The Greatest Science Fiction Novels & Stories by H. G. Wells. Герберт Уэллс

Keep steady!” and the grip tightened.

      A frantic desire to free himself took possession of Kemp. The hand of the bandaged arm gripped his shoulder, and he was suddenly tripped and flung backwards upon the bed. He opened his mouth to shout, and the corner of the sheet was thrust between his teeth. The Invisible Man had him down grimly, but his arms were free and he struck and tried to kick savagely.

      “Listen to reason, will you?” said the Invisible Man, sticking to him in spite of a pounding in the ribs. “By Heaven! you’ll madden me in a minute!

      “Lie still, you fool!” bawled the Invisible Man in Kemp’s ear.

      Kemp struggled for another moment and then lay still.

      “If you shout, I’ll smash your face,” said the Invisible Man, relieving his mouth.

      “I’m an Invisible Man. It’s no foolishness, and no magic. I really am an Invisible Man. And I want your help. I don’t want to hurt you, but if you behave like a frantic rustic, I must. Don’t you remember me, Kemp? Griffin, of University College?”

      “Let me get up,” said Kemp. “I’ll stop where I am. And let me sit quiet for a minute.”

      He sat up and felt his neck.

      “I am Griffin, of University College, and I have made myself invisible. I am just an ordinary man — a man you have known — made invisible.”

      “Griffin?” said Kemp.

      “Griffin,” answered the Voice. A younger student than you were, almost an albino, six feet high, and broad, with a pink and white face and red eyes, who won the medal for chemistry.”

      “I am confused,” said Kemp. “My brain is rioting. What has this to do with Griffin?”

      “I am Griffin.”

      Kemp thought. “It’s horrible,” he said. “But what devilry must happen to make a man invisible?”

      “It’s no devilry. It’s a process, sane and intelligible enough — “

      “It’s horrible!” said Kemp. “How on earth —?”

      “It’s horrible enough. But I’m wounded and in pain, and tired … Great God! Kemp, you are a man. Take it steady. Give me some food and drink, and let me sit down here.”

      Kemp stared at the bandage as it moved across the room, then saw a basket chair dragged across the floor and come to rest near the bed. It creaked, and the seat was depressed the quarter of an inch or so. He rubbed his eyes and felt his neck again. “This beats ghosts,” he said, and laughed stupidly.

      “That’s better. Thank Heaven, you’re getting sensible!”

      “Or silly,” said Kemp, and knuckled his eyes.

      “Give me some whiskey. I’m near dead.”

      “It didn’t feel so. Where are you? If I get up shall I run into you? There! all right. Whiskey? Here. Where shall I give it to you?”

      The chair creaked and Kemp felt the glass drawn away from him. He let go by an effort; his instinct was all against it. It came to rest poised twenty inches above the front edge of the seat of the chair. He stared at it in infinite perplexity. “This is — this must be — hypnotism. You have suggested you are invisible.”

      “Nonsense,” said the Voice.

      “It’s frantic.”

      “Listen to me.”

      “I demonstrated conclusively this morning,” began Kemp, “that invisibility — “

      “Never mind what you’ve demonstrated! — I’m starving,” said the Voice, “and the night is chilly to a man without clothes.”

      “Food?” said Kemp.

      The tumbler of whiskey tilted itself. “Yes,” said the Invisible Man rapping it down. “Have you a dressing-gown?”

      Kemp made some exclamation in an undertone. He walked to a wardrobe and produced a robe of dingy scarlet. “This do?” he asked. It was taken from him. It hung limp for a moment in mid-air, fluttered weirdly, stood full and decorous buttoning itself, and sat down in his chair. “Drawers, socks, slippers would be a comfort,” said the Unseen, curtly. “And food.”

      “Anything. But this is the insanest thing I ever was in, in my life!”

      He turned out his drawers for the articles, and then went downstairs to ransack his larder. He came back with some cold cutlets and bread, pulled up a light table, and placed them before his guest. “Never mind knives,” said his visitor, and a cutlet hung in mid-air, with a sound of gnawing.

      “Invisible!” said Kemp, and sat down on a bedroom chair.

      “I always like to get something about me before I eat,” said the Invisible Man, with a full mouth, eating greedily. “Queer fancy!”

      “I suppose that wrist is all right,” said Kemp.

      “Trust me,” said the Invisible Man.

      “Of all the strange and wonderful — “

      “Exactly. But it’s odd I should blunder into your house to get my bandaging. My first stroke of luck! Anyhow I meant to sleep in this house tonight. You must stand that! It’s a filthy nuisance, my blood showing, isn’t it? Quite a clot over there. Gets visible as it coagulates, I see. It’s only the living tissue I’ve changed, and only for as long as I’m alive…. I’ve been in the house three hours.”

      “But how’s it done?” began Kemp, in a tone of exasperation. “Confound it! The whole business — it’s unreasonable from beginning to end.”

      “Quite reasonable,” said the Invisible Man. “Perfectly reasonable.”

      He reached over and secured the whiskey bottle. Kemp stared at the devouring dressing gown. A ray of candlelight penetrating a torn patch in the right shoulder, made a triangle of light under the left ribs. “What were the shots?” he asked. “How did the shooting begin?”

      “There was a real fool of a man — a sort of confederate of mine — curse him! — who tried to steal my money. Has done so.”

      “Is he invisible too?”

      “No.”

      “Well?”

      “Can’t I have some more to eat before I tell you all that? I’m hungry — in pain. And you want me to tell stories!”

      Kemp got up. “You didn’t do any shooting?” he asked.

      “Not me,” said his visitor. “Some fool I’d never seen 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