sluggishly, as is the way
with blood when the heart pump is stopped. I hurried over and raised the
heavy, wobbling, gray head. It was Allan Fleming and he had been shot
through the forehead.

CHAPTER IX

ONLY ONE EYE CLOSED

My first impulse was to rouse the house; my second, to wait for Hunter.
To turn loose that mob of half-drunken men in such a place seemed
profanation. There was nothing of the majesty or panoply of death here,
but the very sordidness of the surroundings made me resolve to guard the
new dignity of that figure. I was shocked, of course; it would be absurd
to say that I was emotionally unstrung. On the contrary, I was conscious
of a distinct feeling of disappointment. Fleming had been our key to the
Bellwood affair, and he had put himself beyond helping to solve any
mystery. I locked the door and stood wondering what to do next. I should
have called a doctor, no doubt, but I had seen enough of death to know
that the man was beyond aid of any kind.

It was not until I had bolted the door that I discovered the absence of
any weapon. Everything that had gone before had pointed to a position
so untenable that suicide seemed its natural and inevitable result. With
the discovery that there was no revolver on the table or floor, the
thing was more ominous. I decided at once to call the young city
physician in the room across the hall, and with something approximating
panic, I threw open the door--to face Harry Wardrop, and behind him,
Hunter.

I do not remember that any one spoke. Hunter jumped past me into the
room and took in in a single glance what I had labored to acquire in
three minutes. As Wardrop came in, Hunter locked the door behind him,
and we three stood staring at the prostrate figure over the table.

I watched Wardrop: I have never seen so suddenly abject a picture. He
dropped into a chair, and feeling for his handkerchief, wiped his
shaking lips; every particle of color left his face, and he was limp,
unnerved.

"Did you hear the shot?" Hunter asked me. "It has been a matter of
minutes since it happened."

"I don't know," I said, bewildered. "I heard a lot of explosions, but I
thought it was an automobile, out in the street."

Hunter was listening while he examined the room, peering under the
table, lifting the blankets that had trailed off the couch on to the
floor. Some one outside tried the door-knob, and finding the door
locked, shook it slightly.

"Fleming!" he calle