muscles, when he comes near me. It's a touch… of the diabolical, in fact."
Montgomery had stopped eating while I told him this. "Rum," he said. "I can't see it."
He resumed his meal. "I had no idea of it," he said, and masticated. "The crew of the schooner… must have felt it the same.… Made a dead set at the poor devil.… You saw the captain?"
Suddenly the puma howled again, this time more painfully. Montgomery swore under his breath. I had half a mind to attack him about the men on the beach. Then the poor brute within gave vent to a series of short, sharp screams.
"Your men on the beach," said I; "what race are they?"
"Excellent fellows, aren't they?" said he absent-mindedly, knitting his brows as the animal yelled. I said no more. There was another outcry worse than the former. He looked at me with his dull grey eyes, and then took some more whisky. He tried to draw me into a discussion about alcohol, professing to have saved my life with it. He seemed anxious to lay stress on the fact that I owed my life to him. I answered him distractedly. Presently our meal came to an end, the misshapen monster with the pointed ears cleared away, and Montgomery left me alone in the room again. All the time he was in a state of ill-concealed irritation at the noise of the vivisected puma. He spoke of his odd want of nerve, and left me to the obvious application.
I found myself that the cries were singularly irritating, and they grew in depth and intensity as the
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