CHAPTER XII. THE INVISIBLE MAN LOSES HIS TEMPER

by H. G. Wells

At this point, the story takes a painful turn, and it’s hard to continue without addressing it. While things were unfolding in the parlor, Mr. Huxter kept a close eye on Mr. Marvel, who was leisurely smoking his pipe by the gate. Just a short distance away, Mr. Hall and Teddy Henfrey were deep in conversation, their brows furrowed in confusion over the latest happenings in Iping.

Suddenly, a loud thud echoed against the parlor door, followed by a sharp cry, and then—silence.

“Hey!” Teddy Henfrey called out.

“Hey!” came the response from the Tap.

Mr. Hall, taking his time to process what had just happened, muttered, “That doesn’t seem right,” as he stepped out from behind the bar and made his way toward the parlor door.

He and Teddy approached the door, their expressions serious. They exchanged glances, both sensing something was off. “Something’s wrong,” Hall said, and Henfrey nodded in agreement. A strange, unpleasant chemical smell wafted through the air, and they could hear muffled voices inside, speaking quickly and quietly.

“You all right in there?” Hall knocked on the door.

The hushed conversation inside stopped abruptly, followed by a moment of silence, then resumed in urgent whispers. Suddenly, a sharp voice exclaimed, “No! No, you don’t!” There was a scuffle, a chair fell over, and then silence fell again.

“What the hell?” Henfrey whispered.

“Are you—are you all right in there?” Hall asked sharply, knocking again.

The Vicar’s voice came back, oddly stuttered, “Quite ri-right. Please don’t—interrupt.”

“Strange,” Henfrey remarked.

“Very strange,” Hall agreed.

“He said, ‘Don’t interrupt,’” Henfrey pointed out.

“I heard that,” Hall replied.

“And a sniff,” added Henfrey.

They stood there, listening intently. The conversation inside was quick and low. “I can’t,” Mr. Bunting’s voice rose in frustration. “I tell you, sir, I will not.”

“What was that?” Henfrey asked.

“He said he wouldn’t,” Hall replied. “Wasn’t talking to us, was he?”

“Disgraceful!” came Bunting’s voice from within.

“‘Disgraceful,’” Henfrey echoed. “I heard that—clear as day.”

“Who’s that speaking now?” Henfrey wondered.

“Mr. Cuss, I suppose,” Hall said. “Can you hear anything else?”

Silence. The sounds inside were still indistinct and puzzling.

“Sounds like they’re tossing the tablecloth around,” Hall noted.

Mrs. Hall appeared behind the bar, and Hall gestured for silence, trying to convey urgency without words. But Mrs. Hall wasn’t having it. “What are you listening for, Hall?” she asked, hands on her hips. “Don’t you have anything better to do on a busy day like this?”

Hall tried to communicate everything through expressions and gestures, but Mrs. Hall remained stubborn. She raised her voice, prompting Hall and Henfrey to retreat to the bar, looking a bit defeated as they attempted to explain.

At first, she dismissed their concerns entirely, insisting that they were probably just moving furniture around. “I heard him say ‘disgraceful’; that much I did,” Hall insisted.

“I heard that too, Mrs. Hall,” Henfrey chimed in.

“More likely—” Mrs. Hall began.

“Hush!” Henfrey interrupted. “Didn’t I hear the window?”

“What window?” Mrs. Hall asked.

“The parlor window,” Henfrey clarified.

Everyone fell silent, straining to listen. Mrs. Hall’s gaze was fixed ahead, seeing but not really seeing the bright rectangle of the inn door, the road gleaming white in the June sun, and Huxter’s shop front shimmering in the heat. Suddenly, Huxter burst through his door, eyes wide with excitement, arms flailing. “Stop thief!” he shouted, darting across the yard towards the gates before disappearing.

At that moment, chaos erupted from the parlor, and the sound of windows slamming shut filled the air.

Hall, Henfrey, and the patrons of the Tap rushed out into the street all at once. They caught sight of someone darting around the corner, while Mr. Huxter executed a spectacular leap that ended with him crashing onto his face and shoulder. People down the street stood in shock or began running toward them.

Huxter was dazed. Henfrey paused to check on him, but Hall and the two laborers from the Tap sprinted toward the corner, shouting incoherently, convinced they had spotted Mr. Marvel disappearing by the church wall. They jumped to the wild conclusion that this was the Invisible Man suddenly visible, and they took off down the lane in pursuit.

However, Hall had barely run a dozen yards when he let out a loud shout of surprise and went tumbling sideways, colliding with one of the laborers and bringing him down with him. The second laborer, rounding the corner, stared in confusion, thinking Hall had tripped over his own feet, and turned to continue the chase, only to be tripped up himself, just as Huxter had been. Meanwhile, as the first laborer struggled to get back on his feet, he was knocked sideways by a blow that could have taken down a bull.

As he made his way down the lane, a commotion erupted from the direction of the village green. The first person to appear was the owner of the coconut shy, a hefty man in a blue jersey. He was taken aback to find the lane empty except for three men sprawled awkwardly on the ground. Just then, something happened to his back foot, sending him tumbling forward and rolling sideways, narrowly missing his brother and partner, who followed suit in a chaotic fall. The two of them were then kicked, knelt on, and cursed by a crowd of panicked villagers rushing past.

Meanwhile, when Hall, Henfrey, and the laborers burst out of the house, Mrs. Hall, seasoned by years of experience, stayed put in the bar next to the till. Suddenly, the parlor door swung open, and Mr. Cuss rushed out, not even glancing at her as he dashed down the steps toward the corner. “Stop him!” he shouted. “Don’t let him drop that parcel!”

He was completely unaware of Marvel’s presence. The Invisible Man had already handed over the books and bundle in the yard. Mr. Cuss’s face was a mix of anger and determination, but his outfit was a bit ridiculous—a loose white kilt that would have been more at home in Greece. “Stop him!” he yelled again. “He’s got my trousers! And every stitch of the Vicar’s clothes!”

“Just a moment!” he called to Henfrey as he stumbled past the fallen Huxter. As he rounded the corner to join the chaos, he was knocked off his feet, landing in an undignified sprawl. Someone in the rush stepped heavily on his finger, and he yelped, struggling to get back up, only to be knocked down again. It dawned on him that he wasn’t part of a capture but rather a chaotic retreat. Everyone was running back to the village. He managed to rise again, only to feel a sharp blow behind his ear. Dazed, he turned and sprinted back to the “Coach and Horses,” leaping over the now-sitting Huxter in his haste.

Halfway up the inn steps, he heard a sudden yell of rage cut through the confusion, followed by a loud smack. He recognized the voice as that of the Invisible Man, filled with fury after a painful hit.

Moments later, Mr. Cuss burst back into the parlor. “He’s coming back, Bunting!” he shouted, rushing in. “Get out of here!”

Mr. Bunting was at the window, desperately trying to wrap himself in a hearth rug and a copy of the _West Surrey Gazette_. “Who’s coming?” he asked, startled enough that his makeshift outfit nearly fell apart.

“The Invisible Man,” Cuss replied, rushing to the window. “We need to get out! He’s furious! Absolutely furious!”

In no time, he was out in the yard.

“Oh my goodness!” Mr. Bunting exclaimed, caught between two terrible choices. He heard a violent struggle in the inn’s passage, and that settled it. He scrambled out of the window, hastily adjusting his outfit, and fled up the village as fast as his little legs could carry him.

From the moment the Invisible Man screamed in rage and Mr. Bunting made his frantic escape, it became impossible to follow a clear account of what was happening in Iping. Perhaps the Invisible Man had initially intended to cover Marvel’s retreat with the clothes and books. But his temper, already volatile, seemed to snap at some unexpected blow, and he began to lash out, seeking only to cause chaos.

Imagine the street filled with frantic figures, doors slamming, and people scrambling for hiding spots. Picture the chaos as old Fletcher’s planks and a couple of chairs gave way, leading to a catastrophic mess. Visualize a horrified couple caught helplessly in a swing. And then, just like that, the tumult faded, leaving Iping’s street, adorned with decorations, eerily deserted except for the still-furious unseen presence, littered with coconuts, overturned canvas screens, and the remnants of a sweet stall. The sound of shutters closing and bolts being locked echoed everywhere, with only the occasional glimpse of a wary eye peeking out from behind a window.

The Invisible Man entertained himself for a while by smashing all the windows at the “Coach and Horses.” He even hurled a streetlamp through Mrs. Gribble’s parlor window. It was he who cut the telegraph wire to Adderdean just beyond Higgins’ cottage on the Adderdean road. After that, using his unique abilities, he slipped out of human perception altogether, becoming completely unheard, unseen, and unfelt in Iping. He vanished without a trace.

It took nearly two hours before anyone dared to step back out into the desolation of Iping street.