The Invisible Man Part 5

Mr Marvel attempts to escape the Invisible Man.

Included in this episode:
Chapter 14 At Port Stowe
Chapter 15 The Man Who was Running
Chapter 16 In the Jolly Cricketers

Author: H.G. Wells

Contact the pod on: thesolobc@gmail.com 

Transcript

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Welcome back to Solo Book Club. This episode we are reading The Invisible Man. This is part five. If you're just joining us, highly recommend you pop back to part one and make your way through. A lot has happened, and you probably won't understand since we're literally starting in the middle of the story. So, what happened last time? Well, Mr. Marvel, the invisible man's hostage, I guess, went into Ipping, grabbed a couple of things for him, or gave the Invisible Man access back to the room he had all his stuff in at the inn, passed that stuff through to Mr. Marvel through the window. Then, as Mr. Marvel was running away with the stuff, the Invisible Man kind of loses his temper and kind of starts attacking everyone trying to chase Mr. Marvel. And at some point he uh undresses the Vicar. Alright, so on to part five. Chapter 14 at Port Stowe. Let's find out what happens. Ten o'clock the next morning found Mr. Marvel unshaven, dirty and travel stained, sitting with the books beside him and his hands deep in his pockets, looking very weary, nervous and uncomfortable, and inflating his cheeks at frequent intervals on the bench outside a little inn in the outskirts of Port Stowe. Beside him were the books, but now they were tied with string. The bundle had been abandoned in the pine woods beyond Bramblehurst, in accordance with a change in the plans of the invisible man. Mr Marvel sat on the bench, and although no one took the slightest notice of him, his agitation remained at fever heat. His hands would go ever and again to his various pockets with a curious nervous fumbling. When he had been sitting for the best part of an hour, however, an elderly mariner, carrying a newspaper, came out of the inn and sat down beside him. Pleasant day, said the mariner. Mr Marvel glanced about him with something very like terror. Very, he said. Just seasonable weather for the time of year, said the Mariner, taking no denial. Quite, said Mr Marvel. The Mariner produced toothpick, and, saving his regard, was engrossed thereby for some minutes. His eyes meanwhile were at liberty to examine Mr Marvel's dusty figure and the books beside him. As he had approached Mr Marvel, he had heard a sound like the dropping of coins into a pocket. He was struck by the contrast of Mr Marvel's appearance with this suggestion of opulence. Thence his mind wandered back again to a topic that had taken a curiously firm hold of his imagination. Books, he said suddenly, noisily finishing with the toothpick. Delicious. Mr Marvel started and looked at him. Oh yes, he said, Yes, they're books. There's some extraordinary things in books, said the Mariner. I believe you, said Mr Marvel. And some extraordinary things out of them, said the Mariner. True likewise, said Mr Marvel. He eyed his interlocutor and then glanced about him. There's some extraordinary things in newspapers, for example, said the Mariner. There are in this newspaper, said the Mariner. Ah, said Mr Marvel. There's a story, said the Mariner, fixing Mr Marvel with an eye that was firm and deliberate. There's a story about an invisible man, for instance. Mr Marvel pulled his mouth askew and scratched his cheek and felt his ears glowing. What will they be writing next? he asked faintly. Austria or America. Neither, said the Mariner. Here. Lord, said Mr Marvel, starting. When I say here, said the Mariner, to Mr Marvel's intense relief, I don't of course mean here in this place, I mean hereabouts. An invisible man, said Mr Marvel. And what's he been up to? Everything, said the Mariner, controlling Marvel with his eye and then amplifying every blessed thing. I ain't seen a paper these four days, said Marvel. Ipping's the place he started at, said the Mariner. Indeed, said Mr Marvel. He started there and where he came from nobody don't seem to know. Here it is, peculiar story from Ipping. And it says in this paper that the evidence is extraordinarily strong. Lord, said Mr Marvel. But then it's an extraordinary story. There is a clergyman and a medical gent witnesses. Now I'm all right and proper, or leastways didn't see him. He was staying, it says at the coach and horses, and no one don't seem to have been aware of his misfortune, it says, aware of his misfortune until in an alteration in the earn it says, his bandages on his head was torn off. It was then observed that his head was invisible. Attempts were at once made to secure him, but casting off his garments it says he succeeded in escaping, but not until after a desperate struggle, in which he had inflicted serious injuries, it says, on our worthy and able constable, Mr J. A. Jaffers. Pretty straight story, eh? Names and everything. Lord, said Mr Marvel, looking nervously about him, trying to count the money in his pockets by his unaided sense of touch, and full of a strange and novel idea. It sounds most astonishing. Don't it? Extraordinary I call it. Never heard tell of invisible men before, I haven't. But nowadays one hears such a lot of extraordinary things that that all he did? asked Marvel, trying to seem at ease. It's enough, ain't it? said the Mariner. Didn't go back by any chance, asked Marvel. Just escaped, and that's all, eh? All? said the Mariner. Why? Ain't it enough? Quite enough, said Marvel. I should think it was enough, said the Mariner. I should think it was enough. He didn't have any pals. You don't say he had any pals, does it? asked Mr Marvel, anxious. Ain't one of a sword enough for you? asked the Mariner. No, thank heaven as one might say he didn't. He nodded his head slowly. Makes me regular and comfortable. The bare thought of that chap running about the country, he is at present at large, and from certain evidence it is supposed that he has taken took, I suppose they mean, the road to Port Stowe. You see, we're right in it. None of your American wonders this time, and just think of the things he might do. Where'd ye be if he took a drop over and above and had a fancy to go for you? Suppose he wants to rob, who can prevent him? He can trespass, he can burgle, he could walk through a cordon of policemen as easy as me or you could give the slip to a blind man. Easier for these here blind chaps, he uncommon sharp, I'm told. And wherever there was liquor he fancied It's got a tremendous advantage, certainly, said Mr Marvel. And well, you're right, said the Mariner. He has. All this time Mr Marvel had been glancing about him intently, listening for faint footfalls, trying to detect imperceptible movements. He seemed on the point of some great resolution. He coughed behind his hand. He looked about him again, listened, bent towards the mariner, and lowered his voice. But the fact of it is, I happened to know just a thing or two about this invisible man from private sources. Oh said the mariner, interested. You Yes, said Mr Marvel. Me. Indeed, said the Mariner. And may I ask, you'll be astonished, said Mr Marvel behind his hands. It's tremendous. Indeed, said the Mariner. The fact is, began Mr Marvel eagerly in a confidential undertone. Suddenly his expression changed marvellously. Ow, he said. He rose stiffly in his seat. His face was eloquent of physical suffering. Wow, he said. What's up? said the mariner, concerned. Toothache, said Mr Marvel, and put his hand to his ear. He caught hold of his books. I must be getting on, I think, he said. He edged in a curious way along the seat, away from his interlocutor. But you was just a going to tell me about this invisible man, protested the mariner. Mr Marvel seemed to consult with himself. Hoax, said a voice. It's a hoax, said Mr Marvel. But it's in the paper, said the Mariner. Hoax all the same, said Marvel. I know the chap that started the lie. There ain't no invisible man whatsoever. Blimey. But how about this paper? Do you mean to say not a word of it? said Marvel stoutly. The Mariner stared, paper in hand. Mr Marvel jerkily faced about. Wait a bit, said the Mariner, rising and speaking slowly. Do you mean to say I do? said Mr Marvel. Then why did you let me go on and tell you all this blasted stuff then? What do you mean by letting a man make a fool of himself like that, eh? Mr Marvel blew out his cheeks. The mariner was suddenly very red indeed. He clenched his hands. I've been talking here this ten minutes, he said. And you, you little pot bellied, leathery faced son of an old boot, couldn't have the elementary manners. Don't you come bandying words with me, said Mr Marvel. Bandying words, I'm a jolly good mind. Come up, said a voice. Mr Marvel was suddenly whirled about and started marching off in a curious, spasmodic manner. You'd better move on, said the Mariner. Who's moving on? said Mr Marvel. He was receding obliquely with a curious, hurrying gait, with occasional violent jerks. Some way along the road he began a muttered monologue, protests and recriminations. Silly devil, said the mariner, legs wide apart, elbows akimbo, watching the receding figure. I'll show you you silly ass, hoaxing me. It's here in the paper. Mr Marvel retorted incoherently and receding was hidden by a bend in the road, but the mariner still stood magnificent in the midst of the way until the approach of a butcher's cart dislodged him. Then he turned himself towards Port Stowe. Full of extraordinary asses, he said softly to himself, just to take me down a bit, that was his silly game. It's on the paper. I mean I guess that's kind of the thing everyone should uh take everything they read in the paper, in the media with a pinch of salt. You can't believe everything you read. I mean I guess in this case it is true. And there was another extraordinary thing he was presently to hear that had happened quite close to him, and that was a vision of a fistful of money, no less, travelling without visible agency along by the wall at the corner of St. Michael's Lane. A brother Mariner had seen this wonderful sight that very morning. He had snatched at the money forthwith and had been knocked headlong, and when he had got to his feet the butterfly money had vanished. Our mariner was in the mood to believe anything, he declared, but that was a bit too stiff. Afterwards, however, he began to think things over. The story of the flying money was true, and all about that neighbourhood, even from the August London and County Banking Company, from the tills of shops and inns, doors standing that sunny weather entirely open, money had been quietly and dexteriously making off that day in handfuls and rouleaux, floating quietly along by walls and shady places, dodging quickly from the approaching eyes of men, and it had, though no man had traced it, invariably ended its mysterious flight in the pocket of that agitated gentleman in the obsolete silk hat, sitting outside the little inn on the outskirts of Port Stowe. It was ten days after, and indeed only when the Burdock story was already told, that the mariner collated these facts and began to understand how near he had been to the wonderful invisible man. Oh that's interesting. Now they're calling him the wonderful invisible man. Alright, chapter 15 The Man Who Was Running. In the early evening time, Dr. Kemp was sitting in his study in the Belvedere on the hill overlooking Bird Dock. It was a pleasant little room with three windows north, west and south, and bookshelves crowded with books and scientific publications. And a broad writing table and under the north window a microscope, glass slips, minute instruments, some cultures and scattered bottles of regions. Dr. Kemp's solar lamp was lit, Albet the Sky was still bright with the sunset light, and his blinds were up because there was no offence of peering outsiders to require them pulled down. Dr. Kemp was a tall and slender young man, with fluxen hair and a moustache almost white, and the work he was upon would earn him, he hoped, the fellowship of the Royal Society, so highly did he think of it. And his eye, presently wandering from his work, caught the sunset blazing at the back of the hill that is over against his own. For a minute perhaps he sat, pen in mouth, admiring the rich golden colour above the crest, and then his attention was attracted by the little figure of a man, inky black, running over the hill brow towards him. He was a shortish little man, and he wore a high hat, and he was running so fast that his legs verily twinkled. Another of those fools, said Dr. Kemp, like that ass who ran into me this morning round a corner with his visible man a coming, sir. Oh that's funny. I can't imagine what possesses people. One might think we're in the thirteenth century. He got up, went to the window and stared at the dusky hillside and the dark little figure tearing down it. He seems in a confounded hurry, said Dr. Kemp. But he doesn't seem to be getting on. If his pockets were full of lead, he couldn't run heavier. Spurted, sir, said Dr. Kemp. In another moment the hire of the villas that had clambered up the hill from Burdock had occulted the running figure. He was visible again for a moment, and again, and then again, three times between the three detached houses that came next, and then the terrace hid him. Arses, said Dr. Kemp, swinging round on his heel and walking back to his writing table. But those who saw the fugitive nearer, and perceived the abject terror on his perspiring face, being themselves in the open roadway, did not share in the doctor's contempt. By the man pounded, and as he ran he chinked like a well filled purse that is tossed to and fro. He looked neither to the right nor the left, but his dilated eyes stared straight downhill to where the lamps were being lit, and the people were crowded in the street, and his ill-shaped mouth fell apart, and a glary foam lay on his lips, and his breath came hoarsey and noisy. All he passed stopped and began staring up the road and down, and interrogating one another with an inkling of discomfort for the reason of his haste. And then presently, far up the hill, a dog playing in the road yelped and ran under a gate, and as they still wondered something, a wind, a pad pad, a sound like a panting breath rushed by. People screamed, people sprang off the pavement. It passed in shouts, it passed by instinct down the hill. They were shouting in the street before Marvel was halfway there. They were bolting into houses and slamming the doors behind them with the news. He heard it and made one last desperate spur. Fear came striding by, rushing ahead of him, and in a moment had seized the town. The invisible man is coming! The invisible man I mean they can't think that Marvel's the invisible man. He's visible, they can see him. But I like how the invisible man is using the fear he's created to kind of make his way through towns a bit easier. I mean he's pretty smart about it, I have to say. Chapter 16 In the Jolly Cricketers. The Jolly Cricketers is just at the bottom of the hill, where the tram lines begin. The barman lent his fat red arms on the counter and talked of horses with an anemic cabman, while a black bearded man in grey snapped up biscuit and cheese, drank Burton, and conversed in American with a policeman off duty. What's the shouting about? said the anemic cabman going off at a tangent, trying to see up the hill over the dirty yellow blind in the low window of the inn. Somebody ran by outside. Fire, perhaps, said the barman. Footsteps approached, running heavily. The door was pushed open violently, and Marvel, weeping and dishevelled, his hat gone, the neck of his coat torn open, rushed in, made a convulsive turn, and attempted to shut the door. It was held half open by a strap. Coming, he prawled, his voice shrieking with terror. He's coming, the visible man after me, for God's sake, help, help, help. Okay. Well I guess some Marvels obviously had a disagreement with the invisible man. Shut the door, said the policeman. Who's coming? What's the row? He went to the door, released the strap, and it slammed. The American closed the other door. Let me go inside, said Marvel, staggering and weeping but still clutching the books. Let me go inside. Lock me in somewhere. I tell you he's after me. I give him the slip. He said he'd kill me and he will. You're safe, said the man with the black beard. The door's shut. What's it all about? Let me go inside, said Marvel, and shrieked aloud as a blow suddenly made the fastened door shiver, and was followed by a hurried rapping and shouting outside. Hello, cried the policeman. Who's there? Mr Marvel began to make frantic dives at panels that looked like doors. He'll kill me. He's got a knife or something for God's sake. Here you are, said the barman. Come in here, and he held up the flap of the bar. Mr Marvel rushed behind the door as the summons outside was repeated. Don't open the door, he screamed. Please don't open the door. Where shall I hide? This this invisible man then? asked the man with the black beard, with one hand behind him. I guess it's about time we saw him. The window of the inn was suddenly smashed in. There was a screaming and running to and fro in the street. The policeman had been standing on the settee staring out, craning to see who was at the door. He got down with raised eyebrows. It's that, he said. The barman stood in front of the bar parlour door which was now locked on Mr Marvel, stared at the smash window, and came round to the two other men. Everything was suddenly quiet. I wish I had my truncheon, said the policeman, going irresolutely to the door. Once we open, in he comes. There's no stopping him. Don't you be in too much hurry about that door, said the anemic cabman anxiously. Draw the bolts, said the man with the black beard, and if he comes, he showed a revolver in his hand. That won't do, said the policeman. That's murder. I know what country I'm in, said the man with the beard. I'm going to let off at his legs. Draw the bolts. Not with that thing going off behind me, said the barman, craning over the blind. Very well, said the man with the black beard, and stooping down, revolver ready, drew them himself. Barman, cabman, and policeman faced about. Come in, said the bearded man in an undertone, standing back and facing the unbolted doors with his pistol behind him. No one came in. The door remained closed. Five minutes afterwards when a second cabman pushed his head in cautiously, they were still waiting, and an anxious face peered out of the bar parlour and supplied information. Are all the doors of the houses shut? asked Marvel. He's going round, prowling round. He's as artful as the devil. Good lord, said the burly barman. There's the back. Just watch them doors, I say. He looked about him helplessly. The bar parlour door slammed and they heard the key turn. That's the yard door and the private door, the yard door. He rushed out of the bar. In a minute he reappeared with a carving knife in his hand. The yard door was open, he said, and his fat underlip dropped. He may be in the house now, said the first cabman. He's not in the kitchen, said the barman. There's two women there, and I've stabbed every inch of it with this little beef slider, and they don't think he's come in. They haven't noticed. Have you fastened it? said the first cabman. I'm out of frocks, said the barman. The man with the beard replaced his revolver, and even as he did so the fluff of the bar was shut down and the bolt clicked. And then with a tremendous thud, the catch of the door snapped. The bar parlour door burst open. They heard Marvel squeal like a caught leveret, and forthwith they were clambering over the bar to his rescue. The bearded man's revolver cracked, and the looking glass at the back of the parlour was starred brightly and came smashing and tinkling down. As the barman entered the room he saw Marvel curiously crumpled up and struggling against the door that led to the yard and kitchen. The door flew open while the barman hesitated, and Marvel's dragged into the kitchen. There was a scream and a clatter of pots. Marvel head down and then lugging back obstinately was forced to the kitchen door and the bolts were drawn. Then the policeman, who had been trying to pass the barman, rushed in, followed by one of the cabmen. Gripped the wrist of the invisible hand that collared Marvel, was hit in the face and went reeling back. The door opened and Marvel made a frantic effort to obtain a lodgement behind it. Then the cabman clutched something. I got him, said the cabman. The barman's red hands came clawing at the unseen. Here he is, said the barman. Mr. Marvel released, suddenly dropped to the ground, and made an attempt to crawl behind him. Behind the legs of the fighting men. The struggle blundered round the edge of the door. The voice of the invisible man was heard for the first time, yelling out sharply as the policeman trod on his foot. Then he cried out passionately and his fists flew round like flails. The cabman suddenly whooped and doubled up, kicked under the diaphragm. The door into the bar parlour from the kitchen slammed and covered Mr Marvel's retreat. The men in the kitchen found themselves clutching at and struggling with empty air. Where's he gone? cried the man with the beard. Out? This way, said the policeman, stepping into the yard and stopping. A piece of tile whizzed by his head and smashed among the crockery in the kitchen table. Oh show him shouted the man with the black beard, and suddenly a steel barrel shone over the policeman's shoulder, and five bullets had followed one after another into the twilight whence the missile had come. As he fired the man with the beard moved his hand in a horizontal curve so that his shots radiated out into the narrow yard like spokes from a wheel. A silence followed. Five cartridges, said the man with the black beard. That's the best of all. Four aces and the joker. Get a lantern, someone, and come and feel about for his body. My god, so it really seems like the people of this new village have really properly put up a fight against the invisible man. They've obviously heard of the invisible man, the stories of the invisible man, and now they are faced with the invisible man in their pub. Poor Mr Marvel is absolutely terrified. He's run away from the invisible man, and he's scared because the invisible man is he's gonna catch him, he's gonna kill him for running away with what I'm assuming is the money the invisible man needs. For what? We do not know yet. The people in the barman who just happen to have a policeman in there and a weird black bearded guy who carries around a gun. Now the beard man believes he's shot the invisible man, and now they're looking for a body. I mean, pretty scary stuff when you think about it. I mean, yes, being invisible gives you certain advantages in that you can't be seen. But if you're hit by a bullet when you're invisible, then you're hit. Like, yeah, I wonder what's happened. We'll find out next time though. Let's leave it there for today, and we'll be able to find out if the invisible man was shot or if he got away. Catch you then.