Down one block and half across the next he ran manfully. Then he reeled, staggered wildly from side to side, threw up his arms, and fell heavily upon his face.
“I knew you’d bring yourself down,” said Stanhope, coming up behind him. “You should not treat a man as an enemy, sir, until he’s proven himself such.”
He lifted the prostrate man, turning him easily, and rested the fallen head upon his knee.
“Can you swallow a little?” pressing a flask of brandy to the lips of the ex-convict.
The man gasped and feebly swallowed a little of the liquor.
“There,” laying down the flask, “are your wounds bleeding?”
The wounded man groaned, and then whispered feebly:
“I’m done for—I think—are you—an officer?”
“Yes.”
“Af—after me?”