Mr. Marvel, turning, saw a flint jerk up into the air, trace a

complicated path, hang for a moment, and then fling at his feet

with almost invisible rapidity. He was too amazed to dodge. Whizz

it came, and ricochetted from a bare toe into the ditch. Mr. Thomas

Marvel jumped a foot and howled aloud. Then he started to run,

tripped over an unseen obstacle, and came head over heels into a

sitting position.

"Now," said the Voice, as a third stone curved upward and hung in

the air above the tramp. "Am I imagination?"

Mr. Marvel by way of reply struggled to his feet, and was

immediately rolled over again. He lay quiet for a moment. "If you

struggle any more," said the Voice, "I shall throw the flint at

your head."

"It's a fair do," said Mr. Thomas Marvel, sitting up, taking his

wounded toe in hand and fixing his eye on the third missile. "I

don't 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

The Invisible Man