“Stand back, gentlemen! Lift him up. What's the row? What is it, Saunders? Who did it? Speak, man!”
But Saunders, who was still supporting himself against the wall, only looked at them with a singular and half-apologetic smile, and then leaned forward as if to catch the eye of Shuttleworth, who was recovering consciousness in the uplifted arms of his companions. But neither spoke.
“It's some d——d Greaser inside!” said Thompson, with sudden ferocity. “Some of her cursed crew! Break down the doors, boys!”
“Stop!”
It was the voice of Shuttleworth, speaking with an effort. He was hard hit, somewhere in the groin; pain and blood were coming with consciousness and movement, and his face was ghastly. Yet there was the same singular smile of embarrassment which Saunders had worn, and a touch of invincible disgust in his voice as he stammered quickly, “Don't be d——d fools! It's no one in THERE. It's only me and HIM! He'll tell you that. Won't you, Saunders?”
“Yes,” said Saunders, leaning anxiously forward, with a brightening face. “D—n it all—can't you see? It's only—only us.”
“You and me, that's all,” repeated Shuttleworth, with a feverish laugh. “Only our d——d foolishness! Think of it, boys! He gave me the lie, and I drew!”
“Both of us full, you know—reg'lar beasts,” said Saunders, sinking back against the wall. “Kick me, somebody, and finish me off.”
“I don't see any weapons here,” said Brace gravely, examining the ground.
“They're inside,” said Shuttleworth with tremulous haste. “We began it in there—just like hogs, you know! Didn't we, Saunders?” bitterly.