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 ate 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 untidy, 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 shouted, his voice shrieking with terror. "He's coming. The Invisible Man! After me! For God's sake! Help! Help! Help!"
"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.
"Let me go inside," said Marvel, staggering and weeping, but still clutching the books. "Let me go inside. Lock me in - somewhere. I tell you he's after me. I gave 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?"
"Let me go inside," said Marvel, and shrieked aloud as a blow suddenly made the locked door shake and was followed by a hurried knocking 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 God'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 knocking 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 sofa staring out, trying 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.
"Unlock the door," 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 shoot at his legs. Unlock the door."
"Not with that thing going off behind me," said the barman, trying to see over the blind.
"Very well," said the man with the black beard, and stooping down, revolver ready, unlocked it himself. Barman, cabman, and police-man turned round.
"Come in," said the bearded man in an undertone, standing back and facing the unlocked 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 begged information. "Are all the doors of the house shut?" asked Marvel. "He's going round - prowling round. He's as clever as the devil."
"Good Lord!" said the barman. "There's the back! Just watch those 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 bottom lip dropped.
"He may be in the house now!" said the first cabman.
"He's not in the kitchen," said the barman. "There are two women there, and I've stabbed every inch of it with this knife. And they don't think he's come in. They haven't noticed - "
"Have you locked it?" asked the first cabman.
"Of course." 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 lock of the door snapped and the bar- parlour door burst open. They heard Marvel squeal like a caught pig, and immediately they were climbing over the bar to his rescue. The bearded man's revolver cracked and the mirror 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 pulling back obstinately, was forced to the kitchen door, and the bolts were opened.
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 had Marvel, was hit in the face and went flying back. The door opened, and Marvel made a frantic effort to get behind it. Then the cabman clutched something. "I've 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 went 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 shouted and fell to his knees, 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 plates 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 where the missle had come from. 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."