A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, October 1950 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

12 A. MBRRITT’S FANTASY the letter ; then, with a sudden determina- tion, snatched his telephone book from the hook and began violently ruffling the pages in quest of a number. ‘‘M—Med—Mediterranean! Ah, here it is!” he cried, slapping the book down on the desk. He caught off the receiver. As central delayed in answering a min- ute, he angrily pounded the hook. “Num- ber, please ’?’’ came the query. “S1x-0-five-three, Worth!” he ordered. “Quick!” Then, biting his lip with feverish impa- tience, he stood there by his desk, hardly able to breathe for very eagerness. At the office door came a sharp knock- ing. Dennison paid no heed. The knock- ing grew louder, moré insistent. “Well?” he shouted. “Mr. Lamson’s here,” the voice of Ed- wards, his assistant, penetrated to him. “Can’t see him!” “But—he’s worse. Heart, you know. And—” “No use! Tell him to come around to- morrow, or—no, I sha’n’t be—hallo? Hallo? This the Mediterranean Trans- port Line?” “All right! Tell me, when’s your next boat to Marseilles ?” “No, no! Not Marsala! I don’t mean Sicily ! Mar-seilles ! Marseilles, France!” 99 “What? This morning? La Toulouse? Reserve me an outside room, at once! Name is—” “All engaged? No room? Say, I’m go- ing, anyhow! And—” “‘No time? She sails at eleven? But for the love of Heaven! That’s only fifteen minutes! Hold her!’ “Can't? Tide? The deuce! Good-by!” OWN onto the hook crashed the re- ceiver. A moment the doctor stood there, gathering himself together for the most strenuous exertion of his life. Then, paying absolutely no heed what- ever to the continued banging on the door, or to the entreaties of his assistant, he set to work with a dumb, desperate haste. He seemed astonishingly agile for a man of fifty-five years. One after another he jerked open his desk-drawers. From the first he extracted a bundle of papers, clippings and the like, secured by a rubber-band. The next yield- ed nothing. The third he pawed over has- tily, and from it snatched a cash-box of japanned metal. He wheeled about, seized his medicine- case and, unheeding broken vials, ripped the whole interior arrangements clean out of it—all the rows and rows of bottles went by the board. “Queer sort of valise,” he exclaimed, flinging the papers and the cash-box into it, “but in a pinch—” The telephone-bell rang sharply. Some patient or other, somewhere in the city, was suffering, dying perhaps; somebody needed him; life and death maybe were at issue. Dennison gave no attention. He flung himself into his overcoat, clapped his hat on his bald head and seized the bag. - An idea struck him; he must have that letter. ~ With feverish haste he flung aside the litter on the desk-top, found the letter and thrust it into his pocket. Then without another word he ran to the door, un- locked it and started at a run through the outer office. Edwards tried to intercept him. Mr. Lamson, the patient, very pale and wan, rose as though to speak, but Dr. Denni- son evaded both. “Impossible!” he shouted. “Urgent business! You, Edwards, take all prac- tice till I return! No address!” He caught an elevator, and in half a minute was dropped down eleven stories to the street. First of any passenger out of the elevator, he made a quick dive out through the revolving doors and gained the sidewalk. “Sure, an’ it’s the hurry call the docthor do be havin’ this marnin’!’’ exclaimed the hall-man, gazing after the agitated fig- ure as it hailed a taxi, leaped in, and with a wave of the hand shouted: “Pier 57, North River! Twenty-five dollars if you make it in ten minutes! La Toulouse! Understand °” Thereafter came a period blurred and vague, of daring and illegal driving, with (C(O) nn) (C 6)(0)©) S (C(O)