Part 15 (2/2)

The other's somewhere. Sure I hope I put a bullet through him, and I believed him when he said he was a police inspector. Oh, what a country to come to. To think that the dirty--oh, look out, Patsy! Look out, you old fool!”

The noise of a shot rang through Durham's head as though a pistol had been fired close to his ear. He saw a splinter fly from the verandah post as the bullet glanced off.

”I've hit him! I've hit him! See if he's dead, Patsy. Don't be frightened. I tell you I'll cover him if he moves.”

The light spread clear as the lamp was turned up, and Durham heard the slow-moving footsteps of the old man approaching.

”Bedad! It's all tied up he is!”

Quick footsteps came, and as Durham turned his eyes he saw, looking down at him, with her hair flying loose, her cheeks white, and her eyes wild with excitement, Nora Burke.

”What has happened? What does it mean?” she said slowly. ”Patsy, get a knife and--no, let me.”

She reached and caught hold of the cord tied round Durham's legs.

”Get a knife, Patsy. It is too tight to untie.”

Obedient, the old man brought her the table-knife Durham had used at his supper, and with it she cut through some of the cords.

”Can you move now? Oh, it's a gag they put on you!” she exclaimed, as she leaned over him and cut the thong which held the m.u.f.fler so securely across his mouth.

”Free my arm, and give me the knife,” he said, as soon as he could speak. ”I will cut quicker.”

She placed the knife in his hand when she had slipped the cord twined round his arm. He could scarcely close his fingers on it, so stiff had they become, and he fumbled clumsily before he had cut himself free.

Then he rose to his feet and stood unsteadily.

Patsy had vanished; Mrs. Burke watched him from the shadow at the side of the window.

”You saw them?” he exclaimed. ”It was you who fired?”

Before she could answer his eye caught sight of something white lying by the chair. He stooped and picked it up. It was what had been used to m.u.f.fle his cries, and he saw it was a handkerchief.

Instinctively he opened it out, stepped into the full glare of the light and ran his eyes along the edge. At one corner a name, boldly written, showed clear.

”Charles N. Eustace.”

He could not repress an exclamation as he read the name.

”What is it?” she cried, as she came over to him.

She gripped his arm as she also read the name.

”Eustace!” she cried. ”Eustace--then it was he who----”

She stopped abruptly, staring at him.

”Did you recognise him?” he asked.

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