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XXVIIIp. 127 The Hunter Huntedlocked

XXVIIIp. 127 The Hunter Huntedlocked

  • H. G. Wells

Mr Heelas, Mr Kemp’s nearest neighbour among the villa holders, was asleep in his summer-house when the siege of Kemp’s house began. Mr Heelas was one of the sturdy majority who refused to believe in ‘all this nonsense’ about an Invisible Man. His wife, however, as he was subsequently to be reminded, did. He insisted upon walking about his garden just as if nothing was the matter, and he went to sleep in the afternoon, in accordance with the custom of years. He slept through the smashing of the windows, and then woke up suddenly, with a curious persuasion of something wrong. He looked across at Kemp’s house; rubbed his eyes, and looked again. Then he put his feet to the ground and sat listening. He said he was damned, but still the strange thing was visible. The house looked as though it had been deserted for weeks — after a violent riot. Every window was broken, and every window, save those of the belvedere study, was blinded by internal shutters.

‘I could have sworn it was all right’ — he looked at his watch — ‘twenty minutes ago.’

He became aware of a measured concussion, and the clash of glass far away in the distance. And then, as he sat open-mouthed, came a still more wonderful thing. The shutters of the dining-room window were flung open violently, and the housemaid, in her outdoor hat and garments, appeared struggling in a frantic manner to throw up the sash. Suddenly a man appeared beside her, helping her — Dr Kemp! In another moment the window was open and the housemaid was struggling out; she pitched forward and vanished among the shrubs. Mr Heelas stood up, exclaiming vaguely and vehemently at all these wonderful things. He saw Kemp stand on the sill, spring from the window, and reappear almost instantaneously running along a path in the shrubbery and stooping as he ran, like a man who evades observation. He vanished behind a laburnum, and appeared again clambering a fence that abutted on the open down. In a second he had tumbled over, and was running at a tremendous pace down the slope towards Mr Heelas.

‘Lord!’ cried Mr Heelas, struck with an idea, ‘it’s that Invisible Man brute! It’s all right after all!’

p. 128With Mr Heelas to think things like that was to act, and his cook, watching him from the top window, was amazed to see him come pelting towards the house at a good nine miles an hour. There was a slamming of doors, a ringing of bells, and the voice of Mr Heelas bellowing like a bull. ‘Shut the doors, shut the windows, shut everything — the Invisible Man is coming!’ Instantly the house was full of screams and directions and scurrying feet. He ran himself to shut the French windows that opened on the veranda, and as he did so Kemp’s head and shoulders and knee appeared over the edge of the garden fence. In another moment Kemp had ploughed through the asparagus, and was running across the tennis-lawn to the house.

‘You can’t come in,’ said Mr Heelas, shooting the bolts. ‘I’m very sorry if he’s after you — but you can’t come in!’

Kemp appeared with a face of terror close to the glass, rapping and then shaking frantically at the French window. Then, seeing his efforts were useless, he ran along the veranda, vaulted the end, and went to hammer at the side door. Then he ran round by the side gate to the front of the house, and so into the hill road. And Mr Heelas staring from his window — a face of horror — had scarcely witnessed Kemp vanish ere the asparagus was being trampled this way and that by feet unseen. At that Mr Heelas fled precipitately upstairs, and the rest of the chase is beyond his purview. But as he passed the staircase window he heard the side gate slam.

Emerging into the hill road, Kemp naturally took the downward direction, and so it was that he came to run in his own person the very race he had watched with such a critical eye from the belvedere study only four days ago.* He ran it well for a man out of training, and though his face was white and wet his wits were cool to the last. He ran with wide strides, and wherever a patch of rough ground intervened, wherever there came a patch of raw flints, or a bit of broken glass shone dazzling, he crossed it, and left the bare invisible feet that followed to take what line they would.

For the first time in his life Kemp discovered that the hill road was indescribably vast and desolate, and that the beginnings of the town far below at the hill foot were strangely remote. Never had there been a slower or more painful method of progression than running. All the gaunt villas, sleeping in the afternoon sun, looked locked and barred; no doubt they were locked and barred by his own orders. But at any rate they might have kept a look-out for an eventuality like this! The p. 129town was rising up now, the sea had dropped out of sight behind it, and people below were stirring. A tram was just arriving at the hill foot. Beyond that was the police-station. Were those footsteps he heard behind him? Spurt.

The people below were staring at him, one or two were running, and his breath was beginning to saw in his throat. The tram was quite near now, and the ‘Jolly Cricketers’ was noisily barring its doors. Beyond the tram were posts and heaps of gravel — the drainage works. He had a transitory idea of jumping into the tram and slamming the doors, and then he resolved to go for the police-station. In another moment he had passed the door of the ‘Jolly Cricketers,’ and was in the blistering fag end of the street, with human beings about him. The tram driver and his helper — astounded by the sight of his furious haste — stood staring with the tram horses unhitched. Further on the astonished features of navvies appeared above the mounds of gravel.

His pace broke a little, and then he heard the swift pad of his pursuer, and leapt forward again. ‘The Invisible Man!’ he cried to the navvies, with a vague indicative gesture, and by an inspiration leapt the excavation, and placed a burly group between him and the chase. Then, abandoning the idea of the police-station, he turned into a little side street, rushed by a greengrocer’s cart, hesitated for the tenth of a second at the door of a sweetstuff shop, and then made for the mouth of an alley that ran back into the main Hill Street again. Two or three little children were playing here, and shrieked and scattered running at his apparition, and forthwith doors and windows opened, and excited mothers revealed their hearts. Out he shot into Hill Street once more, three hundred yards from the tram-line end, and immediately he became aware of a tumultuous vociferation and running people.

He glanced up the street towards the hill. Hardly a dozen yards off ran a huge navvy, cursing in fragments and slashing viciously with a spade, and hard behind him came the tram conductor with his fists clenched. Up the street others followed these two, striking and shouting. Down towards the town men and women were running, and he noticed clearly one man coming out of a shop door with a stick in his hand. ‘Spread out! Spread out!’ cried some one. Kemp suddenly grasped the altered condition of the chase. He stopped and looked round panting. ‘He’s close here!’ he cried. ‘Form a line across——’

p. 130He was hit hard under the ear, and went reeling, trying to face round towards his unseen antagonist. He just managed to keep his feet, and he struck a vain counter in the air. Then he was hit again under the jaw, and sprawled headlong on the ground. In another moment a knee compressed his diaphragm, and a couple of eager hands gripped his throat, but the grip of one was weaker than the other; he grasped the wrists, heard a cry of pain from his assailant, and then the spade of the navvy came whirling through the air above him, and struck something with a dull thud. He felt a drop of moisture on his face. The grip at his throat suddenly relaxed, and with a convulsive effort Kemp loosed himself, grasped a limp shoulder, and rolled uppermost. He gripped the unseen elbows near the ground. ‘I’ve got him!’ screamed Kemp. ‘Help! help — hold! He’s down! Hold his feet!’

In another second there was a simultaneous rush upon the struggle, and a stranger coming into the road suddenly might have thought an exceptionally savage game of Rugby football was in progress. And there was no shouting after Kemp’s cry — only a sound of blows and feet and a heavy breathing.

Then came a mighty effort, and the Invisible Man staggered to his feet. Kemp clung to him in front like a hound to a stag, and a dozen hands clutched and tore at the unseen. The tram conductor got the neck, and lugged him back.

Down went the heap of struggling men again. There was, I am afraid, some savage kicking. Then suddenly a wild scream of ‘Mercy, mercy!’ that died down swiftly to a sound like choking.

‘Get back, you fools!’ cried the muffled voice of Kemp, and there was a vigorous shoving back of stalwart forms. ‘He’s hurt, I tell you. Stand back.’

There was a brief struggle to clear a space, and then the circle of eager faces saw the doctor kneeling, as it seemed, fifteen inches in the air, and holding invisible arms to the ground. Behind him a constable gripped invisible ankles.

‘Don’t you leave go of en!’ cried the big navvy, holding a bloodstained spade; ‘he’s shamming.’

‘He’s not shamming,’ said the doctor, cautiously raising his knee, ‘and I’ll hold him.’ His face was bruised, and already going red; he spoke thickly, because of a bleeding lip. He released one hand, and seemed to be feeling at the face. ‘The mouth’s all wet,’ he said. And then, ‘Good Lord!’

p. 131He stood up abruptly, and then knelt down on the ground by the side of the thing unseen. There was a pushing and shuffling, a sound of heavy feet as fresh people turned up to increase the pressure of the crowd. People now were coming out of the houses. The doors of the ‘Jolly Cricketers’ were suddenly wide open. Very little was said. Kemp felt about, his hand seeming to pass through empty air. ‘He’s not breathing,’ he said, and then, ‘I can’t feel his heart. His side — ugh!’

Suddenly an old woman, pushing under the arm of the big navvy, screamed sharply. ‘Looky there!’ she said, and thrust out a wrinkled finger. And looking where she pointed, every one saw, faint and transparent, as though made of glass, so that veins and arteries, and bones and nerves could be distinguished, the outline of a hand — a hand limp and prone. It grew clouded and opaque even as they stared.

‘Hullo!’ cried the constable. ‘Here’s his feet a-showing!’

And so, slowly, beginning at his hands and feet, and creeping slowly along his limbs to the vital centres of his body, that strange change continued. It was like the slow spreading of a poison. First came the little white veins, a hazy grey sketch of a limb, then the glassy bones and intricate arteries, then the flesh and skin, first a faint fogginess and then growing rapidly dense and opaque. Presently they could see his crushed chest and his shoulders, and the dim outline of his drawn and battered features.

When at last the crowd made way for Kemp to stand erect, there lay, naked and pitiful on the ground, the bruised and broken body of a young man about thirty. His hair and brow were white — not grey with age, but white with the whiteness of albinism — and his eyes were like garnets. His hands were clenched,* his eyes wide open, and his expression was one of anger and dismay. The people shivered at the sight of him, and three little children, pushing forward through the crowd, were suddenly twisted round and sent packing off again.

Some one brought a sheet from the ‘Jolly Cricketers,’ and having covered him, they carried him into that house. And there, on a shabby bed in a tawdry, ill-lighted bedroom, ended the strange experiment of the Invisible Man.p. 132


  • 128 four days ago: David Lake points out that it is in fact ‘only two days since Marvel was running’.

  • 131 clenched: there is a contradiction here, as David Lake notices, for only a few lines earlier Wells has referred to one of Griffin’s hands, only moments before, as ‘limp and prone’ (p. 131).