Dillon, with the instinct of the roundsman in him still, tried the
handle of the door gently. To our surprise it moved. I could not
believe that anyone could have gone away and left it open,
trusting that the place would not be looted by the neighbours
before he returned. I felt instinctively that there must be
somebody there, in spite of the darkness.

The commissioner pushed in, however, followed closely by both of
us, prepared for an on-rush or a hand-to-hand struggle with
anything, man or beast.

A quick succession of shots greeted us. I do not recall feeling
the slightest sensation of pain, but with a sickening dizziness in
the head I can just vaguely remember that I sank down on the oil
and grease of the floor. I did not fall. It seemed as if I had
time to catch myself and save, perhaps, a fractured skull. But
then it was all blank.

It seemed an age, though it could not have been more than ten
minutes later when I came to. I felt an awful, choking sensation
in my throat which was dry and parched. My lungs seemed to rasp my
very ribs, as I struggled for breath. Garrick was bending
anxiously over me, himself pale and gasping yet. The air was
reeking with a smell that I did not understand.

"Thank heaven, you're all right," he exclaimed, with much relief,
as he helped me struggle up on my feet. My head was still in a
whirl as he assisted me over to a cushioned seat in one of the
automobiles standing there. "Now I'll go back to Dillon," he
added, out of breath from the superhuman efforts he was putting