When night was falling and Iping was just beginning to peep timidly out again at the wreckage of its Bank Holiday, a short, thick-set man in a shabby silk hat was marching painfully through the twilight behind the beechwoods on the road to Bramblehurst. He carried three books tied together by some sort of ornamental elastic, and a packet wrapped in a blue tablecloth. His reddish face expressed consternation and fatigue; he appeared to be in a spasmodic sort of hurry. He was accompanied by a Voice other than his own, and from time to time he winced under the touch of unseen hands.
"If you escape again," said the Voice; "if you attempt to escape again - "
"Lord!" said Mr. Marvel. "My shoulder's a mass of bruises as it is."
" - on my honour," said the Voice, "I will kill you."
"I didn't try to escape," said Marvel, in a voice that was not far from tears. "I swear I didn't. I didn't know the blessed turning, that was all! How the devil was I to know the blessed turning? As it is, I've been knocked about - "
"You'll get knocked about a great deal more if you're not careful," said the Voice, and Mr. Marvel abruptly became silent. He blew out his cheeks, and his eyes were eloquent of despair.
"It's bad enough to let these peasants explode my little secret, without your running off with my books. It's lucky for some of them they ran away when they did! Here am I - No one knew I was invisible! And now what am I to do?"
"What am I to do?" asked Marvel to himself.
"It will be in the papers! Everybody will be looking for me; everyone on their guard - " The Voice broke off into vivid curses and ceased.
The despair of Mr. Marvel's face deepened, and his pace grew slower.
"Go on!" said the Voice.
Mr. Marvel's face assumed a greyish tint between the redder patches.
"Don't drop those books, stupid," said the Voice, sharply - overtaking him.
"The fact is," said the Voice, "I shall have to make use of you. You're a poor tool, but I must."
"I'm a miserable tool," said Marvel.
"You are," said the Voice.
"I'm the worst possible tool you could have," said Marvel.
"I'm not strong," he said after a discouraging silence.
"No?"
"And my heart's weak. That little business - I pulled it through, of course - but bless you! I could have dropped."
"Well?"
"I haven't the nerve and strength for the sort of thing you want."
"I'll stimulate you."
"I wish you wouldn't. I wouldn't like to mess up your plans, you know. But I might, - out of sheer fear and misery."
"You'd better not," said the Voice, with quiet emphasis.
"I wish I was dead," said Marvel.
"It isn't fair," he said; "you must admit - It seems to me I've a perfect right - "
"Get on!" said the Voice.
Mr. Marvel quickened his pace, and for a time they went in silence again.
"It's very hard," said Mr. Marvel.
This was quite ineffectual. He tried another line.
"What do I get out of it?" he began again in a tone of unendurable wrong.
"Oh! shut up!" said the Voice, with sudden amazing vigour. "I'll see to you all right. You do what you're told. You'll do it all right. You're a fool and all that, but you'll do - "
"I tell you, sir, I'm not the man for it. Respectfully - but it is so - "
"If you don't shut up I shall twist your wrist again," said the Invisible Man. "I want to think."
Presently two rectangles of yellow light appeared through the trees, and the square tower of a church appeared in the darkness. "I shall keep my hand on your shoulder," said the Voice, "all through the village. Go straight through and try no foolery. It will be the worse for you if you do."
"I know that," sighed Mr. Marvel, "I know all that."
The unhappy-looking figure in the obsolete silk hat passed up the street of the little village with his burdens, and vanished into the gathering darkness beyond the lights of the windows.