A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, October 1950 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

THE ELIXIR OF HATE 47 red line followed regularly its course. “TI wonder now,” said Dennison with sudden comprehension, ‘if this doesn’t lead straight to the coffin-room? If so-—I ought to go back at once and see what it al] means!” And, fired with a new ambition, he hastened his steps. The passage, so hard to traverse in the dark, now—even by the feeble, garish rays of the alcohol-flame—seemed plain and easy. Dennison wondered at the fears and mental anguish which but so short a time before had been his. Already he had quite recovered his nerve and poise. He smiled at his previous alarm. The vigor of his body, the splendid, ever-in- creasing keenness of his mind, set at naught a situation which might have dis- concerted the average man. And, eager to probe this mystery, he hastened forward along the rough and winding passageway. But all at once, to his intense chagrin, he noticed that the lamp was burning dim. “What?” cried he, stopping short and staring at it. Yes, indubitably the yellow flame was dimming. Whether impeded by the strong sodium, whether combated by some subtle, noxious, subterranean gas he knew not. The fact remained that this, his only hope of escape, was begin- ning to flicker and sputter unsteadily. “That means,” thought he, “‘no time for any more investigation! I must get out of here. Out, out, before it dies entirely !”’ And, once more assailed by many fears, he hastened onward. A side-passage, leading sharply down- ward, attracted him. Whereas before, his idea had been to reach the top of the maze, now he desired the bottom, there to make a fresh start toward the little door in the cliff. So, taking this way to the left, he hurried on. The tiny flame, as he went, he sedulously guarded behind a curved palm. Among the walls, which here sparkled with millions of tiny quartz facets and crystalline spicules, the shadow of his hand danced in grotesque, gigantic flights. Before him, dark ; behind him, dark ; only for a little space could the feeble glow drive back the pressing hordes of dark- ness. Clinging to this weak help, his very life dependent on it, he stumbled onward. Suddenly he uttered a sharp cry. “There! There!” he exclaimed, stop- ping short. For all at once he recognized the place. All at once he knew where he was. Down around a curving flight of steps, before him, he saw a dankly-dripping wall. ‘ Hastily he descended. A _ perceptible draft of air struck his sweaty forehead. “The stairway!” cried he. ‘‘The pass- age from the beach to the door!” ETRIFIED with astonishment, still hardly able to realize his situation, he stood gazing a moment. Then, turning into the original stairway, the way he had first come, he began to climb. The strong current of air harried, and finally blew out the tiny flame. But Den- nison, now sure of his way, cared not. He did not even bother to relight it, but kept on with perfect assurance. Five minutes later he had reached the door at the stair-head, had crawled out through it onto the tiny ledge in front, and was filling his lungs with the pure crystal air of morning. Revived, he wondered that the sun was no higher. To him it seemed thgt the time must be long past noon—even verging toward night. But, no, the sun still hung hardly more than a third of the. way up the sky. At his watch he glanced. “Eh?” he exclaimed, setting it to his ear. It marked only eight-forty-five. “Surely it must have run down.” But, no, it was still ticking busily. ‘‘Hang me, if I understand jt!” said the American. “If I’ve only been four hours altogether on this expedition, it’s the longest four that ever I knew anythine about.” An idea struck him. “Perhaps,” thought he, “if I make good time now I can dodge letting I] Vecchio know where I’ve been, or anything about it.” And, acting immediately on the in- spiration, he started up the narrow, brok- en path. The alcohol-lamp he first thought of hiding in some crevice, against a pos- sible future need, but this idea he at once abandoned. “Tf ever I come again—as I| surely will —TI’ll have a better light than that,’”’ he assured himself. ‘‘A little electric flash COMICOOKS (C(O)