begin to tell you.”

But the story was not told that night. The Invisible Man’s wrist was growing painful; he was feverish, exhausted, and his mind came round to brood upon his chase down the hill and the struggle about the inn. He began his story and fell away from it. He spoke in fragments of Marvel, he smoked faster, his voice grew angry. Kemp tried to gather what he could.

“He was afraid of me—I could see he was afraid of me,” said the Invisible Man many times over. “He meant to give me the slip—he was always casting about![12] What a fool I was!

“The cur!

“I was furious. I should have killed him—”

“Where did you get the money?” asked Kemp abruptly.