So put the kitty down and come with me."
"Bad…rain," rejoined the other.
"Indeed. Cat. Down. Now. Come. Now. With me."
"Cat…kitty…down," said the big fellow, and he leaned forward and deposited Graymalk gently on the road. His eyes met mine as he rose, and he added, "Good…dog."
"I'm sure," said the Good Doctor, taking hold of his arm with both hands now and turning him back toward the farmhouse.
"Let's get out of here," Graymalk said, and we did.
October 21
The things are getting restless, but their restraints still serve. I stopped by Larry's place this morning, to suggest he answer to the name "Lucky," if so addressed by any woodsy denizen in his wanderings. This necessitated my giving him a little background concerning speculations as to his status. He's agreed to be even more circumspect in his comings and goings. I filled him in on all the rest, too, since I considered us partners. Everything, that is, save for Linda Enderby's true identity. I was loath to destroy his illusions concerning the genial old lady whose company had given him such pleasure. Whatever had been learned there had been learned, and I doubted it could have been much in such a bizarre case as his, with him so guarded concerning it, and letting him live a little longer with his fond memory of the visit did not seem much in the way of risk taking. I resolved to wait a few days before revealing the deception.
"Hear anything more about the police and their search?" I asked.
"They're still investigating, but they seem to have questioned everyone and now they've started searching fields along the way. I think the latest theory is that the officer might have been thrown from his horse, which did make it back to their stables."
"I guess he didn't wash up. Maybe he made it out to sea."
"Possibly. I'm sure they'd be looking at any washups pretty closely."
"I wonder what this beating of the bushes might mean to the Count, if they go very far afield?"
"I'll bet if you check today you'll find he's moved."
"So you think he has another place, too?"
"Of course. That's his style. And he has the right idea. Everyone should have a place to run to. You can never be too careful."
"Do you?"
He smiled.
"I hope you do, too," he said.
When I smile no one can tell.
I went looking for Graymalk then, to see whether I could persuade her to climb down into the crypt for me again. But she wasn't anywhere about. Finally, I gave up and wandered over to Rastov's place.
Quicklime wasn't readily available either, and I began rearing up and peering in windows. I spotted Rastov himself, slouched in a chair, vodka bottle in one hand, what might be his icon clutched to his breast with the other. Something stirred on the windowsill and I realized it to be my erstwhile partner. Quicklime raised his head, stared at me, then gestured with his head toward the adjacent room. At that, he slid from the sill and was gone.
I made my way back to the near window of that room, which was opened slightly. Moments later, he emerged.
"Hi, Quick," I said. "How's it going?"
"Sometimes I wish I were back in the fields again," he replied. "I'd be getting ready for a long winter's sleep."
"Bad night?"
"I got out just in time. He's at it again. Drinking and singing sad songs. He could get us into a lot of trouble when he's had too much. He'd better be sober for the big night."
"I should hope so."
We went off toward the rear of the place.
"Busy?" he asked me.
"Believe it."
"Listen, Snuff, the boss doesn't tell me everything, and Nightwind said, just a day or two back, that there are divinatory
"Bad…rain," rejoined the other.
"Indeed. Cat. Down. Now. Come. Now. With me."
"Cat…kitty…down," said the big fellow, and he leaned forward and deposited Graymalk gently on the road. His eyes met mine as he rose, and he added, "Good…dog."
"I'm sure," said the Good Doctor, taking hold of his arm with both hands now and turning him back toward the farmhouse.
"Let's get out of here," Graymalk said, and we did.
October 21
The things are getting restless, but their restraints still serve. I stopped by Larry's place this morning, to suggest he answer to the name "Lucky," if so addressed by any woodsy denizen in his wanderings. This necessitated my giving him a little background concerning speculations as to his status. He's agreed to be even more circumspect in his comings and goings. I filled him in on all the rest, too, since I considered us partners. Everything, that is, save for Linda Enderby's true identity. I was loath to destroy his illusions concerning the genial old lady whose company had given him such pleasure. Whatever had been learned there had been learned, and I doubted it could have been much in such a bizarre case as his, with him so guarded concerning it, and letting him live a little longer with his fond memory of the visit did not seem much in the way of risk taking. I resolved to wait a few days before revealing the deception.
"Hear anything more about the police and their search?" I asked.
"They're still investigating, but they seem to have questioned everyone and now they've started searching fields along the way. I think the latest theory is that the officer might have been thrown from his horse, which did make it back to their stables."
"I guess he didn't wash up. Maybe he made it out to sea."
"Possibly. I'm sure they'd be looking at any washups pretty closely."
"I wonder what this beating of the bushes might mean to the Count, if they go very far afield?"
"I'll bet if you check today you'll find he's moved."
"So you think he has another place, too?"
"Of course. That's his style. And he has the right idea. Everyone should have a place to run to. You can never be too careful."
"Do you?"
He smiled.
"I hope you do, too," he said.
When I smile no one can tell.
I went looking for Graymalk then, to see whether I could persuade her to climb down into the crypt for me again. But she wasn't anywhere about. Finally, I gave up and wandered over to Rastov's place.
Quicklime wasn't readily available either, and I began rearing up and peering in windows. I spotted Rastov himself, slouched in a chair, vodka bottle in one hand, what might be his icon clutched to his breast with the other. Something stirred on the windowsill and I realized it to be my erstwhile partner. Quicklime raised his head, stared at me, then gestured with his head toward the adjacent room. At that, he slid from the sill and was gone.
I made my way back to the near window of that room, which was opened slightly. Moments later, he emerged.
"Hi, Quick," I said. "How's it going?"
"Sometimes I wish I were back in the fields again," he replied. "I'd be getting ready for a long winter's sleep."
"Bad night?"
"I got out just in time. He's at it again. Drinking and singing sad songs. He could get us into a lot of trouble when he's had too much. He'd better be sober for the big night."
"I should hope so."
We went off toward the rear of the place.
"Busy?" he asked me.
"Believe it."
"Listen, Snuff, the boss doesn't tell me everything, and Nightwind said, just a day or two back, that there are divinatory
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