IN DRURY LANE

“But you begin now to realise,” said the Invisible Man, “the full disadvantage of my condition.  I had no shelter—­no covering—­to get clothing was to forego all my advantage, to make myself a strange and terrible thing.  I was fasting; for to eat, to fill myself with unassimilated matter, would be to become grotesquely visible again.”

“I never thought of that,” said Kemp.

“Nor had I. And the snow had warned me of other dangers.  I could not go abroad in snow—­it would settle on me and expose me.  Rain, too, would make me a watery outline, a glistening surface of a man—­a bubble.  And fog—­I should be like a fainter bubble in a fog, a surface, a greasy glimmer of humanity.  Moreover, as I went abroad—­in the London air—­I gathered dirt about my ankles, floating smuts and dust upon my skin.  I did not know how long it would be before I should become visible from that cause also.  But I saw clearly it could not be for long.

“Not in London at any rate.

“I went into the slums towards Great Portland Street, and found myself at the end of the street in which I had lodged.  I did not go that way, because of the crowd halfway down it opposite to the still smoking ruins of the house I had fired.  My most immediate problem was to get clothing.  What to do with my face puzzled me.  Then I saw in one of those little miscellaneous shops—­news, sweets, toys, stationery, belated Christmas tomfoolery, and so forth—­an array of masks and noses.  I realised that problem was solved.  In a flash I saw my course.  I turned about, no longer aimless, and went—­circuitously in order to avoid the busy ways, towards the back streets north of the Strand; for I remembered, though not very distinctly where, that some theatrical costumiers had shops in that district.

“The day was cold, with a nipping wind down the northward running streets.  I walked fast to avoid being overtaken.  Every crossing was a danger, every passenger a thing to watch alertly.  One man as I was about to pass him at the top of Bedford Street, turned upon me abruptly and came into me, sending me into the road and almost under the wheel of a passing hansom.  The verdict of the cab-rank was that he had had some sort of stroke.  I was so unnerved by this encounter that I went into Covent Garden Market and sat down for some time in a quiet corner by a stall of violets, panting and trembling.  I found I had caught a fresh cold, and had to turn out after a time lest my sneezes should attract attention.

“At last I reached the object of my quest, a dirty, fly-blown little shop in a by-way near Drury Lane, with a window full of tinsel robes, sham jewels, wigs, slippers, dominoes and theatrical photographs.  The shop was old-fashioned and low and dark, and the house rose above it for four storeys, dark and dismal.  I peered through the window and, seeing no one within, entered.  The opening of the door set a clanking bell ringing.  I left it open, and walked round a bare costume stand, into a corner behind a cheval glass.  For a minute or so no one came.  Then I heard heavy feet striding across a room, and a man appeared down the shop.