It was two o’clock before Dr. Kemp had finished his work for the night.  He rose, yawned, and went downstairs to bed.  He had already removed his coat and vest, when he noticed that he was thirsty.  He took a candle and went down to the dining-room in search of a syphon and whiskey.

Dr. Kemp’s scientific pursuits have made him a very observant man, and as he recrossed the hall, he noticed a dark spot on the linoleum near the mat at the foot of the stairs.  He went on upstairs, and then it suddenly occurred to him to ask himself what the spot on the linoleum might be.  Apparently some subconscious element was at work.  At any rate, he turned with his burden, went back to the hall, put down the syphon and whiskey, and bending down, touched the spot.  Without any great surprise he found it had the stickiness and colour of drying blood.

He took up his burden again, and returned upstairs, looking about him and trying to account for the blood-spot.  On the landing he saw something and stopped astonished.  The door-handle of his own room was blood-stained.

He looked at his own hand.  It was quite clean, and then he remembered that the door of his room had been open when he came down from his study, and that consequently he had not touched the handle at all.  He went straight into his room, his face quite calm—­perhaps a trifle more resolute than usual.  His glance, wandering inquisitively, fell on the bed.  On the counterpane was a mess of blood, and the sheet had been torn.  He had not noticed this before because he had walked straight to the dressing-table.  On the further side the bedclothes were depressed as if someone had been recently sitting there.

Then he had an odd impression that he had heard a low voice say, “Good Heavens!—­Kemp!” But Dr. Kemp was no believer in voices.

He stood staring at the tumbled sheets.  Was that really a voice?  He looked about again, but noticed nothing further than the disordered and blood-stained bed.  Then he distinctly heard a movement across the room, near the wash-hand stand.  All men, however highly educated, retain some superstitious inklings.  The feeling that is called “eerie” came upon him.  He closed the door of the room, came forward to the dressing-table, and put down his burdens.  Suddenly, with a start, he perceived a coiled and blood-stained bandage of linen rag hanging in mid-air, between him and the wash-hand stand.

He stared at this in amazement.  It was an empty bandage, a bandage properly tied but quite empty.  He would have advanced to grasp it, but a touch arrested him, and a voice speaking quite close to him.

“Kemp!” said the Voice.

“Eh?” said Kemp, with his mouth open.

“Keep your nerve,” said the Voice.  “I’m an Invisible Man.”

Kemp made no answer for a space, simply stared at the bandage.  “Invisible Man,” he said.

“I am an Invisible Man,” repeated the Voice.