understand it. Stones flinging themselves. Stones talking. Put yourself down. Rot away. I’m done.”
The third flint fell.
“It’s very simple,” said the voice. “I’m an invisible man.”
“Tell us something I don’t know,” said Mr. Marvel, gasping with pain. “Where you’ve hid—how you do it—I don’t know. I’m beat.”
“That’s all,” said the Voice. “I’m invisible. That’s what I want you to understand.”
“Anyone could see that. There is no need for you to be so confounded impatient, mister. Now then. Give us a notion. How are you hid?”
“I’m invisible. That’s the great point. And what I want you to understand is this—”
“But whereabouts?” interrupted Mr. Marvel.
“Here! Six yards in front of you.”
“Oh, come ! I ain’t blind. You’ll be telling me next you’re just thin air. I’m not one of your ignorant tramps—”
“Yes, I am—thin air. You’re looking through me.”
“What! Ain’t there any stuff to you. Vox et —what is it?—jabber. Is it that?”
“I am just a human being—solid, needing food and drink, needing covering too—But I’m invisible. You see? Invisible. Simple idea. Invisible.”
“What, real like?”