"“So,” continued the general, “I asked myself why the hunt no longer fascinated me. You are much younger than I am, Mr. Rainsford, and have not hunted as much, but you perhaps can guess the answer.” “What was it?” “Simply this: hunting had ceased to be what you call ‘a ​sporting proposition.’ It had become too easy. I always got my quarry. Always. There is no greater bore than perfection.” The general lit a fresh cigarette. “No animal had a chance with me any more. That is no boast; it is a mathematical certainty. The animal had nothing but his legs and his instinct. Instinct is no match for reason. When I thought of this it was a tragic moment for me, I can tell you.” Rainsford leaned across the table, absorbed in what his host was saying. “It came to me as an inspiration what I must do,” the general went on. “And that was?” The general smiled the quiet smile of one who has faced an obstacle and surmounted it with success. “I had to invent a new animal to hunt,” he said. “A new animal? You’re joking.” “Not at all,” said the general. “I never joke about hunting. I needed a new animal. I found one. So I bought this island, built this house, and here I do my hunting. The island is perfect for my purposes—there are jungles with a maze of trails in them, hills, swamps——” “But the animal, General Zaroff?” “Oh,” said the general, “it supplies me with the most exciting hunting in the world. No other hunting compares with it for an instant. Every day I hunt, and I never grow bored now, for I have a quarry with which I can match my wits.” Rainsford’s bewilderment showed in his face. “I wanted the ideal animal to hunt,” explained the general. “So I said, ‘What are the attributes of an ideal quarry?’ And the answer was, of course, ‘It must have courage, cunning, and, above all, it must be able to reason.’” “But no animal can reason,” objected Rainsford. “My dear fellow,” said the general, “there is one that can.” “But you can’t mean——” gasped Rainsford. “And why not?” “I can’t believe you are serious, General Zaroff. This is a grisly joke.” “Why should I not be serious? I am speaking of hunting.” “Hunting? Great Guns, General Zaroff, what you speak of is murder.”"