The fright and horror faded from the Indian’s face, for now he glared with hate into the mad, mocking eyes.
“You did it!” the Indian ground out. “You’ve made me into a thing from which Aña will run screaming.”
Through the quiet rage of the perfectly spoken English ran a thread of sorrow. “Aimu, whom we considered too holy to name!”
Choking, he hobbled away to the door, which he unbolted. As he passed out into the open, Sir Basil went over to the machine and began sighting the projector which cast forth the ray of destruction.
“No!” cried Hale. “You’ve done enough murder for to-day.”
The scientist paused. “I was trying to be merciful. And then, I wonder if it is safe to let him go, hating me? Oh, well!” He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I seldom leave the laboratory, and certainly nothing can harm me here.” He touched the death-projector significantly.
Hale made a mental decision. “I must find out how the damned thing works and put it out of commission.”
With this determination uppermost in his mind, he assumed a more intense interest in the strange laboratory. For the next two days, he assisted Sir Basil so assiduously that he learned much about the operation of the life-machine. And gradually he stopped being horrified as the fascination of producing life in the laboratory grew upon him.