The Invisible Man
Classic Father Brown mystery adapted for audio.
- A MARRIAGE PROPOSAL: LONDON, DECEMBER 12, 1911, 5 P.M
In the cool blue of twilight, the confectioner’s on the corner of two steep streets in Camden Town glowed like the butt of a cigar, or, perhaps, a firework, as the light danced on the cakes, chocolates and sweetmeats.
Boys stood with their noses pressed to the glass. Behind them, a tall, burly, red-haired young man twenty-four, was also staring at the window display. He had a resolute face but a listless manner and carried under his arm a portfolio of black-and- white sketches. His name was John Turnbull Angus.
Entering at last, he walked through the confectioner’s shop to a sort of pastry-cook restaurant merely at the back. An elegant young lady was serving there, an alert girl dressed in black, with very quick, dark eyes.
His order was his usual one. “I want, please,” he said with precision, “one halpenny bun and a small cup of black coffee.” An instant before the girl could turn away he added, “Also, I want you to marry me.”
The young lady of the shop stiffened suddenly. “That’s something I don’t joke about,” she said.
“I am very serious, Laura,” said the red haired young man.
The young lady was studying him very carefully. The shadow of her faint smile faded. “Mr Angus,” she said. “I need to tell you something about myself.”
“That would be delightful,” said Angus. “Tell me something about myself, too.”
“You need to just listen,” she said firmly. “It’s nothing I’m ashamed or even very sorry about. But it has become my nightmare. I will tell you the story.”
2. LAURA’S STORY
My father owned The Red Fish at Ludbury — a run-down pub in a sleepy little village in East Anglia. I used to serve in the bar, but apart from the occasional commercial traveller, only local lads drank there. These awful young men, overdressed in terrible clothes, had nothing to do but hang around our pub and bet on horses.
Two stood out as wealthier than the others. Each had a sort of deformity. Nothing serious but the sort of thing that some locals laugh at. I felt a little sorry for them.Their names were Isidore Smythe and James Welkin.
Smythe was tiny, almost a dwarf, and had bright eyes like a bird. He wore a very fancy overcoat, an oversized gold watch-chain and a top hat.
The little man could do clever tricks for our entertainment. Once he made fifteen matches set fire to each other. Another time, he made a doll out of a banana.
The other fellow was thin and almost handsome — but for a terrible squint in his left eye. This disfigurement seemed to make James Welkin angry with the world.
Poor little Smythe was sensitive about his height. But he was happy to do his silly tricks for anyone. Welkin, though, was solitary. He spoke to nobody and went for very long walks in the fields around The Red Fish .
I could not take either of them seriously. So I was startled — and very sorry — when both men offered to marry me in the same week. It was then I did something I’ve since thought was perhaps a silly thing.
Not wanting to hurt their feelings I invented a silly story. “I cannot marry a man who has inherited his wealth,” I told them. “Only someone who has made his own way in the world.”
I thought that was the end of the matter. But two days later I heard that both men were leaving the village. They were going to London to seek their fortunes, like they were in some silly fairytale.
This happened a year ago. And I have not seen either of them since. But I have had two letters from Smythe.
“The first letter said that Smythe had started out walking with Welkin to London. They didn’t get on and separated when the little man stopped to take a rest by the roadside.”
Laura laughed but quickly became serious again. “His second letter only came last week. I suppose you seen the advertisements for Smythe’s Silent Service? It’s some clockwork invention for doing all the housework with these life-size clockwork dolls.”
“Yes, they are everywhere. Smythe invented those?”
She nodded. “The very same little fellow from Ludbury! And now I am in terror that he’s going to come and find me. He sent me another marriage proposal this week.”
“And you haven’t heard from Welkin?”
“No, he has not written to me,” said the girl, after an instant’s hesitation. “But I am very frightened.”
“Of Smythe? Why, just tell him — “
“No, not Smythe,” she said quickly. “It’s the other man.”
Angus was confused. “But didn’t you say Welkin has not written to you.”
She nodded. “He hasn’t. But I have heard his voice. “
3. A voice from the past
“I was opening the cafe one morning when I heard James Welkin’s laugh. It was as clear as your voice is now. I can’t explain it.” Shuddering at the memory, Laura continued. “I went out and looked up and down the street. There was nobody there. When I came back and there was letter from Smythe on the mat.”
“From Smythe? Did you see him?”
“No, I’m sure he wasn’t there,” said Laura, shaking her head. “Welkin is a man nobody notices but I would recognise the little man anywhere.
“What did you do?”
“I started reading Smythe’s letter, about all his success with the silly dolls. That was then I heard Welkin’s voice again, saying He won’t have you though!”
After a short silence, Laura continued. “I felt like Welkin was standing right there, looking over shoulder. I think I may be going mad.
Now Angus looked distressed. “Please don’t let it upset you,’ he said. “I’m sure there’s an explanation.”
Suddenly there was loud noise from the street. A small car stopped suddenly outside the cafe. A little man in a tiny top jumped out of the driver’s seat.
Laura retreated back into the cafe as Angus rushed to the entrance. For a moment the two men looked at each other.
“Has Miss Hope seen that thing on the window?”
“On the window?” repeated the staring Angus. He knew instinctively that this was the little man, Isidore Smythe.
“There’s no time to explain,” said the tiny millionaire, pointing his polished walking stick at the window. “Look at this.”
A tatty piece of paper had been stuck to the glass. On it were the words: IF YOU MARRY SMYTHE, HE WILL DIE.
“I recognise the handwriting,” said Smythe. “It’s from a fellow called Welkin. I haven’t seen for over a year. I know he’s been following me. Five times in the last fortnight I have come home to threatening letters left at my flat.”
“This message wasn’t here when I came in, about twenty minutes ago,” said Angus. “We need to find him. He can’t be far away.”
“But we don’t know in which direction he went. Where we would start looking?”
“I don’t know,” said Angus. “But perhaps my friend Father Brown could help us. He lives near here — in Lucknow Mansions in Hampstead.”
“That is odd,” said the little man, raising his very black eyebrows. “I live in Himalaya Mansions round the corner. Come on, I’ll drive us there.”
3. Himalaya Mansion, Hampstead
Smythe drove fast and soon they were soon racing up Hampstead Hill. On one corner, there was a man selling chestnuts. In the distance Angus could see a blue policeman walking slowly down the empty suburban street.
Smythe jumped out. “Has anyone been up to my apartment or asking for me,” he asked
The commissionaire, in his shiny uniform and peaked cap said, “Nobody has been into the building, sir.”
The two young men took the lift to the top floor. Then Smythe pressed a button concealed in the wall of his flat. The door opened itself.
Angus followed Smythe into a long hall. On both sides there were rows of tall half-human mechanical figures. They were headless like mannequins.
Between the rows of mannequins there was a scrap of paper. On it was a message in red ink. If you have seen her today, I shall kill you.
There was a short silence. Then Angus said, “I’ll go and get Father Brown.”
“Yes, I’ll stay here and get the letters to shown him,” said Smythe.
As Angus closed the front door behind him, he saw one of the clockwork mannequins move smoothly across the floor.
“Please look out for anyone entering the building,” said Angus to the commissionaire as he hurried away. He repeated the message to the chestnut seller and the policeman.
Father Brown listened carefully to Angus’ story. Half way through the priest raised his hand. “Please tell me the rest on the way to Mr Smythe’s,” he said. “I fear we may have little time to lose.” As they walked out into the street, Father Brown looked down at the pavement
“How quick the snow gets thick on the ground,” he said.
“Nobody has been in or out since you left, sir,” said the commissionaire confidently when Angus and Father Brown arrived back at the Himalaya Mansion. “I have been here the whole time.”
The chestnut seller and the policeman both confirmed that nobody had entered or left in the twenty-five minutes Angus had been away.
Father Brown said nothing. He was quietly looking down at the steps leading into the building.
“Has anyone walked here since the snow began to fall?”
“Nobody, sir,” said the commissionaire “I swear to you.”
“Then I wonder what that is?” said the priest, pointing his umbrella at grey footprints on the white snow.
Angus cried out, “The Invisible Man!”
Without another word, he ran up the stairs. Father Brown continued to investigate the snow.
The door to Smythe’s flat was open. Only the very last of sunset lit the hall but Angus could see the shapes of clockwork dolls on both sides. Their red and green coats were covered in dust. One or two were headless.
The scrap of paper was not there. In its place was a pool of blood.
Rushing through the flat, Angus, searched every corner and cupboard. Isidore Smythe was not there, dead or alive. Only his life-sized dolls filled these dim rooms.
Had the dolls killed their master? If so, what had they done with him Shuddering at the thought, Angus rushed down to where Father Brown was standing with the hotel commissionaire.
“Smythe is dead!” he cried. “There is blood but no body!”
“That’s not possible, sir,” said the commissionaire. “I have been standing here-”
“Where’s the policeman?” demanded Angus.
“I have sent him down the road to investigate something,” said Father Brown calmly.
“Why here he comes now!” cried the commissionaire.
The policeman was running towards Father Brown. “You were right, Father!” he said breathlessly. “They’ve just found poor Mr Smythe’s body in Regent’s Canal.”
Shaking his head in confusion, Angus put his hand said, “I don’t understand. Did he run down and drown himself?”
“He never came down,” said the policeman. “I was watching the building the whole time. And he wasn’t drowned either.”
“Then how-?”
“He was stabbed in the heart,” said the policeman. “And his dead body was pushed into the canal.”
5. AN INVISIBLE MAN?
“Tell me, did you find a brown sack near the body?”
“Yes, we did, Father. But there was no knife in it.”
“The knife will be in the canal,” said Father Brown. “But the sack is the key to this case”
“I don’t understand,” said Angus. “Was Smythe killed by an invisible man?”
Tapping his umbrella in the thin snow, Father Brown said, “Four honest men say they did not see anyone enter or leave Himalaya Mansions. But someone did enter and leave the building. Our honest men simply looked through him and past him.”
“So you are saying this was an invisible man?”
“Not physically invisible,” said Father Brown. “That only happens in fairy tales. But a person nobody noticed. It was the same when Laura was reading the letter. The postman was there in plain sight, invisible to her.”
“You mean Welkin delivered the letter to Laura?”
“Yes,” said the priest. “But he was dressed in a uniform so she didn’t notice him. Today, wearing that same uniform, Welkin walked into Himalaya Mansions.”
“But how did get the body out. Nobody left the building.”
“Except a postman. A postman carrying a dead body in his large brown sack.”
Father Brown suddenly took three steps forward. He put his hand on the shoulder of a passing postman.
“Nobody ever notices postmen,” he said thoughtfully.
The postman fell against the garden fence. When he turned his face, it revealed squint that had frightened Laura back in Ludbury.
John Turnbull Angus returned to the cafe in Camden Town, planning to propose once again to Laura. Father Brown walked under the stars for many hours with a murderer.
What they said to each other will never be known.
THE END
The Invisible Man was first published in The Innocence of Father Brown (1911). The complete original text is freely accessible from Project Gutenberg here. Pdf & epub versions of my adapted version free to download here. A playlist of the audio clips is available here.
