CHAPTER XXVII. THE SIEGE OF KEMP’S HOUSE

von H. G. Wells

Kemp stared at the strange note, scrawled in pencil on a greasy piece of paper.

“You’ve been remarkably energetic and clever,” it read. “But I can’t imagine what you hope to gain. You’re against me. For an entire day, you’ve chased me, trying to rob me of my rest. But despite your efforts, I’ve eaten, I’ve slept, and this is just the beginning. The game is only starting. Port Burdock is no longer under the Queen; tell your Colonel of Police and the rest of them—it’s under me now—the Terror! Today marks day one of year one of a new era—the Era of the Invisible Man. I am Invisible Man the First. To start, the rules will be simple. On this first day, there will be one execution as an example—a man named Kemp. Death is coming for him today. He can lock himself away, hide, get guards, or even wear armor if he wants—Death, the unseen Death, is on its way. Let him take precautions; it will impress my followers. Death starts from the pillar box at noon. The letter will drop in as the postman comes along, and then it begins! Death starts. Don’t help him, my people, or Death will come for you too. Today, Kemp is to die.”

Kemp read the letter twice. “This isn’t a joke,” he muttered. “That’s his voice! And he means it.”

He flipped the folded paper over and saw the postmark from Hintondean, along with the mundane detail “2d. to pay.”

Slowly, he got up, leaving his lunch unfinished—the letter had arrived with the one o’clock post—and headed to his study. He called for his housekeeper and instructed her to check the house immediately, examining all the window locks and closing the shutters. He shut the shutters in his study himself. From a locked drawer in his bedroom, he retrieved a small revolver, checked it carefully, and slipped it into the pocket of his lounge jacket. He wrote several brief notes, one addressed to Colonel Adye, and handed them to his servant with clear instructions on how to leave the house. “There’s no danger,” he assured her, adding silently, “to you.”

After a moment of contemplation, he returned to his cooling lunch.

He ate in silence, lost in thought. Finally, he slammed his hand on the table. “We’ll catch him!” he declared. “And I’ll be the bait. He’ll come too far.”

He climbed up to the belvedere, making sure to close every door behind him. “It’s a game,” he said to himself, “an odd game—but the odds are in my favor, Mr. Griffin, despite your invisibility. Griffin against the world... with a vengeance.”

He stood at the window, gazing at the hot hillside. “He must be eating every day—and I don’t envy him. Did he really sleep last night? Out in the open, safe from collisions. I wish we could get some cool, wet weather instead of this heat.”

“He might be watching me right now.”

He moved closer to the window. Suddenly, something tapped sharply against the brickwork above the frame, making him jump back in surprise.

“I’m getting jumpy,” said Kemp. But it took him five minutes to approach the window again. “It must have been a sparrow,” he reasoned.

Soon, he heard the front doorbell ringing and rushed downstairs. He unbolted and unlocked the door, checked the chain, secured it, and opened it cautiously without revealing himself. A familiar voice called out. It was Adye.

“Your servant’s been attacked, Kemp,” he said from behind the door.

“What!” Kemp exclaimed.

“The note was snatched from her hand. He’s nearby. Let me in.”

Kemp released the chain and opened the door just wide enough for Adye to slip through. He stood in the hall, visibly relieved as Kemp secured the door again. “The note was taken right out of her hand. She’s terrified—down at the station in hysterics. He’s close by. What did it say?”

Kemp swore under his breath.

“What a fool I was,” he said. “I should have known. It’s not even an hour’s walk from Hintondean. Already?”

“What’s going on?” Adye asked.

“Look here!” Kemp said, leading him into his study. He handed Adye the letter from the Invisible Man. Adye read it and whistled softly. “And you—?” he asked.

“I proposed a trap—like an idiot,” Kemp admitted. “And I sent my plan out with a maid.”

Adye echoed Kemp’s frustration.

“He’ll run away,” Adye said.

“Not a chance,” Kemp replied.

Suddenly, a loud crash of glass echoed from upstairs. Adye caught a glimpse of the revolver half-hidden in Kemp’s pocket. “It’s a window upstairs!” Kemp exclaimed, leading the way up. They heard another crash while still on the staircase. When they reached the study, they found two of the three windows shattered, glass scattered across the floor, and a large flint lying on the writing table. The two men paused in the doorway, taking in the destruction. Kemp swore again, and just then, the third window shattered with a crack like a gunshot, hanging for a moment before collapsing into jagged shards.

“What’s this all about?” Adye asked.

“It’s a start,” Kemp said.

“Is there really no way to get up here?”

“Not a chance,” Kemp replied.

“No shutters?”

“None here. All the downstairs rooms—Whoa!”

A loud crash echoed from downstairs, followed by the sound of boards hitting hard. “Damn it!” Kemp exclaimed. “That must be—yes—it’s one of the bedrooms. He’s going to wreck the whole house. But he’s an idiot. The shutters are up, and the glass will fall outside. He’ll cut his feet.”

Another window shattered.

The two men stood on the landing, bewildered. “I’ve got an idea!” Adye said. “Give me a stick or something, and I’ll head down to the station and get the bloodhounds on him. That should do the trick! They’re close by—not more than ten minutes away—”

Another window met its demise.

“Do you have a revolver?” Adye asked.

Kemp reached into his pocket, then hesitated. “I don’t have one—at least, not one to spare.”

“I’ll bring it back,” Adye assured him. “You’ll be safe here.”

Feeling a pang of guilt for his momentary dishonesty, Kemp handed over the weapon.

“Now for the door,” Adye said.

As they stood hesitating in the hallway, they heard another window on the first floor crack and shatter. Kemp moved to the door and began to slide the bolts back as quietly as he could. He felt a little paler than usual. “You need to step straight out,” he instructed. Moments later, Adye was on the doorstep, and the bolts clicked back into place. He hesitated for a moment, feeling safer with his back against the door. Then he squared his shoulders and marched down the steps. He crossed the lawn and approached the gate. A gentle breeze rustled the grass. Something shifted nearby.

“Hold on a second,” a voice said, and Adye froze, gripping the revolver tightly.

“What do you want?” Adye replied, his face pale and tense, every nerve on edge.

“Please go back to the house,” the voice said, equally tense and grim.

“Sorry,” Adye said hoarsely, wetting his lips with his tongue. He sensed the voice was to his left. What if he took a shot?

“What are you doing?” the voice asked, and in an instant, both men moved, sunlight glinting off the revolver in Adye’s pocket.

Adye paused, thinking. “Where I go is my own business.” The words were still on his lips when an arm wrapped around his neck, a knee pressed against his back, and he was thrown backward. He fumbled to draw his weapon and fired wildly, but in a heartbeat, he was struck in the mouth and the revolver was wrenched from his grasp. He made a desperate grab for something to hold onto, struggled to rise, but fell back again. “Damn!” Adye swore. The voice laughed. “I’d kill you now if it didn’t waste a bullet,” it said, the revolver hovering in mid-air, aimed at him.

“Well?” Adye said, sitting up.

“Get up,” the voice commanded.

Adye stood.

“Attention,” the voice said, then more fiercely, “Don’t try anything funny. Remember, I can see your face even if you can’t see mine. You have to go back to the house.”

“He won’t let me in,” Adye replied.

“That’s unfortunate,” the Invisible Man said. “I have no issue with you.”

Adye wet his lips again. He glanced away from the barrel of the revolver and took in the distant sea, a deep blue under the midday sun, the smooth green downs, the white cliffs, and the bustling town. In that moment, he realized how sweet life was. His gaze returned to the small metal object hanging between them, just six yards away. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked, his voice heavy with resignation.

“What am _I_ supposed to do?” the Invisible Man countered. “You need to get help. The only thing for you to do is go back.”

“I’ll try. If he lets me in, will you promise not to rush the door?”

“I have no issue with you,” the voice repeated.

Meanwhile, Kemp had hurried upstairs after letting Adye out. Crouching among the shards of glass, he peered cautiously over the edge of the study window and saw Adye negotiating with the unseen figure. “Why isn’t he firing?” Kemp whispered to himself. Then he noticed the revolver shift slightly, sunlight reflecting off it and blinding him. He shielded his eyes, trying to discern the source of the glare.

“Surely,” he thought, “Adye has given up the revolver.”

“Promise not to rush the door,” Adye was saying. “Don’t push your luck too far. Give a man a chance.”

“You go back to the house. I’m telling you flat out, I won’t promise anything.”

Adye seemed to make a sudden decision. He turned toward the house, walking slowly with his hands behind him. Kemp watched, puzzled. The revolver flickered in and out of sight, and as he focused, he realized it was a small dark object trailing behind Adye. Then everything happened in a blur. Adye jumped back, swung around, reached for the object, missed, threw up his hands, and fell forward, a puff of blue smoke rising in the air. Kemp didn’t hear the shot. Adye writhed, propped himself up on one arm, then collapsed forward, lying still.

Kemp stood frozen, watching Adye’s relaxed demeanor in the sweltering afternoon heat. The air was thick and still, with only a couple of yellow butterflies flitting through the shrubs between the house and the gate. Adye was sprawled on the lawn near the gate. All the blinds of the villas down the hill were drawn, except for one little green summer house where a white figure, likely an old man, appeared to be napping.

Kemp scanned the area around the house, searching for the revolver, but it was nowhere to be seen. His gaze returned to Adye. The game was unfolding just as he had hoped.

Suddenly, a loud ringing and frantic knocking echoed at the front door, growing more chaotic by the second. Following Kemp’s instructions, the servants had locked themselves in their rooms. Then, silence fell. Kemp listened intently before peeking cautiously out of each of the three windows. He made his way to the top of the staircase, feeling a growing unease. Grabbing the poker from his bedroom, he checked the ground-floor windows again to ensure they were secure. Everything was quiet and safe. He returned to the belvedere, finding Adye still lying motionless on the gravel.

As he watched, he noticed the housemaid and two policemen approaching along the road by the villas.

The stillness was oppressive. The trio seemed to move in slow motion, and Kemp couldn’t help but wonder what his adversary was up to.

He jumped at a sudden crash from below. Hesitating for a moment, he descended the stairs again. The house was filled with the sound of heavy blows and splintering wood. He heard another crash followed by the metallic clang of the shutters being forced open. Turning the key, he opened the kitchen door just as the shutters burst inward, splintering as they flew into the room.

Kemp stood in shock. The window frame was mostly intact, save for one crossbar, but only shards of glass remained. The shutters had been smashed in with an axe, and now the axe was swinging down violently against the window frame and the iron bars protecting it. Then, just as suddenly, it disappeared from view.

Kemp spotted the revolver lying on the path outside, and then it sprang into the air. He ducked back just in time. The gun fired, but the shot came too late, and a splinter from the door flew past his head. He slammed the door shut and locked it, hearing Griffin’s maniacal laughter echoing from outside. The sound of the axe resumed, relentless and destructive.

Kemp stood in the hallway, trying to think. The Invisible Man would be in the kitchen any moment now. This door wouldn’t hold him for long, and then—

The doorbell rang again. It had to be the policemen. He rushed into the hall, secured the chain, and drew the bolts. He made the girl speak before he dropped the chain, and the three of them tumbled into the house. Kemp slammed the door behind them.

“The Invisible Man!” he exclaimed. “He has a revolver with two shots left. He’s killed Adye. He shot him! Didn’t you see him on the lawn? Adye’s lying there!”

“Who?” one of the policemen asked, confused.

“Adye,” Kemp repeated.

“We came in the back way,” the girl said.

“What’s that crashing?” one of the policemen asked.

“He’s in the kitchen—or will be. He found an axe—”

Suddenly, the house was filled with the resounding blows of the Invisible Man attacking the kitchen door. The girl stared toward the kitchen, shuddered, and retreated into the dining room. Kemp struggled to explain, his words tumbling out in fragments. They heard the kitchen door begin to give way.

“This way!” Kemp urged, springing into action and pushing the policemen into the dining room doorway.

“Poker!” he shouted, rushing to the fender. He handed one poker to a policeman and the other to the second officer. Just then, he threw himself backward.

“Whoa!” one policeman exclaimed, ducking just in time to catch the axe on his poker. The revolver fired its penultimate shot, shattering a valuable painting. The second policeman swung his poker down on the little weapon, knocking it to the floor like swatting a fly.

At the first clash, the girl screamed, standing frozen for a moment by the fireplace before rushing to open the shutters, perhaps hoping to escape through the shattered window.

The axe retreated into the hallway, dropping to a position just above the ground. They could hear the Invisible Man breathing heavily. “Stand back, you two,” he commanded. “I want that man, Kemp.”

“We want you!” the first policeman shouted, taking a quick step forward and swinging his poker at the voice. The Invisible Man must have recoiled, stumbling into the umbrella stand.

As the policeman staggered from the force of his own swing, the Invisible Man struck back with the axe. The officer's helmet crumpled like paper, and he was sent spinning to the floor at the top of the kitchen stairs. The second policeman, aiming his poker in the direction of the axe, hit something soft that snapped. A sharp cry of pain followed, and the axe fell to the ground.

The officer swung again at the empty air, hitting nothing. He placed his foot on the axe and took another swing, then stood still, poker raised, straining to hear even the slightest sound.

He caught the sound of the dining-room window opening, followed by a quick rush of footsteps inside. His partner rolled over and sat up, blood trickling down between his eye and ear. “Where is he?” the man on the floor asked.

“I don’t know. I hit him. He’s somewhere in the hall. Unless he slipped past you. Doctor Kemp—sir.”

There was a pause.

“Doctor Kemp,” the policeman called out again.

The second officer struggled to his feet, finally standing upright. Suddenly, they heard the faint sound of bare feet padding down the kitchen stairs. “Yap!” shouted the first policeman, hurling his poker wildly. It smashed into a gas bracket.

He hesitated, considering chasing the Invisible Man downstairs, but then thought better of it and stepped into the dining room.

“Doctor Kemp—” he started, but stopped short.

“Doctor Kemp’s a hero,” he said, glancing back at his partner.

The dining-room window was wide open, and neither the housemaid nor Kemp was in sight.

The second policeman’s opinion of Kemp was blunt and vivid.