The Finding of Moreau.
“And the other Thing?” I demanded.
“The Thing that bled, and ran screaming and sobbing,—that is dead too,” said the grey Thing, still regarding me.
“That‘s well,” grunted Montgomery.
“The Other with the Whip—” began the grey Thing.
“Well?” said I.
“Said he was dead.”
But Montgomery was still sober enough to understand my motive in denying Moreau‘s death. “He is not dead,” he said slowly, “not dead at all. No more dead than I am.”
“Some,” said I, “have broken the Law: they will die. Some have died. Show us now where his old body lies,—the body he cast away because he had no more need of it.”
“It is this way, Man who walked in the Sea,” said the grey Thing.
And with these six creatures guiding us, we went through the tumult of ferns and creepers and tree-stems towards the northwest. Then came a yelling, a crashing among the branches, and a little pink homunculus rushed by us
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