Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Seven 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 lama up the beach and
(00:23):
was overtaken by Montgomery, who asked me not to enter
the stone enclosure. I noticed then that the puma, in
its cage in 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
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walking towards us. He addressed Montgomery, and now comes the
problem of this uninvited guest. What are we to do
with him? He knowed something of ganth, said Montgomery. I'm
itching to get to work again with this new stuff,
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said the white haired man, nodding towards the enclosure. His
eyes grew brighter. Ay dare say 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
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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
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elder man, promptly, looking at Montgomery, and all three of
us went towards the enclosure. I'm sorry to make a mystery,
mister Prendick, but you'll remember you're uninvited. Our little establishment
here contains a secret or so, and is kind of
a bluebeard's chamber. In fact, nothing very dreadful, really to
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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 whose smile with the corners of the
mouth down and bowed his acknowledgment of my complaisance. The
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main entrance to the enclosure was past. 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
the door and entered his keys. And the elaborate locking
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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.
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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
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my attention to a convenient deck chair before the window,
and to an array of old books. Chiefly I found
surgical works and additions 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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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 I recalled that
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none of these men had spoken to me, though most
of them I had found looking at me 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
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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
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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 paralyzed me.
Under his stringy black locks. I saw his ear it
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jumped upon me suddenly close to my face. The man
had pointed ears covered with a fine brown fur Your breakfast, sir,
he said. I stared at his face, without attempting to
answer him. He turned and went towards the door, regarding
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me yardly 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 Moreau? Ah? It
sent my memory back ten years, the Moreau horrors. The
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phrase drifted loose in my mind for a moment, and
then I saw it in read lettering on a little
buff colored 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
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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
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published some very astonishing facts in connection with the transfusion
of blood and an 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
(09:00):
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.
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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
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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,
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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.
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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 odor, the halitus of something familiar, an
odor that had been in the background of my consciousness hitherto,
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suddenly came forward into the forefront of my thoughts. It
was the antiseptic odor 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,
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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
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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,