third shot came. Then, in the midst of rush and
confusion, another shot roared; the light was out again; then all was
gone; the noise was outside; the room was still except for a cough and
choke as Blatchford--somewhere on the floor in front of the blind
man--tried again to speak.

Basil Santoine, groping with his hands, found him. The blind man knelt
and with his fingers went over his cousin's face; he found the wound on
the neck where Blatchford's life was running away. He was still
conscious. Santoine knew that he was trying his best to speak, to say
just one word--a name--to tell whom he had seen and who had shot him;
but he could not.

Santoine put his hand over a hand of his cousin. "That's all right,
Wally; that's all right," he assured him. And now he knew that
Blatchford's consciousness was going forever. Santoine knew what must
be most on his friend's mind at that last moment as it had been most on
his mind during more than thirty years. "And about my blindness,
Wallace, that was the best thing that ever happened to me. I'd never
have done what I have if I hadn't been blind."

Blatchford's fingers closed tightly on Santoine's; they did not relax
but now remained closed, though without strength. The blind man bowed
and then lifted his head. His friend was dead, and others were rushing
into the room--the butler, one of the chauffeurs, Avery, more
menservants; the light was on again, and amid the tumult and alarms of
the discoveries shown by the light, some rushed to the windows to the
south in pursuit of those who had escaped from the room. Avery and one
or two others rushed up to Santoine; now the blind man heard, above
their cries and alarms, the voice of his daughter. She was beside him,
where he knelt next the body of Blatchford, and she put back others who
crowded about.

"Father! What has happened? Why are you here? Oh, Father, Cousin
Wallace!"

"He is dead," Santoine said. "They shot him!"

"Father; how was it? You--"

"There are none of them in the room?" he asked her in reply.

"None of them?"

Her failure to understand answered him. If any of the men who fought
there had not got away, she would have understood. "They were not all
together," he said. "They were three, at least. One was not with the
others. They fired at each other, I believe, after one shot him."
Santoine's hand was still in Blatchford's. "I heard them below." He
told shortly how he had gone down, h