Posted to Wiretap in July 1993, as poison.dyl.

This text is in the PUBLIC DOMAIN.

                        THE POISON BELT
                              BY
                      ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

                     HODDER AND STOUGHTON
                  LONDON   NEW YORK   TORONTO
                       COPYRIGHT, 1913.

          Being an account of another adventure of
          Prof. George E. Challenger, Lord John
          Roxton, Prof. Summerlee, and Mr. E. D.
          Malone, the discoverers of "The Lost World"

                           Chapter I
                     THE BLURING OF LINES

It is imperative that now at once, while these stupendous events
are still clear in my mind, I should set them down with that
exactness of detail which time may blur.  But even as I do so, I
am overwhelmed by the wonder of the fact that it should be our
little group of the "Lost World"--Professor Challenger,
Professor Summerlee, Lord John Roxton, and myself--who have
passed through this amazing experience.

When, some years ago, I chronicled in the _Daily Gazette___ our
epoch-making journey in South America, I little thought that it
should ever fall to my lot to tell an even stranger personal
experience, one which is unique in all human annals and must
stand out in the records of history as a great peak among the
humble foothills which surround it.  The event itself will always
be marvellous, but the circumstances that we four were together
at the time of this extraordinary episode came about in a most
natural and, indeed, inevitable fashion.  I will explain the
events which led up to it as shortly and as clearly as I can,
though I am well aware that the fuller the detail upon such a
subject the more welcome it will be to the reader, for the
public curiosity has been and still is insatiable.

It was upon Friday, the twenty-seventh of August--a date forever
memorable in the history of the world--that I went down to the
office of my paper and asked for three days' leave of absence
from Mr. McArdle, who still presided over our news department.
The good old Scotchman shook his head, scratched his dwindling
fringe of ruddy fluff, and finally put his reluctance into words.

"I was thinking, Mr. Malone, that we could employ you to
advantage these days.  I was thinking there was a story that you
are the only man that could handle as it should be handled."

"I am sorry for that," said I, trying to hide my disappointment.
"Of course if I am needed, there is an end of the matter.  But the
engagement was important and intimate.  If I could be spared----"

"Well, I don't see that you can."

It was bitter, but I had to put the best face I could upon it.
After all, it was my own fault, for I should have known by this
time that a journalist has no right to make plans of his own.

"Then I'll think no more of it," said I with as much
cheerfulness as I could assume at so short a notice.  "What was
it that you wanted me to do?"

"Well, it was just to interview that deevil of a man down at
Rotherfield."

"You don't mean Professor Challenger?" I cried.

"Aye, it's just him that I do mean.  He ran young Alec Simpson of
the _Courier_ a mile down the high road last week by the collar
of his coat and the slack of his breeches.  You'll have read of
it, likely, in the police report.  Our boys would as soon
interview a loose alligator in the zoo.  But you could do it, I'm
thinking--an old friend like you."

"Why," said I, greatly relieved, "this makes it all easy.  It so
happens that it was to visit Professor Challenger at Rotherfield
that I was asking for leave of absence.  The fact is, that it is
the anniversary of our main adventure on the plateau three years
ago, and he has asked our whole party down to his house to see
him and celebrate the occasion."

"Capital!" cried McArdle, rubbing his hands and beaming through
his glasses.  "Then you will be able to get his opeenions out of
him.  In any other man I would say it was all moonshine, but the
fellow has made good once, and who knows but he may again!"

"Get what out of him?" I asked.  "What has he been doing?"

"Haven't you seen his letter on `Scientific Possibeelities' in
to-day's _Times_?"

"No."

McArdle dived down and picked a copy from the floor.