CHAPTER XI.

by H. G. Wells

**In the Coach and Horses**

To fully grasp what transpired at the inn, we need to rewind to the moment Mr. Marvel first came into view of Mr. Huxter’s window.

At that very moment, Mr. Cuss and Mr. Bunting were in the parlor, deeply engrossed in investigating the strange events of the morning. With Mr. Hall’s permission, they were thoroughly examining the belongings of the Invisible Man. Jaffers had somewhat recovered from his fall and had gone home, supported by his concerned friends. Mrs. Hall had tidied up the room, removing the stranger’s scattered garments. On the table beneath the window, where the stranger had often worked, Cuss quickly discovered three large manuscript books labeled “Diary.”

“Diary!” Cuss exclaimed, placing the three books on the table. “Now we might actually learn something.” The Vicar stood beside him, hands resting on the table.

“Diary,” Cuss repeated as he sat down, propping two volumes under the third and flipping it open. “Hmm—no name on the flyleaf. How frustrating! It’s all in code. And numbers.”

The Vicar leaned in to peer over his shoulder.

Cuss turned the pages, his expression shifting to one of disappointment. “Oh dear! It’s all in code, Bunting.”

“Are there no diagrams?” Mr. Bunting asked. “No illustrations that might shed some light—”

“Take a look for yourself,” Cuss replied. “Some of it seems mathematical, some looks like Russian or something similar—at least judging by the letters—and some of it’s Greek. Now, I thought you—”

“Of course,” Mr. Bunting said, pulling out his glasses and wiping them, suddenly feeling quite uneasy—he hadn’t retained any Greek worth mentioning. “Yes, the Greek might provide a clue.”

“I’ll find you a spot.”

“I’d prefer to skim through the volumes first,” Mr. Bunting said, still polishing his glasses. “Just a general impression first, Cuss, and then we can search for clues.”

He cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses with care, coughed again, and wished for something to happen to prevent what seemed like an inevitable exposure. Finally, he took the volume Cuss handed him in a relaxed manner. And then, something did happen.

The door swung open unexpectedly.

Both men jumped, glancing around, relieved to see a somewhat rosy face beneath a furry silk hat. “Tap?” the face asked, staring at them.

“No,” both gentlemen replied in unison.

“Over the other side, my man,” Mr. Bunting said. “And please shut that door,” Mr. Cuss added irritably.

“All right,” the intruder said, his voice now oddly different from the husky tone of his initial question. “Right you are,” he repeated in the earlier voice. “Stand clear!” And with that, he vanished, closing the door behind him.

“A sailor, I’d guess,” Mr. Bunting remarked. “They’re amusing fellows. ‘Stand clear!’ indeed. I suppose that was his way of saying he was leaving the room.”

“I suppose so,” Cuss replied. “My nerves are all frayed today. That door opening like that really startled me.”

Mr. Bunting smiled, feigning nonchalance. “And now,” he sighed, “these books.”

Someone sniffed as he spoke.

“One thing is certain,” Bunting said, pulling up a chair next to Cuss. “Very strange things have been happening in Iping over the past few days—very strange indeed. I can’t possibly believe this ridiculous invisibility story—”

“It’s unbelievable,” Cuss agreed. “But the fact remains, I saw—I definitely saw right down his sleeve—”

“But did you—are you sure? What if it was a mirror? Hallucinations can be easily produced. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a really good magician—”

“I won’t argue about it again,” Cuss said. “We’ve gone over that already, Bunting. Right now, it’s these books—Ah! Here’s something that looks like Greek! Definitely Greek letters.”

He pointed to the middle of the page. Mr. Bunting flushed slightly and leaned in closer, struggling with his glasses. Suddenly, he felt an odd sensation at the back of his neck. He tried to lift his head but found it met with an unyielding force. It was a strange pressure, the grip of a heavy, firm hand, forcing his chin down onto the table. “Don’t move, little men,” a voice whispered, “or I’ll brain you both!” He looked into Cuss’s face, which was alarmingly close to his own, and they both saw a horrified reflection of their own stunned disbelief.

“I’m sorry to handle you so roughly,” the voice continued, “but it can’t be helped.”

“Since when did you start prying into an investigator’s private notes?” the voice demanded, and both their chins struck the table again, rattling their teeth.

“Since when did you start invading the private rooms of a man in distress?” came the reply, accompanied by another jarring impact.

“Where have they put my clothes?”

“Listen,” said the Voice. “The windows are locked, and I’ve taken the key out of the door. I’m a strong man, and I have a poker right here—plus, I’m invisible. There’s no doubt that I could easily kill both of you and slip away if I wanted to—do you understand? Good. If I let you go, will you promise not to pull any tricks and do exactly what I say?”

The vicar and the doctor exchanged glances, and the doctor grimaced. “Yes,” Mr. Bunting said, and the doctor echoed him. Then the pressure around their necks eased, and they both sat up, their faces flushed and their heads twisting in discomfort.

“Please stay seated,” the Invisible Man instructed. “Here’s the poker, just so you know.”

“When I entered this room,” he continued, presenting the poker to the tip of each visitor's nose, “I didn’t expect to find it occupied. I was hoping to find not only my notebooks but also a set of clothes. Where are they? No—don’t get up. I can see they’re gone. Right now, even though the days are warm enough for an invisible man to run around naked, the evenings are quite chilly. I need clothing—and other accommodations; and I also need those three books.”