The Invisible Man
By H.G. Wells
Chapter 7
The Unveiling of the Stranger
Part Three
People down the village heard shouts and shrieks, and looking up
the street saw the "Coach and Horses" violently firing
out its
humanity. They saw Mrs. Hall fall down and Mr. Teddy Henfrey jump
to avoid tumbling over her, and then they heard the frightful
screams of Millie, who, emerging suddenly from the kitchen at the
noise of the tumult, had come upon the headless stranger from
behind. These increased suddenly.
Forthwith everyone all down the street, the sweetstuff seller,
cocoanut shy proprietor and his assistant, the swing man, little
boys and girls, rustic dandies, smart wenches, smocked elders
and aproned gipsies--began running towards the inn, and in a
miraculously short space of time a crowd of perhaps forty people,
and rapidly increasing, swayed and hooted and inquired and
exclaimed and suggested, in front of Mrs. Hall's establishment.
Everyone seemed eager to talk at once, and the result was Babel. A
small group supported Mrs. Hall, who was picked up in a state of
collapse. There was a conference, and the incredible evidence of a
vociferous eye-witness. "O Bogey!" "What's he been
doin', then?"
"Ain't hurt the girl, 'as 'e?" "Run at en with a
knife, I believe."
"No 'ed, I tell ye. I don't mean no manner of speaking. I
mean _marn
'ithout a 'ed_!" "Narnsense! 'tis some conjuring
trick." "Fetched
off 'is wrapping, 'e did--"
In its struggles to see in through the open door, the crowd formed
itself into a straggling wedge, with the more adventurous apex
nearest the inn. "He stood for a moment, I heerd the gal
scream,
and he turned. I saw her skirts whisk, and he went after her.
Didn't take ten seconds. Back he comes with a knife in uz hand and
a loaf; stood just as if he was staring. Not a moment ago. Went in
that there door. I tell 'e, 'e ain't gart no 'ed at all. You just
missed en--"
There was a disturbance behind, and the speaker stopped to step
aside for a little procession that was marching very resolutely
towards the house; first Mr. Hall, very red and determined, then
Mr. Bobby Jaffers, the village constable, and then the wary Mr.
Wadgers. They had come now armed with a warrant.
People shouted conflicting information of the recent
circumstances.
"'Ed or no 'ed," said Jaffers, "I got to 'rest en,
and 'rest en I
_will_."
Mr. Hall marched up the steps, marched straight to the door of the
parlour and flung it open. "Constable," he said,
"do your duty."
Jaffers marched in. Hall next, Wadgers last. They saw in the dim
light the headless figure facing them, with a gnawed crust of
bread
in one gloved hand and a chunk of cheese in the other.
"That's him!" said Hall.
"What the devil's this?" came in a tone of angry
expostulation from
above the collar of the figure.
"You're a damned rum customer, mister," said Mr.
Jaffers. "But 'ed
or no 'ed, the warrant says 'body,' and duty's duty--"
"Keep off!" said the figure, starting back.
Abruptly he whipped down the bread and cheese, and Mr. Hall just
grasped the knife on the table in time to save it. Off came the
stranger's left glove and was slapped in Jaffers' face. In another
moment Jaffers, cutting short some statement concerning a warrant,
had gripped him by the handless wrist and caught his invisible
throat. He got a sounding kick on the shin that made him shout,
but
he kept his grip. Hall sent the knife sliding along the table to
Wadgers, who acted as goal-keeper for the offensive, so to speak,
and then stepped forward as Jaffers and the stranger swayed and
staggered towards him, clutching and hitting in. A chair stood in
the way, and went aside with a crash as they came down together.
"Get the feet," said Jaffers between his teeth.
Mr. Hall, endeavouring to act on instructions, received a sounding
kick in the ribs that disposed of him for a moment, and Mr.
Wadgers, seeing the decapitated stranger had rolled over and got
the upper side of Jaffers, retreated towards the door, knife in
hand, and so collided with Mr. Huxter and the Sidderbridge carter
coming to the rescue of law and order. At the same moment down
came
three or four bottles from the chiffonnier and shot a web of
pungency into the air of the room.
"I'll surrender," cried the stranger, though he had
Jaffers down,
and in another moment he stood up panting, a strange figure,
headless and handless--for he had pulled off his right glove now
as well as his left. "It's no good," he said, as if
sobbing for
breath.
It was the strangest thing in the world to hear that voice coming
as if out of empty space, but the Sussex peasants are perhaps the
most matter-of-fact people under the sun. Jaffers got up also and
produced a pair of handcuffs. Then he stared.
"I say!" said Jaffers, brought up short by a dim
realization of the
incongruity of the whole business, "Darn it! Can't use 'em as
I can
see."
The stranger ran his arm down his waistcoat, and as if by a miracle
the buttons to which his empty sleeve pointed became undone. Then
he said something about his shin, and stooped down. He seemed to
be
fumbling with his shoes and socks.
"Why!" said Huxter, suddenly, "that's not a man at
all. It's just
empty clothes. Look! You can see down his collar and the linings
of
his clothes. I could put my arm--"
He extended his hand; it seemed to meet something in mid-air, and
he drew it back with a sharp exclamation. "I wish you'd keep
your
fingers out of my eye," said the aerial voice, in a tone of
savage
expostulation. "The fact is, I'm all here--head, hands, legs,
and
all the rest of it, but it happens I'm invisible. It's a
confounded
nuisance, but I am. That's no reason why I should be poked to
pieces by every stupid bumpkin in Iping, is it?"
The suit of clothes, now all unbuttoned and hanging loosely upon
its unseen supports, stood up, arms akimbo.
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