"He shot at Murch."
" 'M, yes. But a wild shot, over his head, to keep him back. Not the way he picked off Spinelli. Like a sitting bird. Ugh! And the other fellow. Or maybe he lost his nerve. / don't know. God, I don't know anything…"
He began to pace back and forth. "Come on. We've got to look for the other man, if it kills us. Who was he? Do you know?"
"I didn't see him either; at least, to recognize him. Here, I've got a cigarette lighter. That will be better than matches. If’ said Hugh, feeling a little sick, "we follow that trail of bloodstains…"
But neither of them was anxious to start. Morgan made a gesture which said, "Let's finish our cigarettes." He said aloud:
"I was just thinking who it might be." The thought, to Hugh, was as terrifying as anything that had gone before. They would need to penetrate only a little way among the trees, because the sniper had been too deadly a shot for his second victim to have got very far. But his mind was full of formless conjectures that were all horrible. Morgan seemed to meet his thought. He went on swiftly:
"Uh. A dead shot, and cool. My God, what's going on in this nice placid corner of the universe? Who's the maniac can sit at a window and break people's heads like clay pigeons? I told you how impossible it was. And yet it happened. 'Keep your stories probable.' I’d like to know what the hell a probable story is," he said rather wildly, "if this is one… Keep on talking; it'll whisde our spirits up. That reminds me, I'm carrying a flask. Like a drink?"
"Would I!" Hugh said fervently.
Two amateur criminologists," jerked out Morgan, handing over the flask, "afraid of the bogey man. The reason is, you and I are afraid there's somebody we know only too well lying in there with a couple of bullets through him."
Hugh drank whisky greedily, shuddered at the bite in his throat; but he felt better. "Let's go" he said.