The Invisible Man

She turned round, as one who suddenly remembers. "Bless my soul alive!"[16] she said, going off at a tangent, "ain't you done them taters[17] yet, Millie?"

When Mrs. Hall went to clear away the stranger's lunch her idea that his mouth must also have been cut or disfigured in the accident she supposed him to have suffered was confirmed, for he was smoking a pipe, and all the time that she was in the room he never loosened the silk muffler he had wrapped round the lower part of his face to put the mouthpiece to his lips. Yet it was not forgetfulness, for she saw he glanced at the tobacco as it smouldered out. He sat in the corner with his back to the window-blind, and spoke now, having eaten and drunk and being comfortably warmed through, with less aggressive brevity than before. The reflection of the fire lent a kind of red animation to his big spectacles they had lacked hitherto.

"I have some luggage," he said, "at Bramblehurst Station," and he asked her how he could have it sent. He bowed his bandaged head quite politely in acknowledgment of her explanation. "To-morrow!" he said. "There is no speedier delivery?" and seemed disappointed when she answered "No." "Was she quite sure? No man with a trap who would go over?"[18]

Mrs. Hall, nothing loath, answered his questions, and then developed a conversation. "It's a steep road by the down, sir," she said, in answer to the question about a trap; and then snatching at an opening[19] said, "It was there a carriage was upsettled,[20] a year ago and more. A gentleman killed, besides his coachman. Accidents, sir, happen in a moment, don't they?"

But the visitor was not to be drawn so easily.[21] "They do," he said, through his muffler, eyeing her quietly from behind his impenetrable glasses.

"But they take long enough to get well, sir, don't they? There was my sister's son, Tom, jest[22] cut his arm with a scythe—tumbled on it in the 'ayfield—and bless me! he was three months tied up, sir. You'd hardly believe it. It's regular[23] give me a dread of a scythe, sir."

"I can quite understand that," said the visitor.

"We was afraid, one time, that he'd have to have an op'ration, he was that bad, sir."

The vistor laughed abruptly—a bark of a laugh[24] that he seemed to bite and kill in his mouth. "Was he?" he said.

"He was, sir. And no laughing matter to them as had the doing for him[25] as I had, my sister being took up with her little ones so much. There was bandages to do, sir, and bandages to undo. So that if I may make so bold as to say it, sir—"

"Will you get me some matches?" said the visitor quite abruptly. "My pipe is out."

Mrs. Hall was pulled up suddenly. It was certainly rude of him after telling him all she had done. She gasped at him for a moment, and remembered the two sovereigns. She went for the matches.

"Thanks," he said concisely, as she put them down, and turned his shoulder upon her and stared out of the window again. Evidently he was sensitive on the topic of operations and bandages. She did not "make so bold as to say," after all. But his snubbing way had irritated her, and Millie had a hot time of it[26] that afternoon.

The visitor remained in the parlour until four o'clock, without giving the ghost of an excuse for an intrusion. For the most part he was quite still during that time: it would seem he sat in the growing darkness, smoking by the firelight—perhaps dozing.

Once or twice a curious listener might have heard him at the coals,[27] and for the space of five minutes he was audible pacing the room. He seemed to be talking to himself. Then the armchair creaked as he sat down again.

Chapter II Mr. Teddy Henfrey's First Impressions

At four o'clock, when it was fairly dark, and Mrs. Hall was screwing up her courage to go in and ask her visitor if he would take some tea, Teddy Henfrey, the clock-jobber,[1] came into the bar.

"My sakes,[2] Mrs. Hall," said he, "but this is terrible weather for thin boots!" The snow outside was falling faster.

Mrs. Hall agreed, and then noticed he had his bag with him. "Now you're here, Mr. Teddy," said she, "I'd be glad if you'd give th' old clock in the parlour a bit of a look. 'Tis going, and it strikes well and hearty, but the hour hand won't do nothin' but point at six."

And leading the way, she went across to the parlour door and rapped and entered.