“Let us suppose a monster of the early days of the world—­a dragon of the prime—­of vast age running into thousands of years, to whom had been conveyed in some way—­it matters not—­a brain just sufficient for the beginning of growth.  Suppose the monster to be of incalculable size and of a strength quite abnormal—­a veritable incarnation of animal strength.  Suppose this animal is allowed to remain in one place, thus being removed from accidents of interrupted development; might not, would not this creature, in process of time—­ages, if necessary—­have that rudimentary intelligence developed?  There is no impossibility in this; it is only the natural process of evolution.  In the beginning, the instincts of animals are confined to alimentation, self-protection, and the multiplication of their species.  As time goes on and the needs of life become more complex, power follows need.  We have been long accustomed to consider growth as applied almost exclusively to size in its various aspects.  But Nature, who has no doctrinaire ideas, may equally apply it to concentration.  A developing thing may expand in any given way or form.  Now, it is a scientific law that increase implies gain and loss of various kinds; what a thing gains in one direction it may lose in another.  May it not be that Mother Nature may deliberately encourage decrease as well as increase—­that it may be an axiom that what is gained in concentration is lost in size?  Take, for instance, monsters that tradition has accepted and localised, such as the Worm of Lambton or that of Spindleston Heugh.  If such a creature were, by its own process of metabolism, to change much of its bulk for intellectual growth, we should at once arrive at a new class of creature—­more dangerous, perhaps, than the world has ever had any experience of—­a force which can think, which has no soul and no morals, and therefore no acceptance of responsibility.  A snake would be a good illustration of this, for it is cold-blooded, and therefore removed from the temptations which often weaken or restrict warm-blooded creatures.  If, for instance, the Worm of Lambton—­if such ever existed—­were guided to its own ends by an organised intelligence capable of expansion, what form of creature could we imagine which would equal it in potentialities of evil?  Why, such a being would devastate a whole country.  Now, all these things require much thought, and we want to apply the knowledge usefully, and we should therefore be exact.  Would it not be well to resume the subject later in the day?”

“I quite agree, sir.  I am in a whirl already; and want to attend carefully to what you say; so that I may try to digest it.”

Both men seemed fresher and better for the “easy,” and when they met in the afternoon each of them had something to contribute to the general stock of information.  Adam, who was by nature of a more militant disposition than his elderly friend, was glad to see that the conference at once assumed a practical trend.  Sir Nathaniel recognised this, and, like an old diplomatist, turned it to present use.