Page:Weird Tales volume 38 number 03 CAN.djvu/96

 "Look, Bud, I had a hard enough time gettin' you outta here before!"

Larue turned around: "All right, all right, just wanted to know what time it was."

The barkeep yelled out at him: "Stay out of hire, you bum!"

The foundry worker trudged along the dark streets. The cool summer air lapped at his hair and cleared his brain of some of its alcoholic vagueness. An illuminated clock on a jeweler's window showed that it was 9:30. Good lord, he'd been out for hours! That blow on the head Nevers had caused him—temper flared up in the man and his footsteps became sure. Even in his befuddled state he found Nevers' place quicklv and mounted the steps, his anger a hard swollen something within him. His fists knotted into tight balls... mumbling, he climbed the stairs to Pete Nevers' room. He rattled at Nevers' door but there was no answer. He was about to turn away when a noise from within attracted his attention.

O NEVERS was in there, was he, hiding from him! He pounded again at the door. Still no response. Maddened, the laborer put his shoulder to the door and forced the cheap lock. The pane! flew inward and Larue lurched into the chamber, his hands out in front of him aggressively. Then he saw the figure on the floor near the bed.

"Hev [sic] you," Jack muttered in surprise. He came closer. It was Philpot! The old man was white as the plaster wall behind him. There was blood oozing thickly from a cut on his head.

"Philpot, what happened? You're hurt!"

The old man raised a gnarled talon of a hand and waved it weakly.

"Nevers," he gasped. "He's crazy. He ain't human!"

"Nevers!" gritted Larue. "He hit you, too, huh? Yeah, he swung on me this morning in the el, the dirty——!"

"Wait, Larue," said the old conductor weakly, "the man's gone mad. He's a killer. He ain't human. And he's headed back to the yards. Call the police, Larue. He's going back for no good, I tell ya. I tried to stop him and look what it did me!"

The scene had sobered Larue. Plainly, old Nevers had gone out of his head.

"I'll get him! I'll go after him myself."

"No," choked the old man, shaking his head painfully. "Won't do, Larue. Got to get the police right away."

"Aw, police," said Larue disdainfully. "I'll find a doctor for you and head to the yards myself.

"Larue," said the old man, "you've got to call the cops right away. Larue, come closer." The old man's voice sank to a whisper. It was plain he was losing strength fast. The foundry worker bent over the old el employee, his ear close to the man's mouth. Philpot whispered to him, his words barely audible. Larue straightened, aghast, and he wheeled and almost ran from the room.

"I'll get a doctor for you," he called back.

He ran downstairs three at a time and out into the street. Two and a half blocks of running brought him to a policeman. He told the officer the bane details and then took off again in the direction of the el yards.

Finally he reached the stairs leading to the elevated's burial ground. He sprinted up the steps and looked around. Everything seemed quiet. But where was the watchman? As far as he could see were silent sentinels of cars, standing in somber lines of two and three and four. He cursed his lack of matches or any other light as lie picked his way along the rotting ties. Gradually his eyes became more accustomed to the dark. Then, suddenly, he came upon a body sprawled against the base of the platform. It was one of the guards. Even to the inexperienced eye, the man no longer possessed that indefinable spark called life. The feeling of death was here and everywhere in these yards now. The watchman had been bludgeoned to death, Larue saw. His head was marked with many blows such as the one Philpot had received.