Mounted policemen rode along the country lanes, stopping at every cottage and warning the people to lock up their houses, and keep indoors unless they were armed, and all the elementary schools had broken up by three o’clock, and the children, scared and keeping together in groups, were hurrying home.  Kemp’s proclamation—­signed indeed by Adye—­was posted over almost the whole district by four or five o’clock in the afternoon.  It gave briefly but clearly all the conditions of the struggle, the necessity of keeping the Invisible Man from food and sleep, the necessity for incessant watchfulness and for a prompt attention to any evidence of his movements.  And so swift and decided was the action of the authorities, so prompt and universal was the belief in this strange being, that before nightfall an area of several hundred square miles was in a stringent state of siege.  And before nightfall, too, a thrill of horror went through the whole watching nervous countryside.  Going from whispering mouth to mouth, swift and certain over the length and breadth of the country, passed the story of the murder of Mr. Wicksteed.

If our supposition that the Invisible Man’s refuge was the Hintondean thickets, then we must suppose that in the early afternoon he sallied out again bent upon some project that involved the use of a weapon.  We cannot know what the project was, but the evidence that he had the iron rod in hand before he met Wicksteed is to me at least overwhelming.

Of course we can know nothing of the details of that encounter.  It occurred on the edge of a gravel pit, not two hundred yards from Lord Burdock’s lodge gate.  Everything points to a desperate struggle—­the trampled ground, the numerous wounds Mr. Wicksteed received, his splintered walking-stick; but why the attack was made, save in a murderous frenzy, it is impossible to imagine.  Indeed the theory of madness is almost unavoidable.  Mr. Wicksteed was a man of forty-five or forty-six, steward to Lord Burdock, of inoffensive habits and appearance, the very last person in the world to provoke such a terrible antagonist.  Against him it would seem the Invisible Man used an iron rod dragged from a broken piece of fence.  He stopped this quiet man, going quietly home to his midday meal, attacked him, beat down his feeble defences, broke his arm, felled him, and smashed his head to a jelly.

Of course, he must have dragged this rod out of the fencing before he met his victim—­he must have been carrying it ready in his hand.  Only two details beyond what has already been stated seem to bear on the matter.  One is the circumstance that the gravel pit was not in Mr. Wicksteed’s direct path home, but nearly a couple of hundred yards out of his way.  The other is the assertion of a little girl to the effect that, going to her afternoon school, she saw the murdered man “trotting” in a peculiar manner across a field towards the gravel pit.  Her pantomime of his action suggests a man pursuing something on the ground before him and striking at it ever and again with his walking-stick.  She was the last person to see him alive.  He passed out of her sight to his death, the struggle being hidden from her only by a clump of beech trees and a slight depression in the ground.