Chapter 16 - In
the Jolly Cricketers
The Jolly Cricketers is just at the bottom of the hill, where the
tram-lines begin. The barman leant his fat red arms on the counter
and talked of horses with an anaemic cabman, while a black- bearded
man in grey snapped up biscuit and cheese, drank Burton, and
conversed in American with a policeman off duty.
"What's the shouting about?" said the anaemic cabman
going off at a tangent, trying to see up the hill over the dirty
yellow blind in the low window of the inn. Somebody ran by outside.
"Fire, perhaps," said the barman.
Footsteps approached, running heavily, the door was pushed open
violently, and Marvel, weeping and dishevelled, his hat gone, the
neck of his coat torn open, rushed in, made a convulsive turn, and
attempted to shut the door. It was held half open by a strap.
"Coming!" he bawled, his voice shrieking with terror.
"He's coming. The 'Visible Man! After me! For Gawd's sake! Elp!
Elp! Elp!"
"Shut the doors," said the policeman. "Who's
coming? What's the row?" He went to the door, released the
strap, and it slammed. The American closed the other door.
"Lemme go inside," said Marvel, staggering and weeping,
but still clutching the books. "Lemme go inside. Lock me
in--somewhere. I tell you he's after me. I give him the slip. He
said he'd kill me and he will."
"You're safe," said the man with the black beard.
"The door's shut. What's it all about?"
"Lemme go inside," said Marvel, and shrieked aloud as a
blow suddenly made the fastened door shiver and was followed by a
hurried rapping and a shouting outside. "Hullo," cried the
policeman, "who's there?" Mr. Marvel began to make frantic
dives at panels that looked like doors. "He'll kill me--he's
got a knife or something. For Gawd's sake!"
"Here you are," said the barman. "Come in
here." And he held up the flap of the bar.
Mr. Marvel rushed behind the bar as the summons outside was
repeated. "Don't open the door," he screamed. "Please
don't open the door. Where shall I hide?"
"This, this Invisible Man, then?" asked the man with
the black beard, with one hand behind him. "I guess it's about
time we saw him."
The window of the inn was suddenly smashed in, and there was a
screaming and running to and fro in the street. The policeman had
been standing on the settee staring out, craning to see who was at
the door. He got down with raised eyebrows. "It's that,"
he said. The barman stood in front of the bar-parlour door which was
now locked on Mr. Marvel, stared at the smashed window and came
round to the two other men.
Everything was suddenly quiet. "I wish I had my
truncheon," said the policeman, going irresolutely to the door.
"Once we open, in he comes. There's no stopping him."
"Don't you be in too much hurry about that door," said
the anaemic cabman, anxiously.
"Draw the bolts," said the man with the black beard,
"and if he comes--" He showed a revolver in his hand.
"That won't do," said the policeman; "that's
murder."
"I know what country I'm in," said the man with the
beard. "I'm going to let off at his legs. Draw the bolts."
"Not with that thing going off behind me," said the
barman, craning over the blind.
"Very well," said the man with the black beard, and
stooping down, revolver ready, drew them himself. Barman, cabman,
and police- man faced about.
"Come in," said the bearded man in an undertone,
standing back and facing the unbolted doors with his pistol behind
him. No one came in, the door remained closed. Five minutes
afterwards when a second cabman pushed his head in cautiously, they
were still waiting, and an anxious face peered out of the bar-parlour
and supplied information. "Are all the doors of the house
shut?" asked Marvel. "He's going round--prowling round.
He's as artful as the devil."
"Good Lord!" said the burly barman. "There's the
back! Just watch them doors! I say!--" He looked about him
helplessly. The bar-parlour door slammed and they heard the key
turn. "There's the yard door and the private door. The yard
door--"
He rushed out of the bar.
In a minute he reappeared with a carving-knife in his hand.
"The yard door was open!" he said, and his fat underlip
dropped.
"He may be in the house now!" said the first cabman.
"He's not in the kitchen," said the barman.
"There's two women there, and I've stabbed every inch of it
with this little beef slicer. And they don't think he's come in.
They haven't noticed--"
"Have you fastened it?" asked the first cabman.
"I'm out of frocks," said the barman.
The man with the beard replaced his revolver. And even as he did
so the flap of the bar was shut down and the bolt clicked, and then
with a tremendous thud the catch of the door snapped and the bar-
parlour door burst open. They heard Marvel squeal like a caught
leveret, and forthwith they were clambering over the bar to his
rescue. The bearded man's revolver cracked and the looking-glass at
the back of the parlour was starred brightly and came smashing and
tinkling down.
As the barman entered the room he saw Marvel, curiously crumpled
up and struggling against the door that led to the yard and kitchen.
The door flew open while the barman hesitated, and Marvel was
dragged into the kitchen. There was a scream and a clatter of pans.
Marvel, head down, and lugging back obstinately, was forced to the
kitchen door, and the bolts were drawn.
Then the policeman, who had been trying to pass the barman,
rushed in, followed by one of the cabmen, gripped the wrist of the
invisible hand that collared Marvel, was hit in the face and went
reeling back. The door opened, and Marvel made a frantic effort to
obtain a lodgment behind it. Then the cabman clutched something.
"I got him," said the cabman. The barman's red hands came
clawing at the unseen. "Here he is!" said the barman.
Mr. Marvel, released, suddenly dropped to the ground and made an
attempt to crawl behind the legs of the fighting men. The struggle
blundered round the edge of the door. The voice of the Invisible Man
was heard for the first time, yelling out sharply, as the policeman
trod on his foot. Then he cried out passionately and his fists flew
round like flails. The cabman suddenly whooped and doubled up,
kicked under the diaphragm. The door into the bar-parlour from the
kitchen slammed and covered Mr. Marvel's retreat. The men in the
kitchen found themselves clutching at and struggling with empty air.
"Where's he gone?" cried the man with the beard.
"Out?"
"This way," said the policeman, stepping into the yard
and stopping.
A piece of tile whizzed by his head and smashed among the
crockery on the kitchen table.
"I'll show him," shouted the man with the black beard,
and suddenly a steel barrel shone over the policeman's shoulder, and
five bullets had followed one another into the twilight whence the
missle had come. As he fired, the man with the beard moved his hand
in a horizontal curve, so that his shots radiated out into the
narrow yard like spokes from a wheel.
A silence followed. "Five cartridges," said the man
with the black beard. "That's the best of all. Four aces and
the joker. Get a lantern, some one, and come and feel about for his
body."
