They were close behind him. He couldn’t go on like this, running from roof to roof. If he didn’t stop the bleeding he was going to pass out.
He went over to the skylight, hooked his fingers under it and pulled. It came up soundlessly, and he peered down into a dimly lit passage.
He lowered himself awkwardly down into the passage. It was as much as he could do to reach up and close the skylight. Sweat was running down his face. He leaned against the wall, the .45 heavy in his hand, while he struggled against the feeling of faintness that gripped him.
Making the effort, he began to move slowly along the passage, aware he was leaving a trail of blood behind him. It came to him with a sour bitterness that this was the end of him. Even if he hid somewhere in this building, they’d search him out. They knew they had winged him, and the blood would give him away. He would be cornered and shot down like a mad dog.
Well, he wouldn’t go alone, he told himself. If only he could stop this damned bleeding, he might still give an account of himself. He wasn’t afraid; only bit er at the thought of ending it this way. He wouldn’t have cared if he hadn’t been wounded. If he could have shot it out with them, knowing his aim was straight and he was taking some of them with him, he would have rather glorified in such an end.
But as it was, his gun was now growing so heavy it was as much as he could do to keep it level, let alone shoot with it.
He approached a door. His hand, creeping along the face of the wall, guiding and supporting him, touched the door which swung open.
He paused, drawing back his lips off his teeth as a bright light came from the roof into the passage.
He leaned against the doorway, staring into a bright but sparsely furnished room. His eyes took in the divan bed, the threadbare rug on the stained boards, a sagging armchair covered with a cheap but gay chintz, the cream-painted walls and the screen that probably hid the toilet basin.
He wedged his shoulder against the doorway, trying to give his buckling knees support. The shaded electric lamp hanging from the ceiling was beginning to spin around. He felt his fingers opened against his will, and heard a far away thud of the Colt as it dropped on the floor.