"Well," Guest answered, intensely enjoying the situation, "I've seen a good many pictures of nasty ugly looking devils and monsters, and I've been in the Weirtz Museum at Brussels, but no artist who ever painted or drew, and no man who ever modelled in wax, ever made such a face as this man's brain makes of you, when he thinks of you!"
Gouldesbrough laughed grimly.
"Poor devil," he said indifferently, "he naturally would. But I'm glad we have got such an excellent brain for experiment. The Pons Varolii must be exceptionally active."
"I should think it was," Guest answered. "You should see the pictures that come on the screen when he is thinking of Marjorie Poole!"
Gouldesbrough started.
"How do you mean?" he said.
"Well," Guest replied, turning off the blue flame of the Bunsen burner, and stirring the mixture in the test-tube with a glass rod—"well, Marjorie Poole's a pretty girl, but when this man calls her up in his memory, she's a sort of angel. You know what a difficulty we had when we got over the Lithium lines in the ash of the muscular tissue of the blood, which had to be translated through the new spectroscope into actual colour upon the screen? Well, we did get over it, but when the subject thinks of Marjorie Poole, the colour all fades out of the picture, the actual primary colours, I mean. The girl flashes out into the dark in white light, like a sort of angel! and the first time I saw it I jumped up from my chair, shut off the connecting switch and turned up the lamps. It was so unlike any of the other pictures we have ever got, and for a moment I thought I had been over-doing it a little in the whisky line."
Gouldesbrough stopped the strange inhuman creature in his unholy amusement.
"Well, I'm going to bed now," he said. "We'll begin work to-morrow. I saw some supper put out for me in the study."
"Right oh," Guest answered. "Good-night then, William. I'm going to take the beef broth and phosphates to our Brain down below in the cell."