The Invisible Man
The Invisible Man
A Grotesque Romance
by
H. G. Wells
W
Wisehouse Classics
H. G. Wells
The Invisible Man ~ A Grotesque Romance
Executive Editor Sam Vaseghi
Published by Wisehouse Classics – Sweden
ISBN 978-91-7637-139-8
Wisehouse Classics is a Wisehouse Imprint.
© Wisehouse 2016 – Sweden
© Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photographing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Contents
Chapter 1: The Strange Man’s Arrival
Chapter 2: Mr. Teddy Henfrey’s First Impressions
Chapter 3: The Thousand and One Bottles
Chapter 4: Mr. Cuss Interviews the Stranger
Chapter 5: The Burglary at the Vicarage
Chapter 6: The Furniture That Went Mad
Chapter 7: The Unveiling of the Stranger
Chapter 8: In Transit
Chapter 9: Mr. Thomas Marvel
Chapter 10: Mr. Marvel’s Visit to Iping
Chapter 11: In the “Coach and Horses”
Chapter 12: The Invisible Man Loses His Temper
Chapter 13: Mr. Marvel Discusses His Resignation
Chapter 14: At Port Stowe
Chapter 15: The Man Who Was Running
Chapter 16: In the “Jolly Cricketers”
Chapter 17: Dr. Kemp’s Visitor
Chapter 18: The Invisible Man Sleeps
Chapter 19: Certain First Principles
Chapter 20: At the House in Great Portland Street
Chapter 21: In Oxford Street
Chapter 22: In the Emporium
Chapter 23: In Drury Lane
Chapter 24: The Plan That Failed
Chapter 25: The Hunting of the Invisible Man
Chapter 26: The Wicksteed Murder
Chapter 27: The Siege of Kemp’s House
Chapter 28: The Hunter Hunted
The Epilogue
Chapter 1 The Strange Man’s Arrival
THE STRANGER CAME EARLY IN FEBRUARY, ONE WINTRY DAY, THROUGH A biting wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the year, over the down, walking from Bramblehurst railway station, and carrying a little black portmanteau in his thickly gloved hand. He was wrapped up from head to foot, and the brim of his soft felt hat hid every inch of his face but the shiny tip of his nose; the snow had piled itself against his shoulders and chest, and added a white crest to the burden he carried. He staggered into the “Coach and Horses” more dead than alive, and flung his portmanteau down. “A fire,” he cried, “in the name of human charity! A room and a fire!” He stamped and shook the snow from off himself in the bar, and followed Mrs. Hall into her guest parlour to strike his bargain. And with that much introduction, that and a couple of sovereigns flung upon the table, he took up his quarters in the inn.
Mrs. Hall lit the fire and left him there while she went to prepare him a meal with her own hands. A guest to stop at Iping in the wintertime was an unheard-of piece of luck, let alone a guest who was no “haggler,” and she was resolved to show herself worthy of her good fortune. As soon as the bacon was well under way, and Millie, her lymphatic aid, had been brisked up a bit by a few deftly chosen expressions of contempt, she carried the cloth, plates, and glasses into the parlour and began to lay them with the utmost eclat. Although the fire was burning up briskly, she was surprised to see that her visitor still wore his hat and coat, standing with his back to her and staring out of the window at the falling snow in the yard. His gloved hands were clasped behind him, and he seemed to be lost in thought. She noticed that the melting snow that still sprinkled his shoulders dripped upon her carpet. “Can I take your hat and coat, sir?” she said, “and give them a good dry in the kitchen?”
“No,” he said without turning.
She was not sure she had heard him, and was about to repeat her question.
He turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. “I prefer to keep them on,” he said with emphasis, and she noticed that he wore big blue spectacles with sidelights, and had a bush side-whisker over his coat-collar that completely hid his cheeks and face.
“Very well, sir,” she said. “As you like. In a bit the room will be warmer.”
He made no answer, and had turned his face away from her again, and Mrs. Hall, feeling that her conversational advances were ill-timed, laid the rest of the table things in a quick staccato and whisked out of the room. When she returned he was still standing there, like a man of stone, his back hunched, his collar turned up, his dripping hat-brim turned down, hiding his face and ears completely. She put down the eggs and bacon with considerable emphasis, and called rather than said to him, “Your lunch is served, sir.”
“Thank you,” he said at the same time, and did not stir until she was closing the door. Then he swung round and approached the table with a certain eager quickness.
As she went behind the bar to the kitchen she heard a sound repeated at regular intervals. Chirk, chirk, chirk, it went, the sound of a spoon being rapidly whisked round a basin. “That girl!” she said. “There! I clean forgot it. It’s her being so long!” And while she herself finished mixing the mustard, she gave Millie a few verbal stabs for her excessive slowness. She had cooked the ham and eggs, laid the table, and done everything, while Millie (help indeed!) had only succeeded in delaying the mustard. And him a new guest and wanting to stay! Then she filled the mustard pot, and, putting it with a certain stateliness upon a gold and black tea-tray, carried it into the parlour.
She rapped and entered promptly. As she did so her visitor moved quickly, so that