"Can't get rid of him, can't we, Peter?" he cried. "Well, I have, I've done what you couldn't do, old man, he's gone now, right enough, he and Cyclops together, come and see."
Carson seized him by the shoulder, crushing it in his grip.
"Hold your tongue, you fool," he whispered, "look behind you; they'll be here in a minute. D'you want to hang? Oh yes, I'll come and see. God help you," and, still holding him fast, he hurried on to where O'Hagan was lying.
"O'Hagan," he called, "get up, man, get up," and then, no answer coming from the heap, he knelt down beside it, and tearing open the silken jacket felt for its heart. For a few seconds he remained kneeling, the clamour from behind growing rapidly louder, and then rose to his feet once more.
"You're right, Graeme," he said quietly; "quite right, you have done it."
"What's happened, who is it?" said a breathless voice, echoed by others. The spectators had arrived.
"O'Hagan, dead," answered Carson. "Oh, keep away, man; have you no sense of decency? Where's a doctor?"
"Who's the other? Rode right into him. Most deliberate thing I ever saw in my life. I saw it quite plainly through my glasses."
Carson spun round, facing the speaker, his eyes blazing.
"Who was it said that, who was it, I say? Don't stand skulking behind there, whoever you are, but come out and say it like a man. Some poor loser, I suppose, with five rupees on Matador, whining because he's lost. Come out, I say, if you've a spark of pluck in you," but to the invitation there was no response; the speaker declined to show himself.