‘Use!’ cried Haddo passionately.  ’What do you think would be man’s sensations when he had solved the great mystery of existence, when he saw living before him the substance which was dead?  These homunculi were seen by historical persons, by Count Max Lemberg, by Count Franz-Josef von Thun, and by many others.  I have no doubt that they were actually generated.  But with our modern appliances, with our greater skill, what might it not be possible to do now if we had the courage?  There are chemists toiling away in their laboratories to create the primitive protoplasm from matter which is dead, the organic from the inorganic.  I have studied their experiments.  I know all that they know.  Why shouldn’t one work on a larger scale, joining to the knowledge of the old adepts the scientific discovery of the moderns?  I don’t know what would be the result.  It might be very strange and very wonderful.  Sometimes my mind is verily haunted by the desire to see a lifeless substance move under my spells, by the desire to be as God.’

He gave a low weird laugh, half cruel, half voluptuous.  It made Margaret shudder with sudden fright.  He had thrown himself down in the chair, and he sat in complete shadow.  By a singular effect his eyes appeared blood-red, and they stared into space, strangely parallel, with an intensity that was terrifying.  Arthur started a little and gave him a searching glance.  The laugh and that uncanny glance, the unaccountable emotion, were extraordinarily significant.  The whole thing was explained if Oliver Haddo was mad.

There was an uncomfortable silence.  Haddo’s words were out of tune with the rest of the conversation.  Dr Porhoet had spoken of magical things with a sceptical irony that gave a certain humour to the subject, and Susie was resolutely flippant.  But Haddo’s vehemence put these incredulous people out of countenance.  Dr Porhoet got up to go.  He shook hands with Susie and with Margaret.  Arthur opened the door for him.  The kindly scholar looked round for Margaret’s terrier...

‘I must bid my farewells to your little dog.’

He had been so quiet that they had forgotten his presence.

‘Come here, Copper,’ said Margaret.

The dog slowly slunk up to them, and with a terrified expression crouched at Margaret’s feet.

‘What on earth’s the matter with you?’ she asked.

‘He’s frightened of me,’ said Haddo, with that harsh laugh of his, which gave such an unpleasant impression.

‘Nonsense!’

Dr Porhoet bent down, stroked the dog’s back, and shook its paw.  Margaret lifted it up and set it on a table.

‘Now, be good,’ she said, with lifted finger.

Dr Porhoet with a smile went out, and Arthur shut the door behind him.  Suddenly, as though evil had entered into it, the terrier sprang at Oliver Haddo and fixed its teeth in his hand.  Haddo uttered a cry, and, shaking it off, gave it a savage kick.  The dog rolled over with a loud bark that was almost a scream of pain, and lay still for a moment as if it were desperately hurt.  Margaret cried out with horror and indignation.  A fierce rage on a sudden seized Arthur so that he scarcely knew what he was about.  The wretched brute’s suffering, Margaret’s terror, his own instinctive hatred of the man, were joined together in frenzied passion.