scratch. Then very quietly he pulled his sleeve out of his pocket

again, and raised his arm towards me as though he would show it to

me again. He did it very, very slowly. I looked at it. Seemed an

age. 'Well?' said I, clearing my throat, 'there's nothing in it.'

Had to say something. I was beginning to feel frightened. I could

see right down it. He extended it straight towards me, slowly,

slowly--just like that--until the cuff was six inches from my

face. Queer thing to see an empty sleeve come at you like that!

And then--"

Well?"

Something--exactly like a finger and thumb it felt--nipped my

nose."

Bunting began to laugh.

"There wasn't anything there!" said Cuss, his voice running up into

a shriek at the "there." "It's all very well for you to laugh, but

I tell you I was so startled, I hit his cuff hard, and turned

around, and cut out of the room--I left him--"

Cuss stopped. There was no mistaking the sincerity of his panic.

He turned round in a helpless way and took a second glass of the

excellent vicar's very inferior sherry. "When I hit his cuff," said

The Invisible Man