XXII
A CROAKING AND FINIS.
Doris was up and she was steady. "You didn't get the gas," Jerry was telling her.
She said nothing to him. It was harder for her than for me to understand what he had done; yet she got it before I did.
"You're Jerry Fanneal," she said to him.
"That's me."
He went to a window and threw up the sash and flung back the shutter. He fired three shots in the air.
"You were here—not Harry Vine—just now."
"He's been cold for half an hour. That's what delayed you."
"What?"
"Christina stopped to croak him, Harry Vine, Keeban. She wouldn't take a chance."
He was wiping blood from his shoulder where he'd been hurt. I was bloody in several spots and Margaret was wiping that off me.
