The Lost World

von Arthur Conan Doyle

"Question!"

After my first encounter with Professor Challenger, I was feeling pretty shaken up, both physically and mentally. By the time I arrived back at Enmore Park, I was a demoralized journalist. The only thought pounding in my aching head was that there was truth to this man's story, something of immense importance that could turn into an incredible piece for the Gazette once I got the green light to write about it. A taxi was waiting at the end of the road, so I jumped in and headed straight to the office. McArdle was at his desk, as usual.

"Well," he exclaimed, eyes bright with anticipation, "what's the scoop? You look like you've been through the wringer. Please tell me he didn’t actually hit you."

"We had a bit of a disagreement at first."

"What a character he is! What did you do?"

"Eventually, he calmed down, and we had a conversation. But I didn’t get anything usable for publication."

"I'm not so sure about that. You got a black eye out of him, and that's definitely newsworthy. We can't let this reign of terror continue, Mr. Malone. We need to set him straight. I’ll write a blistering piece about him tomorrow. Just give me the details, and I’ll make sure he’s branded for life. How about 'Professor Munchausen' as a headline? Or 'Sir John Mandeville reborn'—Cagliostro—every fraud and bully in history. I’ll expose him for the charlatan he is."

"I wouldn’t do that, sir."

"Why not?"

"Because he’s not a fraud at all."

"What!" McArdle shouted, clearly taken aback. "You can’t be serious. You really believe his wild tales about mammoths, mastodons, and giant sea serpents?"

"Well, I’m not sure about that. I don’t think he claims anything like that. But I do believe he has something new to share."

"Then for heaven's sake, write it up!"

"I want to, but everything he told me was in confidence and on the condition that I wouldn’t share it." I summarized the Professor’s story in a few sentences. "That’s where we stand."

McArdle looked skeptical.

"Well, Mr. Malone," he finally said, "about the scientific meeting tonight; that’s public knowledge. I doubt any paper will want to cover it since Waldron has been reported on a dozen times already, and no one knows Challenger will be speaking. We might get a scoop if we’re lucky. You’ll be there anyway, so just give us a thorough report. I’ll keep space open until midnight."

My day was packed, and I had an early dinner at the Savage Club with Tarp Henry, sharing some of my experiences. He listened with a skeptical grin on his thin face and burst into laughter when I mentioned that the Professor had convinced me.

"My dear fellow, things like that don’t happen in real life. People don’t just stumble upon huge discoveries and then lose the proof. Leave that to the novelists. The guy is as full of tricks as a monkey at the zoo. It’s all nonsense."

"But what about the American poet?"

"He never existed."

"I saw his sketchbook."

"Challenger's sketchbook."

"You think he drew that creature?"

"Of course he did. Who else could it be?"

"Then what about the photographs?"

"There was nothing in those photos. By your own admission, you only saw a bird."

"A pterodactyl."

"That’s what HE claims. He planted the idea of a pterodactyl in your head."

"Okay, but what about the bones?"

"One was from an Irish stew. The other was faked for the occasion. If you know what you’re doing, you can fake a bone just as easily as you can a photograph."

I started to feel uneasy. Maybe I had jumped to conclusions too quickly. Then a thought struck me.

"Will you come to the meeting?" I asked.

Tarp Henry paused, considering.

"Challenger isn’t exactly a popular guy," he said. "A lot of people have scores to settle with him. I’d say he’s one of the most hated men in London. If the medical students show up, it could turn into a circus. I don’t want to get caught in a brawl."

"You could at least give him a fair chance to present his side."

"Well, maybe that’s only fair. All right. I’ll join you for the evening."

When we arrived at the hall, I was surprised to see a much larger crowd than I had anticipated. A line of electric carriages dropped off their passengers—white-bearded professors—while a steady stream of everyday people flowed through the arched doorway, indicating that the audience would be both popular and scientific.

As soon as we took our seats, it became clear that a youthful, almost boyish energy filled the gallery and the back of the hall. I glanced behind me and saw rows of familiar faces, the typical medical student type. It seemed that the major hospitals had sent their own groups to attend. The audience was in good spirits, but there was a playful mischief in the air. Snippets of popular songs were sung with enthusiasm, creating a strange atmosphere for a scientific lecture, and there was already a hint of playful teasing that promised a lively evening, even if it might embarrass those on the receiving end.

When the well-known Doctor Meldrum appeared on stage, wearing his signature curly-brimmed opera hat, a chorus of playful shouts erupted, asking, "Where did you get that hat?" He quickly took it off and hid it under his chair. When the limping Professor Wadley made his way to his seat, affectionate inquiries about his sore toe rang out from all corners of the hall, clearly making him uncomfortable.

However, the loudest cheer came when my new acquaintance, Professor Challenger, entered to take his place at the far end of the front row. A deafening roar of welcome erupted when his black beard first appeared around the corner, making me suspect that Tarp Henry was right; this gathering was not just for the lecture, but also because word had spread that the famous Professor would be participating.

There was some sympathetic laughter among the well-dressed spectators in the front rows, as if they welcomed the students' exuberance. The noise was overwhelming, like the ruckus of a cage full of wild animals when the keeper approaches. It had an edge to it, perhaps, but overall it felt more like a raucous celebration of someone they found amusing and interesting rather than someone they disliked. Challenger responded with a weary, tolerant smile, as if he were a kind soul dealing with a pack of yapping puppies. He settled into his seat, puffed out his chest, stroked his beard affectionately, and surveyed the crowded hall with half-closed eyelids and a condescending gaze.

Just as the uproar from his entrance began to fade, Professor Ronald Murray, the chairman, and Mr. Waldron, the lecturer, made their way to the front, and the event officially began.

I’m sure Professor Murray would forgive me for saying that he shared the common flaw of many Englishmen: he was nearly inaudible. It’s a mystery why those with something valuable to share often don’t take the time to learn how to project their voices. Their approach is as baffling as trying to pour precious liquid through a sealed pipe that could easily be opened. Professor Murray mumbled several profound comments to his white tie and the water carafe on the table, throwing a humorous glance at the silver candlestick beside him. Then he sat down, and Mr. Waldron, the well-known popular lecturer, stood up to a murmur of applause.

Waldron was a tall, gaunt man with a harsh voice and a confrontational style, but he had the talent of taking complex ideas and making them accessible and even entertaining for the general public. He had a knack for injecting humor into the most unlikely subjects, turning discussions about the precession of the equinox or the formation of vertebrates into engaging and amusing narratives.

From a vantage point that felt almost divine, the lecturer painted a vivid picture of the universe as understood through science. He spoke of the Earth, a massive ball of fiery gas blazing through the cosmos. Then, he described how it cooled and solidified, the mountains forming as the surface wrinkled, and how steam transformed into water, slowly setting the stage for the mysterious drama of life to unfold.

When it came to the origins of life itself, he treaded lightly. He suggested that it was unlikely any life forms could have survived the planet's initial scorching heat. So, life must have emerged later. Did it arise from the cooling, inorganic elements of the Earth? Quite possibly. Or did it arrive from outer space on a meteor? That seemed far-fetched. Overall, he concluded that the wisest thinkers were the least certain about this matter.

Despite our best efforts, we had yet to create organic life from inorganic materials in our labs. The gap between the lifeless and the living was still something our science couldn’t cross. Yet, there was a deeper, more intricate chemistry at play in nature, one that, over vast periods, could yield results beyond our current understanding. And there, he decided, the discussion would rest.

He then shifted to the grand hierarchy of animal life, starting with simple mollusks and fragile sea creatures, gradually climbing through reptiles and fish until he reached the kangaroo-rat—a creature that gave birth to live young, marking the direct lineage to all mammals, and presumably to everyone in the audience.

A skeptical voice piped up from the back, “No, no!”

The lecturer turned toward the young man in the red tie, who seemed to claim he had hatched from an egg. He invited the student to meet him after the lecture, intrigued to see such a rarity. Laughter rippled through the room. It was amusing to think that the culmination of eons of evolution had led to the creation of the young man in the red tie. But had evolution reached its end? Was this young man the pinnacle of development? The lecturer hoped he wouldn’t offend the student, but he felt compelled to assert that, regardless of the young man’s personal merits, the grand processes of the universe couldn’t be deemed complete if they culminated solely in his existence. Evolution was still in motion, and even greater wonders lay ahead.

With a playful jab at his interrupter, the lecturer returned to his narrative of the past: the drying seas, the rise of sandbanks, the sluggish life clinging to their edges, the overcrowded lagoons, and the sea creatures seeking refuge on the mudflats, thriving in the abundance of food. “And thus, ladies and gentlemen,” he concluded, “we have that terrifying brood of saurians, which still haunt our imaginations when we see their remains in the Wealden or Solenhofen slates, but which thankfully went extinct long before humanity appeared on this planet.”

“Question!” boomed a voice from the platform.

Mr. Waldron, known for his strict discipline and sharp wit, found this interruption so absurd that he was momentarily at a loss. He resembled a Shakespearean actor confronted by a fervent Baconian or an astronomer facing a flat-earth believer. After a brief pause, he raised his voice and reiterated slowly, “Which were extinct before the coming of man.”

“Question!” the voice called out again.

Waldron looked incredulously at the line of professors on the platform until his gaze landed on Professor Challenger, who reclined in his chair, eyes closed, wearing an amused expression as if he were smiling in his sleep.

“I see!” Waldron said with a shrug. “It’s my friend Professor Challenger.” Laughter erupted once more as he resumed his lecture, treating this as a final explanation, leaving no further need for discussion.

The incident was far from over. No matter which direction the lecturer took while navigating the complexities of the past, he always seemed to land on some claim about extinct or prehistoric life that triggered an immediate roar from the Professor. The audience began to anticipate this reaction, erupting in laughter whenever it happened. The packed rows of students joined in, and every time Challenger's mouth opened, before he could even speak, a chorus of "Question!" rang out from a hundred voices, met with a counter cry of "Order!" and "Shame!" from just as many.

Waldron, despite being an experienced lecturer and a strong presence, found himself rattled. He hesitated, stammered, repeated himself, and got tangled in a long-winded sentence. Finally, he turned on his tormentor in frustration.

"This is absolutely intolerable!" he shouted, glaring across the platform. "I must ask you, Professor Challenger, to stop these ignorant and rude interruptions."

A hush fell over the hall, the students frozen in delight at witnessing a clash of titans. Challenger slowly pushed his hefty frame out of his chair.

"I must ask you in return, Mr. Waldron," he said, "to refrain from making claims that are not strictly based on scientific fact."

His words unleashed a storm of reactions. "Shame! Shame!" "Let him speak!" "Get him out!" "Shove him off the stage!" "Fair play!" echoed through the hall, a mix of laughter and outrage. The chairman leaped to his feet, waving his arms and speaking in a flurry of excitement. "Professor Challenger—personal—views—later," he managed to shout above the chaos. Challenger bowed, smiled, stroked his beard, and settled back into his chair. Waldron, flushed and combative, pressed on with his lecture, occasionally shooting venomous glances at Challenger, who appeared to be blissfully dozing, a broad smile still on his face.

Eventually, the lecture came to an end—though I suspected it was a bit premature, as the closing remarks felt rushed and disjointed. The flow of the argument had been abruptly interrupted, leaving the audience restless and eager for more. Waldron took his seat, and after a chirrup from the chairman, Professor Challenger stood and stepped to the edge of the platform. For the sake of my paper, I took down his speech word for word.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he started, his voice barely cutting through the noise coming from the back. “I apologize—ladies, gentlemen, and children—I must admit, I overlooked a significant part of this audience.”

The crowd erupted in chaos as the Professor stood with one hand raised, his large head nodding in a way that seemed to bless the crowd. “I have been chosen to express our gratitude to Mr. Waldron for the vivid and imaginative talk we just heard. While I have some disagreements with certain points he made, it’s important to acknowledge that Mr. Waldron has successfully achieved his goal: to provide a simple and engaging overview of what he believes to be the history of our planet.

Popular lectures are usually easy to digest, but Mr. Waldron,” he said, beaming and blinking at the lecturer, “will understand when I say they often end up being both superficial and misleading, as they must cater to an audience that may not be well-informed.”

A wave of ironic cheers rippled through the crowd. “Popular lecturers are, by their very nature, parasitic,” he continued, ignoring the angry protest from Mr. Waldron. “They capitalize on the work of their less recognized peers for their own fame or profit. A single new fact discovered in a lab, a single brick added to the temple of science, holds far more value than any second-hand lecture that merely fills an idle hour without leaving any real impact. I share this obvious thought not to belittle Mr. Waldron specifically, but to remind you not to confuse the acolyte with the high priest.”

At this moment, Mr. Waldron leaned over to whisper to the chairman, who rose slightly and said something sternly to his water carafe. “But enough of that!” he declared, as loud and enthusiastic cheers erupted from the audience. “Let’s move on to a topic of greater interest. What is the specific point on which I, as an original researcher, challenge our lecturer’s accuracy? It concerns the permanence of certain types of animal life on Earth.

I don’t speak on this matter as an amateur or, I should add, as a popular lecturer. I speak as someone whose scientific integrity compels him to stick closely to the facts. Mr. Waldron is mistaken in thinking that just because he has never seen a so-called prehistoric animal, these creatures no longer exist. They are indeed, as he mentioned, our ancestors, but if I may say so, they are our contemporary ancestors, still lurking around with all their terrifying and formidable traits, waiting for those with the energy and courage to find them. Creatures once thought to be extinct from the Jurassic era—monsters that would hunt and devour our largest mammals—still roam the Earth.”

The crowd erupted with shouts of “Bosh!” “Prove it!” “How do YOU know?” “Question!”

“How do I know, you ask?” he replied, his voice rising above the din. “I know because I’ve visited their hidden lairs. I know because I’ve seen some of them.”

Applause and uproar filled the room, along with a voice shouting, “Liar!”

“Am I a liar?” he challenged, met with a chorus of hearty agreement. “Did someone just call me a liar? Would the person who said that please stand up so I can see him?”

A voice piped up, “Here he is, sir!” and a timid little man in glasses was hoisted up by a group of students, struggling to escape.

“Did you dare to call me a liar?” he asked.

“No, sir, no!” the accused shouted, disappearing like a jack-in-the-box.

“If anyone in this hall doubts my honesty, I would be happy to have a word with him after the lecture.”

“Liar!” came the shout again.

“Who said that?” he demanded, as the same timid man was lifted high once more. “If I come down among you—”

The crowd interrupted him with a chant of “Come, love, come!” which halted the proceedings for a moment, while the chairman stood, waving his arms as if conducting a symphony. The Professor, his face flushed, nostrils flaring, and beard bristling, was now fully in the throes of his passion.

“Every great discoverer has faced the same skepticism—the unmistakable mark of a foolish generation. When confronted with groundbreaking facts, you lack the intuition and imagination to grasp their significance. Instead, you throw mud at those who have risked everything to expand the boundaries of science. You persecute the prophets! Galileo! Darwin! And I—”

The crowd erupted into prolonged cheers, drowning out his words.

All of this comes from my hurried notes taken at the time, which barely capture the utter chaos that had erupted in the assembly. The noise was so overwhelming that several women had already made a quick exit. Even the serious, respected elders seemed to be caught up in the frenzy, with white-bearded men rising to shake their fists at the unyielding Professor. The entire audience was a boiling pot of agitation.

Professor Challenger stepped forward, raising both hands. There was something undeniably commanding and powerful about him, and gradually, the clamor began to fade in response to his authoritative gesture and intense gaze. It was clear he had something important to say, and the crowd hushed to listen.

"I won’t keep you long," he said. "It’s not worth it. Truth is truth, and the noise from a bunch of foolish young men—and I regret to say, their equally foolish elders—can’t change that. I assert that I have opened a new field of science. You dispute it." (Cheers erupted.) "Then I challenge you. Will you send one or more of your own to represent you and test my claims in your name?"

Mr. Summerlee, the seasoned Professor of Comparative Anatomy, stood up from the audience. He was a tall, thin man, with a bitter demeanor that suggested a life spent in serious contemplation. He wanted to know if the results Professor Challenger mentioned had come from his journey to the headwaters of the Amazon two years prior.

Professor Challenger confirmed that they had.

Mr. Summerlee then questioned how Professor Challenger could claim to have made discoveries in those regions that had been missed by Wallace, Bates, and other well-respected explorers.

Professor Challenger replied that Mr. Summerlee seemed to be confusing the Amazon with the Thames; the Amazon was a much larger river. He added that with the Orinoco, which connected to it, there were about fifty thousand miles of territory to explore, and in such vastness, it was entirely possible for one person to find what another had overlooked.

Mr. Summerlee, with a sardonic smile, stated that he understood the difference between the Thames and the Amazon, noting that any claim about the former could be verified, while claims about the latter could not. He requested that Professor Challenger provide the latitude and longitude of the area where prehistoric animals could be found.

Professor Challenger responded that he had his reasons for withholding that information but would be willing to share it with a committee chosen from the audience. He then asked if Mr. Summerlee would be willing to serve on such a committee and personally verify his claims.

Mr. Summerlee replied, "Yes, I will." (The crowd erupted in cheers.)

Professor Challenger continued, "Then I guarantee that I will provide you with the materials necessary to navigate. However, since Mr. Summerlee will be checking my claims, it’s only fair that I have someone with him to verify his findings. I won’t hide the fact that there are challenges and dangers. Mr. Summerlee will need a younger companion. May I ask for volunteers?"

This is how the pivotal moment in a man's life can catch him off guard. When I entered that hall, I could never have imagined that I was about to commit to an adventure wilder than anything I had ever dreamed. But Gladys—wasn’t this the very opportunity she had mentioned? She would have urged me to go.

I jumped to my feet, speaking without having prepared any words. My companion, Tarp Henry, was tugging at my sleeve, whispering, "Sit down, Malone! Don’t make a fool of yourself." At the same time, I noticed a tall, thin man with dark, ginger hair a few seats ahead of me also standing. He glared back at me with fierce, angry eyes, but I refused to back down.

"I will go, Mr. Chairman," I kept repeating.

"Name! Name!" the audience shouted.

"My name is Edward Dunn Malone. I’m a reporter for the Daily Gazette. I claim to be an entirely unbiased witness."

"What is YOUR name, sir?" the chairman asked my tall rival.

"I am Lord John Roxton. I’ve already traveled up the Amazon, I know the area well, and I have special qualifications for this investigation."

"Lord John Roxton’s reputation as a sportsman and traveler is indeed world-renowned," the chairman acknowledged. "At the same time, it would certainly be beneficial to have a member of the press on such an expedition."

"Then I propose," said Professor Challenger, "that both of these gentlemen be appointed as representatives of this meeting to accompany Professor Summerlee on his journey to investigate and report on the truth of my claims."

Amid the cheers and shouts, our fate was sealed, and I found myself swept away in the crowd moving toward the door, my mind still reeling from the enormous new adventure that had suddenly unfolded before me. As I stepped out of the hall, I caught a glimpse of a group of laughing students rushing down the pavement, and I noticed a heavy umbrella swinging above them. Then, amidst a mix of groans and cheers, Professor Challenger's electric carriage pulled away from the curb, and I found myself walking under the bright lights of Regent Street, my thoughts consumed by Gladys and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Suddenly, I felt a light touch on my elbow. I turned to see the tall, thin man who had offered to join me on this unusual journey, his eyes sparkling with humor and authority.

"Mr. Malone, I believe," he said. "We’re to be companions on this adventure, yes? My rooms are just across the street, in the Albany. Would you mind sparing me half an hour? There are a few things I really need to discuss with you."