The Invisible Man Part 3

The Invisible Man shows himself.

Included in this episode:
Chapter 7 The Unveiling of the Stranger
Chapter 8 In Transit
Chapter 9 Mr Thomas Marvel

Author: H.G. Wells

Contact the pod on: thesolobc@gmail.com 

Transcript

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Welcome to Solo Book Club. We are currently reading Invisible Man. This is part three. So if this is your first time coming and listening to Solo Book Club, highly recommend you jump back a couple episodes to part one and begin there. So what happened in part two? Well, I think it's pretty safe to say that the stranger is the invisible man. We've kind of had confirmation of that. He showed the GP his invisible arm and kinda hit him on the nose, which was kind of hilarious. Then he went and broke into the Vicarage, which we don't really know why, perhaps to steal some money. And then in his attempt to get back into his room, the halls were in there, and uh he kind of had to scare them away with possessed furniture. So um yeah, that's kind of where we left it with a terrified GP, a terrified Vicar, uh and uh terrified innkeepers. Alright, let's begin. Chapter 7: The Unveiling of the Stranger. The stranger went into the little parlour of the coach and horses about half past five in the morning, and there he remained until near midday, the blinds down, the door shut, and none after Hall's repulse venturing near him. All that time he must have fasted. Thrice he rang his bell, the third time furiously and continuously, but no one answered him. Him and his go to the devil indeed, said Mrs. Hall. Presently came an imperfect rumour of the burglary at the Vicarage, and two and two were put together. Hall, assisted by Wadgers, went off to find Mr Shuckleforth. My God, what kind of names do these people have? Mr Shuckleforth, the magistrate, and take his advice. No one ventured upstairs. How the stranger occupied himself is unknown. Now and then he would stride violently up and down, and twice came an outburst of curses, a tearing of paper, and a violent smashing of bottles. The little group of scared but curious people increased. Mrs. Huckster came over, some gay young fellows resplendent in black ready-made jackets and peak paper ties, for it was Whit Monday, joined the group with confused interrogations. Young Archie Harker distinguished himself by going up the yard and trying to peep under the window blinds. He could see nothing but gave reason for supposing that he did, and others of the ipping youth presently joined him. It was the finest of all possible Whit Mondays, and down the village street stood a row of nearly a dozen booths and a shooting gallery, and on the grass by the forge were three yellow and chocolate wagons and some picturesque strangers of both sexes putting up a coconut shy. The gentleman wore blue jerseys, the ladies' white aprons and quite fashionable hats with heavy plumes. Roger of the Purple Fawn and Mr. Jaggers the cobbler, who also sold secondhand ordinary bicycles, were stretching a string of Union Jackson Royal ensigns, which had originally celebrated the Jubilee across the road. And inside, in the artificial darkness of the parlour, into which only one thin jet of sunlight penetrated, the stranger, hungry, we must suppose, and fearful, hidden in his uncomfortable hot wrappings, poured through his dark glasses upon his paper or chinked his dirty little bottles and occasionally swore savagely at the boys, audible if invisible, outside the windows. In the corner by the fireplace lay the fragments of half a dozen smash bottles, and a pungent tang of chlorine tainted the air. So much we know that what was heard at the time and from what was subsequently seen in the room. About noon he suddenly opened his parlour door and stood glaring fixedly at the three or four people in the bar. Mrs. Hall, he said. Somebody went sheepishly and called for Mrs. Hall. Mrs. Hall appeared after an interval, a little short of breath, but all the fiercer for that. Hall was still out. She had deliberated over this scene, and she came holding a little tray with an unsettled bill upon it. Is it your bill you're wanting, sir? she said. Why wasn't my breakfast laid? Why haven't you prepared my meals and answered my bell? Do you think I live without eating? Why isn't my bill paid? said Mrs. Hall. That's what I want to know. I told you three days ago I was awaiting a remittance. I told you two days ago I wasn't going to await no remittances. You can't grumble if your breakfast waits a bit, if my bill's been waiting these five days, can you? The stranger swore briefly but vividly. Nah nah from the bar. And I thank you kindly, sir, if you keep your swearing to yourself, sir, said Mrs. Hall. The stranger stood, looking more like an angry diving helmet than ever. It was universally felt in the bar that Mrs. Hall had the better of him. His next words showed as much. Look here, my good woman, he began. Don't good woman me, said Mrs. Hall. I've told you my remittance hasn't come. Remittance indeed, said Mrs. Hall. Still, I dare say in my pocket you told me two days ago that you hadn't anything but a sovereign's worth of silver upon you. Well, I found some more Hullo from the bar. I wonder where you found it, said Mrs. Hall. That seemed to annoy the stranger very much. He stamped his foot. What do you mean? he said. That I wonder where you found it, said Mrs. Hall. And before I take any bills or get any breakfasts, or do any such things whatsoever, you've got to tell me one or two things I don't understand, and what nobody don't understand, and what everybody's very anxious to understand. I want to know what you've been doing to my chairs upstairs, and I want to know how 'tis your room was empty and how you got in again. There must stops in this house comes in by the doors. That's the rule of the house, and that you didn't do. What I want to know is how you did come in, and I want to know Suddenly the stranger raised his gloved hands, clenched, stamped his foot, and said stop with such extraordinary violence that he silenced her instantly. You don't understand, he said, who I am or what I am. I'll show you, by heaven I'll show you. Then he put his open palm over his face and withdrew it. The centre of his face became a black cavity. He, he said, he stepped forward and handed Mrs. Hall something which she, staring at his metamorphosed face, accepted automatically. Then, when she saw what it was, she screamed loudly, dropped it and staggered back. The nose, it was the stranger's nose, pink and shining, rolled to the floor. Then he removed his spectacles, and everyone in the bar gasped. He took off his hat and with a violent gesture tore at his whiskers and bandages. For a moment they resisted him. A flash of horrible anticipation passed through the bar. Oh my god, said someone. Then off they came. It was worse than anything. Mrs. Hall, standing open mouthed and horror struck, shrieked at what she saw and made for the door of the house. Everyone began to move. They were prepared for scars, disfigurements, tangible horrors, but nothing? The bandages and false hair flew across the passage into the bar, making a hobble de hoy jump to avoid them. Everyone tumbled on everyone else down the steps, for the man who stood there shouting some incoherent explanation was a solid, gesticulating figure up to the coat collar of him, and then nothingness, no visible thing at all. Oh my god, we were right! He is the invisible man. 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. Tenny 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. Forthwith everyone all down the street, the sweet stuffed cellar, coconut shy proprietor, and his assistant, the swing man, little boys and girls, rustic dandies, smart wenches, smocked elders and aproned gypsies, began running towards the inn, and in a miraculously short space of time a crowd of perhaps 40 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 babble. A small group supported Mrs. Hall who was picked up in a state of collapse. There was a confusion in the incredible evidence of a vocaperous vocaperous? What is that word? Okay, so it's actually it's actually vociferous, and it means to be like really loud. There was a confusion in the incredible evidence of a vociferous eyewitness. Oh Bogie, what's he been doing then? Ain't hurt the girl, has he? Run at him with a knife, I believe. No ed, I tell ya. I don't mean no manner of speaking, I mean man without a head. Nonsense. 'Tis some conjuring trick. Fetched off his rappins he did. In its struggles to see in through the open door, the crowd formed itself into a straggling wedge, with the more adventurous aspects nearest the inn. He stood for a moment. I heard the girl 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 his hand and a loaf. Stood just as he was staring not a moment ago. Went in that there door, I tell ye ain't got no head at all. You just missed him. 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 warry Mr Wadgers. They'd come now armed with a warrant. People shouted conflicting information of the recent circumstances. Ed or no ed, said Jaffers, I've got to restin', and restin' I will. I'm assuming that's a rest. Mr Hall marched up the steps, marched straight to the door of the parlour and found it open. Constable, he said, Do your duty. Jaffers marched in, Hall next, Wadges 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 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 sound kicking in the shin that made him shout but he kept his grip. Hall sent the knife sliding along the table to Wadgers, who acted as goalkeeper 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 him for a moment. 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. Huckster and the Siddamorton Carter, coming to the rescue of Law and Order. At the same moment, down came three or four bottles from the chiffonier, and shot a web of pungency into the air of the room. Oh 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 started. I say, said Jaffers, brought up short by a dim realisation 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 in 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 Huckster 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 midair, 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, heads, 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 and ipping, is it? The suit of clothes, now all unbuttoned and hanging loosely upon its unseen supports, stood up, arms akimbo. Several of the men folk had now entered the room, so that was closely crowded. Invisible, eh? said Huckster, ignoring the stranger's abuse. Whoever heard the likes of that? It's strange, perhaps, but it's not a crime. Why am I assaulted by a policeman in this fashion? Ah, that's a different matter, said Jaffers. No doubt you're a bit difficult to see in this light, but I got a warrant, and it's all correct. What I'm after ain't no invisibility. It's burglary. There's a house being broken into and money took. Well, and circumstances certainly point stuff and nonsense, said the invisible man. I hope so, sir, but I've got my instructions. Well, said the stranger, I'll come, I'll come, but no handcuffs. It's the regular thing, said Jaffers. No handcuffs, stipulated the stranger. Pardon me, said Jaffers. Abruptly the figure sat down before anyone could realise what was being done. The slippers, socks and trousers had been kicked off under the table. Then he sprung up again and flung off his coat. Here, stop that, said Jaffers, suddenly realizing what was happening. He gripped the waistcoat. It struggled, and the shirt slipped out of it and left it limp and empty in his hand. Hold him, said Jaffers loudly. Once he gets they things off, hold him, cried everyone, and there was a rush at the flattering white shirt, which was now all that was visible of the stranger. The shirt sleeve planted a shrewd blow in Hall's face that stopped his open-armed advance and sent him backward into old Toothsome the sexton. And in another moment the garment was lifted up and became convulsed, and vacantly flapping about the arms, even as a shirt that is being thrust over a man's head. Jaffers clutched at it and only helped to pull it off. He was struck in the mouth out of the air, and incontinently drew his truncheon and smote Teddy Henfrey savagely upon the crown of his head. Look out, said everybody, fencing at random and hitting at nothing. Hold him, shut the door, don't let him loose. I got something. Here he is. A perfect babble of noises they made. Everybody it seemed was being hit all at once, and Sandy Wadgers, knowing as ever, and his wits sharpened by a frightful blow on the nose, reopened the door and led the route. The others, following incontinently, were jammed for a moment in the corner of the doorway. The hitting continued. Phipps, the Unitarian, had a front tooth broken, and Henfrey was injured in the cartilage of his ear. Jaffers was struck under the jaw and turning caught at something that intervened between him and Huckster and the melee and prevented their coming together. He felt a muscular chest, and in another moment the whole mass of struggling, excited men shot out into the crowded hall. I've got him, shouted Jaffers, choking and reeling through them all, wrestling with purple face and swelling veins against his unseen enemy. Men staggered right and left as the extraordinary conflict swayed swiftly towards the house door and went spinning down the half dozen steps of the inn. Jaffers cried in a strangled voice, holding tight nevertheless and making play with his knee, spun round and fell heavily undermost with his head on the gravel. Only then did his fingers relax. There were excited cries of hold him, invisible, and so forth, and a young fellow, a stranger in the place whose name did not come to light, rushed in at once, caught something, missed his hold, and fell over the constable's prostrate body. Halfway across the road a woman screamed as something pushed by her. A dog kicked apparently, yelped and ran howling into Huckster's yard, and with that the transit of the invisible man was accomplished. For a space people stood amazed and gesticulating, and then came panic and scattered them abroad through the village as a gust scatters dead leaves. But Jaffez lay quite still, face upward and knees bent. Whoa, that chapter was pretty eventful. So it seems the invisible man has been found out. As we suspected, the stranger is the invisible man, and he has just escaped basically a crowd attempting to hold on to him. Yeah, and I mean I guess to be expect like the reaction to be expected. I mean that's kind of what people do when they're faced with something they can't understand, right? They they react quite aggressively sometimes. Mainly because they're scared, but anyway. Chapter 8 In Transit. The eighth chapter is exceedingly brief and relates that Gibbons, the amateur naturalist of the district, while lying out on the spacious open downs without a soul within a couple of miles of him, as he thought, and almost dozing, heard close to him the sound of a man coughing, sneezing, and then swearing savagely to himself, and looking, beheld nothing. Yet the voice was indisputable, continued to swear with that breadth and variety that distinguishes the swearing of a cultivated man. It grew to a climax, diminished again and died away in the distance, going as it seemed to him in the direction of Adderine. It lifted to a spasmodic sneeze and ended. Gibbons had heard nothing of the morning's occurrences, but the phenomenon was so striking and disturbing that his philosophical tranquillity vanished. He got up hastily and hurried down the steepness of the hill towards the village as fast as he could go. Nice short chapter for us. Alright, chapter nine. Mr Thomas Marvel. You must picture Mr. Thomas Marvel as a person of copious, flexible visage, a nose of cylindrical protrusion, a licorice, ample, fluctuating mouth, and a beard of bristling eccentricity. His figure inclined to embonment. To to embon point. What on earth is that? Alright, we've got another French word pronounced embonpoire, and it's basically like the widest part of you, I guess, like the the pudgiest part of you. So his figure inclined to ombompois. His short limbs accentuated this inclination. He wore a furry silk hat and the frequent substitution of twine and shoelaces for buttons, apparent at critical points of his costume, marked a man essentially bachelor. Mr. Thomas Marvel was sitting with his feet in a ditch by the roadside over the down towards Adadeen, about a mile and a half out of Ipping. His feet, save for socks of irregular open work, were bare. His big toes were broad and prickled like the ears of a watchful dog. In a leisurely manner, he did everything in a leisurely manner, he was contemplating trying on a pair of boots. They were the soundest boots he'd come across for a long time, but too large for him. Whereas the ones he had were in dry weather a very comfortable fit, but too thin soled for damp. Mr Thomas Marvel hated roomy boots, but then he hated damp. He had never properly thought out which he hated most, and it was a pleasant day and there was nothing better to do. So he put the four boots in a graceful group on the turf and looked at them. And seeing them there among the grass and springing agrimony, it suddenly occurred to him that both pairs were exceedingly ugly to see. He was not at all startled by a voice behind him. They're boots, anyhow, said the voice. They are charity boots, said Mr Thomas Marfle, with his head on one side regarding them distastefully. And which is the ugliest pair in the whole blessed universe, if darned I know. Hm, said the voice. I've worn worse, in fact I've worn none, but so audacious ugly, if you'll allow the expression, I've been cadging boots, in particular for days, because I was sick of them. They're sound enough, of course, but a gentleman on tramp sees such a thundering lot of his boots, and if you'll believe me, I've raised nothing in the whole blessed county. Try as I would, but them, look at them, and a good county for boots too, in a general way. But it's just my promiscuous luck. I've got my boots in this county ten years or more, and then they treat you like this. It's a beast of a county, said the voice. And pigs for people. Ain't it? said Mr Thomas Marvel. Lord, but them boots, it beats it. He turned his head over his shoulder to the right to look at the boots of his interlocutor, with a view to comparisons, and lo, where the boots of his interlocutor should have been, were neither legs nor boots. He turned his head over his shoulder to the left, and there also were neither legs nor boots. He was irritated by the dawn of a great amazement. Where are you? said Mr Thomas Marvel over his shoulder. Coming round on all fours. He saw a stretch of empty down with the wind swaying the remote green pointed furzy bushes. Am I drunk? said Mr Marvel. Have I had visions? Was I talking to myself? What the Don't be alarmed, said the voice. None of your ventriloquizing me, said Mr Thomas Marvel, rising sharply to his feet. Where are you? Alarmed indeed. Don't be alarmed, repeated the voice. You'll be alarmed in a minute, you silly fool, said Mr Thomas Marvel. Where are ya? Let me get my mark on ya. Are you buried? said Mr Thomas Marvel, after an interval. There was no answer. Mr Thomas Marvel stood bootless and amazed, his jacket nearly thrown off. Peewit, said a PeeWit, very remote. Peewit indeed, said Mr Thomas Marvel. This ain't no time for foolery. The down was desolate, east and west, north and south. The road, with its shallow ditches and white bordering stakes, ran smooth and empty north and south. Save for that peewit, the blue sky was empty too. So help me, said Mr Thomas Marvel, shuffling his coat onto his shoulders again. It's the drink I might have known. It's not the drink, said the voice. You keep your nerves steady. Ow, said Mr Marvel, and his face grew white amidst its patches. It's the drink, his lips repeated noiselessly. He remained staring about him, rotating slowly backwards. I could have sworn I heard a voice, he whispered. Of course you did. It's there again, said Mr Marvel, closing his eyes and clasping his hand to his brow with a tragic gesture. He was suddenly taken by the collar and violently shaken, left more dazed than ever. Don't be a fool, said the voice. Poor Mr Thomas Marvel. I mean he clearly thinks he's going mad he's hearing a disembodied voice. And now he's just been grabbed by an invisible hand. I'm off my blooming chump, said Mr Marvel. It's no good. It's fretting about them blasted boots. I'm off my blessed blooming chump, or it's spirits. Neither one thing nor the other, said the voice. Listen. Chump, said Mr Marvel. One minute, said the voice penetratingly, tremulous with self control. Well, said Mr Thomas Marvel, with a strange feeling of having been dug in the chest by a finger. You think I'm just imagination. Just imagination. What else can you be? said Mr Thomas Marvel, rubbing the back of his neck. Very well, said the voice, in a tone of relief. Then I'm going to throw flints at you till you think differently. But where are ya? The voice made no answer. Whiz came a flint apparently out of the air and missed Mr. Marvel's shoulder by a hair's breadth. Mr Marvel, turning, saw a flint jerk up into the air and trace a complicated path, hang for a moment, and then fall at his feet with an almost invisible rapidity. He was too amazed to dodge. Whiz it came and ricocheted from a bare toe into the ditch. Mr. Marvel jumped a foot and howled aloud. Then he started to run, tripping over an unseen obstacle and came head over heels into a sitting position. Now, said the voice, as a third stone curved upward and hung in the air above the tramp, am I imagination? Mr Marvel, by way of reply, struggled to his feet, was immediately rolled over again. He lay quiet for a moment. If you struggle any more, said the voice, I shall throw the flint at your head. It's a fair do, said Mr Thomas Marvel, sitting up, taking his wounded toe in hand and fixing his eye on the third missile. I don't understand it. Stones flinging themselves. Stones talking. Put yourself down, rot away, I'm done. The third flint fell. It's very simple, said the voice. I'm an invisible man. Tell us something I don't know, said Mr Thomas Marvel, gasping with pain. Where have you hid? How you do it? I don't know. I'm beat. That's all, said the voice, I'm invisible. That's what I want you to understand. Anyone could see that. There is no need for you to be so confound impatient, mister. Now then, give us a notion. How are you hid? I'm invisible, that's the great point. What I want you to understand is this, but whereabouts? interrupted Mr Marvel. Here, six yards in front of you. Oh come, I ain't blind. You'd be telling me next you're just thin air. I'm not one of your ignorant tramps. Yes, I am thin air. You're looking through me. What? Ain't there any stuff you do? Foxette, what is it? Jabba, is it that? I'm just a human being, solid, needing food and drink, needing coverage too, but I'm invisible, you see. Invisible simple idea invisible What? Real like? Yes, real. Let's have a hand of you, said Marvel, if you are real. It won't be so darn out of the way like then Lord, he said, how you made me jump gripping me like that. He felt the hand that had closed round his wrist with his disengaged fingers, and his touch went timorously up the arm, patted a muscular chest, and explored a bearded face. Marvel's face was astonished. I'm dashed, he said, if this don't beat cockfighting, most remarkable, and there I can see a rabbit clean through you, half a mile away. Not a bit of you visible, except he scrutinised the apparently empty space cleanly. You ain't been eaten bread and cheese, he asked, holding the invisible arm. You're quite right, and it's not quite assimilated into the system. Ah, said Mr Marvel. Sort of ghostly though. Of course all this isn't half so wonderful as you think. It's quite wonderful enough for my modest wants, said Mr Thomas Marvel. How'd you manage it? How the deuce is it done? It's too long a story, and besides, I tell you the whole business fair beats me, said Mr Marvel. What I want to say at present is this. I need help. I've come to that. I've come upon you suddenly. I was wandering mad with rage, naked, impotent. I could have murdered, and I saw you. Lord, said Mr Marvel. I came up behind you, hesitated, went on. Mr Marvel's expression was eloquent. Then stopped. Here, I said, is an outcast like myself. This is the man for me. So I turned back and came to you. You and Lord, said Mr Marvel, but I'm all in the dizzy. May I ask how is it? And what you may be requiring in the way of help? Invisible I want you to help me get clothes and shelter, and then with other things. I've left them long enough. If you won't, well but you will must Look here, said Mr Marvel, I'm too flabbergasted. Don't knock me about anymore and leave me go. I must get steady a bit, and you've pretty near broken my toe. It's all so unreasonable. Empty downs, empty sky, nothing visible for miles except the bosom of nature. And then comes a voice, a voice out of heaven, and stones, and a fist. Lord, pull yourself together, said the voice, for you have to do the job I've chosen for you. You know, there is a way that the voice could have gone. He could have been like, I am sent from heaven and I am here to tell you God's big plan. Like he could have played it that way, I guess. Rather than just going, I'm invisible, get it through your head. Mr Marvel blew out his cheeks and his eyes were round. I've chosen you, said the voice. You are the only man except some of those fools down there who knows there is such a thing as an invisible man. You have to be my helper. Help me and I will do great things for you. An invisible man is a man of power. He stopped for a moment to sneeze violently. But if you betray me, he said, if you fail to do as I direct you, he paused and tapped Mr. Marvel's shoulder smartly. Mr. Marvel gave a yelp of terror at the touch. I don't want to betray you, said Mr. Marvel, edging away from the direction of the fingers. Don't you go a thinking that, whatever you do. All I want to do is help you. Just tell me what I got to do. Lord, whatever you want done that I'm most willing to do. Okay, we've had the invisible man show himself as being invisible to the villagers. They didn't react well and they tried to arrest him, through which his invisibility came in handy. He could escape from the constable trying to arrest him. He took off his clothes, he's fully invisible, and he managed to escape the village. As he's walking along, he's come across this guy who's sitting there staring at his shoes, and now he's like convinced him to help him. I mean, it's it's interesting. We still don't know what made him invisible, we still don't know why he's invisible. I'm assuming the reason for all the potioning was to find a way to make him visible again, but none of that has been explained. Those are still the very big questions. Why is he invisible? How is he invisible? For what purpose? For what end? I guess we'll find out perhaps next episode where we'll keep going. Catch you then.