Человек-невидимка / The Invisible Man + аудиоприложение - стр. 22

Suddenly the stranger stood up abruptly and put his pipe in his pocket. Then he vanished into the yard. Mr. Huxter leapt round the counter and ran out into the road to intercept the thief. As he did so, Mr. Marvel reappeared. He had a big bundle in a blue table-cloth in one hand, and three books tied together in the other. He saw Huxter, and turned sharply to the left, and began to run.

“Stop, thief!” cried Huxter, and set off after him.

Mr. Huxter’s sensations were vivid but brief. He saw the man just before him. He saw the village flags, and some people. He bawled, “Stop!” again. Suddenly his shin was caught in some mysterious fashion, and he was no longer running, but flying through the air. He saw the ground suddenly close to his face. And subsequent proceedings interested him no more.

In order to understand what had happened in the inn, it is necessary to go back to the moment when Mr. Marvel first came into view. At that moment Mr. Cuss and Mr. Bunting were in the parlour. They were seriously talking about the strange occurrences of the morning, and were, with Mr. Hall’s permission, making a thorough examination of the Invisible Man’s belongings. The stranger’s scattered garments had been removed by Mrs. Hall and the room tidied up. And on the table under the window Cuss had noticed three big books in manuscript labelled “Diary.”

“Diary!” said Cuss, putting the three books on the table. “Now, at any rate, we will learn something.”

The Vicar stood with his hands on the table.

“Diary,” repeated Cuss, sitting down, putting two volumes to support the third, and opening it. “Hm-no name. Lord! Only figures.”

The vicar came round to look over his shoulder.

Cuss turned the pages over with a face suddenly disappointed.

“Dear me! Only figures, Bunting.”

“There are no diagrams?” asked Mr. Bunting. “No illustrations throwing light-”

“See for yourself,” said Mr. Cuss. “Some of it’s mathematical and some of it’s Russian or some such language (to judge by the letters), and some of it’s Greek. You can understand Greek I suppose.”

“Of course,” said Mr. Bunting, wiping his spectacles and feeling suddenly very uncomfortable-for he had no Greek left in his mind worth talking about; “yes-the Greek, of course, may give us a clue.”

“I’ll find you a place.”

“I’d rather glance through the volumes first,” said Mr. Bunting, still wiping his glasses. “A general impression first, Cuss, and then, you know, we can try to find the clue.”

He coughed, put on his glasses, coughed again. Then he took the volume Cuss handed him. And then something happened.