CHAPTER II. MR. TEDDY HENFREY’S FIRST IMPRESSIONS

by H. G. Wells · 2026-03-31

At four o’clock, with the sky growing darker, Mrs. Hall was gathering her courage to go in and ask her guest if he’d like some tea when Teddy Henfrey, the clock repairman, walked into the bar. “Goodness, Mrs. Hall,” he exclaimed, “this weather is terrible for thin boots!” Outside, the snow was falling faster.

Mrs. Hall nodded in agreement, then noticed Teddy had his bag with him. “Now that you’re here, Mr. Teddy,” she said, “I’d appreciate it if you could take a look at the old clock in the parlor. It’s ticking away and strikes just fine, but the hour hand only points to six.”

Leading the way, she crossed to the parlor door, knocked lightly, and stepped inside.

As she opened the door, she saw her visitor slumped in the armchair by the fire, seemingly dozing, his bandaged head drooping to one side. The only light in the room came from the red glow of the fire, which illuminated his eyes like warning signals but left the rest of his face in shadow. The fading daylight that crept in through the open door added to the dimness. Everything appeared warm, hazy, and indistinct to her, especially since she had just lit the bar lamp and her eyes were still adjusting. For a fleeting moment, it seemed to her that the man had an enormous mouth, wide open—a vast, incredible mouth that seemed to consume the lower half of his face. It was just a trick of the light: the white bandage, the bulging eyes, and that huge yawn below. Then he stirred, jolted upright in his chair, and raised his hand. She opened the door wider, letting in more light, and saw him more clearly, the scarf held up to his face just as she had seen him hold the napkin before. The shadows had played tricks on her.

“Would you mind if this man comes to look at the clock, sir?” she asked, recovering from her momentary shock.

“Look at the clock?” he replied, blinking drowsily and speaking through his hand. Then, as he fully woke up, he added, “Of course.”

Mrs. Hall stepped out to fetch a lamp, and he stood up, stretching. When she returned with the light, Mr. Teddy Henfrey walked in and was taken aback by the sight of the bandaged man.

“Good afternoon,” said the stranger, regarding him with an intensity that Mr. Henfrey later described as “like a lobster.”

“I hope I’m not intruding,” Mr. Henfrey said.

“Not at all,” the stranger replied. “Though, if I understand correctly,” he turned to Mrs. Hall, “this room is really meant to be mine for my private use.”

“I thought, sir,” Mrs. Hall said, “you’d prefer the clock—”

“Of course,” the stranger interrupted, “but generally, I prefer to be alone and undisturbed.”

“I’m really glad to have the clock seen to,” he added, noticing Mr. Henfrey’s hesitation. “Very glad.” Mr. Henfrey had intended to apologize and leave, but this reassurance put him at ease. The stranger turned his back to the fireplace, placing his hands behind him. “And after the clock is fixed, I think I’d like some tea. But not until then.”

Mrs. Hall was about to leave the room—she didn’t want to make any small talk this time, fearing a snub in front of Mr. Henfrey—when her visitor asked if she had made arrangements for his boxes at Bramblehurst. She told him she had mentioned it to the postman, and the carrier could bring them over the next day. “Are you sure that’s the earliest?” he asked.

She confirmed it, her tone noticeably cold.

“I should explain,” he continued, “what I didn’t have the energy to do before: I’m an experimental investigator.”

“Really, sir?” Mrs. Hall replied, clearly impressed.

“My luggage contains various apparatus and equipment.”

“Very useful things indeed, sir,” she said.

“I’m quite eager to get on with my research,” he said.

“Of course, sir.”

“My reason for coming to Iping,” he went on, speaking deliberately, “was a desire for solitude. I don’t want to be disturbed while I work. Additionally, an accident—”

“I suspected as much,” Mrs. Hall thought to herself.

“—requires a certain amount of seclusion. My eyes—sometimes they’re so weak and painful that I have to shut myself away in the dark for hours. Lock myself in. Sometimes—now and then. Not at the moment, of course. During those times, the slightest disturbance, the entry of a stranger into the room, is excruciatingly annoying. It’s best that these things are understood.”

“Certainly, sir,” Mrs. Hall replied. “And if I may be so bold as to ask—”

“That’s all,” the stranger interrupted, with a calm finality that he could summon at will. Mrs. Hall decided to hold her question and sympathy for a more appropriate time.

After Mrs. Hall left the room, the stranger stood in front of the fire, glaring at the clock that Mr. Henfrey was trying to fix. Mr. Henfrey had removed not just the hands and the face of the clock, but also its inner workings. He was working slowly and quietly, hoping to delay his departure and maybe strike up a conversation with the stranger. He had positioned a lamp close to him, its green shade casting a bright light on his hands and the clock’s gears while leaving the rest of the room in shadow. When he looked up, his vision was filled with colorful spots.

Curious by nature, he had taken apart the clock—an unnecessary move—just to linger a bit longer in the stranger's presence. But the stranger remained silent and still, which began to unnerve Henfrey. He felt isolated in the room and glanced up, only to find the stranger’s bandaged head and large blue lenses fixed on him, with a haze of green spots swirling in front of them. The intensity of the moment made them stare at each other in silence for a full minute. Then Henfrey looked down again, feeling awkward. He wanted to say something, anything. Maybe he could comment on how cold it was for this time of year?

He lifted his gaze, preparing to make that small talk. “The weather—” he started.

“Why don’t you just finish and leave?” the stranger said, his voice tight with barely contained anger. “All you need to do is fix the hour hand on its axle. You’re just wasting time—”

“Of course, sir—just one more minute. I overlooked something—” Mr. Henfrey quickly finished the job and left.

As he trudged down the village through the melting snow, he felt a surge of annoyance. “Damn it!” he muttered to himself. “A man has to fix a clock sometimes, doesn’t he?”

He grumbled again, “Can’t a man even look at you?—What an ugly sight!”

And once more, “Apparently not. If the police were after you, you couldn’t be more wrapped up and bandaged.”

At Gleeson’s Corner, he spotted Hall, who had recently married the stranger’s hostess at the “Coach and Horses.” Hall was driving the Iping carriage back from Sidderbridge Junction, and he looked like he had been lingering a bit too long there. “How’s it going, Teddy?” he called out as he passed.

“You’ve got a strange one at home!” Teddy replied.

Hall pulled the carriage to a stop, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“A bizarre-looking customer staying at the ‘Coach and Horses,’” Teddy said. “My goodness!”

He proceeded to describe the odd guest in vivid detail. “It’s like he’s in disguise, isn’t it? I’d want to see a man’s face if he was staying at my place,” Henfrey remarked. “But women are so trusting when it comes to strangers. He’s taken your rooms and hasn’t even given a name, Hall.”

“You don’t say!” Hall replied, his understanding slow to catch up.

“Yes,” Teddy confirmed. “He’s staying by the week. Whatever he is, you can’t get rid of him before then. He says he’s got a lot of luggage arriving tomorrow. Let’s hope it’s not stones in boxes, Hall.”

He shared a story about how his aunt in Hastings had been swindled by a stranger with empty suitcases. By the end of their conversation, Hall felt a vague sense of suspicion. “Get up, old girl,” he said to his horse. “I suppose I should check on this.”

Teddy continued on his way, feeling a bit lighter in spirit.

However, instead of “checking on it,” Hall faced a stern lecture from his wife about how long he had spent in Sidderbridge. His mild inquiries were met with sharp, dismissive responses. Yet, the seed of suspicion that Teddy had planted took root in Mr. Hall’s mind despite his wife’s discouragement. “You women don’t know everything,” he muttered, determined to learn more about his guest as soon as possible.

After the stranger went to bed around half-past nine, Mr. Hall entered the parlor with a sense of purpose. He scrutinized his wife’s furniture, making it clear that the stranger wasn’t in charge there, and examined a sheet of mathematical calculations the stranger had left behind with a hint of disdain. As he prepared for bed, he instructed Mrs. Hall to keep a close eye on the stranger’s luggage when it arrived the next day.

“Mind your own business, Hall,” Mrs. Hall snapped. “I’ll take care of mine.”

She was particularly irritable because the stranger was undeniably an unusual character, and she felt uneasy about him. In the middle of the night, she woke from a dream of enormous white heads trailing after her on impossibly long necks, with vast black eyes staring down. But being a sensible woman, she shook off her fears, turned over, and went back to sleep.