And then things happened very swiftly.  Kemp hesitated for a second and then moved to intercept him.  The Invisible Man started and stood still.  “Traitor!” cried the Voice, and suddenly the dressing-gown opened, and sitting down the Unseen began to disrobe.  Kemp made three swift steps to the door, and forthwith the Invisible Man—­his legs had vanished—­sprang to his feet with a shout.  Kemp flung the door open.

As it opened, there came a sound of hurrying feet downstairs and voices.

With a quick movement Kemp thrust the Invisible Man back, sprang aside, and slammed the door.  The key was outside and ready.  In another moment Griffin would have been alone in the belvedere study, a prisoner.  Save for one little thing.  The key had been slipped in hastily that morning.  As Kemp slammed the door it fell noisily upon the carpet.

Kemp’s face became white.  He tried to grip the door handle with both hands.  For a moment he stood lugging.  Then the door gave six inches.  But he got it closed again.  The second time it was jerked a foot wide, and the dressing-gown came wedging itself into the opening.  His throat was gripped by invisible fingers, and he left his hold on the handle to defend himself.  He was forced back, tripped and pitched heavily into the corner of the landing.  The empty dressing-gown was flung on the top of him.

Halfway up the staircase was Colonel Adye, the recipient of Kemp’s letter, the chief of the Burdock police.  He was staring aghast at the sudden appearance of Kemp, followed by the extraordinary sight of clothing tossing empty in the air.  He saw Kemp felled, and struggling to his feet.  He saw him rush forward, and go down again, felled like an ox.

Then suddenly he was struck violently.  By nothing!  A vast weight, it seemed, leapt upon him, and he was hurled headlong down the staircase, with a grip on his throat and a knee in his groin.  An invisible foot trod on his back, a ghostly patter passed downstairs, he heard the two police officers in the hall shout and run, and the front door of the house slammed violently.

He rolled over and sat up staring.  He saw, staggering down the staircase, Kemp, dusty and disheveled, one side of his face white from a blow, his lip bleeding, and a pink dressing-gown and some underclothing held in his arms.

“My God!” cried Kemp, “the game’s up!  He’s gone!”

CHAPTER XXV

THE HUNTING OF THE INVISIBLE MAN

For a space Kemp was too inarticulate to make Adye understand the swift things that had just happened.  They stood on the landing, Kemp speaking swiftly, the grotesque swathings of Griffin still on his arm.  But presently Adye began to grasp something of the situation.

“He is mad,” said Kemp; “inhuman.  He is pure selfishness.  He thinks of nothing but his own advantage, his own safety.  I have listened to such a story this morning of brutal self-seeking....  He has wounded men.  He will kill them unless we can prevent him.  He will create a panic.  Nothing can stop him.  He is going out now—­furious!”