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CHAPTER XVII. DR. KEMP’S VISITOR
devilish scrape–I’ve been mad, I think. The things I have
been through! But we will do things yet. Let me tell you–"
He helped himself to more whiskey and soda. Kemp
got up, looked about him, and fetched a glass from his
spare room. "It’s wild–but I suppose I may drink."
"You haven’t changed much, Kemp, these dozen years.
You fair men don’t. Cool and methodical–after the first
collapse. I must tell you. We will work together!"
"But how was it all done?" said Kemp, "and how did
you get like this?"
"For God’s sake, let me smoke in peace for a little while!
And then I will begin to tell you."
But the story was not told that night. The Invisible
Man’s wrist was growing painful; he was feverish, exhausted,
and his mind came round to brood upon his
chase down the hill and the struggle about the inn. He
spoke in fragments of Marvel, he smoked faster, his voice
grew angry. Kemp tried to gather what he could.
"He was afraid of me, I could see that he was afraid of
me," said the Invisible Man many times over. "He meant
to give me the slip–he was always casting about! What a
fool I was!
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