Chương Chương 18 · THE INVISIBLE MAN SLEEPS

. 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 attempts 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 argue with himself.

“Invisible!” he said.

“Is there such a thing as an invisible animal? ... In the sea, yes.

Thousands—millions. All the larvae, all the little nauplii and

tornarias, 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 was made of glass he would still be visible.”

His meditation became profound. The bulk of three cigars had passed

into the invisible or 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, and 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 Mr. 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’ 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.

“Good Heavens!” said Kemp, reading eagerly an incredulous account of

the events in Iping, of the previous afternoon, that have already been

described. Over the leaf the report in the morning paper had been

reprinted.

He re-read it. “Ran through the streets striking right and left.

Jaffers insensible. Mr. Huxter in great pain—still unable to describe

what he saw. Painful humiliation—vicar. Woman ill with terror! Windows

smashed. This extraordinary story probably a fabrication. Too good not

to print—_cum grano_!”

He dropped the paper and stared blankly in front of him. “Probably a

fabrication!”

He caught up the paper again, and re-read the whole business. “But when

does the Tramp come in? Why the deuce was he chasing a tramp?”

He sat down abruptly on the surgical bench. “He’s not only invisible,”

he said, “but he’s mad! Homicidal!”

When dawn came to mingle its pallor with the lamp-light and cigar smoke

of the dining-room, Kemp was still pacing up and down, trying to grasp

the incredible.

He was altogether too excited to sleep. His servants, descending

sleepily, discovered him, and were inclined to think that over-study

had worked this ill on him. He gave them extraordinary but quite

explicit instructions to lay breakfast for two in the belvedere

study—and then to confine themselves to the basement and ground-floor.

Then he continued to pace the dining-room until the morning’s paper

came. That had much to say and little to tell, beyond the confirmation

of the evening before, and a very badly written account of another

remarkable tale from Port Burdock. This gave Kemp the essence of the

happenings at the “Jolly Cricketers,” and the name of Marvel. “He has

made me keep with him twenty-four hours,” Marvel testified. Certain

minor facts were added to the Iping story, notably the cutting of the

village telegraph-wire. But there was nothing to throw light on the

connexion between the Invisible Man and the Tramp; for Mr. Marvel had

supplied no information about the three books, or the money with which

he was lined. The incredulous tone had vanished and a shoal of

reporters and inquirers were already at work elaborating the matter.

Kemp read every scrap of the report and sent his housemaid out to get

every one of the morning papers she could. These also he devoured.

“He is invisible!” he said. “And it reads like rage growing to mania!

The things he may do! The things he may do! And he’s upstairs free as

the air. What on earth ought I to do?”

“For instance, would it be a breach of faith if—? No.”

He went to a little untidy desk in the corner, and began a note. He

tore this up half written, and wrote another. He read it over and

considered it. Then he took an envelope and addressed it to “Colonel

Adye, Port Burdock.”

The Invisible Man awoke even as Kemp was doing this. He awoke in an

evil temper, and Kemp, alert for every sound, heard his pattering feet

rush suddenly across the bedroom overhead. Then a chair was flung over

and the wash-hand stand tumbler smashed. Kemp hurried upstairs and

rapped eagerly.