The Invisible Man

The Invisible Man was silent for a space. “I can’t tell you to–night.”

He groaned suddenly and leaned forward, supporting his invisible head on invisible hands.

“Kemp,” he said, “I’ve had no sleep for near three days, except a couple of dozes of an hour or so. I must sleep soon.”

"Well, have my room—have this room."

“But how can I sleep? If I sleep—he will get away. Ugh! What does it matter?”

“What’s the shot wound?” asked Kemp.

“Nothing—scratch and blood. Oh, God! How I want sleep!”

“Why not?”

The Invisible Man appeared to be regarding Kemp. “Because I’ve a particular objection to being caught by my fellow–men,” he said slowly.

Kemp started.

“Fool that I am!” said the Invisible Man, striking the table smartly. “I’ve put the idea into your head.”

CHAPTER XVIII THE INVISIBLE MAN SLEEPS

Exhausted and wounded as the Invisible Man was, he refused to accept Kemp’s word that his freedom should be respected. He examined the two windows of the bedroom, drew up the blinds and opened the sashes to confirm Kemp’s statement that a retreat by them would be possible. Outside the night was very quiet and still, and the new moon was setting over the down. Then he examined the keys of the bedroom and the two dressing–room doors, to satisfy himself that these also could be made an assurance of freedom. Finally he expressed himself satisfied. He stood on the hearth–rug and Kemp heard the sound of a yawn.

“I’m sorry,” said the Invisible Man, “if I cannot tell you all that I have done to–night. But I am worn out. It’s grotesque, no doubt. It’s horrible! But, believe me, Kemp, in spite of your arguments of this morning, it is quite a possible thing. I have made a discovery. I meant to keep it to myself. I can’t. I must have a partner. And you… We can do such things… But to–morrow. Now, Kemp, I feel as though I must sleep or perish.”

Kemp stood in the middle of the room staring at the headless garment. “I suppose I must leave you,” he said. “It’s—incredible. Three things happening like this, overturning all my preconceptions—would make me insane. But it’s real! Is there anything more that I can get you?”

“Only bid me good–night,” said Griffin.

“Good–night,” said Kemp, and shook an invisible hand. He walked sideways to the door.

Suddenly the dressing–gown walked quickly towards him. “Understand me!” said the dressing–gown. “No attemps to hamper me or capture me! Or—”

Kemp’s face changed a little. “I thought I gave you my word,” he said.

Kemp closed the door softly behind him, and the key was turned upon him forthwith. Then as he stood with an expression of passive amazement on his face, the rapid feet came to the door of the dressing–room, and that too was locked. Kemp slapped his brow with his hand. “Am I dreaming? Has the world gone mad, or have I?”

He laughed, and put his hand to the locked door. “Barred out of my own bedroom by a flagrant absurdity!” he said.

He walked to the head of the staircase, turned, and stared at the locked doors. “It’s fact,” he said. He put his fingers to his slightly bruised neck. “Undeniable fact!

“But—”

He shook his head hopelessly, turned, and went downstairs.

He lit the dining–room lamp, got out a cigar, and began pacing the room, ejaculating. Now and then he would largue with himself.

“Invisible!” he said.

“Is there such a thing as an invisible animal?… In the sea—yes. Thousands—millions. All the larv?, all the little nauplii and tornarias,[1] all the microscopic things—the jelly–fish! In the sea there are more things invisible than visible! I never thought of that before… And in the ponds too! All those little pond–life things—specks of colourless, translucent jelly!… But in air! No!

“It can’t be.

“But after all—why not?

“If a man were made of glass he would still be visible.”

His meditation became profound. The bulk of three cigars had diffused as a white ash over the carpet before he spoke again. Then it was merely an exclamation. He turned aside, walked out of the room, went into his little consulting–room and lit the gas there. It was a little room, because Dr. Kemp did not live by practice, and in it were the day’s newspapers. The morning’s paper lay carelessly opened and thrown aside. He caught it up, turned it over, and read the account of a “Strange Story from Iping” that the mariner at Port Stowe had spelt over so painfully to Marvel. Kemp read it swiftly.

“Wrapped up!” said Kemp. “Disguised! Hiding it! ’No one seems to have been aware of his misfortune.’ What the devil is his game?”

He dropped the paper and his eye went seeking. “Ah!” he said, and caught up the St. James’s Gazette, lying folded up as it arrived. “Now we shall get at the truth,” said Dr. Kemp. He rent the paper open. A couple of columns confronted him. “An Entire Village in Sussex Goes Mad,” was the heading.