The Invisible Man: A Grotesque Romance Read online

  CHAPTER IV

  MR. CUSS INTERVIEWS THE STRANGER

  I have told the circumstances of the stranger's arrival in Ipingwith a certain fulness of detail, in order that the curiousimpression he created may be understood by the reader. Butexcepting two odd incidents, the circumstances of his stay untilthe extraordinary day of the club festival may be passed over verycursorily. There were a number of skirmishes with Mrs. Hall onmatters of domestic discipline, but in every case until late April,when the first signs of penury began, he over-rode her by the easyexpedient of an extra payment. Hall did not like him, and wheneverhe dared he talked of the advisability of getting rid of him; buthe showed his dislike chiefly by concealing it ostentatiously, andavoiding his visitor as much as possible. "Wait till the summer,"said Mrs. Hall sagely, "when the artisks are beginning to come.Then we'll see. He may be a bit overbearing, but bills settledpunctual is bills settled punctual, whatever you'd like to say."

  The stranger did not go to church, and indeed made no differencebetween Sunday and the irreligious days, even in costume. Heworked, as Mrs. Hall thought, very fitfully. Some days he wouldcome down early and be continuously busy. On others he would riselate, pace his room, fretting audibly for hours together, smoke,sleep in the armchair by the fire. Communication with the worldbeyond the village he had none. His temper continued veryuncertain; for the most part his manner was that of a man sufferingunder almost unendurable provocation, and once or twice things weresnapped, torn, crushed, or broken in spasmodic gusts of violence.He seemed under a chronic irritation of the greatest intensity. Hishabit of talking to himself in a low voice grew steadily upon him,but though Mrs. Hall listened conscientiously she could makeneither head nor tail of what she heard.

  He rarely went abroad by daylight, but at twilight he would go outmuffled up invisibly, whether the weather were cold or not, and hechose the loneliest paths and those most overshadowed by trees andbanks. His goggling spectacles and ghastly bandaged face under thepenthouse of his hat, came with a disagreeable suddenness out ofthe darkness upon one or two home-going labourers, and TeddyHenfrey, tumbling out of the "Scarlet Coat" one night, at half-pastnine, was scared shamefully by the stranger's skull-like head (hewas walking hat in hand) lit by the sudden light of the opened inndoor. Such children as saw him at nightfall dreamt of bogies, andit seemed doubtful whether he disliked boys more than they dislikedhim, or the reverse; but there was certainly a vivid enough dislikeon either side.

  It was inevitable that a person of so remarkable an appearance andbearing should form a frequent topic in such a village as Iping.Opinion was greatly divided about his occupation. Mrs. Hall wassensitive on the point. When questioned, she explained verycarefully that he was an "experimental investigator," goinggingerly over the syllables as one who dreads pitfalls. When askedwhat an experimental investigator was, she would say with a touchof superiority that most educated people knew such things as that,and would thus explain that he "discovered things." Her visitor hadhad an accident, she said, which temporarily discoloured his faceand hands, and being of a sensitive disposition, he was averse toany public notice of the fact.

  Out of her hearing there was a view largely entertained that he wasa criminal trying to escape from justice by wrapping himself up soas to conceal himself altogether from the eye of the police. Thisidea sprang from the brain of Mr. Teddy Henfrey. No crime of anymagnitude dating from the middle or end of February was known tohave occurred. Elaborated in the imagination of Mr. Gould, theprobationary assistant in the National School, this theory took theform that the stranger was an Anarchist in disguise, preparingexplosives, and he resolved to undertake such detective operationsas his time permitted. These consisted for the most part in lookingvery hard at the stranger whenever they met, or in asking peoplewho had never seen the stranger, leading questions about him. Buthe detected nothing.

  Another school of opinion followed Mr. Fearenside, and eitheraccepted the piebald view or some modification of it; as, forinstance, Silas Durgan, who was heard to assert that "if he choosesto show enself at fairs he'd make his fortune in no time," andbeing a bit of a theologian, compared the stranger to the man withthe one talent. Yet another view explained the entire matter byregarding the stranger as a harmless lunatic. That had theadvantage of accounting for everything straight away.

  Between these main groups there were waverers and compromisers.Sussex folk have few superstitions, and it was only after theevents of early April that the thought of the supernatural wasfirst whispered in the village. Even then it was only creditedamong the women folk.

  But whatever they thought of him, people in Iping, on the whole,agreed in disliking him. His irritability, though it might havebeen comprehensible to an urban brain-worker, was an amazing thingto these quiet Sussex villagers. The frantic gesticulations theysurprised now and then, the headlong pace after nightfall thatswept him upon them round quiet corners, the inhuman bludgeoningof all tentative advances of curiosity, the taste for twilightthat led to the closing of doors, the pulling down of blinds,the extinction of candles and lamps--who could agree with suchgoings on? They drew aside as he passed down the village, and whenhe had gone by, young humourists would up with coat-collars anddown with hat-brims, and go pacing nervously after him in imitationof his occult bearing. There was a song popular at that time called"The Bogey Man". Miss Statchell sang it at the schoolroom concert(in aid of the church lamps), and thereafter whenever one or two ofthe villagers were gathered together and the stranger appeared, abar or so of this tune, more or less sharp or flat, was whistled inthe midst of them. Also belated little children would call "BogeyMan!" after him, and make off tremulously elated.

  Cuss, the general practitioner, was devoured by curiosity. Thebandages excited his professional interest, the report of thethousand and one bottles aroused his jealous regard. All throughApril and May he coveted an opportunity of talking to the stranger,and at last, towards Whitsuntide, he could stand it no longer, buthit upon the subscription-list for a village nurse as an excuse. Hewas surprised to find that Mr. Hall did not know his guest's name."He give a name," said Mrs. Hall--an assertion which was quiteunfounded--"but I didn't rightly hear it." She thought it seemedso silly not to know the man's name.

  Cuss rapped at the parlour door and entered. There was a fairlyaudible imprecation from within. "Pardon my intrusion," said Cuss,and then the door closed and cut Mrs. Hall off from the rest ofthe conversation.

  She could hear the murmur of voices for the next ten minutes, thena cry of surprise, a stirring of feet, a chair flung aside, a barkof laughter, quick steps to the door, and Cuss appeared, his facewhite, his eyes staring over his shoulder. He left the door openbehind him, and without looking at her strode across the hall andwent down the steps, and she heard his feet hurrying along theroad. He carried his hat in his hand. She stood behind the door,looking at the open door of the parlour. Then she heard thestranger laughing quietly, and then his footsteps came across theroom. She could not see his face where she stood. The parlour doorslammed, and the place was silent again.

  Cuss went straight up the village to Bunting the vicar. "Am I mad?"Cuss began abruptly, as he entered the shabby little study. "Do Ilook like an insane person?"

  "What's happened?" said the vicar, putting the ammonite on theloose sheets of his forth-coming sermon.

  "That chap at the inn--"

  "Well?"

  "Give me something to drink," said Cuss, and he sat down.

  When his nerves had been steadied by a glass of cheap sherry--theonly drink the good vicar had available--he told him of theinterview he had just had. "Went in," he gasped, "and began todemand a subscription for that Nurse Fund. He'd stuck his hands inhis pockets as I came in, and he sat down lumpily in his chair.Sniffed. I told him I'd heard he took an interest in scientificthings. He said yes. Sniffed again. Kept on sniffing all the time;evidently recently caught an infernal cold. No wonder, wrapped uplike that! I developed the nurse idea, and all the while kept myeyes open. Bottles--c
hemicals--everywhere. Balance, test-tubesin stands, and a smell of--evening primrose. Would he subscribe?Said he'd consider it. Asked him, point-blank, was he researching.Said he was. A long research? Got quite cross. 'A damnable longresearch,' said he, blowing the cork out, so to speak. 'Oh,' saidI. And out came the grievance. The man was just on the boil, and myquestion boiled him over. He had been given a prescription, mostvaluable prescription--what for he wouldn't say. Was it medical?'Damn you! What are you fishing after?' I apologised. Dignifiedsniff and cough. He resumed. He'd read it. Five ingredients. Put itdown; turned his head. Draught of air from window lifted the paper.Swish, rustle. He was working in a room with an open fireplace, hesaid. Saw a flicker, and there was the prescription burning andlifting chimneyward. Rushed towards it just as it whisked up thechimney. So! Just at that point, to illustrate his story, out camehis arm."

  "Well?"

  "No hand--just an empty sleeve. Lord! I thought, _that's_ adeformity! Got a cork arm, I suppose, and has taken it off. Then, Ithought, there's something odd in that. What the devil keeps thatsleeve up and open, if there's nothing in it? There was nothing init, I tell you. Nothing down it, right down to the joint. I couldsee right down it to the elbow, and there was a glimmer of lightshining through a tear of the cloth. 'Good God!' I said. Then hestopped. Stared at me with those black goggles of his, and thenat his sleeve."

  "Well?"

  "That's all. He never said a word; just glared, and put his sleeveback in his pocket quickly. 'I was saying,' said he, 'that therewas the prescription burning, wasn't I?' Interrogative cough.'How the devil,' said I, 'can you move an empty sleeve like that?''Empty sleeve?' 'Yes,' said I, 'an empty sleeve.'

  "'It's an empty sleeve, is it? You saw it was an empty sleeve?' Hestood up right away. I stood up too. He came towards me in threevery slow steps, and stood quite close. Sniffed venomously. Ididn't flinch, though I'm hanged if that bandaged knob of his, andthose blinkers, aren't enough to unnerve any one, coming quietlyup to you.

  "'You said it was an empty sleeve?' he said. 'Certainly,' I said.At staring and saying nothing a barefaced man, unspectacled, startsscratch. Then very quietly he pulled his sleeve out of his pocketagain, and raised his arm towards me as though he would show it tome again. He did it very, very slowly. I looked at it. Seemed anage. 'Well?' said I, clearing my throat, 'there's nothing in it.'

  "Had to say something. I was beginning to feel frightened. I couldsee right down it. He extended it straight towards me, slowly,slowly--just like that--until the cuff was six inches from myface. Queer thing to see an empty sleeve come at you like that!And then--"

  "Well?"

  "Something--exactly like a finger and thumb it felt--nipped mynose."

  Bunting began to laugh.

  "There wasn't anything there!" said Cuss, his voice running up intoa shriek at the "there." "It's all very well for you to laugh, butI tell you I was so startled, I hit his cuff hard, and turnedaround, and cut out of the room--I left him--"

  Cuss stopped. There was no mistaking the sincerity of his panic.He turned round in a helpless way and took a second glass of theexcellent vicar's very inferior sherry. "When I hit his cuff," saidCuss, "I tell you, it felt exactly like hitting an arm. And therewasn't an arm! There wasn't the ghost of an arm!"

  Mr. Bunting thought it over. He looked suspiciously at Cuss. "It'sa most remarkable story," he said. He looked very wise and graveindeed. "It's really," said Mr. Bunting with judicial emphasis, "amost remarkable story."