CHAPTER VII. THE UNVEILING OF THE STRANGER

by H. G. Wells

The stranger walked into the small parlor of the “Coach and Horses” around five-thirty in the morning and stayed there until just before noon. The blinds were drawn, the door was shut, and after Hall’s earlier dismissal, no one dared approach him.

He must have gone without food during that time. He rang the bell three times, the last time with such fury that it echoed through the room, but no one came to answer. “Him and his ‘go to the devil’ indeed!” Mrs. Hall muttered under her breath. Soon, word spread about the burglary at the vicarage, and people began to connect the dots. Hall, with Wadgers' help, set off to find Mr. Shuckleforth, the magistrate, for advice. No one was brave enough to go upstairs. What the stranger did during those hours remained a mystery. Occasionally, he would pace back and forth, and twice there were loud outbursts of curses, the sound of tearing paper, and the shattering of bottles.

A small crowd of curious onlookers began to gather. Mrs. Huxter came over, and a few young men dressed in sharp black jackets and paper ties—since it was Whit Monday—joined the group, peppering each other with questions. Young Archie Harker made a name for himself by sneaking into the yard to try and peek under the window blinds. He couldn’t see anything but acted as if he could, prompting others from Iping to join him.

It was the perfect Whit Monday. The village street was lined with nearly a dozen booths, a shooting gallery, and by the forge, three yellow and chocolate wagons were being set up by some colorful strangers preparing a coconut shy. The men wore blue jerseys, while the women donned white aprons and stylish hats adorned with plumes. Wodger from the “Purple Fawn” and Mr. Jaggers, the cobbler who also sold second-hand bicycles, were busy hanging a string of union jacks and royal ensigns across the road, remnants from the first Victorian Jubilee.

Inside the dim parlor, where only a single beam of sunlight managed to break through, the stranger sat, presumably hungry and anxious, wrapped in his uncomfortable layers. He peered through his dark glasses at his papers or tinkered with his small, dirty bottles, occasionally cursing at the boys outside, their laughter audible but unseen. In the corner by the fireplace lay the remnants of several smashed bottles, and the air was thick with the sharp scent of chlorine. This much was clear from what was overheard and later observed in the room.

Around noon, he suddenly flung open the parlor door and glared at the few people in the bar. “Mrs. Hall,” he called out. Someone reluctantly went to fetch her.

Mrs. Hall appeared a moment later, slightly out of breath but all the more fierce for it. Hall was still away. She had prepared for this confrontation, holding a small tray with an unsettled bill. “Are you looking for your bill, sir?” she asked.

“Why wasn’t my breakfast ready? Why haven’t you prepared my meals or answered my bell? Do you think I can live without eating?”

“Why isn’t my bill paid?” Mrs. Hall shot back. “That’s what I want to know.”

“I told you three days ago I was waiting for a remittance—”

“I told you two days ago I wasn’t going to wait for any remittances. You can’t complain about your breakfast being delayed when my bill has been waiting for five days, can you?”

The stranger swore under his breath, but it was loud enough for the bar to hear.

“Not a chance!” someone called from the bar.

“And I’d appreciate it if you kept your swearing to yourself,” Mrs. Hall replied firmly.

The stranger looked more like an angry diver in a helmet than ever before. It was clear to everyone in the bar that Mrs. Hall had the upper hand. His next words confirmed it.

“Listen here, my good woman—” he began.

“Don’t ‘good woman’ me,” she interrupted.

“I’ve told you my remittance hasn’t arrived.”

“Remittance, indeed!” she scoffed.

“Still, I daresay I have some money in my pocket—”

“You told me three days ago that you only had a sovereign’s worth of silver on you.”

“Well, I’ve found some more—”

“Really?” came a voice from the bar.

“I wonder where you found it,” Mrs. Hall said, raising an eyebrow.

The stranger’s irritation was palpable. He stamped his foot. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

“I mean I wonder where you found it,” she replied. “And before I take any bills or serve any breakfasts, you need to explain a couple of things that don’t make sense. I want to know what you did to my chair upstairs, how your room was empty, and how you got back in. People who stay in this house come in through the doors—that’s the rule. You didn’t do that, so I want to know how you did come in. And I want to know—”

Suddenly, the stranger raised his gloved hands, clenched them tightly, stamped his foot, and shouted, “Stop!” with such force that it silenced her instantly.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice low and intense. “You don’t know who I am or what I can do. I’ll show you. By God, I’ll show you.”

With that, he pressed his palm against his face and pulled it away. The center of his face was a dark void. “Look,” he said, stepping closer to Mrs. Hall and handing her something. She accepted it without thinking, her eyes locked on his transformed face. But when she realized what it was, she screamed, dropped it, and staggered back. The nose—it was the stranger’s nose! Pink and shiny, it rolled across the floor.

Then he took off his glasses, and the entire bar gasped. He removed his hat and, with a sudden, frantic motion, tore at his whiskers and bandages. For a moment, they resisted him, and a wave of dread swept through the room. “Oh, my God!” someone exclaimed. Then, with a final tug, they came off.

What lay beneath was worse than anything they could have imagined. Mrs. Hall, standing there in shock, screamed at the sight and bolted for the door. The crowd began to move, their minds racing with expectations of scars, disfigurements, and tangible horrors, but there was nothing! The bandages and false hair flew across the passage into the bar, causing a young man to jump aside in surprise. Everyone stumbled over one another as they rushed to escape. The man who stood there, shouting some incoherent explanation, was a solid figure up to his coat collar, and then—nothingness, an empty space where his head should have been!

People in the village heard the commotion and looked up the street to see the “Coach and Horses” erupting with chaos. They saw Mrs. Hall collapse and Mr. Teddy Henfrey leap to avoid tripping over her. Suddenly, they heard the terrified screams of Millie, who had just emerged from the kitchen and stumbled upon the headless stranger. The screams intensified.

Soon, everyone in the street—candy sellers, game stall owners, children, local dandies, young women, old men, and gypsies—began running toward the inn. In no time at all, a crowd of about forty people, and growing, gathered outside Mrs. Hall’s establishment, swaying and shouting, each trying to be heard over the others. It was pure chaos. A small group rushed to support Mrs. Hall, who had fainted.

There was a flurry of voices, each person eager to share their version of events. “Oh, my God!” “What did he do?” “He didn’t hurt the girl, did he?” “I think he came at her with a knife!” “No head, I tell you! I mean, literally no head!” “Nonsense! It’s just a trick!” “He must have taken off his disguise—”

As the crowd pressed closer to the open door, it formed a disorganized wedge, with the bravest souls at the front. “I saw him for a moment. I heard the girl scream, and he turned. I saw her skirts fly, and he went after her. It couldn’t have been more than ten seconds. Then he came back with a knife in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other, just standing there like he was staring into space. Went right through that door. I swear, he had no head at all. You just missed him—”

Suddenly, there was a commotion from behind, and the speaker paused to let a small procession through. First came Mr. Hall, red-faced and determined, followed by Mr. Bobby Jaffers, the village constable, and then the cautious Mr. Wadgers. They were armed with a warrant.

The crowd shouted conflicting accounts of what had just happened. “Head or no head,” Jaffers declared, “I have to arrest him, and arrest him I will.”

Mr. Hall marched up the steps, strode straight to the parlor door, and flung it open. “Constable,” he said, “do your duty.”

Jaffers stepped inside, followed by Hall, with Wadgers bringing up the rear. In the dim light, they saw the headless figure facing them, holding a gnawed crust of bread in one gloved hand and a chunk of cheese in the other.

“That’s him!” Hall shouted.

“What the hell is this?” came an angry voice from the collar of the figure.

“You’re a strange one, mister,” Jaffers said. “But head or no head, the warrant says ‘body,’ and duty is duty—”

“Stay back!” the figure shouted, recoiling.

In a flash, he dropped the bread and cheese, and Mr. Hall lunged for the knife on the table, barely managing to grab it in time. The stranger’s left glove flew off and slapped Jaffers in the face. In an instant, Jaffers, cutting off whatever explanation the stranger was about to give, seized him by the wrist where his hand should have been and caught his invisible throat. The figure kicked Jaffers hard in the shin, making him shout, but he held on tight. Hall slid the knife across the table to Wadgers, who positioned himself defensively, and then stepped forward as Jaffers and the stranger swayed and stumbled toward him, grappling and striking. A chair was knocked aside with a crash as they all fell together.

“Get his feet!” Jaffers grunted through clenched teeth.

Mr. Hall was just trying to follow orders when he got a solid kick in the ribs that knocked the wind out of him. Meanwhile, Mr. Wadgers noticed that the headless stranger had managed to roll over and was now on top of Jaffers. He quickly backed away toward the door, knife in hand, and ran right into Mr. Huxter and the Sidderbridge carter, who were rushing in to restore some semblance of order. Just then, several bottles came crashing down from the chiffonnier, filling the air with a sharp, pungent smell.

“I give up!” shouted the stranger, even though he had Jaffers pinned down. Moments later, he stood up, panting heavily, a bizarre sight with no head and no hands—he had removed both his gloves. “This is pointless,” he said, as if he were struggling to catch his breath.

Hearing that voice seemingly coming from nowhere was the strangest thing, but the Sussex locals were known for their practicality. Jaffers got to his feet and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, then stared in confusion.

“Wait a minute!” Jaffers exclaimed, suddenly aware of the absurdity of the situation. “I can’t use these if I can’t see you!”

The stranger ran his hand down his waistcoat, and miraculously, the buttons his empty sleeve pointed to popped open. He muttered something about his shin and bent down, seemingly fiddling with his shoes and socks.

“Hey!” Huxter interrupted, “that’s not a man at all. It’s just clothes! Look! You can see down his collar and the linings of his outfit. I could put my arm—”

He reached out, only to pull back with a sharp gasp. “I wish you’d keep your fingers out of my eye,” the disembodied voice retorted, sounding quite annoyed. “I’m all here—head, hands, legs, and everything else, but I’m invisible. It’s a real pain, but that doesn’t mean I should be poked and prodded by every clueless fool in Iping, does it?”

The suit of clothes, now unbuttoned and hanging loosely, stood with its arms crossed.

By now, several other men had crowded into the room. “Invisible, huh?” Huxter said, ignoring the stranger’s irritation. “Who ever heard of such a thing?”

“It’s strange, sure, but it’s not illegal. Why am I being assaulted by a policeman?”

“Ah, that’s a different story,” Jaffers replied. “You might be a bit hard to see in this light, but I have a warrant, and everything’s in order. I’m not after your invisibility—I’m after a burglary. Someone broke into a house and stole money.”

“Well?”

“And the circumstances certainly point—”

“Rubbish!” the Invisible Man interrupted.

“I hope so, sir, but I’m just following orders.”

“Fine,” the stranger said, “I’ll come. But no handcuffs.”

“That’s standard procedure,” Jaffers insisted.

“No handcuffs,” the stranger repeated firmly.

“Excuse me,” Jaffers said.

Suddenly, the figure sat down, and before anyone could grasp what was happening, the slippers, socks, and trousers were kicked off under the table. Then he jumped up and threw off his coat.

“Hey, stop that!” Jaffers shouted, realizing what was going on. He lunged for the waistcoat, but it slipped out of his grasp, leaving him holding an empty garment. “Grab him!” Jaffers yelled. “Once he gets those clothes off—”

“Grab him!” everyone echoed, rushing toward the fluttering white shirt, which was all that remained visible of the stranger.

The shirt-sleeve delivered a sharp blow to Hall’s face, halting his advance and sending him crashing into old Toothsome, the sexton. In an instant, the shirt began to flail about as if someone were trying to pull it over a man’s head. Jaffers lunged for it, only to be struck in the mouth by nothingness, causing him to throw his truncheon and accidentally hit Teddy Henfrey on the head.

“Watch out!” everyone shouted, swinging wildly and hitting nothing. “Grab him! Shut the door! Don’t let him escape! I’ve got him! Here he is!” The chaos erupted into a cacophony of shouts. It felt like everyone was getting hit at once. Sandy Wadgers, his senses sharpened by a painful blow to the nose, flung the door open and led the charge. The others, caught up in the frenzy, found themselves jammed in the doorway for a moment. The chaos continued. Phipps, the Unitarian, had a front tooth knocked out, and Henfrey suffered an injury to his ear. Jaffers got hit under the jaw, and as he turned to grab whatever was between him and Huxter, he felt a muscular chest. In the next moment, the entire mass of struggling, frantic men burst into the crowded hall.

“I’ve got him!” Jaffers shouted, gasping for breath as he stumbled through the crowd, grappling with an unseen opponent.

The men around him staggered to the sides as the bizarre struggle surged toward the inn's door, tumbling down the half-dozen steps. Jaffers, his voice strained, managed to hold on while using his knee to push against his foe. Suddenly, he spun around and crashed down onto the gravel, his head hitting hard. It was only then that his grip finally loosened.

Excited shouts rang out—“Hold him!” “Invisible!”—and a young man, a stranger in town whose name was lost in the chaos, rushed forward. He lunged to grab something, missed, and tripped over the fallen constable. Across the road, a woman screamed as something brushed past her; a dog, seemingly kicked, yelped and bolted into Huxter’s yard. With that, the Invisible Man made his escape.

For a moment, the crowd stood in stunned silence, gesturing wildly, but then panic set in, scattering them throughout the village like leaves caught in a gust of wind.

Meanwhile, Jaffers lay motionless at the foot of the inn's steps, staring up at the sky, his knees bent.