By H.G. Wells Chapter 17 Doctor Kemp's Visitor Part One

The Invisible Man

By H.G. Wells

Chapter 17

Doctor Kemp's Visitor

Part One

Dr. Kemp had continued writing in his study until the shots

aroused him. Crack, crack, crack, they came one after the other.

"Hullo!" said Dr. Kemp, putting his pen into his mouth again and

listening. "Who's letting off revolvers in Burdock? What are the

asses at now?"

He went to the south window, threw it up, and leaning out stared

down on the network of windows, beaded gas-lamps and shops, with its

black interstices of roof and yard that made up the town at night.

"Looks like a crowd down the hill," he said, "by 'The Cricketers,'"

and remained watching. Thence his eyes wandered over the town to far

away where the ships' lights shone, and the pier glowed--a little

illuminated, facetted pavilion like a gem of yellow light. The moon

in its first quarter hung over the westward hill, and the stars were

clear and almost tropically bright.

After five minutes, during which his mind had travelled into a

remote speculation of social conditions of the future, and lost

itself at last over the time dimension, Dr. Kemp roused himself

with a sigh, pulled down the window again, and returned to his

writing desk.

It must have been about an hour after this that the front-door bell

rang. He had been writing slackly, and with intervals of

abstraction, since the shots. He sat listening. He heard the servant

answer the door, and waited for her feet on the staircase, but she

did not come. "Wonder what that was," said Dr. Kemp.

He tried to resume his work, failed, got up, went downstairs from

his study to the landing, rang, and called over the balustrade to

the housemaid as she appeared in the hall below. "Was that a

letter?" he asked.

"Only a runaway ring, sir," she answered.

"I'm restless to-night," he said to himself. He went back to his

study, and this time attacked his work resolutely. In a little

while he was hard at work again, and the only sounds in the room

were the ticking of the clock and the subdued shrillness of his

quill, hurrying in the very centre of the circle of light his

lampshade threw on his table.

It was two o'clock before Dr. Kemp had finished his work for the

night. He rose, yawned, and went downstairs to bed. He had already

removed his coat and vest, when he noticed that he was thirsty. He

took a candle and went down to the dining-room in search of a

syphon and whiskey.

Dr. Kemp's scientific pursuits have made him a very observant

man, and as he recrossed the hall, he noticed a dark spot on the

linoleum near the mat at the foot of the stairs. He went on

upstairs, and then it suddenly occurred to him to ask himself what

the spot on the linoleum might be. Apparently some subconscious

element was at work. At any rate, he turned with his burden, went

back to the hall, put down the syphon and whiskey, and bending

down, touched the spot. Without any great surprise he found it had

the stickiness and colour of drying blood.

He took up his burden again, and returned upstairs, looking about

him and trying to account for the blood-spot. On the landing he saw

something and stopped astonished. The door-handle of his own room

was blood-stained.

He looked at his own hand. It was quite clean, and then he

remembered that the door of his room had been open when he came down

from his study, and that consequently he had not touched the handle

at all. He went straight into his room, his face quite calm--perhaps

a trifle more resolute than usual. His glance, wandering

inquisitively, fell on the bed. On the counterpane was a mess of

blood, and the sheet had been torn. He had not noticed this before

because he had walked straight to the dressing-table. On the further

side the bedclothes were depressed as if someone had been recently

sitting there.

Then he had an odd impression that he had heard a low voice say,

"Good Heavens!--Kemp!" But Dr. Kemp was no believer in voices.

He stood staring at the tumbled sheets. Was that really a voice? He

looked about again, but noticed nothing further than the disordered

and blood-stained bed. Then he distinctly heard a movement across

the room, near the wash-hand stand. All men, however highly

educated, retain some superstitious inklings. The feeling that is

called "eerie" came upon him. He closed the door of the room, came

forward to the dressing-table, and put down his burdens. Suddenly,

with a start, he perceived a coiled and blood-stained bandage of

linen rag hanging in mid-air, between him and the wash-hand stand.

He stared at this in amazement. It was an empty bandage, a bandage

properly tied but quite empty. He would have advanced to grasp it,

but a touch arrested him, and a voice speaking quite close to him.

"Kemp!" said the Voice.

"Eh?" said Kemp, with his mouth open.

"Keep your nerve," said the Voice. "I'm an Invisible Man."

Kemp made no answer for a space, simply stared at the bandage.

"Invisible Man," he said.

"I am an Invisible Man," repeated the Voice.

The story he had been active to ridicule only that morning rushed

through Kemp's brain. He does not appear to have been either very

much frightened or very greatly surprised at the moment.

Realisation came later.

"I thought it was all a lie," he said. The thought uppermost in his

mind was the reiterated arguments of the morning. "Have you a

bandage on?" he asked.

"Yes," said the Invisible Man.

"Oh!" said Kemp, and then roused himself. "I say!" he said. "But

this is nonsense. It's some trick." He stepped forward suddenly,

and his hand, extended towards the bandage, met invisible fingers.

He recoiled at the touch and his colour changed.

"Keep steady, Kemp, for God's sake! I want help badly. Stop!"

The hand gripped his arm. He struck at it.

"Kemp!" cried the Voice. "Kemp! Keep steady!" and the grip

tightened.

A frantic desire to free himself took possession of Kemp. The hand

of the bandaged arm gripped his shoulder, and he was suddenly

tripped and flung backwards upon the bed. He opened his mouth to

shout, and the corner of the sheet was thrust between his teeth.

The Invisible Man had him down grimly, but his arms were free and

he struck and tried to kick savagely.

"Listen to reason, will you?" said the Invisible Man, sticking to

him in spite of a pounding in the ribs. "By Heaven! you'll madden

me in a minute!

"Lie still, you fool!" bawled the Invisible Man in Kemp's ear.

Kemp struggled for another moment and then lay still.

"If you shout, I'll smash your face," said the Invisible Man,

relieving his mouth.

"I'm an Invisible Man. It's no foolishness, and no magic. I really

am an Invisible Man. And I want your help. I don't want to hurt

you, but if you behave like a frantic rustic, I must. Don't you

remember me, Kemp? Griffin, of University College?"

"Let me get up," said Kemp. "I'll stop where I am. And let me sit

quiet for a minute."

He sat up and felt his neck.

"I am Griffin, of University College, and I have made myself

invisible. I am just an ordinary man--a man you have known--made

invisible."