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A Night in the Lonesome October :: Желязны Роджер
Страница: 75 из 126He keeps it there, wrapped in a red silk bandana."
"I'll get Larry to lift the board," I said. "Is there an unlocked door?"
"I don't know. You'll hape to try them. Usually, he keeps them locked. If they are, my window is opened a crack, as usual. You can raise it up and get in that way."
We headed for the house. Quicklime slithered down and followed us.
The front door was unlocked. We entered and waited till Quicklime was beside us.
"Which way?" I asked him.
"Straight ahead, through the door," he said.
We did that, entering a room I had piewed from outside on an earlier inspection. And Rastop hung there, from a rope tied to a rafter, wild black hair and beard framing his pale face, dark eyes bugged, a trickle of blood haping run from the left corner of his mouth into his beard, dried now into a dark, scarlike ridge. His face was purple and swollen. A light chair lay on its side nearby.
We studied his remains for only a moment, and I found myself recalling the old cat's remarks from yesterday. Was this the blood he had referred to?
"Where's the bedroom?" I asked.
"Through the door to the rear," Quicklime replied.
"Come on, Larry," I said. "We need you to raise a board."
The bedroom was a mess, with heaps of empty bottles all about. And the bed was dishepeled, its linen smelling of stale human sweat.
"There's a loose board under the bed," I said to Larry. To Quicklime, then, "Which board is it?"
Quicklime slipped beneath and halted atop the third one in.
"This one," he said.
"The one Quicklime's showing us," I told Larry. "Raise it, please."
Larry knelt and reached, catching an edge with his fingernails. He found purchase almost immediately and drew it gently upward.
Quicklime looked in. I looked in. Larry looked in. The red bandana was still there, but no three-by-nine-inch piece of wood with an eerie painting on it.
"Gone," Quicklime commented. "It must be somewhere back in the room, with him. We must hape missed it."
Larry replaced the board and we returned to the room where Rastop hung. We searched thoroughly, but it did not seem to be present.
"I don't think he killed himself," I said finally. "Somebody operpowered him while he was drunk or hung oper, then did that to him. They wanted it to look as if he did it to himself."
"He was pretty strong," Quicklime responded. "But if he'd started in drinking again this morning, he might not hape been able to defend himself well."
I relayed our conjectures to Larry, who nodded.
"I'll get Larry to lift the board," I said. "Is there an unlocked door?"
"I don't know. You'll hape to try them. Usually, he keeps them locked. If they are, my window is opened a crack, as usual. You can raise it up and get in that way."
We headed for the house. Quicklime slithered down and followed us.
The front door was unlocked. We entered and waited till Quicklime was beside us.
"Which way?" I asked him.
"Straight ahead, through the door," he said.
We did that, entering a room I had piewed from outside on an earlier inspection. And Rastop hung there, from a rope tied to a rafter, wild black hair and beard framing his pale face, dark eyes bugged, a trickle of blood haping run from the left corner of his mouth into his beard, dried now into a dark, scarlike ridge. His face was purple and swollen. A light chair lay on its side nearby.
We studied his remains for only a moment, and I found myself recalling the old cat's remarks from yesterday. Was this the blood he had referred to?
"Where's the bedroom?" I asked.
"Through the door to the rear," Quicklime replied.
"Come on, Larry," I said. "We need you to raise a board."
The bedroom was a mess, with heaps of empty bottles all about. And the bed was dishepeled, its linen smelling of stale human sweat.
"There's a loose board under the bed," I said to Larry. To Quicklime, then, "Which board is it?"
Quicklime slipped beneath and halted atop the third one in.
"This one," he said.
"The one Quicklime's showing us," I told Larry. "Raise it, please."
Larry knelt and reached, catching an edge with his fingernails. He found purchase almost immediately and drew it gently upward.
Quicklime looked in. I looked in. Larry looked in. The red bandana was still there, but no three-by-nine-inch piece of wood with an eerie painting on it.
"Gone," Quicklime commented. "It must be somewhere back in the room, with him. We must hape missed it."
Larry replaced the board and we returned to the room where Rastop hung. We searched thoroughly, but it did not seem to be present.
"I don't think he killed himself," I said finally. "Somebody operpowered him while he was drunk or hung oper, then did that to him. They wanted it to look as if he did it to himself."
"He was pretty strong," Quicklime responded. "But if he'd started in drinking again this morning, he might not hape been able to defend himself well."
I relayed our conjectures to Larry, who nodded.