Chapter 8 Chapter Seven: The Locked Door

The reader may realize how strange all this was at first about me, and that my present situation was the result of a series of unforeseen adventures, of which I could not yet discern the strangeness, Haven't figured it out yet.I followed the llamas onto the sand, and Montgomery caught up with me and begged me not to go into the stone paddock.I noticed at this point that the caged mountain leopard and a pile of goods had been placed in front of the gate of the four-square enclosure. I turned, and saw that the launch had been fully unloaded, rowed out, and dragged ashore.The white-haired man was walking towards us, talking to Montgomery.

"Now it's time to talk about our unexpected visitor. What shall we do with him?" "He knows some science," Montgomery said. "I'm eager to get back to work—to take advantage of these new things," the gray-haired man said, gesturing to the paddock.His eyes lit up more and more. "I daresay you long for that," said Montgomery in a tone that was not at all sincere. "We can't send him yonder, and we don't have time to build him a new hut. And we obviously can't think of him as a confidant just yet." "I'm in your grasp," I said.I have no idea what exactly he meant by "over there".

"I'm thinking about it, too," Montgomery replied. "There's another door outside my room—" "Yes," replied the older man at once, looking at Montgomery.The three of us walked towards the paddock together. "Mr. Prendick, I am sorry to have kept a secret from you--but you must remember that we did not invite you here. Here, in our little place, there is something secret, and we are in fact A blue-bearded secret chamber of some kind. To a sane, sane man, there's nothing to fear. But at present—since we haven't gotten to know you yet—" [① Green bearded man: the alias of the protagonist in an old French story.On a trip, he left the key of the castle to his newly married wife, but forbade her to enter one of the secret rooms.Out of curiosity, his wife opened the door of this room and found the remains of the six ex-wives killed by the green bearded man.After the green-bearded man returned home, he found the blood on the key and knew that his new wife had violated his orders.Just as he was about to behead his new wife, two brothers of his new wife came and killed him.Here Moro (the white-haired man) uses it as a metaphor to imply that no trespassing in the stone enclosure is allowed. 】

"Of course," I said, "unless I'm a fool to be annoyed that you don't trust me enough." He twisted his big mouth into a small smile.He belonged to that kind of gloomy-looking person, the corner of the mouth of this kind of person curled down, it was considered as a smile.He nodded in return for my obedience, which granted his wish.We passed the main gate of the paddock, a heavy iron-rimmed wooden gate, locked, and beyond which the cargo of the launch was piled; In front of the small gate.The white-haired man took a bunch of keys from the pocket of his greasy blue coat, opened the door, and walked in.Though it was under his watch at the time, his large bunch of keys, and the careful attention to detail with which the place was latched and locked, still amazed me.

I followed him in and found I was in a small apartment.The furniture was simple but uncomfortable; there was an inner door, which opened on to the paved courtyard, which was ajar, and Montgomery immediately shut it.In the darker corner of the room hung a hammock; through a small unglazed window, protected by an iron grating, one looked out to sea.The white-haired man told me that this was my room, and as for the inner door, "in case of accident," he said, he would lock it from the other side, and please keep me out, and he pointed to the window A handy desk with chairs, and a row of ancient books on a shelf near the hammock, which I found to be mainly surgical texts and classic editions in Latin and Greek—both languages, neither of which I speak fluently. read carefully.He walked away through the outer door, as if trying to avoid opening the inner door again.

"Usually that's where we eat," Montgomery said.Then, as if he had some doubts, he followed and walked out. "Moreau," I heard him say, and I don't think I noticed it at the time.And when I picked up the book on the shelf, I suddenly realized: I had heard the name "Moro" somewhere before. I sat down by the window, took out the remaining biscuits beside me, and ate them sweetly, "Moro?" Through the window, I saw a strange man in white clothes dragging along the beach a packing box.For a moment the window frame hid him.Then, behind me, I heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock and the lock unlocked.After a while, through the locked inner door, I heard the noise of the deerhounds, which had been brought up from the sand.Instead of barking, the deerhounds snorted in a strange way and growled angrily.I could hear the crackling of their feet and the sound of Montgomery soothing them.

I was so impressed by the careful secrecy with which these two men kept what was hidden here that I pondered it for some time, and the strange familiarity of the name "Moro" mystery of.And how strange is human memory, when I suddenly couldn't recall this well-known great name with proper associations.From here, my thoughts turned to my inexplicable suspicion about the deformed figure on the beach, wrapped in white clothes. When he was hauling boxes, I had never seen such a walking posture, such a strange movement.I recalled that, though I found most of them looked at me from time to time with a furtive look, very different from the frank stare with which you are so familiar with the simple savages, but None of them spoke to me.I don't know, but I'd love to know what they said.They all seemed strangely taciturn, and when they did speak, it was that eerie voice.How did they do it?Then I thought of the eyes of Montgomery's squire.

Just as I was thinking about him, he walked in.At this time, he was wearing a white suit, holding a small tray with coffee and some cooked vegetables on it.I flinched a little as he came in, bowed graciously, and placed the tray on the table in front of me. Then, terribly amazed, I collapsed there.Under his locks of black hair, like ropes, I see his ears!It suddenly flashed before my eyes, next to my face.Under the cover of the soft brown fur, the ears of this man were revealed to be full of spots! "Your breakfast, Mr. West," he said. I stared at his face, not even bothering to answer him.He turned and walked towards the outer door, looking at me oddly with his head tilted.

I watched him leave the house.At this moment, inadvertently, the brain's train of thought played some tricks, and this group of words suddenly popped up in my mind: "Is it Moreau-Hollus?" [① Here, the pronunciation of Xiyi's speech is not accurate, and "Mr." is called "Xisheng". 】 【② The English word here is Horrors, which means "horror".】 "Moreau—?" Ah!It takes my memory back ten years.It was "Moreau-Heroes". The group "The Moreau Horror" ran through my mind for a while, and then I saw a group of words printed in bright red letters on a pale yellow booklet.People will tremble and tremble when they talk about this bright red printing.Then, I remembered all this clearly.This long-forgotten booklet came back to my memory shockingly and vividly.I was only a boy then, and Moreau, I think, was about fifty years old, and in those days Moreau was a brilliant and imperious physiologist, with his extraordinary imagination and his tyrannical deliberations. Frank, known in the scientific community.Could this be the Moreau?He has published some very startling arguments on the subject of blood transfusions.In addition, he was known to have carried out valuable research on the pathological growth of internal sores (such as carcinomas or tumors) in the human body, when his rapid research work came to an abrupt end and he was obliged to leave England.A journalist, through careful arrangements, obtained the opportunity to enter his laboratory as a laboratory assistant, but his purpose was to seek a sensational exposure in the world.By a shocking accident—if it was indeed an accident—his terrible pamphlet became notorious.On the very day this pamphlet was published, a poor dog, skinned and mutilated in other ways, escaped from Moreau's house with broken muscles and bones.

At the time of the news famine between August and September, a distinguished editor who happened to be the cousin of the temporary laboratory assistant appealed to the conscience of the nation.Conscience has adopted a hostile attitude towards research methods. This is not the first time.The doctor was literally shouted out of the country amidst all the yelling and cursing.Perhaps this is what he deserved, but I still think it is a shame that the researchers who worked with him received less than enthusiastic support and that he was rejected by a large number of scientific researchers.However, according to the news reporter's report, some of his experiments were too cruel. In fact, Mo Luoman could give up his research in exchange for social peace, but obviously, he prefers his research, just as he once did. Like most people who were once obsessed with research work.He was unmarried and really had nothing but his own hobbies.

I'm sure this must be the guy.Everything shows it.Gradually I understood the fate of the mountain leopard and other animals that were now being transported with other cargo to the paddock behind the house.A faint strange smell, some familiar stench, a smell that had been present on occasions I could remember so far, suddenly came before my thoughts.It's the smell of antiseptic in the operating room.Through the wall, I heard the cougar howling, and a dog howled as if it had been beaten. Yet it is certain, especially to another scientist, that in vivisection there is never such a horror as is explained in explaining this mystery.By some strange leaps of my mind, the spotted ears and glistening eyes of Montgomery's squire came back to me in unmistakable outline.I looked out and gazed at the blue sea before me, foaming under a refreshing breeze.I let these and other strange memories from the past few days run through my mind, scene after scene, like a movie. What can this mean?On a lonely and desolate island, in a locked paddock, with a notorious vivisect, and these limping, deformed people?