neck, his back felt a knee, and he was sprawling backward. He drew clumsily and fired absurdly, and in another moment he was struck in the mouth and the revolver wrested from his grip. He made a vain clutch at a slippery limb, tried to struggle up and fell back. “Damn!” said Adye. The voice laughed. “I’d kill you now if it wasn’t the waste of a bullet,” it said. He saw the revolver in midair, six feet off, covering him.
“Well?” said Adye, sitting up.
“Get up,” said the voice.
Adye stood up.
“Attention,” said the voice, and then fiercely, “Don’t try any games. Remember I can see your face if you can’t see mine. You’ve got to go back to the house.”
“He won’t let me in,” said Adye.
“That’s a pity,” said the invisible man. “I’ve got no quarrel with you.”
Adye moistened his lips again. He glanced away from the barrel of the revolver and saw the sea far off very blue and dark under the midday sun, the smooth green down, the white cliff of the head, and the multitudinous town, and suddenly he knew that life was very sweet. His eyes came back to this little metal thing hanging between heaven and earth, six yards away. “What am I to do?” he said sullenly.
“What am I to do?” asked the invisible man. “You will get help. The only thing is for you to go back.”
“I will try. If he lets me in will you promise not to rush the door?”
“I’ve got no quarrel with you,” said the voice.