“Teddy!” he cried, jumping forward. “Your hand!”
Belle screamed, and ran to her brother’s side. Quickly she seized the left arm that had been under the auto and turned it over so that the back of the hand was uppermost. A thin line of blood showed red against the tan.
Teddy looked at it as though he were examining a curiosity. Then he laughed—at least, that is the only word to describe the sound that came from his lips. In a moment he stopped, and caught his breath.
“Got me,” he said simply.
The three stood by the side of the car, shocked into silence. Belle retained her hold on Teddy’s arm. Roy, his eyes wide, stared at the few drops of blood. Teddy’s shoulders were thrown back, every muscle rigid. He looked straight ahead.
Roy was the first to move. He reached out quickly, and seized his brother’s wrist in a firm grip, squeezing it with all his strength.
“Belle,” he said in a low voice, “reach into my pocket and bring out a handkerchief. We’ve got to make a tourniquet, so the poison won’t get up his arm. Quick!”
Drawing in a deep breath, Belle obeyed. Teddy swayed slightly, then got a grip on himself. His teeth clenched.
“Roy,” he said quietly, “hold my arm over a way.”
Wondering, Roy changed his position. Teddy reached inside his coat with his right hand, and drew out a gun. Then Roy understood.