The Lost Bradbury Read Online Free PDF Page B

strode in a mist of hopes and desires, until his ears, coming out of the fog of thought, heard brisk scuffling heels catching up with him. The sound of asthmatic breathing filled the night air.
    A fat hand clutched Marcott’s coat, twisted him about. A red, chubby face, toothless and angry, was thrust close. “Where is the candlestick?”
    The hardware store proprietor!
    Marcott expressed no immediate excitement. After all, Helen had the candle. Even now the final curtain in John Eldridge’s life was being rung down.
    Jules quietly lit another cigarette before he answered the shopkeeper. Then:
    “I don’t know your name, but you’re definitely impolite. I assure you that if I did know your name I would promptly light the candle and put an end to you.”
    The shopkeeper clenched thick fists in rage. “I’ll call the police!”
    “Come now.” Jules laughed softly. “Being in your sort of business, such an action wouldn’t pay, would it?” He flicked his cigarette ashes disdainfully. “I’ll return your candlestick when it has done its work.”
    “I demand it now!”
    “I don’t have it.”
    “Who—”
    “I sent it to my wife.”
    “What’s your name?”
    The dark smile did not leave Jules’ face. “If you knew my name and retrieved the candle, then I’d be in a pretty fix, wouldn’t I?” He shook his head. “You won’t know it. Because if you did, then I’d take measures to insure your never finding your precious candle again.”
    The fat shopkeeper stopped breathing as hastily. He waited a moment, licking fat cherry-red lips, fingers shaking, the fat body swaying. Finally: “You—you will—you promise to return the candlestick?” There was a flicker of pleading in the voice.
    “Was that your only wonder-working device?” laughed Marcott. “How inefficient! Yes, I’ll return it as soon as possible, granting of course that you never know my name. You should be thankful I didn’t look you up in the phone book to give your life to the flame.”
    “You should not have let it get out of your hands,” muttered the old man. “What if it is lost?”
    “It will not be lost. I sent it to my wife, enclosing a note, telling her it was—well, it was a clever idea of mine, all around. She’s divorcing me, plans on marrying a man named Eldridge. They plane to Reno in the morning. But I thought of a rather interesting and different way of utilizing the candle to get rid of Eldridge. I’ll let Helen—”
    A brisk wind came up, drowning out Jules’ voice, so that he had to speak louder, but speak he did. The little shopkeeper listened, nodding, approving in spite of himself, almost smiling.
    The wind blew wilder and the stars were very clear. Jules thought, it is a glorious night. But—
    One more question.
    “The victim of the candle,” asked Jules. “When the spell is cast, what happens? Is it very bad?”
    The shopkeeper nodded ominously.
    “You saw what happened to the cat? Well—”
    * * * *
    Helen Marcott jerked back as the hand cracked across her cheek for the second time. Tears started to her full brown eyes and the marks of John Eldridge’s fingers scarred her face.
    Eldridge stood over her. Then he whirled and went to the door. He turned, his face ugly and suffused. His eyes cut first at Helen Marcott and then at the freshly opened box, the box in which reclined the feminine blue-pastel candle.
    “Gifts from your husband! Behind my back!” he grated. “What am I supposed to think? After all we supposedly meant to each other! Well, if you want me, you’ll find me at—”      
    The door slammed, slicing off Eldridge’s voice.
    Helen Marcott heard his footsteps drumming down the hall out of her life. And tears streaked down her cheeks over the fresh red marks left by Eldridge’s hand when he had slapped her.
    He had slapped her!
    All over a gift from Jules. All over a blue candle. Helen Marcott tried to think clearly. She was seeing Eldridge concisely for the first