The Invisible Man By H.G. Wells Chapter 7 The Unveiling of the Stranger, Part Two

The Invisible Man  
By H.G. Wells  
Chapter 7  
The Unveiling of the Stranger, Part Two

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.