"I am only glad it was someone else that was shot and not you, my darling child," broke in Miss Campbell tremulously. "Duncan, I do wish you wouldn't keep pistols lying around the house. They are so dangerous."
"But I don't, Cousin. It was carefully stored in the back compartment of a bottom desk drawer. If this reckless young relative of ours would go and dig it out, I'm sure it's not my fault."
"I'm sure I can't imagine why you treat the matter as such a joke," Miss
Campbell was saying, when Mme. Fontaine swept into the room.
Her face was whiter than the long white wrap that enveloped her.
"I am so glad you were not injured," she said standing beside Billie.
"You must thank Mme. Fontaine, Billie. It was she who found you first. The rest of us were not certain in which room the shot was fired. I thought it was in the kitchen."
"Oh," said Billie, turning to the widow. "Were you the first person on the scene? You couldn't have seen much, it was so dark. How did you know I was here? I don't suppose the robber made any noise."
"It was very dark. I should not have known, if—if I had not smelt the smoke of the powder."
"I thought perhaps you were going to say you heard the robber groan," went on Billie. "You see I hit him. I think I must have a pretty good natural aim to shoot with the left hand in the dark and not fire wide of the mark. But I don't think he was very badly hurt. He got away so fast. I just winged him, I suppose."
"How do you know you shot him?" asked Mme. Fontaine.