The whole country-side must begin hunting and keep hunting.
I tell you, Adye, he is a danger, a disaster; unless he is pinned and secured, it is frightful to think of the things that may happen."
"What else can we do?" said Adye.
"I must go down at once and begin organising.
But why not come? Yes—you come too!
Come, and we must hold a sort of council of war—get Hopps to help—and the railway managers.
By Jove! it's urgent. Come along—tell me as we go.
What else is there we can do?
Put that stuff down."
In another moment Adye was leading the way downstairs.
They found the front door open and the policemen standing outside staring at empty air.
"He's got away, sir," said one.
"We must go to the central station at once," said Adye.
"One of you go on down and get a cab to come up and meet us—quickly.
And now, Kemp, what else?"
"Dogs," said Kemp.
"Get dogs.
They don't see him, but they wind him.
Get dogs."
"Good," said Adye.
"It's not generally known, but the prison officials over at Halstead know a man with bloodhounds.
Dogs.
What else?"
"Bear in mind," said Kemp, "his food shows.
After eating, his food shows until it is assimilated.
So that he has to hide after eating.
You must keep on beating. Every thicket, every quiet corner.
And put all weapons—all implements that might be weapons, away.
He can't carry such things for long.
And what he can snatch up and strike men with must be hidden away."
"Good again," said Adye.
"We shall have him yet!"
"And on the roads," said Kemp, and hesitated.
"Yes?" said Adye.
"Powdered glass," said Kemp.
"It's cruel, I know. But think of what he may do!"
Adye drew the air in sharply between his teeth.
"It's unsportsmanlike. I don't know.
But I'll have powdered glass got ready. If he goes too far… ."
"The man's become inhuman, I tell you," said Kemp.
"I am as sure he will establish a reign of terror—so soon as he has got over the emotions of this escape—as I am sure I am talking to you.
Our only chance is to be ahead.
He has cut himself off from his kind.
His blood be upon his own head."
Chapter 26 The Wicksteed Murder
The Invisible Man seems to have rushed out of Kemp's house in a state of blind fury.
A little child playing near Kemp's gateway was violently caught up and thrown aside, so that its ankle was broken, and thereafter for some hours the Invisible Man passed out of human perceptions.
No one knows where he went nor what he did.
But one can imagine him hurrying through the hot June forenoon, up the hill and on to the open downland behind Port Burdock, raging and despairing at his intolerable fate, and sheltering at last, heated and weary, amid the thickets of Hintondean, to piece together again his shattered schemes against his species.
That seems to most probable refuge for him, for there it was he re-asserted himself in a grimly tragical manner about two in the afternoon.