Человек-невидимка / The Invisible Man + аудиоприложение - стр. 31

“Fire, perhaps,” said the barman.

Footsteps approached, running heavily, the door was pushed open violently, and Marvel, weeping and dishevelled, rushed in, made a convulsive turn, and attempted to shut the door.

“Coming!” he bawled, his voice shrieking with terror. “He’s coming. The Inisible Man! After me! Help! Help! Help!”

“Shut the doors,” said the policeman. “Who’s coming? What’s the matter?”

He went to the door, and it slammed.

“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 escaped. 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 fastened door shiver. There was a hurried rapping and a shouting outside.

“Hello,” cried the policeman, “who’s there?”

Mr. Marvel cried, “He’ll kill me-he’s got a knife or something. Help me!”

“Come in here,” said the barman.

And he held up the flap of the bar.

“Don’t open the door,” Mr. Marvel screamed. “Please don’t open the door! Where shall I hide?”

“This, this Invisible Man, then?” asked the man with the black beard. “I guess it’s about time to see 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 trying to see who was at the door.

“It’s him,” 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 to the door. “When we open the door, he will come in. We can’t stop him.”

“Don’t hasten to open that door,” said the anaemic cabman, anxiously.

“Draw the bolts,” 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 let off at his legs. Draw the bolts.”

“Not at my neck,” said the barman.

“Very well,” said the man with the black beard, and drew the bolts himself. Barman, cabman, and policeman looked at each other.