Gasket lay, his head bowed over on the table and an
arm flung forward. He was dead. On the floor was a lace mantilla.
Spear reached Adrian's side ahead of the others. "I heard him shoot
first," he said, so that all might hear him. "Are you hit?"
Adrian's hand went once more to his cheek. "Just a furrow," he said and
smiled a trifle dazedly. "He fired straight into my face."
"By Harry! He must have. Your cheek's powder-marked," cried Brannan,
running up and holding the lamp for a better view. "See that, gentlemen?
They tried to murder Mr. Stanley. This is self-defense. Who fired
at you?"
"This fellow!" Adrian indicated the sprawled figure. "Must have been. I
shot at the flash from his gun; then I aimed at McTurpin. I missed him,
probably."
"Not so sure of that," said Brown, who had come running from his
hostelry across the square. "Look, here's blood on the floor. A
trail--let's follow it. Either McTurpin or the woman was hit."
"I tried to avoid her," Adrian said. "I--hope I didn't--"
"Never mind. You were attacked. They're all of a parcel," cried a man
who wore the badge of a constable. "We've had our eyes on the three of
them a long time.
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