CHAPTER XIII
MR. MARVEL DISCUSSES HIS RESIGNATION
When the dusk was gathering and Iping was just beginning to peeptimorously forth again upon the shattered wreckage of its BankHoliday, a short, thick-set man in a shabby silk hat was marchingpainfully through the twilight behind the beechwoods on the road toBramblehurst. He carried three books bound together by some sortof ornamental elastic ligature, and a bundle wrapped in a bluetable-cloth. His rubicund face expressed consternation and fatigue;he appeared to be in a spasmodic sort of hurry. He was accompaniedby a voice other than his own, and ever and again he winced underthe touch of unseen hands.
"If you give me the slip again," said the Voice, "if you attempt togive me the slip again--"
"Lord!" said Mr. Marvel. "That shoulder's a mass of bruises as itis."
"On my honour," said the Voice, "I will kill you."
"I didn't try to give you the slip," said Marvel, in a voice thatwas not far remote from tears. "I swear I didn't. I didn't know theblessed turning, that was all! How the devil was I to know theblessed turning? As it is, I've been knocked about--"
"You'll get knocked about a great deal more if you don't mind,"said the Voice, and Mr. Marvel abruptly became silent. He blew outhis cheeks, and his eyes were eloquent of despair.
"It's bad enough to let these floundering yokels explode my littlesecret, without _your_ cutting off with my books. It's lucky for someof them they cut and ran when they did! Here am I ... No one knew Iwas invisible! And now what am I to do?"
"What am _I_ to do?" asked Marvel, _sotto voce_.
"It's all about. It will be in the papers! Everybody will belooking for me; everyone on their guard--" The Voice broke offinto vivid curses and ceased.
The despair of Mr. Marvel's face deepened, and his pace slackened.
"Go on!" said the Voice.
Mr. Marvel's face assumed a greyish tint between the ruddierpatches.
"Don't drop those books, stupid," said the Voice, sharply--overtakinghim.
"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.
"I'm not over strong," he repeated.
"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, youknow. But I might--out of sheer funk and misery."
"You'd better not," said the Voice, with quiet emphasis.
"I wish I was dead," said Marvel.
"It ain't justice," he said; "you must admit.... It seems to me I'vea perfect right--"
"_Get_ on!" said the Voice.
Mr. Marvel mended his pace, and for a time they went in silenceagain.
"It's devilish hard," said Mr. Marvel.
This was quite ineffectual. He tried another tack.
"What do I make by it?" he began again in a tone of unendurablewrong.
"Oh! _shut up_!" said the Voice, with sudden amazing vigour. "I'llsee to you all right. You do what you're told. You'll do it allright. You're a fool and all that, but you'll do--"
"I tell you, sir, I'm not the man for it. Respectfully--butit _is_ so--"
"If you don't shut up I shall twist your wrist again," said theInvisible Man. "I want to think."
Presently two oblongs of yellow light appeared through the trees,and the square tower of a church loomed through the gloaming. "Ishall keep my hand on your shoulder," said the Voice, "all throughthe village. Go straight through and try no foolery. It will be theworse 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 thestreet of the little village with his burdens, and vanished intothe gathering darkness beyond the lights of the windows.