“Quite reasonable,” said the invisible man. “Perfectly reasonable.”

He reached over and secured the whiskey bottle. Kemp stared at the devouring dressing gown. A ray of candlelight penetrating a torn patch in the right shoulder, made a triangle of light under the left ribs. “What were the shots?” he asked. “How did the shooting begin?”

“There was a real fool of a man⁠—a sort of confederate of mine⁠—curse him!⁠—who tried to steal my money. Has done so.”

“Is he invisible too?”

“No.”

“Well?”