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289
Astounding Stories of Super-Science, August 1930
·
Various
217
"We'll
talk
first,"
said
Bell
harshly.
"I
want
to
hear
what
you
have
to
say."
The
Master
nodded,
his
fingers
touching
the
rose
petals
as
if
in
a
sensitive
pleasure
in
their
texture.
"Always
courageous,"
he
said
benignly.
"I
admire
it
while
I
combat
it.
But
the
Senor
Jamison...."
Jamison
had
been
looking
fascinatedly
at
his
own
hands,
opening
and
closing
the
fingers
with
a
savage
abruptness.
They
obeyed
him,
though
they
trembled.
"I
didn't
drink
the
damned
stuff
that
hotel
keeper
brought
us
last
night,"
he
growled.
"Bell
did.
And
I--"
"Wait
a
minute,
Jamison,"
said
Bell
evenly.
"Let's
talk
to
The
Master
for
a
while.
I
swore,
sir,"
he
said
grimly,
"that
I'd
kill
you.
I've
seen
what
your
devilish
poison
does,
in
the
hands
of
the
men
you've
chosen
to
distribute
it.
I've
seen"--he
swallowed
and
said
harshly--"I've
seen
enough
to
make
me
desire
nothing
so
much
as
to
see
you
roast
in
hell!
But
you
wanted
to
talk
to
me.
Go
ahead!"
The
Master
beamed
at
him,
and
then
glanced
about
at
the
frock-coated
men
who
had
been
attending
him.
Bell
glanced
at
them.
Ribiera
was
there,
chuckling.
"I
told
you,
tio
mio,"
he
said
familiarly,
"that
he
would
not
be
polite.
You
can
do
nothing
with
him.
Better
have
him
shot."
Francia,
of
Paraguay,
nodded
amusedly
to
Bell
as
their
eyes
met.
But
The
Master
shook
his
really
rather
beautiful
head.
An
old
man
can
be
good
to
look
at,
and
with
a
saintly
aureole
of
snow-white
hair
and
the
patriarchal
white
beard,
The
Master
was
the
picture
of
benign
and
beautiful
old
age.
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