"I saw most of it from the balcony. I saw him run, and called out, and then I thought he fired at somebody… "
Rampole put a hand to his head. "That butler fellow — what's his name-Budge. He must have been watching us from the wood. God knows why. I'd just hoisted him — you know, the dead one — over the edge of the well, and I heard you call, and somebody start to run. Budge got in his way, and took it in the chest."
"He isn't-?"
"I don't know," the American answered, despairingly. "He wasn't dead when we put him in the car. They've taken him in to Chatterham."
Both of them stood silent for a while, listening to the crickets. The doctor took a flask from his pocket and held it out. Cherry brandy went down Rampole's throat with a choking bite, and then crawled along his veins in a way that made him shudder.
"You've no idea who the man was?" Dr. Fell asked.
Rampole said, wearily: "Oh, to hell with who it was. I didn't even get a glimpse of him; I just heard him running. I was thinking about what I'd seen down there…. Look here, we'd better get back to the dead one."
"I say, you're shaking. Steady on―"
"Give me a shoulder for a second. Well, it was this way―"
Rampole swallowed again. He felt that his nostrils would never be free of the odour from that well, or from crawling things. Again he saw the rope curling down from the balcony, and felt the stone against his corduroy trousers as he swung himself over the edge.:.