"What's that?" cried Sophy.
"A gun or pistol fired," I replied, "and not far off."
"I don't mean the firing," said Sophy, "I mean the scream. Didn't yer 'ear it?"
"No, Sophy, no scream reached my ears."
"It reached mine. I can 'ear anything, if it's in the next street."
"Was it after or before the shot?" I asked.
"About the same time, I think. They come both together."
"Let us go and see what it is, if you're not afraid."
"Me afraid," she said contemptuously, and she ran before me in the direction from which the sounds had proceeded. We had not gone fifty yards before we both stopped simultaneously, with an exclamation of horror on our lips. On the ground before us lay the body of a man, pressing his hand to his heart, from which the blood was flowing. He struggled into a sitting posture, and was endeavoring to rise to his feet, when he fell back with a groan, and moved no more.
I rushed to his side and bent over him.