It was a nearer view of the same scene, though the photograph wasextremely defective. I could distinctly see the isolated, tree-crownedpinnacle of rock which was detached from the crag.
"I have no doubt of it at all," said I.
"Well, that is something gained," said he. "We progress, do we not?Now, will you please look at the top of that rocky pinnacle? Do youobserve something there?"
"An enormous tree."
"But on the tree?"
"A large bird," said I.
He handed me a lens.
"Yes," I said, peering through it, "a large bird stands on the tree.It appears to have a considerable beak. I should say it was a pelican."
"I cannot congratulate you upon your eyesight," said the Professor."It is not a pelican, nor, indeed, is it a bird. It may interest youto know that I succeeded in shooting that particular specimen. It wasthe only absolute proof of my experiences which I was able to bringaway with me."
"You have it, then?" Here at last was tangible corroboration.
"I had it. It was unfortunately lost with so much else in the sameboat accident which ruined my photographs. I clutched at it as itdisappeared in the swirl of the rapids, and part of its wing was leftin my hand. I was insensible when washed ashore, but the miserableremnant of my superb specimen was still intact; I now lay it beforeyou."
From a drawer he produced what seemed to me to be the upper portion ofthe wing of a large bat. It was at least two feet in length, a curvedbone, with a membranous veil beneath it.
"A monstrous bat!" I suggested.
"Nothing of the sort," said the Professor, severely. "Living, as I do,in an educated and scientific atmosphere, I could not have conceivedthat the first principles of zoology were so little known. Is itpossible that you do not know the elementary fact in comparativeanatomy, that the wing of a bird is really the forearm, while the wingof a bat consists of three elongated fingers with membranes between?Now, in this case, the bone is certainly not the forearm, and you cansee for yourself that this is a single membrane hanging upon a singlebone, and therefore that it cannot belong to a bat. But if it isneither bird nor bat, what is it?"
My small stock of knowledge was exhausted.
"I really do not know," said I.
He opened the standard work to which he had already referred me.
"Here," said he, pointing to the picture of an extraordinary flyingmonster, "is an excellent reproduction of the dimorphodon, orpterodactyl, a flying reptile of the Jurassic period. On the next pageis a diagram of the mechanism of its wing. Kindly compare it with thespecimen in your hand."
A wave of amazement passed over me as I looked. I was convinced.There could be no getting away from it. The cumulative proof wasoverwhelming. The sketch, the photographs, the narrative, and now theactual specimen--the evidence was complete. I said so--I said sowarmly, for I felt that the Professor was an ill-used man. He leanedback in his chair with drooping eyelids and a tolerant smile, baskingin this sudden gleam of sunshine.
"It's just the very biggest thing that I ever heard of!" said I, thoughit was my journalistic rather than my scientific enthusiasm that wasroused. "It is colossal. You are a Columbus of science who hasdiscovered a lost world. I'm awfully sorry if I seemed to doubt you.It was all so unthinkable. But I understand evidence when I see it,and this should be good enough
for anyone."
The Professor purred with satisfaction.
"And then, sir, what did you do next?"
"It was the wet season, Mr. Malone, and my stores were exhausted. Iexplored some portion of this huge cliff, but I was unable to find anyway to scale it. The pyramidal rock upon which I saw and shot thepterodactyl was more accessible. Being something of a cragsman, I didmanage to get half way to the top of that. From that height I had abetter idea of the plateau upon the top of the crags. It appeared tobe very large; neither to east nor to west could I see any end to thevista of green-capped cliffs. Below, it is a swampy, jungly region,full of snakes, insects, and fever. It is a natural protection to thissingular country."
"Did you see any other trace of life?"
"No, sir, I did not; but during the week that we lay encamped at thebase of the cliff we heard some very strange noises from above."
"But the creature that the American drew? How do you account for that?"
"We can only suppose that he must have made his way to the summit andseen it there. We know, therefore, that there is a way up. We knowequally that it must be a very difficult one, otherwise the creatureswould have come down and overrun the surrounding country. Surely thatis clear?"
"But how did they come to be there?"
"I do not think that the problem is a very obscure one," said theProfessor; "there can only be one explanation. South America is, asyou may have heard, a granite continent. At this single point in theinterior there has been, in some far distant age, a great, suddenvolcanic upheaval. These cliffs, I may remark, are basaltic, andtherefore plutonic. An area, as large perhaps as Sussex, has beenlifted up en bloc with all its living contents, and cut off byperpendicular precipices of a hardness which defies erosion from allthe rest of the continent. What is the result? Why, the ordinary lawsof Nature are suspended. The various checks which influence thestruggle for existence in the world at large are all neutralized oraltered. Creatures survive which would otherwise disappear. You willobserve that both the pterodactyl and the stegosaurus are Jurassic, andtherefore of a great age in the order of life. They have beenartificially conserved by those strange accidental conditions."