Donner of Orcus and of Phlegethon — sufficit!"
The Turkish diplomat spoke nine languages, but not this one. Gates, who
had known Arthwait for many years, explained that these remarks,
formidable in appearance, meant only that Grey ought to be killed at any
time, on general principles, but that as they were specially charged with that
task by their leaders, so much the better.
The conference, thus prosperously inaugurated, proved a lengthy one.
How, indeed, could it be otherwise? For Arthwait was naturally slow of
thought and speech; it took him some time to warm up to real eloquence; and
then he became so [159] long-winded, and lost himself so completely in his
words and phrases, that he would speak for many hours without conveying a
single idea of any kind to his hearers, or even having one to convey.
But the upshot of his conversation upon this occasion was that an attempt
should be made to poison the household magically by bewitching the food
supplied to them from the market. Certain succulent shell-fish, called
vongole, very popular in Naples, were selected as a material basis, "because
their appurtenance and charter was be-Yekl Klippoth," as Arthwait explained.
Into these molluscs, therefore, might be conjured a spirit of Mars "of them
that bear witness unto Bartzabel," in the hope that those who partook of them
might be stricken with some type of fever, fevers and all acute diseases being
classified as Martial.
It was unfortunate for these plans that Brother Onofrio habitually took the
precaution to purify and consecrate all food that came into the house before it
reached the kitchen; and further, anticipating some such attempt, he had
everything tested psychometrically by one of his acolytes, whom he had
trained especially in sensitiveness to all such subtle impressions.
The shell-fish were consequently discovered to be charged with the Martial
current; Brother Onofrio smiled hugely and proceeded to call upon the divine
forces of Mars, before which even Bartzabel "trembles every day," and, thus
having converted himself into a high-power engine of war, sat down to a
Gargantuan banquet, eating the entire consignment himself. The result was
that the unfortunate Arthwait was seized with violent and intractable colic,
which kept him twisted in agony on his bed for forty-eight hours.
Gates had taken no part in this performance; [160] he knew how dangerous
it was, and how likely to recoil upon the rash practitioner. But he did some
genuinely useful work. He had been to the church in the village, near
Posilippo, whose tower overlooked the Butterfly-net; and he had persuaded