“That alters the case a little, Mr. Prendick,” he said, with a trifle
more respect in his manner. “As it happens, we are biologists here.
This is a biological station—of a sort.” His eye rested on the men in
white who were busily hauling the puma, on rollers, towards the walled
yard. “I and Montgomery, at least,” he added. Then, “When you will be
able to get away, I can’t say. We’re off the track to anywhere. We see
a ship once in a twelve-month or so.”
He left me abruptly, and went up the beach past this group, and I think
entered the enclosure. The other two men were with Montgomery, erecting
a pile of smaller packages on a low-wheeled truck. The llama was still
on the launch with the rabbit hutches; the staghounds were still lashed
to the thwarts. The pile of things completed, all three men laid hold
of the truck and began shoving the ton-weight or so upon it after the
puma. Presently Montgomery left them, and coming back to me held out
his hand.
“I’m glad,” said he, “for my own part. That captain was a silly ass.
He’d have made things lively for you.”
“It was you,” said I, “that saved me again.”
“That depends. You’ll find this island an infernally rum place, I
promise you. I’d watch my goings carefully, if I were you. _He_—” He
hesitated, and seemed to alter his mind about what was on his lips. “I
wish you’d help me with these rabbits,” he said.
His procedure with the rabbits was singular. I waded in with him, and
helped him lug one of the hutches ashore. No sooner was that done than
he opened the door of it, and tilting the thing on one end turned its
living contents out on the ground. They fell in a struggling heap one
on the top of the other. He clapped his hands, and forthwith they went
off with that hopping run of theirs, fifteen or twenty of them I should
think, up the beach.
“Increase and multiply, my friends,” said Montgomery. “Replenish the
island. Hitherto we’ve had a certain lack of meat here.”
As I watched them disappearing, the white-haired man returned with a
brandy-flask and some biscuits. “Something to go on with, Prendick,”
said he, in a far more familiar tone than before. I made no ado, but
set to work on the biscuits at once, while the white-haired man helped
Montgomery to release about a score more of the rabbits. Three big
hutches, however, went up to the house with the puma. The brandy I did
not touch, for I have been an abstainer from my birth.
VII.
THE LOCKED DOOR.
The reader will perhaps understand that at first everything was so
strange about me, and my position was the outcome of such unexpected
adventures, that I had no discernment of the relative strangeness of
this or that thing. I followed the llama up the beach, and was
overtaken by Montgomery, who asked me not to enter the stone enclosure.
I noticed then that the puma in its cage and the pile of packages had
been placed outside the entrance to this quadrangle.
I turned and saw that the launch had now been unloaded, run out again,
and was being beached, and the white-haired man was walking towards us.
He addressed Montgomery.
“And now comes the problem of this uninvited guest. What are we to do
with him?”
“He knows something of science,” said Montgomery.
“I’m itching to get to work again—with this new stuff,” said the
white-haired man, nodding towards the enclosure. His eyes grew
brighter.
“I daresay you are,” said Montgomery, in anything but a cordial tone.
“We can’t send him over there, and we can’t spare the time to build him
a new shanty; and we certainly can’t take him into our confidence just
yet.”
“I’m in your hands,” said I. I had no idea of what he meant by “over
there.”
“I’ve been thinking of the same things,” Montgomery answered. “There’s
my room with the outer door—”
“That’s it,” said the elder man, promptly, looking at Montgomery; and
all three of us went towards the enclosure. “I’m sorry to make a
mystery, Mr. Prendick; but you’ll remember you’re uninvited. Our little
establishment here contains a secret or so, is a kind of Blue-Beard’s
chamber, in fact. Nothing very dreadful, really, to a sane man; but
just now, as we don’t know you—”
“Decidedly,” said I, “I should be a fool to take offence at any want of
confidence.”
He twisted his heavy mouth into a faint smile—he was one of those
saturnine people who smile with the corners of the mouth down,—and
bowed his acknowledgment of my complaisance. The main entrance to the
enclosure was passed; it was a heavy wooden gate, framed in iron and
locked, with the cargo of the launch piled outside it, and at the
corner we came to a small doorway I had not previously observed. The
white-haired man produced a bundle of keys from the pocket of his
greasy blue jacket, opened this door, and entered. His keys, and the
elaborate locking-up of the place even while it was still under his
eye, struck me as peculiar. I followed him, and found myself in a small
apartment, plainly but not uncomfortably furnished and with its inner
door, which was slightly ajar, opening into a paved courtyard. This
inner door Montgomery at once closed. A hammock was slung across the
darker corner of the room, and a small unglazed window defended by an
iron bar looked out towards the sea.
This the white-haired man told me was to be my apartment; and the inner
door, which “for fear of accidents,” he said, he would lock on the
other side, was my limit inward. He called my attention to a convenient
deck-chair before the window, and to an array of old books, chiefly, I
found, surgical works and editions of the Latin and Greek classics
(languages I cannot read with any comfort), on a shelf near the
hammock. He left the room by the outer door, as if to avoid opening the
inner one again.
“We usually have our meals in here,” said Montgomery, and then, as if
in doubt, went out after the other. “Moreau!” I heard him call, and for
the moment I do not think I noticed. Then as I handled the books on the
shelf it came up in consciousness: Where had I heard the name of Moreau
before? I sat down before the window, took out the biscuits that still
remained to me, and ate them with an excellent appetite. Moreau!
Through the window I saw one of those unaccountable men in white,
lugging a packing-case along the beach. Presently the window-frame hid
him. Then I heard a key inserted and turned in the lock behind me.
After a little while I heard through the locked door the noise of the
staghounds, that had now been brought up from the beach. They were not
barking, but sniffing and growling in a curious fashion. I could hear
the rapid patter of their feet, and Montgomery’s voice soothing them.
I was very much impressed by the elaborate secrecy of these two men
regarding the contents of the place, and for some time I was thinking
of that and of the unaccountable familiarity of the name of Moreau; but
so odd is the human memory that I could not then recall that well-known
name in its proper connection. From that my thoughts went to the
indefinable queerness of the deformed man on the beach. I never saw
such a gait, such odd motions as he pulled at the box. I recalled that
none of these men had spoken to me, though most of them I had found
looking at me at one time or another in a peculiarly furtive manner,
quite unlike the frank stare of your unsophisticated savage. Indeed,
they had all seemed remarkably taciturn, and when they did speak,
endowed with very uncanny voices. What was wrong with them? Then I
recalled the eyes of Montgomery’s ungainly attendant.
Just as I was thinking of him he came in. He was now dressed in white,
and carried a little tray with some coffee and boiled vegetables
thereon. I could hardly repress a shuddering recoil as he came, bending
amiably, and placed the tray before me on the table. Then astonishment
paralysed me. Under his stringy black locks I saw his ear; it jumped
upon me suddenly close to my face. The man had pointed ears, covered
with a fine brown fur!
“Your breakfast, sair,” he said.
I stared at his face without attempting to answer him. He turned and
went towards the door, regarding me oddly over his shoulder. I followed
him out with my eyes; and as I did so, by some odd trick of unconscious
cerebration, there came surging into my head the phrase, “The Moreau
Hollows”—was it? “The Moreau—” Ah! It sent my memory back ten years.
“The Moreau Horrors!” The phrase drifted loose in my mind for a moment,
and then I saw it in red lettering on a little buff-coloured pamphlet,
to read which made one shiver and creep. Then I remembered distinctly
all about it. That long-forgotten pamphlet came back with startling
vividness to my mind. I had been a mere lad then, and Moreau was, I
suppose, about fifty,—a prominent and masterful physiologist,
well-known in scientific circles for his extraordinary imagination and
his brutal directness in discussion.
Was this the same Moreau? He had published some very astonishing facts
in connection with the transfusion of blood, and in addition was known
to be doing valuable work on morbid growths. Then suddenly his career
was closed. He had to leave England. A journalist obtained access to
his laboratory in the capacity of laboratory-assistant, with the
deliberate intention of making sensational exposures; and by the help
of a shocking accident (if it was an accident), his gruesome pamphlet
became notorious. On the day of its publication a wretched dog, flayed
and otherwise mutilated, escaped from Moreau’s house. It was in the
silly season, and a prominent editor, a cousin of the temporary
laboratory-assistant, appealed to the conscience of the nation. It was
not the first time that conscience has turned against the methods of
research. The doctor was simply howled out of the country. It may be
that he deserved to be; but I still think that the tepid support of his
fellow-investigators and his desertion by the great body of scientific
workers was a shameful thing. Yet some of his experiments, by the
journalist’s account, were wantonly cruel. He might perhaps have
purchased his social peace by abandoning his investigations; but he
apparently preferred the latter, as most men would who have once fallen
under the overmastering spell of research. He was unmarried, and had
indeed nothing but his own interest to consider.
I felt convinced that this must be the same man. Everything pointed to
it. It dawned upon me to what end the puma and the other animals—which
had now been brought with other luggage into the enclosure behind the
house—were destined; and a curious faint odour, the halitus of
something familiar, an odour that had been in the background of my
consciousness hitherto, suddenly came forward into the forefront of my
thoughts. It was the antiseptic odour of the dissecting-room. I heard
the puma growling through the wall, and one of the dogs yelped as
though it had been struck.
Yet surely, and especially to another scientific man, there was nothing
so horrible in vivisection as to account for this secrecy; and by some
odd leap in my thoughts the pointed ears and luminous eyes of
Montgomery’s attendant came back again before me with the sharpest
definition. I stared before me out at the green sea, frothing under a
freshening breeze, and let these and other strange memories of the last
few days chase one another through my mind.
What could it all mean? A locked enclosure on a lonely island, a
notorious vivisector, and these crippled and distorted men?
VIII.
THE CRYING OF THE PUMA.
Montgomery interrupted my tangle of mystification and suspicion about
one o’clock, and his grotesque attendant followed him with a tray
bearing bread, some herbs and other eatables, a flask of whiskey, a jug
of water, and three glasses and knives. I glanced askance at this
strange creature, and found him watching me with his queer, restless
eyes. Montgomery said he would lunch with me, but that Moreau was too
preoccupied with some work to come.
“Moreau!” said I. “I know that name.”
“The devil you do!” said he. “What an ass I was to mention it to you! I
might have thought. Anyhow, it will give you an inkling of
our—mysteries. Whiskey?”
“No, thanks; I’m an abstainer.”
“I wish I’d been. But it’s no use locking the door after the steed is
stolen. It was that infernal stuff which led to my coming here,—that,
and a foggy night. I thought myself in luck at the time, when Moreau
offered to get me off. It’s queer—”
“Montgomery,” said I, suddenly, as the outer door closed, “why has your
man pointed ears?”
“Damn!” he said, over his first mouthful of food. He stared at me for a
moment, and then repeated, “Pointed ears?”
“Little points to them,” said I, as calmly as possible, with a catch in
my breath; “and a fine black fur at the edges?”
He helped himself to whiskey and water with great deliberation. “I was
under the impression—that his hair covered his ears.”
“I saw them as he stooped by me to put that coffee you sent to me on
the table. And his eyes shine in the dark.”
By this time Montgomery had recovered from the surprise of my question.
“I always thought,” he said deliberately, with a certain accentuation
of his flavouring of lisp, “that there _was_ something the matter with
his ears, from the way he covered them. What were they like?”
I was persuaded from his manner that this ignorance was a pretence.
Still, I could hardly tell the man that I thought him a liar.
“Pointed,” I said; “rather small and furry,—distinctly furry. But the
whole man is one of the strangest beings I ever set eyes on.”
A sharp, hoarse cry of animal pain came from the enclosure behind us.
Its depth and volume testified to the puma. I saw Montgomery wince.
“Yes?” he said.
“Where did you pick up the creature?”
“San Francisco. He’s an ugly brute, I admit. Half-witted, you know.
Can’t remember where he came from. But I’m used to him, you know. We
both are. How does he strike you?”
“He’s unnatural,” I said. “There’s something about him—don’t think me
fanciful, but it gives me a nasty little sensation, a tightening of my
muscles, when he comes near me. It’s a touch—of the diabolical, in
fact.”
Montgomery had stopped eating while I told him this. “Rum!” he said.
“_I_ can’t see it.” He resumed his meal. “I had no idea of it,” he
said, and masticated. “The crew of the schooner must have felt it the
same. Made a dead set at the poor devil. You saw the captain?”
Suddenly the puma howled again, this time more painfully. Montgomery
swore under his breath. I had half a mind to attack him about the men
on the beach. Then the poor brute within gave vent to a series of
short, sharp cries.
“Your men on the beach,” said I; “what race are they?”
“Excellent fellows, aren’t they?” said he, absentmindedly, knitting his
brows as the animal yelled out sharply.
I said no more. There was another outcry worse than the former. He
looked at me with his dull grey eyes, and then took some more whiskey.
He tried to draw me into a discussion about alcohol, professing to have
saved my life with it. He seemed anxious to lay stress on the fact that
I owed my life to him. I answered him distractedly.
Presently our meal came to an end; the misshapen monster with the
pointed ears cleared the remains away, and Montgomery left me alone in
the room again. All the time he had been in a state of ill-concealed
irritation at the noise of the vivisected puma. He had spoken of his
odd want of nerve, and left me to the obvious application.
I found myself that the cries were singularly irritating, and they grew
in depth and intensity as the afternoon wore on. They were painful at
first, but their constant resurgence at last altogether upset my
balance. I flung aside a crib of Horace I had been reading, and began
to clench my fists, to bite my lips, and to pace the room. Presently I
got to stopping my ears with my fingers.
The emotional appeal of those yells grew upon me steadily, grew at last
to such an exquisite expression of suffering that I could stand it in
that confined room no longer. I stepped out of the door into the
slumberous heat of the late afternoon, and walking past the main
entrance—locked again, I noticed—turned the corner of the wall.
The crying sounded even louder out of doors. It was as if all the pain
in the world had found a voice. Yet had I known such pain was in the
next room, and had it been dumb, I believe—I have thought since—I could
have stood it well enough. It is when suffering finds a voice and sets
our nerves quivering that this pity comes troubling us. But in spite of
the brilliant sunlight and the green fans of the trees waving in the
soothing sea-breeze, the world was a confusion, blurred with drifting
black and red phantasms, until I was out of earshot of the house in the
chequered wall.
IX.
THE THING IN THE FOREST.
I strode through the undergrowth that clothed the ridge behind the
house, scarcely heeding whither I went; passed on through the shadow of
a thick cluster of straight-stemmed trees beyond it, and so presently
found myself some way on the other side of the ridge, and descending
towards a streamlet that ran through a narrow valley. I paused and
listened. The distance I had come, or the intervening masses of
thicket, deadened any sound that might be coming from the enclosure.
The air was still. Then with a rustle a rabbit emerged, and went
scampering up the slope before me. I hesitated, and sat down in the
edge of the shade.
The place was a pleasant one. The rivulet was hidden by the luxuriant
vegetation of the banks save at one point, where I caught a triangular
patch of its glittering water. On the farther side I saw through a
bluish haze a tangle of trees and creepers, and above these again the
luminous blue of the sky. Here and there a splash of white or crimson
marked the blooming of some trailing epiphyte. I let my eyes wander
over this scene for a while, and then began to turn over in my mind
again the strange peculiarities of Montgomery’s man. But it was too hot
to think elaborately, and presently I fell into a tranquil state midway
between dozing and waking.
From this I was aroused, after I know not how long, by a rustling
amidst the greenery on the other side of the stream. For a moment I
could see nothing but the waving summits of the ferns and reeds. Then
suddenly upon the bank of the stream appeared something—at first I
could not distinguish what it was. It bowed its round head to the
water, and began to drink. Then I saw it was a man, going on all-fours
like a beast. He was clothed in bluish cloth, and was of a
copper-coloured hue, with black hair. It seemed that grotesque ugliness
was an invariable character of these islanders. I could hear the suck
of the water at his lips as he drank.
I leant forward to see him better, and a piece of lava, detached by my
hand, went pattering down the slope. He looked up guiltily, and his
eyes met mine. Forthwith he scrambled to his feet, and stood wiping his
clumsy hand across his mouth and regarding me. His legs were scarcely
half the length of his body. So, staring one another out of
countenance, we remained for perhaps the space of a minute. Then,
stopping to look back once or twice, he slunk off among the bushes to
the right of me, and I heard the swish of the fronds grow faint in the
distance and die away. Long after he had disappeared, I remained
sitting up staring in the direction of his retreat. My drowsy
tranquillity had gone.
I was startled by a noise behind me, and turning suddenly saw the
flapping white tail of a rabbit vanishing up the slope. I jumped to my
feet. The apparition of this grotesque, half-bestial creature had
suddenly populated the stillness of the afternoon for me. I looked
around me rather nervously, and regretted that I was unarmed. Then I
thought that the man I had just seen had been clothed in bluish cloth,
had not been naked as a savage would have been; and I tried to persuade
myself from that fact that he was after all probably a peaceful
character, that the dull ferocity of his countenance belied him.
Yet I was greatly disturbed at the apparition. I walked to the left
along the slope, turning my head about and peering this way and that
among the straight stems of the trees. Why should a man go on all-fours
and drink with his lips? Presently I heard an animal wailing again, and
taking it to be the puma, I turned about and walked in a direction
diametrically opposite to the sound. This led me down to the stream,
across which I stepped and pushed my way up through the undergrowth
beyond.
I was startled by a great patch of vivid scarlet on the ground, and
going up to it found it to be a peculiar fungus, branched and
corrugated like a foliaceous lichen, but deliquescing into slime at the
touch; and then in the shadow of some luxuriant ferns I came upon an
unpleasant thing,—the dead body of a rabbit covered with shining flies,
but still warm and with the head torn off. I stopped aghast at the
sight of the scattered blood. Here at least was one visitor to the
island disposed of! There were no traces of other violence about it. It
looked as though it had been suddenly snatched up and killed; and as I
stared at the little furry body came the difficulty of how the thing
had been done. The vague dread that had been in my mind since I had
seen the inhuman face of the man at the stream grew distincter as I
stood there. I began to realise the hardihood of my expedition among
these unknown people. The thicket about me became altered to my
imagination. Every shadow became something more than a shadow,—became
an ambush; every rustle became a threat. Invisible things seemed
watching me. I resolved to go back to the enclosure on the beach. I
suddenly turned away and thrust myself violently, possibly even
frantically, through the bushes, anxious to get a clear space about me
again.