The Invisible Man Part 8

The Invisible Man continues his story.

Included in this episode:

Chapter 22 In the Emporium

Chapter 23 In Drury Lane

Chapter 24 The Plan that Failed

Chapter 25 The Hunting of the Invisible Man

Author: HG Wells

Contact the pod on: thesolobc@gmail.com 

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Welcome to Solo Book Club. We are currently reading The Invisible Man. This is part eight. I know this episode is a week late, but that's okay. Life gets in the way and we continue on. So, what happened in our last episode? Well, the Invisible Man, we know his name, Griffin. We have a description of what he used to look like before he made himself invisible. Tall, albino, very fair. He has come across a friend, Kemp, that he went to uni with. He's currently staying with Kemp. He's had something to eat, he's had a sleep. Um, and now he's describing to Kemp how he made himself invisible. The thing we all want to know. He's describing the science behind it, the process, his experiments, how it happened, how he fled, and the issues he has had since he became invisible, and that it may not be all it's cracked up to be. Now, the question we have is when the invisible man was sleeping, Kemp wrote and sent a letter. What was in that letter and who did he send that letter to? Because he is acting very suspiciously if it wasn't a letter he sent to the police. So let's get back into the invisible man and see if we find out what happens. Here we go. Chapter 22. In the Emporium. So last January, with the beginnings of a snowstorm in the air about me, and if it settled on me it would betray me, well of course it would. The snowflakes would fall and land on his shoulder and show a silhouette of an invisible man. Weary, cold, painful, inexpressibly wretched, and still but half convinced of my invisible quality, I began this new life to which I am committed. I had no refuge, no appliances, no human being in the world in whom I could confide. To have told my secret would have given me away, made a mere show and rarity of me. Nevertheless, I was half-minded to accost some passerby and throw myself upon his mercy. But I knew too clearly the terror and brutal cruelty my advances would evoke. I made no plans in the street. My sole object was to get shelter from the snow, to get myself covered and warm. Then I might hope to plan. But even to me, an invisible man, the rows of London houses stood latched, barred, and bolted impregnably. Only one thing could I see clearly before me, the cold exposure and misery of the snowstorm and the night. And then I had a brilliant idea. I turned down one of the roads leading from Goa Street to Tottenham Court Road and found myself outside Omnium's, the big establishment where everything is to be bought. You know the place. Meat, grocery, linen, furniture, clothing, oil paintings, even. A huge meandering collection of shops rather than a shop. I had thought I could find the doors open, but they were closed, and as I stood in the wide entrance, a carriage stopped outside, and a man in uniform, you know the kind of personage with Omnium on his cap, flung open the door. I contrived to enter and walking down the shop, it was a department where they were selling ribbons and gloves and stockings and that kind of thing, came to a more spacious region devoted to picnic baskets and wicker furniture. I did not feel safe there, however, people were going to and fro, and I prowled restlessly about until I came upon a huge section in an upper floor containing scores and hundreds of bedsteads. And beyond these I found a resting place at last among a huge pile of folded flock mattresses. The place was already lit up and agreeably warm, and I decided to remain where I was, keeping a cautious eye on the two or three sets of shopmen and customers who were meandering through the place until closing time came. Then I should be able, I thought, to rob the place for food and clothing and disguised prowl through it and examine its resources, perhaps sleep on some of the bedding. That seemed an acceptable plan. My idea was to procure clothing to make myself a muffled but acceptable figure to get money, and then to recover my books and parcels where they awaited me, take a lodging somewhere, and elaborate plans for the complete realization of the advantages my invisibility gave me, as I still imagined, over my fellow men. Right, so it seems he's well aware of the uh disadvantages, shall we say, of being invisible, and now he's having to come up with a plan of how do I make myself appear visible without showing the invisibility. Good grief, that's a thinker, that one. Closing time arrived quickly enough. It could not have been more than an hour after I took my position on the mattresses before I noticed the blinds of the windows being drawn and customers being marched doorward. And then a number of brisk young men began with remarkable alacrity to tidy up the goods that remained disturbed. I left my lair as the crowds diminished and prowled cautiously out into the less desolate parts of the shop. I was really surprised to observe how rapidly the young men and women whipped away the goods displayed for sale during the day. All the boxes of goods, the hanging fabrics, the festoons of lace, the boxes of sweets in the grocery section. The displays of this and that were being whipped down, folded up, slapped into tidy receptacles, and everything that could not be taken down and put away had sheets of some coarse stuff like sacking flung over it. Finally, all the chairs were turned up onto the counters, leaving the floor clear. Directly, each of these young people were done, he or she made promptly for the door, with such an expression of animation as I have rarely observed in a shop assistant before. Then came a lot of youngsters scattering sawdust and carrying pails and brooms. I had to dodge out of the way, and as it was, my ankle got stung with the sawdust. For some time, wandering through the swathed and darkened apartments, I could hear the brooms at work, and at last, a good hour or more after the shop had been closed, came a noise of locking doors. Silence came upon the place, and I found myself wandering through the vast and intricate shops, galleries, and showrooms of the place alone. It was very still. In one place, I remember passing near one of the Tottenham Court Road entrances and listening to the tapping of boot heels of the passers by. My first visit was to the place where I had seen stockings and gloves for sale. It was dark and I had the devil of a hunt after matches, which I found at last in the drawer of the little cash desk. Then I had to get a candle. I had to tear down wrappings and ransack a number of boxes and drawers, but at last I managed to turn out what I sought. The box label called them lamb's wool pants and lamb's wool vests. Then socks, a thick comforter, and then I went to the clothing place and got trousers, a lounge jacket, an overcoat, and slouch hat. A clerical sort of hat with the brim turned down. I began to feel a human being again, and my next thought was food. You know what? I'm just thinking, this would only be able to happen in HG Well's time, in the Invisible Man's time. Like you would not be able to get away with this today. One, they would have movement senses, any kind of movement would be picked up, security called. They would have cameras that would see this candle just kind of moving around on its own. Again, senses triggered, security called. So I guess it's the Invisible Man chose a good time in technological history to become invisible. Upstairs was a refreshment department, and there I got cold meat. There was coffee still in the urn, and I lit the gas and warmed it up again, and altogether I did not do badly. Afterwards, prowling through the place in search of blankets, I had to put up at last with a heap of down quilts. I came upon a grocery section with a lot of chocolate and candied fruits. More than was good for me indeed, and some white burgundy. And near that was a toy department, and I had a brilliant idea. I found some artificial noses, dummy noses, you know, and I thought of dark spectacles, but Omniums had no optical department. And my nose had been a difficulty indeed. I had thought of paint, but the discovery set my mind running on wigs and masks and the like. Finally I went to sleep in a heap of down quilts, very warm and comfortable. My last thoughts before sleeping were the most agreeable I had had since the change. I was in a state of physical serenity, and that was reflected in my mind. I thought that I should be able to slip out unobserved in the morning with my clothes upon me, muffling my face with a white wrapper I had taken, purchase with the money I had taken, spectacles and so forth, and so complete my disguise. I lapsed into disorderly dreams of all the fantastic things that had happened during the last few days. I saw the ugly little Jew of a landlord, okay. I mean come on now. Let's remember that at the time of writing, sensitivities were very different, and I guess some we can read into the writers' opinions with some of this sort of writing and kind of get an idea of their affiliations for the world, or even the affiliations of the invisible man, because as we know, he's not the kindest or most understanding person. So just a reminder that the text is a text of its time, it doesn't reflect current sensibilities and understandings. I saw the ugly little Jew of a landlord vociferating in his rooms. I saw his two sons marvelling and the wrinkled old woman's gnarled face as she asked for her cat. I experienced again the strange sensation of seeing the cloth disappear, and so I came round to the windy hillside and the sniffing old clergyman mumbling, dust to dust, earth to earth, and my father's open grave. You also, said a voice, and suddenly I was being forced towards the grave. I struggled, shouted, appealed to the mourners, but they continued stonily following the service. The old clergyman, too, never faltered, droning and sniffing through the ritual. I realized I was invisible and inaudible, that overwhelming forces had their grip on me. I struggled in vain, I was forced over the brink, the coffin rang hollow as I fell upon it, and the gravel came flying after me in spadefuls. Nobody heeded me, nobody was aware of me. I made convulsive struggles and awoke. I mean now. That's a nightmare if ever I've heard one. The pale London dawn had come. The place was full of a chilly grey light that filtered round the edges of the window blinds. I sat up, and for a time I could not think where this ample apartment, with its counters, its piles of rolled stuff, its heap of quilts and cushions, its iron pillars might be. Then, as recollection came back to me, I heard voices in conversation. Then far down the place, in the brighter light of some department, which had already raised its blinds, I saw two men approaching. I scrambled to my feet, looking about me for some way of escape, and even as I did so, the sound of my movement made them aware of me. I suppose they saw merely a figure moving quietly and quickly away. Who's that? cried one. And stop there, shouted the other. I dashed round a corner and came full tilt, a faceless figure, mind you, on a lanky lad of fifteen. He yelled and I bowled him over, rushed past him, turned another corner and by a happy inspiration threw myself flat behind a counter. In another moment, feet went running past and I heard voices shouting, All hands to the doors, asking what was up, and giving one another advice on how to catch me. Lying on the ground, I felt scared out of my wits, but odd as it may seem, it did not occur to me at the moment to take off my clothes as I should have done. I'd made up my mind, I suppose, to get away in them, and that ruled me. And then down the vista of the counters came a bawling of Here he is! I sprang to my feet, whipped up a chair off a counter and sent it whirling at the fool who had shouted, turned, came into another round a corner, sent him spinning, and rushed up the stairs. He kept his footing, gave a view hello, and came up the staircase hot after me. Up the staircase were piled a multitude of those bright coloured pot things. What are they? Art pots, suggested Kemp. That's it. Art pots. Well, I turned up the top step and swung round, plucked one out of a pile and smashed it on his silly head as he came at me. The whole pile of pots went headlong and I heard shouting and footsteps running from all parts. I made a mad rush for the refreshment place, and there was a man in white, like a man cook who took up the chase. I made one last desperate turn and found myself among the lamps and iron mongery. I went behind the counter of this and waited for my cook, and as he bolted in at the head of the chase, I doubled him up with a lamp. Down he went, and I crouched behind the counter and began whipping off my clothes as fast as I could. Coat, jacket, trousers, shoes were all right, but a lamb's wool vest fits a man like a skin. I heard more men coming. My cook was lying quiet on the other side of the counter, stunned or scared, speechless, and I had to make another dash for it like a rabbit hunted out of a wood pile. Good grief. I guess he's given up on leaving with those clothes then. This way, policeman! I heard someone shouting. I found myself in a bedstead storeroom again, and at the end a wilderness of wardrobes. I rushed among them, went flat, got rid of my vest after infinite wriggling, and stood a free man again, panting and scared as the policeman and three of the shopmen came round the corner. They made a rush full of vest and pants and collared the trousers. He's dropping his plunder, said one of the young men. He must be somewhere here. But they did not find me all the same. I stood watching them hunt for me for a time and cursing my ill luck and losing the clothes. Then I went into the refreshment room, drank a little milk I found there, and sat down by the fire to consider my position. So he's just sitting by the fire, naked and invisible, in the middle of a store where everyone is looking for him, drinking some milk. That's hilarious. In a little while, two assistants came in and began to talk over the business very excitedly and like the fools they were. I heard a magnified account of my depredations and other speculations as to my whereabouts. Then I fell to scheming again. The insurmountable difficulty of the place, especially now it was alarmed, was to get any plunder out of it. I went down into the warehouse to see if there was any chance of packing and addressing a parcel, but I could not understand the system of checking. About 11 o'clock, the snow having thawed as it fell, and the day being finer and a little warmer than the previous one, I decided that the Emporium was hopeless and went out again, exasperated at my want of success with only the vaguest plans of action in my mind. I mean, I just have to say, surely a better plan for the invisible man would have been to put hide all the clothes he wanted to wear into a bathroom, then walk around invisible until there were like people walking around the store, go into the bathroom invisible, get dressed, come out dressed, and then exit the store as a normal customer. I mean, come on, the invisible man is clearly not that bright. Chapter 23 In Drury Lane. But you begin to realise now, said the Invisible Man, the full disadvantage of my condition. I had no shelter, no covering. To get clothing was to forego all my advantage, to make of myself a strange and terrible thing. I was fasting, for to eat, to fill myself with unassimilated matter, would be to become grotesquely visible again. I never thought of that, said Kemp. Nor had I, and the snow had warned me of other dangers. I could not go abroad in snow. It would settle on me and expose me. Rain, too, would make me a watery outline, a glistening surface of a man, a bubble. And fog, I should be like a fainter bubble in a fog, a surface, a greasy glimmer of humanity. Moreover, as I went abroad in the London air, I gathered dirt about my ankles, floating smuts and dust upon my skin. I did not know how long it would be before I could become visible from that cause also, but I saw clearly it could not be for long. Not in London at any rate. I went into the slums towards Great Portland Street and found myself at the end of the street in which I had lodged. I did not go that way because of the crowd halfway down it, opposite to the still smoking ruins of the house I'd fired. My most immediate problem was to get clothing. What to do with my face puzzled me. Then I saw in one of those little miscellaneous shops, news, suites, toys, stationery, belated Christmas tomfoolery, and so forth, an array of masks and noses. I realised that problem was solved. In a flash I saw my course. I turned about, no longer aimless, and went, circuitously, in order to avoid the busy ways, towards the back of the streets north of the Strand, for I remembered, though not very distinctly where, that some theatrical costumiers had shops in that district. Okay, he's got a plan now. The day was cold with a nipping wind down the northward running streets. I walked fast to avoid being overtaken. Every crossing was a danger, every passenger a thing to watch alertly. One man, as I was about to pass him at the top of Bedford Street, turned upon me abruptly and came into me, sending me into the road and almost under the will of a passing hansom. The verdict of the cab rank was that he had had some sort of stroke. I was so unnerved by this encounter that I went into Covent Garden Market and sat down for some time in a quiet corner by a stall of violets, panting and trembling. I found I had caught a fresh cold and had to turn out after a time lest my sneezes should attract attention. At last I reached the object of my quest, a dirty fly-blown little shop in a byway near Drury Lane, with a window full of tinsel robes, sham jewels, wigs, slippers, dominoes, and theatrical photographs. The shop was old-fashioned and low and dark, and the house rose above it for four stories, dark and dismal. I peered through the window and seeing no one within entered. The opening of the door set a clanking bell ringing. I left it open and walked round a bare costume stand into a corner behind a shovel glass. For a minute or so no one came. Then I heard heavy feet striding across the room and a man appeared down the shop. My plans were now perfectly definite. I proposed to make my way into the house, secrete myself upstairs, watch my opportunity, and when everything was quiet, rummage about a wig, mask, spectacles, and costume and go into the world. Perhaps a grotesque, but still a credible figure. And incidentally, of course, I could rob the house of any available money. Okay, this guy is very set on robbing people. The man who entered the shop was a short, slightly hunched, beetle browed man with long arms and very short bandy legs. Apparently I had interrupted a meal. He stared about the shop with an expression of expectation. This gave way to surprise and then anger as he saw the shop empty. Damn the boys, he said. He went to stare up and down the street. He came in again in a minute, kicked the door too with his foot spitefully, and went muttering back to the house door. I came forward to follow him and at the noise of my movement he stopped dead. I did so too, startled by his quickness of ear. He slammed the house door in my face. I stood hesitating. Suddenly I heard his quick footsteps returning and the door reopened. He stood looking about the shop like one who was still not satisfied. Then, murmuring to himself, he examined the back of the counter and peered behind some fixtures. Then he stood doubtful. He had left the house door open and I slipped into the inner room. It was a queer little room, poorly furnished and with a number of big masks in the corner. On the table was his belated breakfast, and it was a confoundedly exasperating thing for me, Kemp, to have to sniff his coffee and stand watching while he came in and resumed his meal, and his table manners were irritating. Three doors opened into the little room, one going upstairs and one down, but they were all shut. I could not get out of the room. While he was there, I could scarcely move because of his alertness, and there was a draught down my back. Twice I strangled a sneeze just in time. Well, sounds like he's got himself into quite the predicament now. The spectacular quality of my sensations was curious and novel, but for all that I was heartily tired and angry long before he had done his eating. But at last he made an end, and putting his beggarly crockery on the black tin tray upon which he had had his teapot, and gathering all the crumbs up on the mustard stained cloth, he took the whole lot of things after him. His burden prevented his shutting the door behind him as he would have done. I never saw such a man for shutting doors. And I followed him into a very dirty underground kitchen and scullery. I had the pleasure of seeing him begin to wash up, and then, finding no good in keeping down there and the brick floor being cold to my feet, I returned upstairs and sat in his chair by the fire. It was burning low and scarcely thinking. I put on a little coal. The noise of this brought him up at once, and he stood a glare. He peered about the room and was within an ace of touching me. Even after that examination, he scarcely seemed satisfied. He stopped in the doorway and took a final inspection before he went down. I mean the invisible man's really trying his luck here, isn't he? I waited in the little parlour for an age, and at last he came up and opened the upstairs door. I just managed to get by him. On the staircase he stopped suddenly, so that I very nearly blundered into him. He stood looking back right into my face and listening. Could have sworn, he said. His long hairy hand pulled at his lower lip. His eye went up and down the staircase, then he grunted, went on up again. His hand was on the handle of a door, and then he stopped again with the same puzzled anger on his face. He was becoming aware of the faint sounds of my movements about him. The man must have had diabolically acute hearing. He suddenly flashed into rage. If there's anyone in this house, he cried with an oath and left the threat unfinished. He put his hand in his pocket, failed to find what he wanted, and rushing past me went blundering noisily and pugnaciously downstairs, but I did not follow him. I sat on the head of the staircase until his return. Presently he came up again, still muttering. He opened the door of the room and before I could enter, slammed it in my face. Now I have to say, having seen the recent Invisible Man film that came out a couple years ago, I will say that I can see how they may have taken inspiration from this chapter. Because I feel like there's an element of gaslighting here, right? This poor guy swears that he can feel someone moving, he can hear someone moving in his space, in his home that he knows very well. It's clearly only he lives there, so he's very used to it being very quiet, and the only movement is his movement, and now he can hear someone else moving about. But his eyes are telling him there's no one else here. It's like your your senses are gaslighting you. So I can kind of see, even though the film, the latest film, is very different to the book, I can see how they drew inspiration, particularly from this chapter. I resolved to explore the house and spent some time in doing so as noiselessly as possible. The house was very old and tumble-down, damp so that the paper in the attics was peeling from the walls and rat infested. Some of the door handles are stiff and I was afraid to turn them. Several rooms I did inspect were unfurnished, and others were littered with theatrical lumbar, bought second hand I judged from its appearance. In one room next to his I found a lot of old clothes. I began rooting among these, and in my eagerness forgot again the evident sharpness of his ears. I heard a stealthy footstep and looking up just in time saw him peering in at the tumbled heap and holding an old-fashioned revolver in his hand. I stood perfectly still while he stared about, open-mouthed and suspicious. It must have been her, he said slowly. Damn her. Maybe he thinks he's being haunted. I don't know what he thinks a gun is gonna do against a ghost. He shut the door quietly and immediately I heard the key turn in the lock. Oh no. Then his footsteps retreated. I realized abruptly that I was locked in. For a minute I did not know what to do. I walked from door to window and back and stood perplexed. A gust of anger came upon me, but I decided to inspect the clothes before I did anything further, and my first attempt brought down a pile from an upper shelf. This brought him back, more sinister than ever. That time he actually touched me, jumped back with amazement, and stood astonished in the middle of the room. Presently he calmed a little. Rats, he said in an undertone, fingers on lips. He was evidently a little scared. I edged quietly out of the room, but a plank creaked. Then the infernal little brute started going all over the house, revolver in hand, and locking door after door and pocketing the keys. When I realized what he was up to, I had a fit of rage. I could hardly control myself sufficiently to watch my opportunity. By this time I knew he was alone in the house, so I had no more ado but knocked him on the head. Um, now I just have to say, why is the invisible man being angry? He has invaded the personal space of someone else, and they are clearly terrified and unsure how to handle things, so they're just going around going, you know what? This room is empty, I'm locking it, so I know it's gonna stay empty, and yet the invisible man is taking issue with that. Oh my god, the overconfidence of this invisible man, the belief that he deserves to be in this space, he deserves to steal someone's clothes, to steal someone's money in order to help him. That is very uncool. Very uncool. Knocked him on the head, exclaimed Kemp. Yes, stunned him as he was going downstairs, hit him from behind with a stool that stood on the landing. He went downstairs like a bag of boots. But I say the common conventures of humanity. Thank you, Kemp. Thank you. Are all very well for common people, but the point was, Kemp, that I had to get out of that house in a disguise without his seeing me, and I couldn't think of any other way of doing it. Then I gagged him with a Yui Quartozi vest. Louis Quartoszi vest? What on earth is that? Okay, so a Louis Quatorze, I'm not quite sure how to pronounce it, but basically, if you think of old-fashioned French vest with like all the decorations on it, that's pretty much what that is. But I mean, come on. Just the fact that this guy thinks the rules don't apply to him just because he's invisible, like, come on. Ugh. Anyway, let's get back to it. And then I gagged him with a Louis Quatorze vest and tied him up in a sheet. Tied him up in a sheet. Made a sort of bag of it. It was a rather good idea to keep the idiot scared and quiet, and a devilish hard thing to get out of, head away from string. My dear Kemp, it's no good you're sitting and glaring as though I was a murderer. It had to be done. He had his revolver. If once he saw me he would be able to describe me. Describe him, please, is invisible. But still, said Kemp, in England today, and the man was in his own house, and you were well, robbing. I mean Kemp's not wrong there. Robbing? Confound it. You'll call me a thief next. Surely, Kemp, you're not fool enough to dance on the old strings. Can't you see my position? And his too, said Kemp. The invisible man stood up sharply. What do you mean to say? Kemp's face grew a trifle hard. He was about to speak and checked himself. I suppose, after all, he said with a sudden change of manner, the thing had to be done. You were in a fix. But still, of course I was in a fix, an infernal fix, and he made me wild too, hunting me about the house, fooling about with his revolver, locking and unlocking doors. He was simply exasperating. You don't blame me, do you? You don't blame me. I never blame anyone, said Kemp. It's quite out of fashion. What did you do next? I can see Kemp is in a really tough position here because he's trying to placate the invisible man and keep him calm, but he does not agree with the way the invisible man has gone about things, and neither do I. I mean, come on. You you cannot stand there and expect someone where you have invaded their home to welcome you invitingly, like oh the arrogance. I was hungry. Downstairs I found a loaf and some rank cheese, more than sufficient to satisfy my hunger. I took some brandy and water and then went up past my impromptu bag, he was lying quite still, to the room containing the old clothes. This looked out upon the street, two lace curtains brown with dirt guarding the window. I went and peered out through their interstices. Outside the day was bright, by contrast with the brown shadows of the dismal house in which I found myself, dazzlingly bright. A brisk traffic was going by, fruit carts, a hansom, a four-wheeler with a pile of boxes, a fishmonger's cart. I turned with spots of colour swimming before my eyes to the shadowy fixtures behind me. My excitement was giving place to a clear apprehension of my position again. The room was full of a faint scent of benzoline, used, I suppose, in cleaning the garments. I began a systematic search of the place. I should judge the hunchback had been alone in the house for some time. He was a curious person. Everything that could possibly be of service to me I collected in the clothes storeroom, and then I made a deliberate selection. I found a handbag I thought a suitable possession and some powder, rouge, and sticking plaster. I had thought of painting, powdering my face and all that there was to show of me, in order to render myself visible, but the disadvantage of this lay in the fact that I should require turpentine and other appliances and a considerable amount of time before I could vanish again. Finally, I chose a mask of the better type, slightly grotesque but not more so than many human beings. Dark glasses, greyish whiskers, and a wig. I could find no underclothing but that I could buy subsequently, and for the time I swathed myself in calico dominoes and some white cash me scarves. I could find no socks but the hunchback's boots were rather a loose fit and sufficed. In a desk in the shop were three sovereigns and about thirty shillings worth of silver, and in a locked cupboard I burst in the inner room were eight pounds in gold. I could go forth into the world again equipped. Then came a curious hesitation. Was my appearance really credible? I tried myself with a little bedroom looking class, inspecting again from every point of view to discover any forgotten chink, but it all seemed sound. I was grotesque to the theatrical pitch, a stage miser, but I was certainly not a physical impossibility. Gathering confidence, I took my looking glass down into the shop, pulled down the shop blinds, and surveyed myself from every point of view with the help of the shovel glass in the corner. I spent some minutes screwing up my courage and then unlocked the shop door and marched out into the street, leaving the little man to get out of his sheet again when he liked. In five minutes, a dozen turnings intervened between me and the costumer's shop. No one appeared to notice me very pointedly. My last difficulty seemed overcome. He stopped again. And you troubled no more about the hunchback, said Kemp. No, said the invisible man, nor have I heard what became of him. I suppose he untied himself or kicked himself out. The knots were pretty tight. He became silent and went to the window and stared out. What happened when you went out into the strand? Oh, disillusion meant again. I thought my troubles were over. Practically I thought I had impunity to do whatever I chose, everything save to give away my secret. So I thought whatever I did, whatever the consequences might be, was nothing to me. I had merely to fling aside my garments and vanish. No person could hold me. I could take my money where I found it. I decided to treat myself to a sumptuous feast and then put up at a good hotel. And accumulate a new outfit of property. I felt amazingly confident. It's not particularly pleasant recalling that I was an ass. Was or am I went into a place and was already ordering a lunch when it occurred to me that I could not eat unless I exposed my invisible face. I finished ordering the lunch, told the man I should be back in ten minutes, and went out exasperated. I don't know if you have ever been disappointed in your appetite. Not quite so badly, said Kemp, but I can imagine it. I could have smashed the silly devils. At last, faint with the desire for tasteful food, I went into another place and demanded a private room. I am disfigured, I said, badly. They looked at me curiously, but of course it was not their affair, and so at last I got my lunch. It was not particularly well served, but it sufficed, and when I had had it, I sat over a cigar, trying to plan my line of action, and outside a snowstorm was beginning. The more I thought it over Kemp, the more I realized what a helpless absurdity an invisible man was, in a cold and dirty climate and a crowded civilized city. Before I made this mad experiment, I had dreamt of a thousand advantages. That afternoon it seemed all disappointment. I went over the heads of the things a man reckons desirable. No doubt invisibility made it possible to get them, but it made it impossible to enjoy them when they are got. Ambition? What is the good of pride of place where you cannot appear there? What is the good of love of woman when her name must needs be Delilah? I have no taste for politics, for the black guardianisms of fame, for philanthropy, for sport. What was I to do? And for this I have become a wrapped-up mystery, a swathed and bandaged caricature of a man. He paused and his attitudes suggested a roving glance at the window. But how did you get to Ipping? said Kemp, anxious to keep his guest busy talking. What has Kemp done? I went there to work. I had one hope. It was a half idea, I have it still. It is a full blown idea now, a way of getting back, of restoring what I have done when I choose. When I have done all I mean to do invisibly, and that is what I chiefly want to talk to you about now. You went straight to Ipping? Yes, I simply to get my three volumes of memoranda and my checkbook, my luggage and underclothing, order a quantity of chemicals to work out this idea of mine. I will show you the calculations as soon as I get my books, and then I started. Jove, I remember the snowstorm now, and the accursed bother it was to keep the snow from dampening my pasteboard nose. At the end, said Kemp the day before yesterday, when they found you out, you rather, to judge by the papers. I did, rather. Did I kill that fool of a constable? No, said Kemp. He's expected to recover. That's his luck, then. I clean lost my temper, the fools. Why couldn't they leave me alone? And that grosser lout. There are no deaths expected, said Kemp. I don't know about that tramp of mine, said the invisible man with an unpleasant laugh. By heaven, Kemp, you don't know what rage is. To have worked for years, to have planned and plotted, and then to get some fumbling purblind idiot messing across your course. Every conceivable sort of silly creature that has ever been created has been sent to cross me. If I have much more of it, I shall go wild. I shall start mowing him. As it is, they've made things a thousand times more difficult. No doubt it's exasperating, said Kemp dryly. Um, now I just have to say, the arrogance of the invisible man, I mean, God, he's not a nice person. He's like getting annoyed at other people because they were scared, because he punched them. He's like, you got hurt because it was your fault, not because he attacked them. Like, oh, this guy, like, he's just he's so solid in the belief that he's allowed to be there doing whatever he wants, but other people aren't. And everyone has to bow to him and do what he says and help him just because of his presence. And that's just not how the world works, as we know. You if you want people to treat you kindly, if you want them to help you, you need to be kind to them. That's just how it happens. If someone is rude to you, the natural course is that you won't give them a time of day. Because why would you waste your time on someone who is rude to you and who doesn't care about you as a person, doesn't respect you as a person. And I feel like that's what the invisible man is, is he's going, Well, I'm gonna be as rude to you as I bloody well want, and you'll do what I say regardless. And it's just like, well, that doesn't work. And I feel like Kemp lives in the real world where he's like, Why are you being so mean and angry and violent towards these people and then being annoyed when they don't help you? Like, come back to Earth. Alright, chapter 24. The plan that failed. But now, said Kemp with a side glance out of the window, what are we to do? He moved nearer his guest as he spoke, in such a manner as to prevent the possibility of a glimpse of the three men who were advancing up the hill road, with an intolerable slowness as it seemed to Kemp. I knew it! I knew Kemp had sent that message to the police. Well, actually, maybe these three men aren't the police. What were you planning to do when you were heading for Port Burdock? Had you any plan? I was going to clear out of the country, but I have altered that plan rather since seeing you. I thought it would be wise, now the weather is hot and invisibility possible, to make for the south, especially as my secret was known and everyone would be on the lookout for a masked and muffled man. You have a line of steamers from here to France. My idea was to get a broad run and run the risks of the passage. Thence I could go by train into Spain or else get to Algiers. It will not be difficult. There a man might always be invisible, and yet live. Ah yet, warmer climate. And do things. I was using that tramp as a money box and luggage carrier until I decided how to get my books and things sent over to meet me. And then the filthy brute must needs try and rob me. He has hidden my books, Kemp. Hidden my books if I can lay my hands on him. Best plan to get the books out of him first. But where is he? Do you know? He's in the town police station, locked up by his own request, in the strongest cell in the place. Ker said the invisible man. Kod lord, what is he a pirate? But that hangs up your plans a little. We must get those books. Those books are vital. Certainly, said Kemp, a little nervously, wondering if he heard footsteps outside. Certainly we must get those books, but that won't be difficult if he doesn't know they're for you. No, said the invisible man, and thought. Kemp tried to think of something to keep the talk going, but the invisible man resumed of his own accord. Blundering into your house, Kemp, he said, changes all my plans, for you are a man that can understand. In spite of all that has happened, in spite of this publicity, of the loss of my books and of what I have suffered, there still remain great possibilities, huge possibilities. You have told no one I am here, he asked abruptly. Um I just love how he's like, for all that I have suffered, like like he's the victim in this scenario. He's he's not a victim, he did it to himself, and he's been violently attacking everyone around him. Kemp hesitated. That was implied, he said. No one, insisted Griffin. Not a soul. Ah, now the invisible man stood up and sticking his arms at Kimbo began to pace the study. I made a mistake, Kemp. A huge mistake in carrying this thing through alone. I have wasted strength, time, opportunities alone. It is wonderful how little a man can do alone. To rob a little, to hurt a little, and there is the end. What I want, Kemp. Is a goalkeeper, a helper, and a hiding place, an arrangement whereby I can sleep and eat and rest in peace and unsuspected. I must have a Confederate. With a Confederate with food and rest, a thousand things are possible. Yes, so he wants an assistant. Hitherto I have gone on vague lines. We have to consider all that invisibility means, all that it does not mean. It means little advantage for ears dropping and so forth. One makes sounds. It's of little help. A little help perhaps in housebreaking and so forth. Once you've caught me, you could easily imprison me, but on the other hand, I am hard to catch. This invisibility, in fact, is only good in two cases. It's useful in getting away, it's useful in approaching. It's particularly useful, therefore, in killing. My god, he is going down a dark path very quickly. I can walk round a man, whatever weapon he has, choose my point, strike as I like, dodge as I like, escape as I like. Kemp's hand went to his moustache. Was that a movement downstairs? And it is killing we must do, Kemp. Good lord. It is killing we must do, repeated Kemp. I'm listening to your plan, Griffin, but I'm not agreeing, mind. Why killing? Not wanton killing, but a judicious slaying. The point is they know there is an invisible man, as well as we know there is an invisible man, and that invisible man, Kemp, must now establish a reign of terror. Yes, no doubt it's startling, but I mean it, a reign of terror. He must take some town like your burdock and terrify and dominate it. He must issue his orders. He can do that in a thousand ways. Scraps of paper thrust under doors would suffice, and all who disobey his orders he must kill, and kill all who would defend the disobedient. Humph, said Kemp, no longer listening to Griffin, but to the sound of his front door opening and closing. I mean, at this stage I'm going well bloody done, Kemp, for contacting what I'm assuming is the police, because this guy is off his rocker. It seems to me, Griffin, he said, to cover his wandering attention, that your Confederate would be in a difficult position. No one would know he was a Confederate, said the invisible man eagerly, and then suddenly, hush! What's that downstairs? Nothing, said Kemp, and suddenly began to speak loud and fast. I don't agree to this, Griffin, he said, Understand me, I don't agree to this. Why dream of playing a game against the race? How can you hope to gain happiness? Don't be alone, Wolf. Publish your results. Take the world, take the nation at least, into your confidence. Think what you might do with a million helpers. The invisible man interrupted Kemp. There are footsteps coming upstairs, he said in a low voice. Nonsense, said Kemp. Let me see, said the invisible man and advanced, arm extended to the door. Kemp hesitated for a moment and then moved to intercept him. The invisible man started and stood still. Traitor cried the voice, and suddenly the dressing gown opened and sitting down, the unseen began to disrobe. Kemp made three swift steps to the door, and forthwith the invisible man, his legs had vanished, sprung to his feet with a shout. Kemp flung the door open. As it opened, there was a sound of hurrying feet downstairs and voices. With a quick movement, Kemp thrust the invisible man back, sprung aside and slammed the door. The key was outside and ready. In another moment, Griffin would have been alone in the Belvedere study, a prisoner, save for one little thing. The key had been slipped in hastily that morning. As Kemp slammed the door, it fell noisily upon the carpet. Oh no! Kemp's face became white. He tried to grip the door handle with both hands. For a moment he stood lugging. Then the door gave six inches, but he got it closed again. The second time again it was jerked a foot wide, and the dressing gown came wedging itself into the opening. His throat was gripped by invisible fingers, and he left his hold on the handle to defend himself. He was forced back, tripped, and pitched heavily into the corner of the landing. The empty dressing gown was flung on the top of him. Halfway up the staircase was Colonel Adie, the recipient of Kemp's letter, the chief of the Burdock police. I knew it. He was staring aghast at the sudden appearance of Kemp, followed by the extraordinary sight of clothing tossing empty in the air. He saw Kemp felled and struggling to his feet. He saw Kemp reel, rush forward, and go down again, felled like an ox. Then suddenly he was struck violently by nothing. A vast weight, it seemed, leapt upon him, and he was hurled headlong down the staircase, with a grip at his throat and a knee in his groin. An invisible foot trod on his back. A ghastly patter passed downstairs. He heard the two police officers in the hall shout and run, and the front door of the house slammed violently. He rolled over and sat up staring. He saw, staggering down the staircase, Kemp, dusty and dishevelled, one side of his face white from a blow, his lip bleeding, holding a pink dressing gown and some underclothing in his arms. My god cried Kemp, the game's up. He's gone. Oh my god, what a crazy chapter. Good grief, poor Kemp. I mean, he had the right idea. Lock him in the room, make sure he's contained because he's clearly about to go on a very serious killing spree. But oh, he just didn't get it right. He just fumbled at the last minute, the key fell, he couldn't hold the oh and the police weren't helpful at all. Chapter 25. The hunting of the invisible man. For a space, Kemp was too inarticulate to make Ad Yi understand the swift things that had just happened. The two men stood on the landing, Kemp speaking swiftly, the grotesque swathings of Griffin still on his arm. But presently, Ady began to grasp something of the situation. He is mad, said Kemp. Inhuman. He's pure selfishness. He thinks of nothing but his own advantage, his own safety. I've listened to such a story this morning of brutal self-seeking. He has wounded men, he will kill them unless we can prevent him. He will create a panic. Nothing can stop him. He is going out now. Furious. He must be caught, said Adi. That is certain. But how? cried Kemp, and suddenly became full of ideas. You must begin at once. You must set every available man to work. You must prevent his leaving this district. Once he gets away, he may go through the countryside as he wills, killing and maiming. He dreams of a reign of terror. A reign of terror, I tell you. You must set a watch on trains and roads and shipping. The garrison must help. You must wire for help. The only thing that may keep him here is the thought of recovering some books of notes he counts of value. I will tell you that. There is a man in your police station, Marvel. I know, said Adie, I know. Those books, yes. And you must prevent him from eating or sleeping day and night. The country must be astir for him. Food must be locked up and secured, all food so that he will have to break his way to it. The houses everywhere must be barred against him. Heaven send us cold nights and rain. The whole countryside must begin hunting and keep hunting, I tell you. Adi, he is a danger, a disaster. Unless he is pinned and secured, he is a frightful to think of the things that may happen. What else can we do? said Adie. I must go down at once and begin organizing. But why not come? Yes, you come too. Come, and we must hold a sort of council of war. Get hops to help, and the railway managers. By jove, it's urgent. Come along, tell me as we go, what else is there we can do? Put that stuff down. In another moment, Adie was leading the way downstairs. They found the front door open and the policemen standing outside staring at empty air. He got away, sir, said one. We must go to the central station at once, said Adie. One of you go on down and get a cab to come up and meet us. Quickly. And now, Kemp, what else? Dogs, said Kemp. Get dogs. They don't see him, but they wind him. Get dogs. Good, said Addy. It's not generally known, but the prison officials over at Holstead know a man with bloodhounds. Dogs, what else? Bear in mind, said Kemp, his food shows. After eating his food shows until it is assimilated. So that he has to hide after eating. You must keep on beating every thicket, every quiet corner, and put all weapons, all implements that might be weapons away. He can't carry such things for long, but what he can snatch up and strike men with must be hidden away. Good again, said Ad ye, and we shall have him yet. And on the road, said Kemp, and hesitated. Yes, said Adi. Powdered glass, he said Kemp. It's cruel, I know, but think of what he may do. Oh I mean that's a good idea. Adi drew the air in between his teeth sharply. It's unsportsmanlike, I dunno, but I'll have powdered glass got ready. If he goes too far, the man's become inhuman, I tell you, said Kemp. I am as sure he will establish a reign of terror so soon as he has got over the emotions of this escape, as I am sure I am talking to you. Our only chance is to be ahead. He's cut himself off from his kind. His blood be upon his own head. My god, well I mean, you know, he has very clearly laid out his plan and threatened to kill anyone who stands in his way. So I think a bit of powdered glass to cut up his feet is well within the realms of feasibility of keeping the public safe. And I love how Addie is like, oh, it's a bit unsportsman, unsportsman-like. These are people's lives, man. Oh, what a cra- I mean, this has really devolved, hasn't it? It has really devolved from the invisible man just wanting to find a place, a quiet, safe place to sleep, to eat, into now he's bloody killing anyone he comes across on the country side. I mean, it's just where does he come up with this stuff, honestly? Let's leave it there for now. We have one more episode to go before our we have our discussion episode on the invisible man. So come back for one more episode. We'll have that next week, and then we will discuss everything that we have read, all of our thoughts, and some of the themes and all that good stuff in the week after. I'll see you then.