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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
Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor 20
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.
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