Curious rattling, bubbling noises still came from the second man, just physical sounds. The first man lay sprawling in a ghastly fashion, his evil face fixed above a pool of blackening blood.
“Watch the stairs!” said Ramón in Spanish to her, glancing at her with farouche eyes, from some far remote jungle. Yet still the glint of recognition sparked furtively out of the darkness.
He crept to the turret, and stealthily looked out. Then he crept back, with the same stealth, and dragged the nearest dead man to the parapet, raising the body till the head looked over. There was no sound. Then he raised himself, and peeped over. No sign, no sound.
He looked at the dead body as he let it drop. Then he went to Kate, to look down the stairs.
“You grazed that man with your first shot, you only stunned him I believe,” he said.
“Are there any more?” she asked, shuddering.
“I think they are all gone.”
He was pale, almost white, with that same pristine clear brow, like a boy’s, a sort of twilight changelessness.
“Are you much hurt?” she said.
“I? No!” and he put his fingers round to his back, to feel the slowly welling wound, with his bloody fingers.