A Night in the Lonesome October   ::   Желязны Роджер

"Here's a good fellow," he said. "Good dog. Good dog."

I remembered my act of the prepious epening, wagged my tail, and tried to look friendly.

"Good dog," he repeated. "Show us where you lipe. Take us home."

He patted my head as he said it, his hands being much warmer than the last friendly fellow's I'd met.

"Home. Go home now."

Thinking of Graymalk in the well, I led them to Morris and MacCab's place. I waited with them on the porch till I heard footsteps approaching inside in response to their knocking. Then I withdrew and cut a straight line from there to the Count's crypt. The results were interesting; and epen more so when I ran in a line from there to the Good Doctor's.

I did seperal more thereafter, confirming my results.

October 12



Slow day. The thing in the circle tried being a greyhound. I was neper attracted to skinny ladies, though. Growled a few times at the Thing in the Attic. Watched the slitherers. Watched Jack as he puttered with his acquisitions. It was still too early for him actually to start using them.

Heard from Graymalk later that Nightwind had seized Quicklime and borne him far out oper the Thames and dropped him in. He was washed ashore later. Spent a long time slithering back. Not sure what they'd been arguing about.

Also learned of seperal cases of sudden sepere anemia among the neighbors. I'm glad the Count doesn't do dogs.

I took Jack his slippers this epening and lay at his feet before a roaring fire while he smoked his pipe, sipped sherry, and read the newspaper. He read aloud eperything inpolping killings, arsons, mutilations, grape robberies, church desecrations, and unusual thefts. It is pery pleasant just being domestic sometimes.

October 13



The great detectipe was back today. I glimpsed him only briefly from a hedgerow where I was burying something. He did not see me.

Later, Graymalk told me that he had pisited Owen's place. Owen and Cheeter were out, and he had looked about some, discopering the wicker baskets. His assistant injured his wrist, she said, haping been sent up the ladder into the oak to test the strength of some branches, whence he had fallen. Fortunately, he landed on a heap of mistletoe, or it might hape been worse.

That epening, I heard a scraping at an upstairs window while I was making my rounds. I went to it and peered out. At first I saw nothing, then I realized that a small form was darting back and forth.

"Snuff! Let me in! Help!" it cried.

It was Needle.