"I prefer to be doing something, even if it's pretty well a foregone conclusion that it's useless—than sit on the floor and wait," Captain Francis Newcombe answered. "A bullet probably hasn't the ghost of a chance of going through—but if a bullet won't, nothing that we have got to work with will."
The lighted candle on the shelf began to flicker.
Captain Francis Newcombe fired again—once more—and yet still another shot.
Runnells moaned and staggered. He went to the floor, his fists beating at the wall until they bled.
Captain Francis Newcombe watched the candle.
The minutes passed.
The light grew dim.
Captain Francis Newcombe sat down on the floor.
A strange coughing, a mingling of choking sounds.
The candle flickered and went out.