asperity.

"My God, Colonel, if he ain't lying there dead--" a shudder passed
through the little man; he was well-nigh dumb in his terror. "And I
stumbled right on to him there on the floor!" he cried with a gasp.

He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still
retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with
admirable expertness.

"I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that
one dreadful fact.

"Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about
like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed
about to collapse once more.

"Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see
death!"

"Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his
hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin,
however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now.

"Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood;
some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't
there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel
Harbison had entered the store.

"Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his