Manly Wade Wellman - Chapbook 02 Read Online Free PDF Page B

Malbrook,” accused Fielding.
                 “That
has nothing to do with it, I was too late to kill
him.”
                 The
Venusian doctor spoke again. “Quiet. This patient is trying to speak.” He
needled stimulant into Prrala’s neck. “Do your best,” he urged the Martian.
“Tell what happened.”
                ONE
of Prrala’s tentacles fluttered up toward Stover. “Thiss man killed Malbrook. I wass prressent.”
                “Prrala was trying to make peace,”
volunteered Fielding. “He was in Malbrook’s room when—”
                “Let him tell it,” bade Congreve.
Prrala managed more words. “We thought we werre alone.
But, while we sspoke, ssomeone appeared in the rroom with uss .
Malbrrook sspoke: ‘Sstoverr!’ And I ssaw that it wass he.”
                “Prrala!” protested Stover. “I was outside.”
                 “But
I rrecognized you....” Prrala was growing weaker. “Grreat
height —blond hairr—gold garrmentss—it wass you, Sstoverr. Why. ...”
                “He’s close to the brink,” said Congreve.
“Needle him again, Doctor. Prrala, tell us the rest.”
                “Little to tell . . . Malbrrook
ssaid, ‘Sstand back, orr I firre.’ Sstover
sseemed about to leap. Malbrrook firred an electrro-automatic . . .explosion ... I know nothing morre.
                 His
voice died away Stover knelt beside him.
                 “You
say I’m the killer, Prrala. But did nobody come in while you were with
Malbrook?”
                 He
thought of his own visitors earlier in the evening. Each had wanted to see
Malbrook. Prrala summoned his last strength.
                 “Yess .. . one came . . .
interrupted uss forr a moment. ...”
                 “Who, Prrala? Who?”
                 “It wass. ...” The Martian fell limp and silent.
                 “Wake
him, Doctor,” urged Congreve. “He can’t die now.”
                 The
chief agent was wrong. Prrala was already dead.
                 Silence. Then two more figures entered. A policeman
reported.
                 “Look
what I found prowling around, Chief . Pretty, eh?”
                 He
held Bee MacGowan by one round, bare arm. She was drawn of face, but her eyes
were steady and unafraid. Congreve beckoned her.
                 “You
knew Malbrook, young woman?”
                 She
nodded. “I wanted to ask a favor. His robot valet wouldn’t let me in.”
                 “Are
you the one who wrecked that robot?” asked Congreve.
                 Bee
MacGowan said nothing. Stover spoke for her.
                 “When
was wrecking a robot such a crime? They’re simple, cheap— fifty value-units is plenty to pay for the best of them. And Pulambar crawls
with them.”
                 “Take
the young woman’s name,” ordered Congreve. Then, to Stover: “You talk too much.
You’re under arrest. Come to my office.”
                 He
slid a hand under Stover’s elbow.
                TORN
between rage and bewilderment, Stover went with his cap- tors to the police
flyer. They sped across the starry night to an opening lower down in another
tower and transferred to an elevator. Again descending, they came to an office.
Congreve took the single chair, leaving Stover on his feet. Another officer
held a dictograph.
                 “I
give you one more chance to talk,” said Congreve sternly.
                 “I
tell you once more that I’m innocent!” yelled Stover, the hot temper that had
brought him to this plight reasserting itself. “I had had a quarrel with
Malbrook. I went there to fight him. But he died at the hand of some other man,
and a good thing.”
                 Congreve
studied