"Kuttner, Henry - Red Gem of Mercury" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kuttner Henry)

wrenched from a crumbling chimney.
Tony Apollo was climbing the fire-escape.
And Tony Apollo wasn't a man any longer. He was a red butchered Thing from which
blood dripped in a steady stream to the pavement below. The street was filled
now with a huge mob; hundreds of eyes were turned up to the roof.
"KEEP away from me! I didn't frame you! Stay back!"
The brick shot down with the force of a bullet. It smashed against Apollo's
shoulder. The man's body was torn from its grip. It plummeted down through the
air.
Silence, after that a dull, heavy thud. Then, suddenly, Pasqual screamed like a
damned soul. For Tony Apollo was getting up, slowly, carefully, and starting to
climb the fire-escape again.
Pasqual found more bricks and hurled them down. Some found their mark; some
missed. But Apollo did not lose his grip again. He reached the third story--the
fourth--the fifth. White faces watched him with horror from the windows. Apollo
ignored them.
He had no face. Blood was literally pouring from his body. And he kept on
smiling, silently, horribly, as he climbed.
Pasqual suddenly began to scream, "Stop, Tony! I framed you! I framed you! But
I'll give everything back--everything! Only don't come any closer--"
Tony Apollo pulled himself over the edge of the roof. He stood up. Pasqual
staggered back, clawing at the air, sobbing hysterically.
Then he fell, and was hidden beyond the parapet of the roof. Tony Apollo fell,
too.
Vane turned to Lankershim. "Better send your men up to the roof. I think our
friend Pasqual will talk now. If he's still sane . . ."
The chief harked a command. Two officers raced forward, clambered up the
fire-escape. After a moment one returnd, while the other, carrying Pasqual's
limp body, followed more slowly.
The first officer halted before Lankershim. His voice was puzzled.
"Apollo wasn't up there."
"He got away?"
The patrolman swallowed convulsively. "I--I guess so. There wasn't any blood on
the roof--"
Lankershim expelled his breath in disbelief. "No blood! Why, the pavement's
covered with it. Look!" He pointed--and then his jaw dropped.
There wasn't any blood visible. It had vanished . . .
A MONTH had passed. Vane sat in the back of Uncle Tobe's shop, eating
Hasenpfeffer with gusto. The old man was smoking a battered corncob and nodding
thoughtfully.
"Business is better for everyone now that Pasqual's gang is broken up. He
confessed everything, didn't he--how he framed you--everything?"
"That's right."
Uncle Tobe suddenly leaned over the table. "I've been thinking, Steve--they
never found Tony Apollo after he disappeared from that roof."
"Probably dead," Vane grunted. "A wonder he kept alive as long as he did."
The grocer smiled. "I have been thinking of various things," he said, apparently
at random. "The way you hypnotized Stohm when he knocked over my showcase--and
that red stone you used to have on your forehead."
Vane looked up sharply. His face was immobile for an instant. Then, abruptly, he