"I should say so!" The resourceful Australian had already produced a tiny flask of brandy. "Here, take a pull at this, and you'll feel better in a second. And when you've recovered, if you'll explain the meaning of the shooting-match, I'll be thankful to you."
Between his gasps Anstice described the chase and its subsequent ending; and Garnett's eyes shone with an unholy lust for battle as he listened.
"Good on you!" He clapped the other man on the shoulder with a heartiness which was almost painful. "Well, we'll have the hornet's nest about our ears in no time now; but at least we've got you back safe and sound, and with a bit of luck we'll hold out grandly till the reinforcements come!"
"How is Cheniston?" Anstice rose as he spoke and slipped the goat-skin from off his shoulders. "Anything happened since I've been away?"
"Not that I know of—but I believe he was pretty bad a while ago." Garnett's face clouded. "Jolly rough luck on his wife, isn't it? She's so young, and so plucky, and I see you expect the poor chap to peg out."
"I think I'll go and see him," said Anstice slowly, the exhilaration dying from his manner; and as Garnett pulled aside the rough curtain which covered the doorway he stepped on to the uneven stone floor without.
And then he came to a pause; for Iris was coming towards him; and her face wore a curiously stricken look which made his heart miss a beat.
"Mrs. Cheniston—you want me? Is your husband worse?"
For a moment she did not reply. Then:
"He is dead, Dr. Anstice," she said quietly. "He died ten minutes ago—just after I heard those two shots——"