“‘Challenger，乔治·爱德华。生于：苏格兰北部拉格斯，1863年。教育：拉格斯学院；爱丁堡大学。大英博物馆助理，1892年。比较人类学部助理馆长，1893年。同年因激烈书信往来后辞职。获克雷斯顿动物学研究奖章。外国会员’——嗯，好些头衔，约两英寸小字——‘比利时学会、美国科学院、拉普拉塔等等，等等。古生物学会前主席。英国协会 H 组’——如此这般！‘著作：《关于一系列卡尔梅克人颅骨的观察》；《脊椎动物进化纲要》；及众多论文，包括《魏斯曼主义根本谬误》，该文在维也纳动物学大会引发激烈争论。爱好：散步、阿尔卑斯登山。地址：肯辛顿恩莫尔公园，W。’
半小时后，我坐在报社办公室，面前摊开一本巨册，翻到《魏斯曼对达尔文》一文，副标题是“维也纳的激烈抗议。热闹的会议”。我科学素养有些欠缺，没法跟住全部论证，但显然这位英国教授处理课题时极富攻击性，把大陆同行彻底惹恼了。“抗议”“骚动”“向主席 general 申诉”是我最先撞进眼里的三个括号词。大部分内容就算写成中文，对我脑子来说也差不多的没明确意思。
——“重读您在维也纳那篇大师级的演说。那清晰而卓越的陈述，似乎已是此事上的定论。然而其中有一句——即：‘我强烈抗议那种不可忍受、全然独断的断言：每一个单独的 id 都是微宇宙，拥有经世代系列缓慢雕琢出的历史架构。’鉴于晚近研究，您难道无意修改此言？您不觉得它强调过度了吗？若蒙允准，我想求一次访谈，因我对此感触颇深，且有些设想只能在面谈中展开。如您同意，我盼能于后天（周三）上午十一点拜谒。
I always liked McArdle, the crabbed, old, round-backed, red-headed news
editor, and I rather hoped that he liked me. Of course, Beaumont was
the real boss; but he lived in the rarefied atmosphere of some Olympian
height from which he could distinguish nothing smaller than an
international crisis or a split in the Cabinet. Sometimes we saw him
passing in lonely majesty to his inner sanctum, with his eyes staring
vaguely and his mind hovering over the Balkans or the Persian Gulf. He
was above and beyond us. But McArdle was his first lieutenant, and it
was he that we knew. The old man nodded as I entered the room, and he
pushed his spectacles far up on his bald forehead.
"Well, Mr. Malone, from all I hear, you seem to be doing very well,"
said he in his kindly Scotch accent.
I thanked him.
"The colliery explosion was excellent. So was the Southwark fire. You
have the true descreeptive touch. What did you want to see me about?"
"To ask a favor."
He looked alarmed, and his eyes shunned mine. "Tut, tut! What is it?"
"Do you think, Sir, that you could possibly send me on some mission for
the paper? I would do my best to put it through and get you some good
copy."
"What sort of meesion had you in your mind, Mr. Malone?"
"Well, Sir, anything that had adventure and danger in it. I really
would do my very best. The more difficult it was, the better it would
suit me."
"You seem very anxious to lose your life."
"To justify my life, Sir."
"Dear me, Mr. Malone, this is very--very exalted. I'm afraid the day
for this sort of thing is rather past. The expense of the 'special
meesion' business hardly justifies the result, and, of course, in any
case it would only be an experienced man with a name that would command
public confidence who would get such an order. The big blank spaces in
the map are all being filled in, and there's no room for romance
anywhere. Wait a bit, though!" he added, with a sudden smile upon his
face. "Talking of the blank spaces of the map gives me an idea. What
about exposing a fraud--a modern Munchausen--and making him
rideeculous? You could show him up as the liar that he is! Eh, man,
it would be fine. How does it appeal to you?"
"Anything--anywhere--I care nothing."
McArdle was plunged in thought for some minutes.
"I wonder whether you could get on friendly--or at least on talking
terms with the fellow," he said, at last. "You seem to have a sort of
genius for establishing relations with people--seempathy, I suppose, or
animal magnetism, or youthful vitality, or something. I am conscious
of it myself."
"You are very good, sir."
"So why should you not try your luck with Professor Challenger, of
Enmore Park?"
I dare say I looked a little startled.
"Challenger!" I cried. "Professor Challenger, the famous zoologist!
Wasn't he the man who broke the skull of Blundell, of the Telegraph?"
The news editor smiled grimly.
"Do you mind? Didn't you say it was adventures you were after?"
"It is all in the way of business, sir," I answered.
"Exactly. I don't suppose he can always be so violent as that. I'm
thinking that Blundell got him at the wrong moment, maybe, or in the
wrong fashion. You may have better luck, or more tact in handling him.
There's something in your line there, I am sure, and the Gazette should
work it."
"I really know nothing about him," said I. "I only remember his name
in connection with the police-court proceedings, for striking Blundell."
"I have a few notes for your guidance, Mr. Malone. I've had my eye on
the Professor for some little time." He took a paper from a drawer.
"Here is a summary of his record. I give it you briefly:--
"'Challenger, George Edward. Born: Largs, N. B., 1863. Educ.: Largs
Academy; Edinburgh University. British Museum Assistant, 1892.
Assistant-Keeper of Comparative Anthropology Department, 1893.
Resigned after acrimonious correspondence same year. Winner of
Crayston Medal for Zoological Research. Foreign Member of'--well,
quite a lot of things, about two inches of small type--'Societe Belge,
American Academy of Sciences, La Plata, etc., etc. Ex-President
Palaeontological Society. Section H, British Association'--so on, so
on!--'Publications: "Some Observations Upon a Series of Kalmuck
Skulls"; "Outlines of Vertebrate Evolution"; and numerous papers,
including "The underlying fallacy of Weissmannism," which caused heated
discussion at the Zoological Congress of Vienna. Recreations: Walking,
Alpine climbing. Address: Enmore Park, Kensington, W.'
"There, take it with you. I've nothing more for you to-night."
I pocketed the slip of paper.
"One moment, sir," I said, as I realized that it was a pink bald head,
and not a red face, which was fronting me. "I am not very clear yet
why I am to interview this gentleman. What has he done?"
The face flashed back again.
"Went to South America on a solitary expedeetion two years ago. Came
back last year. Had undoubtedly been to South America, but refused to
say exactly where. Began to tell his adventures in a vague way, but
somebody started to pick holes, and he just shut up like an oyster.
Something wonderful happened--or the man's a champion liar, which is
the more probable supposeetion. Had some damaged photographs, said to
be fakes. Got so touchy that he assaults anyone who asks questions,
and heaves reporters down the stairs. In my opinion he's just a
homicidal megalomaniac with a turn for science. That's your man, Mr.
Malone. Now, off you run, and see what you can make of him. You're
big enough to look after yourself. Anyway, you are all safe.
Employers' Liability Act, you know."
A grinning red face turned once more into a pink oval, fringed with
gingery fluff; the interview was at an end.
I walked across to the Savage Club, but instead of turning into it I
leaned upon the railings of Adelphi Terrace and gazed thoughtfully for
a long time at the brown, oily river. I can always think most sanely
and clearly in the open air. I took out the list of Professor
Challenger's exploits, and I read it over under the electric lamp.
Then I had what I can only regard as an inspiration. As a Pressman, I
felt sure from what I had been told that I could never hope to get into
touch with this cantankerous Professor. But these recriminations,
twice mentioned in his skeleton biography, could only mean that he was
a fanatic in science. Was there not an exposed margin there upon which
he might be accessible? I would try.
I entered the club. It was just after eleven, and the big room was
fairly full, though the rush had not yet set in. I noticed a tall,
thin, angular man seated in an arm-chair by the fire. He turned as I
drew my chair up to him. It was the man of all others whom I should
have chosen--Tarp Henry, of the staff of Nature, a thin, dry, leathery
creature, who was full, to those who knew him, of kindly humanity. I
plunged instantly into my subject.
"What do you know of Professor Challenger?"
"Challenger?" He gathered his brows in scientific disapproval.
"Challenger was the man who came with some cock-and-bull story from
South America."
"What story?"
"Oh, it was rank nonsense about some queer animals he had discovered.
I believe he has retracted since. Anyhow, he has suppressed it all.
He gave an interview to Reuter's, and there was such a howl that he saw
it wouldn't do. It was a discreditable business. There were one or
two folk who were inclined to take him seriously, but he soon choked
them off."
"How?"
"Well, by his insufferable rudeness and impossible behavior. There was
poor old Wadley, of the Zoological Institute. Wadley sent a message:
'The President of the Zoological Institute presents his compliments to
Professor Challenger, and would take it as a personal favor if he would
do them the honor to come to their next meeting.' The answer was
unprintable."
"You don't say?"
"Well, a bowdlerized version of it would run: 'Professor Challenger
presents his compliments to the President of the Zoological Institute,
and would take it as a personal favor if he would go to the devil.'"
"Good Lord!"
"Yes, I expect that's what old Wadley said. I remember his wail at the
meeting, which began: 'In fifty years experience of scientific
intercourse----' It quite broke the old man up."
"Anything more about Challenger?"
"Well, I'm a bacteriologist, you know. I live in a
nine-hundred-diameter microscope. I can hardly claim to take serious
notice of anything that I can see with my naked eye. I'm a
frontiersman from the extreme edge of the Knowable, and I feel quite
out of place when I leave my study and come into touch with all you
great, rough, hulking creatures. I'm too detached to talk scandal, and
yet at scientific conversaziones I HAVE heard something of Challenger,
for he is one of those men whom nobody can ignore. He's as clever as
they make 'em--a full-charged battery of force and vitality, but a
quarrelsome, ill-conditioned faddist, and unscrupulous at that. He had
gone the length of faking some photographs over the South American
business."
"You say he is a faddist. What is his particular fad?"
"He has a thousand, but the latest is something about Weissmann and
Evolution. He had a fearful row about it in Vienna, I believe."
"Can't you tell me the point?"
"Not at the moment, but a translation of the proceedings exists. We
have it filed at the office. Would you care to come?"
"It's just what I want. I have to interview the fellow, and I need
some lead up to him. It's really awfully good of you to give me a
lift. I'll go with you now, if it is not too late."
Half an hour later I was seated in the newspaper office with a huge
tome in front of me, which had been opened at the article "Weissmann
versus Darwin," with the sub heading, "Spirited Protest at Vienna.
Lively Proceedings." My scientific education having been somewhat
neglected, I was unable to follow the whole argument, but it was
evident that the English Professor had handled his subject in a very
aggressive fashion, and had thoroughly annoyed his Continental
colleagues. "Protests," "Uproar," and "General appeal to the Chairman"
were three of the first brackets which caught my eye. Most of the
matter might have been written in Chinese for any definite meaning that
it conveyed to my brain.
"I wish you could translate it into English for me," I said,
pathetically, to my help-mate.
"Well, it is a translation."
"Then I'd better try my luck with the original."
"It is certainly rather deep for a layman."
"If I could only get a single good, meaty sentence which seemed to
convey some sort of definite human idea, it would serve my turn. Ah,
yes, this one will do. I seem in a vague way almost to understand it.
I'll copy it out. This shall be my link with the terrible Professor."
"Nothing else I can do?"
"Well, yes; I propose to write to him. If I could frame the letter
here, and use your address it would give atmosphere."
"We'll have the fellow round here making a row and breaking the
furniture."
"No, no; you'll see the letter--nothing contentious, I assure you."
"Well, that's my chair and desk. You'll find paper there. I'd like to
censor it before it goes."
It took some doing, but I flatter myself that it wasn't such a bad job
when it was finished. I read it aloud to the critical bacteriologist
with some pride in my handiwork.
"DEAR PROFESSOR CHALLENGER," it said, "As a humble student of Nature, I
have always taken the most profound interest in your speculations as to
the differences between Darwin and Weissmann. I have recently had
occasion to refresh my memory by re-reading----"
"You infernal liar!" murmured Tarp Henry.
--"by re-reading your masterly address at Vienna. That lucid and
admirable statement seems to be the last word in the matter. There is
one sentence in it, however--namely: 'I protest strongly against the
insufferable and entirely dogmatic assertion that each separate id is a
microcosm possessed of an historical architecture elaborated slowly
through the series of generations.' Have you no desire, in view of
later research, to modify this statement? Do you not think that it is
over-accentuated? With your permission, I would ask the favor of an
interview, as I feel strongly upon the subject, and have certain
suggestions which I could only elaborate in a personal conversation.
With your consent, I trust to have the honor of calling at eleven
o'clock the day after to-morrow (Wednesday) morning.
"I remain, Sir, with assurances of profound respect, yours very truly,
EDWARD D. MALONE."
"How's that?" I asked, triumphantly.
"Well if your conscience can stand it----"
"It has never failed me yet."
"But what do you mean to do?"
"To get there. Once I am in his room I may see some opening. I may
even go the length of open confession. If he is a sportsman he will be
tickled."
"Tickled, indeed! He's much more likely to do the tickling. Chain
mail, or an American football suit--that's what you'll want. Well,
good-bye. I'll have the answer for you here on Wednesday morning--if
he ever deigns to answer you. He is a violent, dangerous, cantankerous
character, hated by everyone who comes across him, and the butt of the
students, so far as they dare take a liberty with him. Perhaps it
would be best for you if you never heard from the fellow at all."
