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The Invisible Man
by H G Wells
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 as it seemed 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 as it seemed, 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 ready acquiescence to terms 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 winter-time 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 clat. 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 melted
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 side-lights
and had a bushy side-whisker over his coat-collar that completely hid his 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.
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 she
got but a glimpse of a white object disappearing behind the table. It would seem he
was picking something from the floor. She rapped down the mustard pot on the table,
and then she noticed the overcoat and hat had been taken off and put over a chair in
front of the fire. A pair of wet boots threatened rust to her steel fender. She went to
these things resolutely. "I suppose I may have them to dry now," she said in a voice
that brooked no denial.
"Leave the hat," said her visitor in a muffled voice, and turning she saw he had raised
his head and was sitting looking at her.
For a moment she stood gaping at him, too surprised to speak.
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