Antidote to Venom Read Online Free PDF

to walk the half mile or more to the club. He usually went with a man named Mornington, an artist who lived near the Zoo and whose work, being carried on exclusively at his home, left him in need of the society of his fellows. But to-day there was no sign of Mornington, and George went on alone.
    As he walked his thoughts reverted to his own circumstances. The question of money was growing more and more pressing. He would have to do something about it, something drastic. He could give up his play of course, but he didn’t want to do that unless it proved absolutely unavoidable. It was not so much for the excitement of the gambling, though he enjoyed that, as for the companionship. An even more important reason was that he now owed a considerable sum. If he stopped playing he would inevitably have to find that money, whereas a run of luck on one evening might clear him. This had occurred already on three separate occasions, on each of which he had won back a pretty considerable amount. There was no reason why the same thing should not happen again. If, and when, it did, that would be the time to stop.
    Then there was his aunt’s legacy. He did not know what she was worth, but it must be several thousand: say seven or eight thousand at the most moderate estimate. And at her death he would get most of it—she had told him so. What, he wondered, would his share amount to? After death duties were deducted and one or two small legacies to servants were paid, there should be at least five thousand over. Five thousand! What could he not do with five thousand? Not only would it clear him of debt, but he could get that blessed car for Clarissa as well as several other things she wanted. They could take a really decent holiday; she had friends in California whom she wished to see, and for professional reasons he had always wanted to visit South Africa. In countless ways the friction and strain would be taken from his home life. And all this he would get if only the old lady were to die! Last night she had looked particularly ill; pale like parchment and more feeble and depressed than he ever remembered having seen her. Again he told himself that he didn’t wish her harm, but it was folly not to recognise facts. Her death was the one thing that would set him on his feet.
    It happened that the first person he saw in the club was Dr. Marr. Marr was a man of about fifty, tall and spare, with a look of competence and a kindly smile, which when it broke out transformed his rather severe face, making it radiate good will. He was a general favourite, particularly, George had heard, among his panel patients.
    George had often compared their lives, which in most respects were a complete contrast. Marr was happy at home: Margaret Marr was one of the salt of the earth. He had a big practice and seemed to have plenty of money, though George in fairness admitted that he worked for it. Also he held certain official positions, including that of police doctor for the district. He never lunched at the club when he could avoid it, preferring his home to all other places upon earth.
    â€œUnexpected seeing you here,” Surridge greeted him.
    â€œI know,” returned the doctor. “I’m lunching Ormsby-Lane. Down from London for a consultation. What’s the best news with you? Have you sacked that poor devil Cochrane?”
    They talked over the case for a few moments, while George wondered how he could introduce the subject of his aunt, whom he knew Marr attended. He had to be careful about what he said. It must not look as if he were thinking too much of the old lady’s money.
    Then Marr himself gave him an opportunity. “I didn’t see you last night at Cooper’s lecture on his Sinai excavations,” he observed. “Interesting stuff and fine pictures.”
    â€œI should have liked to go,” George returned, “but I couldn’t. We had the aunt to dinner: Miss Pentland, you