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“I'll give you the report just as we had it,” I told him, and pro­ceeded to do so. When I reached a descrip­tion of the turtle-like creatures he looked some­what relieved.

“Oh, so that's what happened to them,” he said.

“Ah!” cried Alfred, his voice going up into a squeak with excite­ment. “So you admit it! You admit that you are respon­sible for those two unhappy creatures!”

Dixon looked at him, wonder­ingly.

“I was responsible for them — but I didn't know they were un­happy: how did you?”

Alfred disregarded the question.

“That's what we want,” he squeaked. “He admits that he—”

“Alfred,” I told him coldly. “Do be quiet, and stop dancing about. Let me get on with it.”

I got on with it for a few more sen­ten­ces, but Alfred was build­ing up too much pressure to hold. He cut right in:

“Where — where did you get the arms? Just tell me where they came from?” he deman­ded, with deadly meaning.

“Your friend seems a little over — er, a little dramatic,” remarked Doctor Dixon.

“Look, Alfred,” I said severely, “just let me get finished, will you? You can intro­duce your note of ghoulery later on.”

When I ended, it was with an excuse that seemed neces­sary. I said to Dixon: “I'm sorry to intrude on you with all this, but you see how we stand. When supported alle­ga­tions are laid before us, we have no choice but to investi­gate. Obviously this is some­thing quite out of the usual run, but I'm sure you'll be able to clear it up satis­fac­torily for us. And now, Alfred,” I added, turning to him, “I believe you have a ques­tion or two to ask, but do try to remem­ber that our host's name is Dixon, and not Moreau.”

Alfred leapt, as from a slipped leash.

“What I want to know is the mean­ing, the reason and the method of these out­rages against nature. I demand to be told by what right this man con­siders him­self justi­fied in turning normal creatures into un­natural mock­eries of natural forms.”

Doctor Dixon nodded gently.

“A com­pre­hen­sive in­quiry — though not too com­pre­hen­sibly ex­pressed,” he said. “I deplore the loose, recurrent use of the word ‘nature’ — and would point out that the word ‘unnatural’ is a vulga­rism which does not even make sense. Obviously, if a thing has been done at all it was in some­one's nature to do it, and in the nature of the mate­rial to accept what­ever was done. One can act only with­in the limits of one's nature: that is an axiom.”

“A lot of hair­split­ting isn't going to —” began Alfred, but Dixon conti­nued smoothly:

“Nevertheless, I think I under­stand you to mean that my nature has prompted me to use certain mate­rial in a manner which your pre­judices do not approve. Would that be right?”

“There may be lots of ways of put­ting it, but I call it vivi­sect­ion — vivisection!” said Alfred, relish­ing the word like a good curse. “You may have a licence. But there have been things going on here that will require a very con­vin­cing expla­na­tion indeed to stop us taking the matter to the police.'

Doctor Dixon nodded.

“I rather thought you might have some such idea: and I'd prefer you did not. Before long, the whole thing will be an­nounced by me, and become public know­ledge. Mean­while, I want at least two, possibly three, months to get my findings ready for publi­ca­tion. When I have explained, I think you will under­stand my posi­tion better.”

He paused, thought­fully eyeing Alfred who did not look like a man intend­ing to under­stand any­thing. He went on:

“The crux of this is that I have not, as you are sus­pect­ing, either grafted, or re­adjust­ed, nor in any way dis­tort­ed living forms. I have built them.”

For a moment, neither of us grasped the signifi­cance of that — though Alfred thought he had it.

“Ha! You can quibble,” he said, “but there had to be a basis. You must have had some kind of living ani­mal to start with — and one which you wickedly muti­lated to pro­duce these horrors.”

But Dixon shook his head.

“No, I mean what I said. I have built — and then I have induced a kind of life into what I have built.”

We gaped. I said, uncert­ainly: “Are you really claim­ing that you can create a living creature?”

“Pooh!” he said. “Of course I can, so can you. Even Alfred here can do that, with the help of a female of the spe­cies. What I am telling you is that I can ani­mate the inert because I have found how to induce the — or, at any rate, a — life-force.”

The lengthy pause that followed that was broken at last by Alfred.

“I don't believe it,” he said, loudly. “It isn't possi­ble that you, here in this one-eyed village, should have solved the mystery of life. You're just trying to hoax us because you're afraid of what we shall do.”

Dixon smiled calmly.

“I said that I had found a life-force. There may be dozens of other kinds for all I know. I can under­stand that it's diffi­cult for you to believe; but, after all, why not? Some­one was bound to find one of them some­where sooner or later. What's more sur­pris­ing to me is that this one wasn't discov­ered before.”

But Alfred was not to be soothed.

“I don't believe it,” he repeated. “Nor will any­body else unless you produce proofs — if you can.”

“Of course,” agreed Dixon. “Who would take it on trust? Though I'm afraid that when you examine my present speci­mens you may find the con­struc­tion a little crude at first. Your friend, Nature, puts in such a lot of un­neces­sary work that can be simpli­fied out.”

“Of course, in the matter of arms, that seems to worry you so much, if I could have obtained real arms imme­diately after the death of the owner I might have been able to use them — I'm not sure whether it wouldn't have been more trouble though. However, such things are not usually handy, and the building of simpli­fied parts is not really difficult — a mixture of engi­neer­ing, chemis­try and common sense. Indeed, it has been quite possible for some time, but with­out the means of ani­ma­ting them it was scarcely worth doing. One day they may be made finely enough to replace a lost limb, but a very compli­cated tech­nique will have to be evolved before that can be done.”

“As for your suspicion that my speci­mens suffer, Mr. Weston, I assure you that they are coddled — they have cost me a great deal of money and work. And, in any case, it would be diffi­cult for you to prose­cute me for cruelty to an animal hitherto un­heard of, with habits un­known.”

“I am not con­vinced,” said Alfred, stoutly.

The poor fellow was, I think, too upset by the threat to his theory for the true magni­tude of Dixon's claim to reach him.

“Then, perhaps a demon­stra­tion...?” Dixon suggested. “If you will follow me...”

Bill's peeping exploit had prepared us for the sight of the steel-barred cages in the labo­ra­tory, but not for many of the other things we found there — one of them was the smell.

Doctor Dixon apolo­gized as we choked and gasped:

“I forgot to warn you about the pre­serva­tives.”

“It's reassuring to know that that's all they are,” I said, between coughs.

The room must have been getting on for a hundred feet in length, and about thirty high. Bill had certainly seen precious little through his chink in the curtain, and I stared in amaze­ment at the quan­tities of appa­ratus gathered there. There was a rough divi­sion into sect­ions: chemis­try in one corner, bench and lathes in another, elec­tri­cal appa­ra­tus grouped at one end and so on. In one of several bays stood an opera­ting table, with cases of instru­ments to hand;