A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, October 1950 — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

30 A. MERRITT’S FANTASY me of all—everything. Then, having taken life, you threaten death. Why, when—”’ “‘No matter about that,” retorted Den- nison passionately, a strong intoxication possessing him so that he reeled where he stood. “‘No matter.”” And, shaken by his own pulses, he raised the weapon over his head. ‘You aren’t going to lock me in here like a rat in a box! You under- stand? So don’t—don’t you try it! Out I go—now!” “Fool!” spat Il Vecchio. ‘One word to my Lombard, and he tears you up and flings you over the cliff as I might tear and throw away waste-paper! Your safety as my guest demands—” “My safety! Ho—ha! Much that con- cerns you now. Let me pass!” “You have eaten beneath my roof,” re- torted the old man. ‘‘Now—alas! — I, I with my own hands— I cannot take your life !”’ | “Are you going to let me out of here, or aren’t you?” howled Dennison once more, racked by a periodic spasm of the drug. Il Vecchio, answering not, remained silent a moment as in thought. Then, with a sudden, quick determination, he burst into a laugh—strange, discordant, un- natural. “‘As you will!’ he exclaimed. “So be it! Better thus it may be, after all. Not for man, the mere toy and puppet of nature, to judge a crime like this against her laws and to avenge it. This should be for nature herself. ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord; I will repay.’ Let my god, which is science, judge between you and me.” “Out! Out of here!” “Out, yes; out of this hidden room, a free, untrammeled man!” replied Il Vec- chio. “It is for you to guard the mon- strous secret. As for me’—and with an added dignity he drew himself up— ' “neither by word nor sign shal] I betray it to a living soul. The problem now is yours to solve, mine to observe. I cannot violate the inborn traditions of my race; nor would I if I could. Remain with me; still be my guest. Come!” And, his face a study of inexplicable, hidden motives, he threw open. the door into the study. “Pass freely,” bade he. Dennison eyed him suspiciously a mo- ment, as though fearing some ruse against which he must be on his guard. Then, with a shrug of the shoulders and a wry smile, he dropped the earthen jug. Speaking no word, shaken with alter- nate chills and hot spasms which set the blood boiling in his arteries, he strode un- steadily past the Italian. When he was in the study I] Vecchio also emerged. Locking the door care- fully behind him, he turned and faced the fever-racked American. Dennison saw new lines, strange portents in that aged face. But it was with a smile—though the old man’s lips were pale and trembling— that he said: “To speak of right, of wrong, or of forgiveness, becomes absurd and wholly banal at such a crisis. This problem bulks too vast for mere petty conventions. There,” and he pointed toward the fast- locked déor of steel, “there and in your own body lies the riddle; there lies the secret and the answer. Only the future can declare the ends of justice.” ~ 1—I—what do you mean?” beseeched Dennison hoarsely, taking a step toward him. He staggered in his tracks as he stood there. Only by a strong effort could he hold himself upright. “Pray leave me now,” commanded I} Vecchio. “Go to your room and rest and think. Then—” “But—” ‘ “No. I cannot talk with you. Let all this be between us for a while, as though it had not been. Perhaps,” he added, waving a hand in stern dismissal, “‘per- haps we both may have many and strange things to learn.” CHAPTER 7 The Dawn of Life ENNISON, with a set, stanng 1D face, turned and blundered out of the study. Unsteady, dazed, he groped his way upstairs and sought his room. With a shaking hand he shot the bolt; across the floor he stumbled, and spent with emotion, fell upon the great four-posted bed. For some moments he lay huddled in (C(O) nn) (C 6)(0)©) S (C(O)