The Invisible Man

fired at random. A lot of them got scared. They all got scared at me. Curse them!—I say—I want more to eat than this, Kemp.” “I’ll see what there is to eat downstairs,” said Kemp. “Not much, I’m afraid.” After he had done eating, and he made a heavy meal, the Invisible Man demanded a cigar. He bit the end savagely before Kemp could find a knife, and cursed when the outer leaf loosened. It was strange to see him smoking; his mouth, and throat, pharynx and nares, became visible as a sort of whirling smoke cast. “This blessed gift of smoking!” he said, and puffed vigorously. “I’m lucky to have fallen upon you, Kemp. You must help me. Fancy tumbling on you just now! I’m in a devilish scrape—I’ve been mad, I think. The things I have been through! But we will do things yet. Let me tell you—” He helped himself to more whiskey and soda. Kemp got up, looked about him, and fetched a glass from his spare room. “It’s wild—but I suppose I may drink.” “You haven’t changed much, Kemp, these dozen years. You fair men don’t. Cool and methodical—after the first collapse. I must tell you. We will work together!” “But how was it all done?” said Kemp, “and how did you get like this?” “For God’s sake, let me smoke in peace for a little while! And then I will begin to tell you.” But the story was not told that night. The Invisible Man’s wrist was growing painful; he was feverish, exhausted, and his mind came round to brood upon his chase down the hill and the struggle about the inn. He spoke in fragments of Marvel, he smoked faster, his voice grew angry. Kemp tried to gather what he could. “He was afraid of me, I could see that he was afraid of me,” said the Invisible Man many times over. “He meant to give me the slip—he was always casting about! What a fool I was! “The cur! “I should have killed him!” “Where did you get the money?” asked Kemp, abruptly. The Invisible Man was silent for a space. “I can’t tell you to-night,” he said. He groaned suddenly and leant forward, supporting his invisible head on invisible hands. “Kemp,” he said, “I’ve had no sleep for near three days, except a couple of dozes of an hour or so. I must sleep soon.” “Well, have my room—have this room.” “But how can I sleep? If I sleep—he will get away. Ugh! What does it matter?” “What’s the shot wound?” asked Kemp, abruptly. “Nothing—scratch and blood. Oh, God! How I want sleep!” “Why not?” The Invisible Man appeared to be regarding Kemp. “Because I’ve a particular objection to being caught by my fellow-men,” he said slowly. Kemp started. “Fool that I am!” said the Invisible Man, striking the table smartly. “I’ve put the idea into your head.”