THE BANQUET

Auckland Star, Volume LXXI, Issue 222, 18 September 1940, Page 13

THE BANQUET

Short Story

JN 1760 there lived in England a noble man of many possessions who dabbled in chemistry and scientific research. Of his possessions, Sir John Mark bury counted highest his young anc beautiful wife, Catharine, who hac married him for money, in a weak moment, and had never ceased to re<*rel the impulse. ° Although without love for her hus band, Catharine was a good girl and die her duty by him until the coming ol Giles Clifford. 6 Clifford was a young adventurer whe traded on the romantic susceptibilities of rich young women, preferably attached, fn ):n whom he usually reaped a rich financial harvest. The first time Clifford and Sir Join Markbury met, the older man knew him for a scoundrel. But Catharine, starved of romance, fell easy prey to the allure of this unscrupulous fellow. However, for a time, Sir John did nothing! The romance ripened quickly. And one night Clifford proposed an elopement. "I have to go abroad, my Catharine," he told her. "And you shall come with me. After the banquet to-morrow night meet me at the West Gate. I'll have a carriage waiting. We'll reach Dover ir a few hours. Then —" his voice softened ardently—"then—my little Catharine—.' ! The girl recoiled a moment, her lovely brow furrowed, but the man hastened on, overwhelming her fears and scruples with all the skill which lay at his command. "There is nothing to fear, my Catharine . . ." he whispered. His eyes glinted greedily a moment. "But don't forget your jewel case, my angel, I expect to find money waiting for me at Dover, but just in case—you understand?" How little did she dream that it was the jewels he really coveted, and that he had planned the robbery weeks before. As soon as he laid hands upon them he meant to forsake Catharine. She could go back to her husband, or anywhere else, for all he cared. The girl's hands fluttered to her breast, "You—you must give—me time to decide, Giles," she panted. He laughed. "Until to-morrow night,' 1 he answered. "If you are not at the West Gate at nine, I shall know—" He broke off sharply. "There's someone coming!" he muttered, and hastily kissing her hand, disappeared into the darkness. | Alone, the girl faced her husband. "By yourself, my dear?" he inquired, with a smile that chilled her blood. "I thought I heard voices." She shivered. "No—no—there was nobody. You—you were mistaken, 1 assure you." He gave her his arm. "Well perhaps I was." As they walked towards the house, he continued, in a musing tone. "You know, Catharine, I have just discovered an antidote to that poison known as calabria. I have tried it on animals, with success. It now remains to find a human being who would submit to the experiment." e paused and eyed her, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Of course, I would try it on myself, but for your sake, my Catharine. I would rather it was some stranger!" His voice slurred a little. "That brave young Clifford, perhaps ?" Her - lips-were-pale and stiff with emotion. A cold :»cale of icicles played down her spine. Did Sir John suspect her intrigue? Fear was still at her throat as she sat at supper between the two men, and a warning shone in her eyes over to her loyer, whose gaze was fixed upon the glittering jewels which covered her fair arms and neck. He was hardly aware that Sir John had handed a servant a golden key and commanded him to bring the special wine. "We'll drink a toast, my friend!" he exclaimed with a grim smile. "A toast to Catharine, my wife, the loveliest lady in all England!"

By EDWIN HAY DON

Sir John raised his goblet, Clifford did likewise. Greedily he drank, smacking his lips at the excellence of the vintage. "To Catharine?" Sir John proclaimed. "To—Catharine—if I may be so bold!" Clifford reiterated, wooing her with his dark, magnetic eyes. "An excellent wine," observed Sir John in a curious voice. "It was a pity to adulterate it!" For the first time Clifford perceived the look of horror on the girl's face, and, with an effort, he repeated: "Adulterated?" Sir John threw back hie head and laughed, but it was mirthless. "Forgive me," he exclaimed, "but I was thinking I put poison in your wine, my friend." But Clifford did not hear. He had paled. He glared at his host. His lips moved, but no sound came. "Why. my friend, why do you look at me like that?" Sir John inquired, mockingly. "Are you ill? Do you feel, perhaps, a kind of languor spreading over you? Within a few minutes it will change to a different sensation— like the stabbing of a thousand red-hot needles, until, at last, the victim dies in fearful agony " The girl gave a moan of horror. With a crash, Clifford swept the cloth clear before him. He staggered to his feet. His eyes were livid with fear: perspiration streamed from his brow. "You fiend!" he shouted, shrilly. "That wine was poisoned! The key was the signal to the servant, wasn't it?" His voice heightened into a treble key. "Wasn't it?" "My friend, you are overwrought," remonstrated the host. "You imagine things " His host produced a small phial, filled with colourless liquid. "This is the antidote to calabria," he remarked. "If taken within ten minutes of the poison entering, the system, it cannot fail to cure!" Clifford flung out a shaking trembling hand. "Give it to me!" he screamed. His hands clutched at his stomach. He doubled up in agony. "The numbness has gone—but I can feel the pains—like ten thousand needles stabbing " Again and again Clifford screamed, implored, but his host eyed him unmoved. Eventually he grated: "What will you give me for this antidote ?" "Anything! Anything! Only—" Clifford sobbed, in pain and panic. "You would even sacrifice your love for a certain lady?" "Yes! Yes!" "You admit that you only made love to her to rob her of her jewels?" "Yes—l—l—admit it?" The nobleman bent his brows. "Or, perhaps you would rather—die—than give her up?" he concluded, harshly. "No! No!" From the face of the stricken man Sir John's eyes strayed to Catharine's pale, disillusioned features. The cravenness, the cowardice, the worthlessness of the man grovelling at her husband's feet sickened her. "Help me! Help me! Give me—the antidote for the love of God!" Clifford screamed. "Go!" Sir Join rasped. So saying, he smashed the phial to atoms upon the stone floor and placed his foot upon it. With a shriek, Clifford staggered up and fled out into the night. Next morning they found his dead body in the lake, of which the lily pool was part, the lily pool beside "which Clifford had plighted his false troth. That same night Sir John, on the way to his lady's chamber for the first time in months, mused on the strangeness of suggestion and the power of imagination. For it was not in hie nature to poison a guest's wine. And the phial, supposed to contain the precious antidote, had merely held a few drops of water. |