“Prendick,” said Montgomery, turning his dull eyes to me. “He’s dead, evidently.”
I had been standing behind him during this colloquy. I began to see how things lay with them. I suddenly stepped in front of Montgomery and lifted up my voice:—“Children of the law,” I said, “he is not dead!” M’ling turned his sharp eyes on me. “He has changed his shape; he has changed his body,” I went on. “For a time you will not see him. He is—there,” I pointed upward, “where he can watch you. You cannot see him, but he can see you. Fear the law!”
I looked at them squarely. They flinched.
“He is great, he is good,” said the ape-man, peering fearfully upward among the dense trees.
“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.”