Pigeons from Hell | Page 5

the mantel,
retching miserably.
Buckner turned the light full on him, making him blink. Buckner's
voice came from behind the blinding radiance, the man himself unseen.
"Griswell, you've told me a yarn that's hard to believe. I saw something
chasin' you, but it might have been a timber wolf, or a mad dog.
"If you're holdin' back anything, you better spill it. What you told me
won't hold up in any court. You're bound to be accused of killin' your
partner. I'll have to arrest you. If you'll give me the straight goods now,
it'll make it easier. Now, didn't you kill this fellow, Branner?
"Wasn't it something like this: you quarreled, he grabbed a hatchet and
swung at you, but you dodged and then let him have it?"
Griswell sank down and hid his face in his hands, his head swimming.
"Great God, man, I didn't murder John! Why, we've been friends ever
since we were children in school together. I've told you the truth. I don't
blame you for not believing me. But God help me, it is the truth!"
The light swung back to the gory head again, and Griswell closed his
eyes.
He heard Buckner grunt.
"I believe this hatchet in his hand is the one he was killed with. Blood
and brains plastered on the blade, and hairs stickin' to it - hairs exactly
the same color as his. This makes it tough for you, Griswell."

"How so?" the New Englander asked dully.
"Knocks any plea of self-defense in the head. Branner couldn't have
swung at you with this hatchet after you split his skull with it. You
must have pulled the ax out of his head, stuck it into the floor and
clamped his fingers on it to make it look like he'd attacked you. And it
would have been damned clever - if you'd used another hatchet."
"But I didn't kill him," groaned Griswell. "I have no intention of
pleading self-defense."
"That's what puzzles me," Buckner admitted frankly, straightening.
"What murderer would rig up such a crazy story as you've told me, to
prove his innocence? Average killer would have told a logical yarn, at
least. Hmmm! Blood drops leadin' from the door. The body was
dragged - no, couldn't have been dragged. The floor isn't smeared. You
must have carried it here, after killin' him in some other place. But in
that case, why isn't there any blood on your clothes? Of course you
could have changed clothes and washed your hands. But the fellow
hasn't been dead long."
"He walked downstairs and across the room," said Griswell hopelessly.
"He came to kill me. I knew he was coming to kill me when I saw him
lurching down the stair. He struck where I would have been, if I hadn't
awakened. That window - I burst out at it. You see it's broken."
"I see. But if he walked then, why isn't he walkin' now?"
"I don't know! I'm too sick to think straight. I've been fearing that he'd
rise up from the floor where he lies and come at me again. When I
heard that wolf running up the road after me, I thought it was John
chasing me - John, running through the night with his bloody ax and his
bloody head, and his death-grin!"
His teeth chattered as he lived that horror over again.
Buckner let his light play across the floor.

"The blood drops lead into the hall. Come on. We'll follow them."
Griswell cringed. "They lead upstairs."
Buckner's eyes were fixed hard on him.
"Are you afraid to go upstairs, with me?"
Griswell's face was gray.
"Yes. But I'm going, with you or without you. The thing that killed
poor John may still be hiding up there."
"Stay behind me," ordered Buckner. "If anything jumps us, I'll take care
of it. But for your own sake, I warn you that I shoot quicker than a cat
jumps, and I don't often miss. If you've got any ideas of layin' me out
from behind, forget them."
"Don't be a fool!" Resentment got the better of his apprehension, and
this outburst seemed to reassure Buckner more than any of his
protestations of innocence.
"I want to be fair," he said quietly. "I haven't indicted and condemned
you in my mind already. If only half of what you're tellin' me is the
truth, you've been through a hell of an experience, and I don't want to
be too hard on you. But you can see how hard it is for me to believe all
you've told me."
Griswell wearily motioned for him to lead the way, unspeaking. They
went out into the hall, paused at the landing. A thin string of crimson
drops, distinct in the thick dust, led up the steps.