Chapter 14

At Port Stowe

8 min

Ten o’clock the next morning found Mr. Marvel, unshaven, dirty, and travel-stained, sitting with the books beside him and his hands deep in his pockets, looking very weary, nervous, and uncomfortable, and inflating his cheeks at infrequent intervals, on the bench outside a little inn on the outskirts of Port Stowe. Beside him were the books, but now they were tied with string. The bundle had been abandoned in the pine-woods beyond Bramblehurst, in accordance with a change in the plans of the Invisible Man. Mr. Marvel sat on the bench, and although no one took the slightest notice of him, his agitation remained at fever heat. His hands would go ever and again to his various pockets with a curious nervous fumbling.

At ten o’clock the next morning, Mr. Marvel sat on a bench outside a small inn on the outskirts of Port Stowe. He was unshaven, dirty, and stained from travel, with the books beside him and his hands deep in his pockets. He looked very tired, nervous, and uncomfortable, and every so often he puffed out his cheeks. The books beside him were now tied with string. The bundle had been left in the pine woods beyond Bramblehurst, after the Invisible Man changed his plans. Although no one paid Mr. Marvel the slightest attention as he sat there, he remained extremely agitated. His hands kept going to his various pockets, fumbling nervously.

When he had been sitting for the best part of an hour, however, an elderly mariner, carrying a newspaper, came out of the inn and sat down beside him. “Pleasant day,” said the mariner.

After he had been sitting there for almost an hour, an elderly sailor came out of the inn carrying a newspaper. He sat down beside him. “Pleasant day,” said the sailor.

Mr. Marvel glanced about him with something very like terror. “Very,” he said.

Mr. Marvel glanced around, looking almost terrified. “Very,” he said.

“Just seasonable weather for the time of year,” said the mariner, taking no denial.

“Just the kind of weather you’d expect this time of year,” said the sailor, refusing to take no for an answer.

“Quite,” said Mr. Marvel.

“Exactly,” said Mr. Marvel.

The mariner produced a toothpick, and (saving his regard) was engrossed thereby for some minutes. His eyes meanwhile were at liberty to examine Mr. Marvel’s dusty figure, and the books beside him. As he had approached Mr. Marvel he had heard a sound like the dropping of coins into a pocket. He was struck by the contrast of Mr. Marvel’s appearance with this suggestion of opulence. Thence his mind wandered back again to a topic that had taken a curiously firm hold of his imagination.

The sailor took out a toothpick and spent several minutes using it, if you’ll pardon the mention. Meanwhile, his eyes were free to examine Mr. Marvel’s dusty figure and the books beside him. As he approached Mr. Marvel, he had heard a sound like coins dropping into a pocket. He was struck by the contrast between Mr. Marvel’s appearance and this hint of wealth. His mind then wandered back to a subject that had taken a curious hold on his imagination.

“Books?” he said suddenly, noisily finishing with the toothpick.

“Books?” he said suddenly, finishing with the toothpick noisily.

Mr. Marvel started and looked at them. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Yes, they’re books.”

Mr. Marvel flinched and looked at them. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Yes, they’re books.”

“There’s some extra-ordinary things in books,” said the mariner.

“There’s some extraordinary things in books,” said the sailor.

“I believe you,” said Mr. Marvel.

“And some extra-ordinary things out of ’em,” said the mariner.

“And some extraordinary things out of them,” said the sailor.

“True likewise,” said Mr. Marvel. He eyed his interlocutor, and then glanced about him.

“That’s true too,” said Mr. Marvel. He looked at the person he was talking to, then glanced around.

“There’s some extra-ordinary things in newspapers, for example,” said the mariner.

“There are some extraordinary things in newspapers, for example,” said the sailor.

“There are.”

“In this newspaper,” said the mariner.

“In this newspaper,” said the sailor.

“Ah!” said Mr. Marvel.

“There’s a story,” said the mariner, fixing Mr. Marvel with an eye that was firm and deliberate; “there’s a story about an Invisible Man, for instance.”

“There’s a story,” said the sailor, looking firmly and deliberately at Mr. Marvel. “There’s a story about an Invisible Man, for example.”

Mr. Marvel pulled his mouth askew and scratched his cheek and felt his ears glowing. “What will they be writing next?” he asked faintly. “Ostria, or America?”

Mr. Marvel twisted his mouth and scratched his cheek. He felt his ears burning. “What will they write about next?” he asked faintly. “Ostria, or America?”

“Neither,” said the mariner. “Here.”

“Neither,” said the sailor. “Here.”

“Lord!” said Mr. Marvel, starting.

“Lord!” said Mr. Marvel, startled.

“When I say here,” said the mariner, to Mr. Marvel’s intense relief, “I don’t of course mean here in this place, I mean hereabouts.”

“When I say here,” said the sailor, much to Mr. Marvel’s relief, “I don’t mean this exact place, of course. I mean somewhere nearby.”

“An Invisible Man!” said Mr. Marvel. “And what’s he been up to?”

“Everything,” said the mariner, controlling Marvel with his eye, and then amplifying, “every—blessed—thing.”

“Everything,” said the sailor, holding Marvel under his gaze. Then he added, “Every blessed thing.”

“I ain’t seen a paper these four days,” said Marvel.

“I ain’t seen a newspaper in four days,” said Marvel.

“Iping’s the place he started at,” said the mariner.

“Iping’s where he started,” said the sailor.

“In-deed!” said Mr. Marvel.

“He started there. And where he came from, nobody don’t seem to know. Here it is: ‘Pe-culiar Story from Iping.’ And it says in this paper that the evidence is extra-ordinary strong—extra-ordinary.”

“He started there. And nobody seems to know where he came from. Here it is: ‘Peculiar Story from Iping.’ The paper says the evidence is extraordinarily strong. Extraordinarily.”

“Lord!” said Mr. Marvel.

“But then, it’s an extra-ordinary story. There is a clergyman and a medical gent witnesses—saw ’im all right and proper—or leastways didn’t see ’im. He was staying, it says, at the ‘Coach an’ Horses,’ and no one don’t seem to have been aware of his misfortune, it says, aware of his misfortune, until in an Altercation in the inn, it says, his bandages on his head was torn off. It was then ob-served that his head was invisible. Attempts were At Once made to secure him, but casting off his garments, it says, he succeeded in escaping, but not until after a desperate struggle, in which he had inflicted serious injuries, it says, on our worthy and able constable, Mr. J. A. Jaffers. Pretty straight story, eh? Names and everything.”

“But then, it’s an extraordinary story. There’s a clergyman and a medical gentleman as witnesses. They saw him all right and proper, or at least didn’t see him. He was staying, it says, at the ‘Coach and Horses.’ No one seems to have been aware of his misfortune, it says, aware of his misfortune, until a quarrel at the inn. His head bandages were torn off, it says. Then they noticed that his head was invisible. They tried at once to capture him, but he took off his clothes and escaped, it says. But not until after a desperate struggle, in which he had seriously injured, it says, our worthy and able constable, Mr. J. A. Jaffers. Pretty straightforward story, eh? Names and everything.”

“Lord!” said Mr. Marvel, looking nervously about him, trying to count the money in his pockets by his unaided sense of touch, and full of a strange and novel idea. “It sounds most astonishing.”

“Lord!” said Mr. Marvel. He looked nervously around him, trying to count the money in his pockets by touch alone. A strange, new idea filled his mind. “It sounds astonishing.”

“Don’t it? Extra-ordinary, I call it. Never heard tell of Invisible Men before, I haven’t, but nowadays one hears such a lot of extra-ordinary things—that—”

“Don’t it? Extraordinary, I call it. I never heard of Invisible Men before, I haven’t. But nowadays you hear so many extraordinary things that...”

“That all he did?” asked Marvel, trying to seem at his ease.

“Is that all he did?” asked Marvel, trying to seem relaxed.

“It’s enough, ain’t it?” said the mariner.

“It’s enough, ain’t it?” said the sailor.

“Didn’t go Back by any chance?” asked Marvel. “Just escaped and that’s all, eh?”

“You didn’t go back, did you?” asked Marvel. “You just escaped, and that’s all, right?”

“All!” said the mariner. “Why!—ain’t it enough?”

“All!” said the sailor. “Why, ain't it enough?”

“Quite enough,” said Marvel.

“Enough,” said Marvel.

“I should think it was enough,” said the mariner. “I should think it was enough.”

“I would think that was enough,” said the sailor. “I would think that was enough.”

“He didn’t have any pals—it don’t say he had any pals, does it?” asked Mr. Marvel, anxious.

“He didn’t have any pals. It don’t say he had any pals, does it?” Mr. Marvel asked anxiously.

“Ain’t one of a sort enough for you?” asked the mariner. “No, thank Heaven, as one might say, he didn’t.”

“Isn’t one of a kind enough for you?” asked the sailor. “No, thank Heaven, as you might say, he didn’t.”

He nodded his head slowly. “It makes me regular uncomfortable, the bare thought of that chap running about the country! He is at present At Large, and from certain evidence it is supposed that he has—taken—took, I suppose they mean—the road to Port Stowe. You see we’re right in it! None of your American wonders, this time. And just think of the things he might do! Where’d you be, if he took a drop over and above, and had a fancy to go for you? Suppose he wants to rob—who can prevent him? He can trespass, he can burgle, he could walk through a cordon of policemen as easy as me or you could give the slip to a blind man! Easier! For these here blind chaps hear uncommon sharp, I’m told. And wherever there was liquor he fancied—”

He nodded slowly. “Just the thought of that chap running around the country makes me really uncomfortable! He is still At Large. And from some evidence, they suppose he has taken, or took, I suppose they mean, the road to Port Stowe. You see, we’re right in it! This isn’t one of those American wonders, this time. And just think of the things he might do! What would you do if he drank a little too much and took it into his head to attack you? Suppose he wants to rob someone. Who can stop him? He can trespass, he can burgle. He could walk through a line of policemen as easily as you or I could slip past a blind man! Easier! For I’m told blind chaps hear unusually well. And wherever there was liquor he fancied...”

“He’s got a tremenjous advantage, certainly,” said Mr. Marvel. “And—well...”

“He’s got a tremendous advantage, certainly,” said Mr. Marvel. “And, well...”

“You’re right,” said the mariner. “He has.”

“You’re right,” said the sailor. “He has.”

All this time Mr. Marvel had been glancing about him intently, listening for faint footfalls, trying to detect imperceptible movements. He seemed on the point of some great resolution. He coughed behind his hand.

All this time, Mr. Marvel had been looking around intently. He listened for faint footsteps and tried to detect movements too slight to notice. He seemed about to make a major decision. He coughed behind his hand.

He looked about him again, listened, bent towards the mariner, and lowered his voice: “The fact of it is—I happen—to know just a thing or two about this Invisible Man. From private sources.”

He looked around again and listened. Then he leaned toward the sailor and lowered his voice: “The fact is, I happen to know a thing or two about this Invisible Man. From private sources.”

“Oh!” said the mariner, interested. “You?”

“Oh!” said the sailor, interested. “You?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Marvel. “Me.”

“Indeed!” said the mariner. “And may I ask—”

“Really!” said the sailor. “And may I ask...”

“You’ll be astonished,” said Mr. Marvel behind his hand. “It’s tremenjous.”

“You’ll be amazed,” said Mr. Marvel, speaking behind his hand. “It’s tremendous.”

“Indeed!” said the mariner.

“Really!” said the sailor.

“The fact is,” began Mr. Marvel eagerly in a confidential undertone. Suddenly his expression changed marvellously. “Ow!” he said. He rose stiffly in his seat. His face was eloquent of physical suffering. “Wow!” he said.

“The fact is,” Mr. Marvel began eagerly, in a quiet, confidential voice. Suddenly, his expression changed dramatically. “Ow!” he said. He rose stiffly in his seat. His face showed he was in physical pain. “Wow!” he said.

“What’s up?” said the mariner, concerned.

“What’s up?” said the sailor, concerned.

“Toothache,” said Mr. Marvel, and put his hand to his ear. He caught hold of his books. “I must be getting on, I think,” he said. He edged in a curious way along the seat away from his interlocutor. “But you was just a-going to tell me about this here Invisible Man!” protested the mariner. Mr. Marvel seemed to consult with himself. “Hoax,” said a Voice. “It’s a hoax,” said Mr. Marvel.

“Toothache,” said Mr. Marvel, putting his hand to his ear. He grabbed his books. “I think I must be going,” he said. He edged away from the mariner along the seat in a curious way. “But you was just going to tell me about this here Invisible Man!” protested the mariner. Mr. Marvel seemed to think it over. “Hoax,” said a Voice. “It’s a hoax,” said Mr. Marvel.

“But it’s in the paper,” said the mariner.

“But it’s in the newspaper,” said the sailor.

“Hoax all the same,” said Marvel. “I know the chap that started the lie. There ain’t no Invisible Man whatsoever—Blimey.”

“It’s a hoax all the same,” said Marvel. “I know the guy who started the lie. There ain’t no Invisible Man whatsoever. Blimey.”

“But how ’bout this paper? D’you mean to say—?”

“But how about this paper? Do you mean to say...?”

“Not a word of it,” said Marvel, stoutly.

“Not a word of it,” Marvel said firmly.

The mariner stared, paper in hand. Mr. Marvel jerkily faced about. “Wait a bit,” said the mariner, rising and speaking slowly, “D’you mean to say—?”

The sailor stared, holding the paper. Mr. Marvel turned around with a jerk. “Wait a bit,” said the sailor, standing up and speaking slowly. “Do you mean to say...?”

“I do,” said Mr. Marvel.

“Then why did you let me go on and tell you all this blarsted stuff, then? What d’yer mean by letting a man make a fool of himself like that for? Eh?”

“Then why did you let me go on and tell you all this blasted stuff? What do you mean by letting a man make a fool of himself like that? Eh?”

Mr. Marvel blew out his cheeks. The mariner was suddenly very red indeed; he clenched his hands. “I been talking here this ten minutes,” he said; “and you, you little pot-bellied, leathery-faced son of an old boot, couldn’t have the elementary manners—”

Mr. Marvel puffed out his cheeks. The sailor suddenly turned very red and clenched his hands. “I been talking here for ten minutes,” he said. “And you, you little pot-bellied, leathery-faced son of an old boot, couldn’t even have the basic manners...”

“Don’t you come bandying words with me,” said Mr. Marvel.

“Don’t you argue with me,” said Mr. Marvel.

“Bandying words! I’m a jolly good mind—”

“Arguing with me! I’m very tempted to...”

“Come up,” said a Voice, and Mr. Marvel was suddenly whirled about and started marching off in a curious spasmodic manner. “You’d better move on,” said the mariner. “Who’s moving on?” said Mr. Marvel. He was receding obliquely with a curious hurrying gait, with occasional violent jerks forward. Some way along the road he began a muttered monologue, protests and recriminations.

“Come along,” said a Voice. Mr. Marvel was suddenly spun around and began marching off in a strange, jerky way. “You’d better move on,” said the sailor. “Who’s moving on?” said Mr. Marvel. He was moving away at an angle, hurrying oddly and occasionally being jerked violently forward. Farther along the road, he began muttering to himself, protesting and making accusations.

“Silly devil!” said the mariner, legs wide apart, elbows akimbo, watching the receding figure. “I’ll show you, you silly ass—hoaxing me! It’s here—on the paper!”

“Silly fool!” said the sailor, standing with his legs apart and his hands on his hips. He watched the figure walk away. “I’ll show you, you silly ass. Trying to fool me! It’s here, on the paper!”

Mr. Marvel retorted incoherently and, receding, was hidden by a bend in the road, but the mariner still stood magnificent in the midst of the way, until the approach of a butcher’s cart dislodged him. Then he turned himself towards Port Stowe. “Full of extra-ordinary asses,” he said softly to himself. “Just to take me down a bit—that was his silly game—It’s on the paper!”

Mr. Marvel gave an incoherent reply and walked away, disappearing around a bend in the road. But the mariner still stood magnificently in the middle of the road until an approaching butcher’s cart forced him aside. Then he turned toward Port Stowe. “Full of extraordinary asses,” he said softly to himself. “He was just trying to take me down a bit. That was his silly game. It’s in the paper!”

And there was another extraordinary thing he was presently to hear, that had happened quite close to him. And that was a vision of a “fist full of money” (no less) travelling without visible agency, along by the wall at the corner of St. Michael’s Lane. A brother mariner had seen this wonderful sight that very morning. He had snatched at the money forthwith and had been knocked headlong, and when he had got to his feet the butterfly money had vanished. Our mariner was in the mood to believe anything, he declared, but that was a bit too stiff. Afterwards, however, he began to think things over.

He was soon to hear of another extraordinary thing that had happened close by. A “fist full of money” (no less) had been seen traveling along the wall at the corner of St. Michael’s Lane. Nothing visible was carrying it. A fellow sailor had seen this wonderful sight that very morning. He had immediately grabbed at the money and been knocked headlong. By the time he got to his feet, the butterfly money had vanished. Our sailor declared that he was ready to believe anything, but that story was a bit too much. Later, though, he began to think it over.

The story of the flying money was true. And all about that neighbourhood, even from the august London and Country Banking Company, from the tills of shops and inns—doors standing that sunny weather entirely open—money had been quietly and dexterously making off that day in handfuls and rouleaux, floating quietly along by walls and shady places, dodging quickly from the approaching eyes of men. And it had, though no man had traced it, invariably ended its mysterious flight in the pocket of that agitated gentleman in the obsolete silk hat, sitting outside the little inn on the outskirts of Port Stowe.

The story of the flying money was true. All around the neighborhood, money had been quietly and skillfully making off that day. It came even from the grand London and Country Banking Company, and from the tills of shops and inns. In the sunny weather, their doors stood wide open. The money went in handfuls and rolls of coins, floating quietly along walls and through shady places. It quickly dodged the eyes of approaching people. And though no one had traced it, the money had always ended its mysterious flight in the pocket of the agitated gentleman. He was wearing an old-fashioned silk hat and sitting outside the little inn on the outskirts of Port Stowe.

It was ten days after—and indeed only when the Burdock story was already old—that the mariner collated these facts and began to understand how near he had been to the wonderful Invisible Man.

Ten days later, when the Burdock story was already old news, the sailor put the facts together. Only then did he begin to understand how close he had been to the wonderful Invisible Man.