“You’ve killed him!” Madge came into the room, her eyes wild with remorse. “Oh, Durgan — you’ve killed him! Killed my man! Killed—”
Her eyes saw the upturned face of Ernie Shires. They lighted suddenly.
Madge could not explain what had happened — she only knew that the wrong man was dead — and she was glad! Her furious hate had turned to love once more the moment that she had heard the fatal shots. Killer Durgan was watching her with hawklike eyes.
“I got him!” he said. “Got the rat! Your man, eh? Well, he’s nobody’s man, now! He’s just Ernie Shires — a dead rat—”
SOMETHING in Madge’s expression puzzled Durgan. The wildness was gone. She seemed relieved. Durgan could not understand it.
The girl was neither weeping nor laughing. Her face was tense. She was trying to regain her calmness.
It was in this moment of puzzlement that Killer Durgan chanced to see the form of Cliff Marsland. He thrust Madge to one side as he strode across the room. He pulled the chair away. He looked close at the face of the unconscious man. Then Durgan turned to see Madge trembling.
“I got it now!” he said harshly. “I killed the wrong guy, eh? This is the bird that made the trouble! Who is he?”
“I won’t tell you,” replied Madge fiercely. “He’s nobody, Durgan — leave him alone!”
“Tell me who he is!” Durgan’s tone was cunning. “Then I’ll let him go!”