resting it for an instant across his arm, fired at the flying Spaniard,
and that with so true an aim that, though the street was now full of
people, the other went tumbling over and over all of a heap in the
kennel, where he lay, after a twitch or two, as still as a log.

At the sound of the shot and the fall of the man the crowd scattered
upon all sides, yelling and screaming, and the street being thus pretty
clear, Captain Morgan ran across the way to where his victim lay, his
smoking pistol still in his hand, and our hero following close at his
heels.

Our poor Harry had never before beheld a man killed thus in an instant
who a moment before had been so full of life and activity, for when
Captain Morgan turned the body over upon its back he could perceive at a
glance, little as he knew of such matters, that the man was stone-dead.
And, indeed, it was a dreadful sight for him who was hardly more than
a child. He stood rooted for he knew not how long, staring down at the
dead face with twitching fingers and shuddering limbs. Meantime a great
crowd was gathering about them again. As for Captain Morgan, he went
about his work with the utmost coolness and deliberation imaginable,
unbuttoning the waistcoat and the shirt of the man he had murdered with
fingers that neither twitched nor shook. There were a gold cross and
a bunch of silver medals hung by a whipcord about the neck of the dead
man. This Captain Morgan broke away with a snap, reaching the jingling
baubles to Harry, who took them in his nerveless hand and fingers that
he could hardly close upon what they held.

The papers Captain Morgan found in a wallet in an inner breast pocket of
the Spaniard's waistcoat. These he examined one by one, and finding them
to his satisfaction, tied them up again, and slipped the wallet and its