A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, April 1950 — page 16: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

16 A. MERRITT’S FANTASY | “I’m sorry to seem like breaking up the party,” Tony cut in abruptly, “but being a wage-slave under the Govern- ment I ought to be back in time for tea. And if I’m to take yowalong first, Cleo—”’ With Tony holding the door of a tax! outside, a little later, the girl gave Gees her hand and gazed full at him. “I’m so glad we have met,” she said. “Tony must bring you to see me, next time. For tea, one of his free afternoons.”’ “Tt will be a great pleasure,” he as- sured her. With Miss Brandon beside him, he watched the taxi go, and saw how its two occupants sat well apart from each other in their corners. “We'll walk back, I think, Miss Bran- don,” he said. “Just as you wish,” she assented. “It’s a beautiful afternoon.” “On second thoughts—” he lifted a crooked finger at a .taxi-driver—“‘you take this and charge it to petty cash, while I run along to the British Museum for an hour or two.” She gave him an inquiring look as the taxi drew beside them. “Never mind. I’m probably crazy. Both of us—Tott andI...” HE winter dusk was well advanced 4 when, returning to his flat in Little Oakfield Street, Gees let himself in and entered Miss Brandon’s office. She looked “You have been a long time,” she said. “T have been thinking, since coming back here, Mr. Green. In over two years here, I have done about two months’ real work,” she explained. “You don’t really need me—a girl in from an agency oc- casionally could take your dictation and—”’ “You mean you want to give notice?” he interrupted incredulously. ‘““T might even go as far as that,’”’ she admitted, smiling. He reached out to flick an ash into the tray beside her typewriter. “Finding it monotonous?” he suggested. “Not that. But my being here like this, filling in time by reading novels, is not fair to you. This—your agency— is a one-brain enterprise.” “What about’ that lunch today?” he way,’ hesaid. “Tony Briggs is my friend, iGbooks:.com ~ demanded abruptly, without hesitation. “Well, what about it?” she echoed. “T arranged it,” he said slowly, “be- cause of Tott’s visit here—because of Tott’s notion. And I had an idea, while I was groveling in the dust of the British . Museum, that it might have struck you too. Instead, you brood over this prepos- terous idea of yours—it is preposterous, my girl! I’ve got used to your being here, a wall to throw my thoughts against and watch ’em bounce, and I’d hate to lose you.” “For one thing, Mr. Green,” she re- torted rather acidly, “I am not your girl. For another, the wall feels itself as the end of a cul-de-sac. The hours I waste here—waste!”’ “Then to you,” he asked, “that lunch was a mere social function?” “Hardly,” and she shrugged slightly. “It was most uncomfortable.” “Oh! Now we're getting somewhere! Carry on, Miss Brandon.” ~ “That—that Miss Kefra was afraid of you. “T meant her to be, on sight. What about Tony?” “He won’t be your friend much longer, if she has her way over it.” “No? Well, do you think I could get any girl from an agency that I could take to the Berkeley on a footing of equality, and count on the sense you showed with those two remarks? Moreover, I’ve been doing some thinking too. I’m going to make a case of this Miss Kefra, turn my- self into a purely honorary and unsolicited nuisance as far as Tony Briggs is con- cerned—for his good, of course—and to drag you in and give you all the work you want.” “T don’t understand, Mr. Green,” she said, after a pause. “No. I’ve got to explain. You know, of course, that I’ve dabbled a little in the occult.”’ “Then you consider Mr. Briggs—or Miss Kefra—an occult problem.” “When did it strike you that she was afraid of me?” he countered. “When you talked about the shadow- maker,” she answered, after a brief pause. “Exactly. Miss Brandon, Cleo Kefra is a lamia of some sort—uncanny in some com 2.--= - ee ee