A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, October 1950 — page 77: what you’re looking at

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

76 A. MERRITT’S FANTASY CHAPTER 22 The Cage N* DANGER! None whatever, any more! In this, for almost the first time in his long, cold, analytically calculating life, I1 Vecchio was mistaken. For when, toward quarter of eleven the~ next morning Dennison’s blurred con- sciousness again struggled through the weltering abysses of intoxication, and with an aching head and bloodshot eyes he sat up in bed, the first clear thought within his brain was murder. In spite of his burning thirst, his parched, ill-tasting mouth, and the iron ring of pain that circled his brow, to him came memories of nearly all that had happened the night before, of his at- tempted suicide, his defeat, the horrible meeting with Stasia, and the foul, dis- honorable means employed by his tor- mentor, forever to discredit and vilify him in the eyes of the woman he adored. He recalled, too, though only as a vague, distorted nightmare, his abortive attempt to kill the savant with the paper- cutter. And, though only the beginning of that attack remained in his memory, he felt subsonsciously that it had not suc- ceeded. “Tf—if it had, and—I’d given him what he deserves,” gasped Dennison, with dry, cracked lips, “I certainly shouldn't be here, in bed. So then—TI failed, last night ? All right—today we'll see! Now, at once !"’ Weakly, dizzily he clambered out of bed. So shaken was he, so undone, that for a moment he had to hold fast to the back of a chair to keep from falling. But presently, setting his teeth hard, moving by a sheer imperative of the will, he proceeded to his wash-stand. His every symptom closely paralleled those of a man recovering from a deep intoxication. Nausea, excessive thirst, headache, all were there. Not all his rage and fortitude could wholly repress the groan that forced itself from between his. dry, cracked lips. Deep drafts of water and a thorough sluicing of his head, neck and chest pre- sently revived him to the point where he was able to find, among his things, some bromide tablets. And now, somewhat soothed by the influence of a tremendous dose, the wondrous physical vigor, the perfect force and life within him rapidly threw off the effects of that annihilating toxin. ““Good Heaven!” he exclaimed, as al- most visibly the blood crept back to his wan cheek, the color brightened in his eye. “What inconceivable power must lie in that infernal Alkahest! Two ounces of cyanid—and I still live! Two full ounces of a poison whereof one drop is instant death, and all the harm I take from it is a mere overstimulation! If this be not a miracle, what 1s?” : But though his scientific mind wondered in awe and trembling at this unbelievable thing, as his vital forces now returned, fresh, full and vigorous, that hatred waxed and grew, and, dressing quickly, Dennison began to lay his plans for what he hoped would be the final act of this heart- racking drama of life, and death, and fate. “This time,” said he, “no failure! This time I take that fiend unaware. Fool that I was to have appealed to him! To have exposed my weakness and my terror. To have dreamed even for an instant that such sentiments as pity or forgiveness could find lodgment in his vulturous heart! “Fool that I was to have declared my- self his executioner! If I had possessed even the elementary common sense to mask my plans, that fiend might even now have paid the price of his crimes against me and against the whole life-process of the universe! “But—well, what’s done is done. I must have been quite hopelessly drunk with the reaction of that potson; there’s no other possible way to account for what I did. This time, however, this time—” For a while he stood in deep and con- centrated thought. Then his campaign of action fully matured, he took another deep, refreshing drink of water, carefully adjusted his dress—now notably too big for him—and assured himself that his ap- pearance was almost normal. ' This done, he left the room. 66 A T THIS hour of the morning,” he thought, making his way along the hall toward the stairs, “I shall be prac- (C(O) nn) (C 6)(0)©) S (C(O)