In the “Jolly Cricketers”

The “Jolly Cricketers” is just at the bottom of the hill, where the tram-lines begin. The barman leant his fat red arms on the counter and talked of horses with an anaemic cabman, while a black-bearded man in grey snapped up biscuit and cheese, drank Burton, and conversed in American with a policeman off duty.

The “Jolly Cricketers” is at the bottom of the hill, where the tram tracks begin. The bartender rested his fat red arms on the counter and talked about horses with a pale cab driver. Meanwhile, a black-bearded man in grey ate biscuits and cheese, drank Burton beer, and talked in an American accent with an off-duty policeman.

“What’s the shouting about!” said the anaemic cabman, going off at a tangent, trying to see up the hill over the dirty yellow blind in the low window of the inn. Somebody ran by outside. “Fire, perhaps,” said the barman.

“What’s all the shouting about!” said the pale cab driver, suddenly changing the subject. He tried to see up the hill over the dirty yellow blind in the inn’s low window. Someone ran past outside. “Maybe there’s a fire,” said the bartender.

Footsteps approached, running heavily, the door was pushed open violently, and Marvel, weeping and dishevelled, his hat gone, the neck of his coat torn open, rushed in, made a convulsive turn, and attempted to shut the door. It was held half open by a strap.

Heavy footsteps approached at a run. The door was pushed violently open, and Marvel rushed in, weeping and disheveled. His hat was gone, and the neck of his coat was torn open. He turned sharply and tried to shut the door, but a strap held it half open.

“Coming!” he bawled, his voice shrieking with terror. “He’s coming. The ’Visible Man! After me! For Gawd’s sake! ’Elp! ’Elp! ’Elp!”

“Coming!” he shouted, his voice shrill with terror. “He’s coming. The Invisible Man! After me! For God’s sake! Help! Help! Help!”

“Shut the doors,” said the policeman. “Who’s coming? What’s the row?” He went to the door, released the strap, and it slammed. The American closed the other door.

“Close the doors,” said the policeman. “Who’s coming? What’s the commotion?” He went to the door and released the strap. The door slammed shut. The American closed the other door.

“Lemme go inside,” said Marvel, staggering and weeping, but still clutching the books. “Lemme go inside. Lock me in—somewhere. I tell you he’s after me. I give him the slip. He said he’d kill me and he will.”

“Let me go inside,” said Marvel, staggering and weeping, but still clutching the books. “Let me go inside. Lock me in somewhere. I tell you he’s after me. I gave him the slip. He said he’d kill me, and he will.”

“You’re safe,” said the man with the black beard. “The door’s shut. What’s it all about?”

“You’re safe,” said the man with the black beard. “The door’s shut. What’s it all about?”

“Lemme go inside,” said Marvel, and shrieked aloud as a blow suddenly made the fastened door shiver and was followed by a hurried rapping and a shouting outside. “Hullo,” cried the policeman, “who’s there?” Mr. Marvel began to make frantic dives at panels that looked like doors. “He’ll kill me—he’s got a knife or something. For Gawd’s sake—!”

“Let me go inside,” said Marvel. He shrieked as a sudden blow shook the locked door. Hurried knocking and shouting followed outside. “Hello,” cried the policeman, “who’s there?” Mr. Marvel began frantically lunging at panels that looked like doors. “He’ll kill me. He’s got a knife or something. For God’s sake!”

“Here you are,” said the barman. “Come in here.” And he held up the flap of the bar.

“Here you are,” said the bartender. “Come in here.” He lifted the flap in the bar.

Mr. Marvel rushed behind the bar as the summons outside was repeated. “Don’t open the door,” he screamed. “Please don’t open the door. Where shall I hide?”

Mr. Marvel rushed behind the bar as the call from outside came again. “Don’t open the door,” he screamed. “Please don’t open the door. Where shall I hide?”

“This, this Invisible Man, then?” asked the man with the black beard, with one hand behind him. “I guess it’s about time we saw him.”

“This Invisible Man, then?” asked the man with the black beard, keeping one hand behind him. “I guess it’s about time we saw him.”

The window of the inn was suddenly smashed in, and there was a screaming and running to and fro in the street. The policeman had been standing on the settee staring out, craning to see who was at the door. He got down with raised eyebrows. “It’s that,” he said. The barman stood in front of the bar-parlour door which was now locked on Mr. Marvel, stared at the smashed window, and came round to the two other men.

The inn’s window was suddenly smashed in. People screamed and ran back and forth in the street. The policeman had been standing on the sofa, staring out and stretching to see who was at the door. He got down, his eyebrows raised. “It’s that,” he said. The bartender stood in front of the bar-parlor door, which was now locked with Mr. Marvel inside. He stared at the smashed window, then came around to the other two men.

Everything was suddenly quiet. “I wish I had my truncheon,” said the policeman, going irresolutely to the door. “Once we open, in he comes. There’s no stopping him.”

Everything suddenly went quiet. “I wish I had my baton,” said the policeman, moving hesitantly toward the door. “Once we open the door, he’ll come in. There’s no stopping him.”

“Don’t you be in too much hurry about that door,” said the anaemic cabman, anxiously.

“Don’t be in too much of a hurry with that door,” said the pale cab driver anxiously.

“Draw the bolts,” said the man with the black beard, “and if he comes—” He showed a revolver in his hand.

“Unlock the bolts,” said the man with the black beard, “and if he comes...” He showed the revolver in his hand.

“That won’t do,” said the policeman; “that’s murder.”

“That won’t do,” said the policeman. “That’s murder.”

“I know what country I’m in,” said the man with the beard. “I’m going to let off at his legs. Draw the bolts.”

“I know what country I’m in,” said the bearded man. “I’m going to shoot at his legs. Unbolt the door.”

“Not with that blinking thing going off behind me,” said the barman, craning over the blind.

“Not with that blinking thing going off behind me,” said the bartender, leaning over the blind to look.

“Very well,” said the man with the black beard, and stooping down, revolver ready, drew them himself. Barman, cabman, and policeman faced about.

“Very well,” said the man with the black beard. Holding his revolver ready, he bent down and drew them himself. The bartender, cab driver, and police officer turned around.

“Come in,” said the bearded man in an undertone, standing back and facing the unbolted doors with his pistol behind him. No one came in, the door remained closed. Five minutes afterwards when a second cabman pushed his head in cautiously, they were still waiting, and an anxious face peered out of the bar-parlour and supplied information. “Are all the doors of the house shut?” asked Marvel. “He’s going round—prowling round. He’s as artful as the devil.”

“Come in,” the bearded man said quietly. He stepped back and faced the unbolted doors, holding his pistol behind him. No one came in, and the door stayed closed. Five minutes later, a second cab driver cautiously poked his head in. They were still waiting. An anxious face peered out of the bar-parlour and told him what was happening. “Are all the doors of the house shut?” asked Marvel. “He’s going around, prowling around. He’s as crafty as the devil.”

“Good Lord!” said the burly barman. “There’s the back! Just watch them doors! I say—!” He looked about him helplessly. The bar-parlour door slammed and they heard the key turn. “There’s the yard door and the private door. The yard door—”

“Good Lord!” said the burly bartender. “There’s the back! Just watch those doors! Hey!” He looked around helplessly. The barroom door slammed, and they heard the key turn. “There’s the yard door and the private door. The yard door...”

He rushed out of the bar.

He rushed out of the bar.

In a minute he reappeared with a carving-knife in his hand. “The yard door was open!” he said, and his fat underlip dropped. “He may be in the house now!” said the first cabman.

A minute later, he came back with a carving knife in his hand. “The yard door was open!” he said, his fat lower lip dropping. “He may be in the house now!” said the first cab driver.

“He’s not in the kitchen,” said the barman. “There’s two women there, and I’ve stabbed every inch of it with this little beef slicer. And they don’t think he’s come in. They haven’t noticed—”

“He’s not in the kitchen,” said the barman. “There are two women there, and I’ve stabbed every inch of the kitchen with this little beef slicer. They don’t think he’s come in. They haven’t noticed...”

“Have you fastened it?” asked the first cabman.

“Have you secured it?” asked the first cab driver.

“I’m out of frocks,” said the barman.

“I’m out of frocks,” said the bartender.

The man with the beard replaced his revolver. And even as he did so the flap of the bar was shut down and the bolt clicked, and then with a tremendous thud the catch of the door snapped and the bar-parlour door burst open. They heard Marvel squeal like a caught leveret, and forthwith they were clambering over the bar to his rescue. The bearded man’s revolver cracked and the looking-glass at the back of the parlour starred and came smashing and tinkling down.

The bearded man put his revolver away. Just as he did, the flap in the bar was shut and the bolt clicked. Then, with a tremendous thud, the door latch snapped and the bar-parlor door burst open. They heard Marvel squeal like a young hare caught in a trap. At once, they climbed over the bar to rescue him. The bearded man’s revolver fired. The mirror at the back of the parlor cracked, then fell with a crash and a tinkle of glass.

As the barman entered the room he saw Marvel, curiously crumpled up and struggling against the door that led to the yard and kitchen. The door flew open while the barman hesitated, and Marvel was dragged into the kitchen. There was a scream and a clatter of pans. Marvel, head down, and lugging back obstinately, was forced to the kitchen door, and the bolts were drawn.

As the barman entered the room, he saw Marvel strangely crumpled up, struggling against the door to the yard and kitchen. The barman hesitated, and the door flew open. Marvel was dragged into the kitchen. There was a scream and a clatter of pans. With his head down, Marvel stubbornly pulled back, but he was forced to the kitchen door. The bolts were drawn.

Then the policeman, who had been trying to pass the barman, rushed in, followed by one of the cabmen, gripped the wrist of the invisible hand that collared Marvel, was hit in the face and went reeling back. The door opened, and Marvel made a frantic effort to obtain a lodgment behind it. Then the cabman collared something. “I got him,” said the cabman. The barman’s red hands came clawing at the unseen. “Here he is!” said the barman.

The policeman had been trying to get past the bartender. Now he rushed in, followed by one of the cab drivers. He grabbed the wrist of the invisible hand holding Marvel by the collar. The policeman was hit in the face and staggered back. The door opened, and Marvel tried desperately to get behind it. Then the cab driver grabbed hold of something. “I got him,” said the cab driver. The bartender’s red hands clawed at the unseen figure. “Here he is!” said the bartender.

Mr. Marvel, released, suddenly dropped to the ground and made an attempt to crawl behind the legs of the fighting men. The struggle blundered round the edge of the door. The voice of the Invisible Man was heard for the first time, yelling out sharply, as the policeman trod on his foot. Then he cried out passionately and his fists flew round like flails. The cabman suddenly whooped and doubled up, kicked under the diaphragm. The door into the bar-parlour from the kitchen slammed and covered Mr. Marvel’s retreat. The men in the kitchen found themselves clutching at and struggling with empty air.

Released, Mr. Marvel suddenly dropped to the ground and tried to crawl behind the legs of the fighting men. The struggle moved clumsily around the edge of the door. For the first time, the Invisible Man’s voice was heard. He yelled sharply as the policeman stepped on his foot. Then he cried out fiercely, swinging his fists like flails. The cabman suddenly whooped and doubled over, kicked below the ribs. The door from the kitchen into the bar-parlour slammed, covering Mr. Marvel’s retreat. The men in the kitchen found themselves grabbing and struggling with empty air.

“Where’s he gone?” cried the man with the beard. “Out?”

“Where’s he gone?” shouted the man with the beard. “Out?”

“This way,” said the policeman, stepping into the yard and stopping.

“This way,” said the policeman, stepping into the yard and stopping.

A piece of tile whizzed by his head and smashed among the crockery on the kitchen table.

A piece of tile flew past his head and smashed into the dishes on the kitchen table.

“I’ll show him,” shouted the man with the black beard, and suddenly a steel barrel shone over the policeman’s shoulder, and five bullets had followed one another into the twilight whence the missile had come. As he fired, the man with the beard moved his hand in a horizontal curve, so that his shots radiated out into the narrow yard like spokes from a wheel.

“I’ll show him,” shouted the man with the black beard. Suddenly, a steel barrel gleamed over the policeman’s shoulder. Five bullets flew in quick succession into the twilight from which the missile had come. As he fired, the bearded man moved his hand in a horizontal arc. His shots spread out into the narrow yard like spokes from a wheel.

A silence followed. “Five cartridges,” said the man with the black beard. “That’s the best of all. Four aces and a joker. Get a lantern, someone, and come and feel about for his body.”

Silence followed. “Five cartridges,” said the man with the black beard. “That’s the best of all. Four aces and a joker. Someone get a lantern and come feel around for his body.”