CHAPTER XXIV. THE PLAN THAT FAILED

by H. G. Wells

“But now,” Kemp said, glancing out the window, “what are we going to do?”

He moved closer to his guest, trying to block any chance of a sudden view of the three men slowly making their way up the hill road—a pace that felt agonizingly slow to Kemp.

“What were you planning when you were headed for Port Burdock? Did you even have a plan?”

“I was going to leave the country,” the Invisible Man replied. “But I’ve changed that since I saw you. With the weather warming up and invisibility being possible, I thought it would be best to head south. Especially since my secret is out, and everyone will be on the lookout for a masked man. You have a line of steamers that go to France. My idea was to board one and take my chances on the crossing. From there, I could catch a train to Spain or find my way to Algiers. It wouldn’t be too hard. There, a man can remain invisible and still live—and do things. I was using that tramp as a way to carry my money and belongings until I figured out how to send my books and things over to meet me.”

“That’s clear enough,” Kemp said.

“And then that filthy brute had to try to rob me! He’s hidden my books, Kemp. He’s hidden my books! If I can just get my hands on him!”

“Best to get the books out of him first,” Kemp suggested.

“But where is he? Do you know?”

“He’s at the town police station, locked up in the strongest cell, by his own request.”

“Cur!” the Invisible Man spat.

“But that complicates your plans a bit.”

“We need to get those books; they’re crucial.”

“Of course,” Kemp said, a bit nervously, glancing toward the door as if he heard footsteps outside. “We definitely need to get those books. But it shouldn’t be too difficult if he doesn’t know they’re for you.”

“No,” the Invisible Man said, lost in thought.

Kemp tried to think of something to keep the conversation going, but the Invisible Man spoke again.

“Blundering into your house, Kemp,” he said, “changes everything for me. You’re someone who can understand. Despite everything that’s happened—the publicity, the loss of my books, the suffering I’ve endured—there are still great possibilities ahead.”

“You haven’t told anyone I’m here, have you?” he asked suddenly.

Kemp hesitated. “That was implied,” he admitted.

“No one?” Griffin pressed.

“Not a soul.”

“Ah! Now—” The Invisible Man stood up, placing his hands on his hips and pacing the room.

“I made a huge mistake, Kemp, trying to do this alone. I’ve wasted strength, time, and opportunities. Alone—it’s amazing how little a person can accomplish on their own! Just a little theft, a little harm, and that’s the end of it.

“What I need, Kemp, is a partner, someone to help me, and a safe place where I can sleep, eat, and rest without being noticed. I must have a confederate. With a partner, with food and rest, a thousand things become possible.

“Until now, I’ve been moving aimlessly. We need to consider what invisibility means and what it doesn’t. It doesn’t provide much advantage for eavesdropping—sounds still give you away. It’s not very helpful for breaking and entering either. Once you catch me, it would be easy to imprison me. But on the flip side, I’m hard to catch. This invisibility is only truly useful in two situations: it helps me escape and approach. It’s especially useful for killing. I can circle around a man, no matter what weapon he has, choose my moment, strike when I want. Dodge as I please. Escape as I wish.”

Kemp instinctively touched his mustache. Was that a sound from downstairs?

“And it’s killing we must do, Kemp.”

“It’s killing we must do,” Kemp echoed, still listening for any noise. “I’m hearing your plan, Griffin, but I’m not agreeing with it. Why killing?”

“Not senseless killing, but a calculated strike. The point is, they know there’s an Invisible Man—just as we know there is one. And that Invisible Man, Kemp, must establish a Reign of Terror. Yes, it sounds shocking. But I mean it. A Reign of Terror. He must take a town like Burdock and instill fear and control. He must issue orders. He can do that in countless ways—slipping notes under doors would be enough. And anyone who disobeys him must be killed, along with anyone who tries to defend them.”

“Humph!” Kemp said, no longer focused on Griffin but on the sound of his front door opening and closing.

“It seems to me, Griffin,” he said, trying to redirect the conversation, “that your partner would be in a tough spot.”

“No one would know he was a partner,” the Invisible Man replied eagerly. Then suddenly, “Hush! What’s that downstairs?”

“Nothing,” Kemp said, quickly raising his voice. “I don’t agree with this, Griffin. Understand me, I don’t agree with this. Why dream of playing a game against humanity? How can you expect to find happiness? Don’t be a lone wolf. Share your findings; bring the world—at least the nation—into your confidence. Think of what you could achieve with a million allies—”

The Invisible Man interrupted, his arm outstretched. “There are footsteps coming upstairs,” he said in a low voice.

“That’s ridiculous,” Kemp replied.

“Let me see,” the Invisible Man insisted, moving toward the door with his arm still extended.

Then everything happened in a blur. Kemp hesitated for a moment before deciding to block his path. The Invisible Man froze, his voice rising in anger. “Traitor!” he shouted, and suddenly the dressing gown fell open as he began to undress. Kemp quickly took three steps toward the door, but the Invisible Man—his legs now invisible—leapt to his feet with a shout. Kemp flung the door open.

As it swung wide, the sound of hurried footsteps and voices echoed from downstairs.

With a swift motion, Kemp pushed the Invisible Man back, darted aside, and slammed the door shut. The key was already outside, ready to lock him in. In just a moment, Griffin would have been trapped in the study, a prisoner. But there was one small problem. The key had been hastily inserted that morning, and as Kemp slammed the door, it fell loudly onto the carpet.

Kemp's face turned pale. He gripped the door handle tightly with both hands. For a moment, he struggled to hold it closed. Then the door suddenly gave way six inches. He managed to shut it again, but the second time it jerked open a foot, and the dressing gown wedged itself in the gap. Invisible fingers tightened around his throat, forcing him to let go of the handle to defend himself. He was pushed back, tripped, and crashed heavily into the corner of the landing, the empty dressing gown landing on top of him.

Halfway up the staircase stood Colonel Adye, the chief of the Burdock police and the recipient of Kemp’s letter. He stared in shock at the sight of Kemp, followed by the bizarre image of clothing floating in mid-air. He watched as Kemp was knocked down and struggled to get back up, only to be taken down again like a fallen beast.

Then, without warning, he was hit hard. By nothing! It felt like a massive weight slammed into him, sending him tumbling down the staircase, with an unseen grip around his throat and a knee pressing into his groin. An invisible foot pressed down on his back, and he heard the ghostly sound of footsteps racing downstairs. The two police officers in the hall shouted and ran, and the front door of the house slammed shut with a bang.

He rolled over and sat up, dazed. He saw Kemp staggering down the staircase, covered in dust and disheveled, one side of his face pale from a blow, his lip bleeding, and clutching a pink dressing gown and some underclothes in his arms.

“My God!” Kemp exclaimed, “the game’s up! He’s gone!”