He paused and took a deep breath.
‘I told him to put up his hands or I’d fire at him,’ he went on jerkily, ‘but he didn’t. He just came for me, so I did fire. I didn’t hit him, of course – I didn’t mean to – but the noise seemed to start things up generally. There seemed to be footsteps all round us. We didn’t know where to shove the cove. The door into here seemed handy and we’d just got him inside when these four charged in on us from the kitchen passage. Michael had got the first fellow’s gun by that time. He lost his head a bit, I guess, and blazed at them – shooting wildly over their heads most of the time. Then one of the fellows got him and he curled up on the sink over there with his gun underneath him. By this time, however, I’d got ’em fairly well under control, God knows how.’
The boy spoke modestly, but there were indications of ‘how’ upon the faces of their captives.
‘I got them to stick up their hands,’ he continued, ‘and then I yelled to Wyatt to get their guns.’
He paused, and glanced at the silent figure hunched up on the flags.
‘Poor old chap,’ he said. ‘I think he went barmy – almost ran amok. He got the guns all right – there were only two of them – and before I could stop him or yell at him even, he had chucked them into that bricked-in place over there. See what it is? A darn great well – I heard them splash ages after they went in. I bawled at him, but he yelled out what sounded like “Sweet Seventeen” or something equally potty, grabbed that scoop, and began to lay about with it like a loony.’ He shook his head and paused for breath. ‘Then a foul thing happened,’ he went on suddenly. ‘One of them came for me – and I warned him I’d shoot, and finally I tried to, but the thing only clicked in my hand. The shot I had already fired must have been the last. Then we closed. When you came in the other three were trying to get at Prenderby for his gun – he was knocked out, you know – and old Wyatt was lashing round like the flail of the Lord. Then, of course, you just finished things off for us.’
‘A very pretty tale of love and war,’ murmured Mr Campion, some of his old inanity returning. ‘ “Featuring Our Boys. Positively for One Night Only.” I’ve finished with the lads now, Doc – you might have a look at the casualties.’
Abbershaw lowered his revolver, and approached Prenderby with some trepidation. The boy lay on the stone sink dangerously doubled up, his face hidden. A hasty examination, however, disclosed only a long superficial scalp wound. Abbershaw heaved a sigh of relief.
‘He’s stunned,’ he said briefly. ‘The bullet grazed along his temple and put him out. We ought to get him upstairs, though, I think.’
‘Well, I don’t see why we shouldn’t,’ said Martin cheerfully. ‘Hang it, our way is fairly clear now. Gideon and a thug are upstairs, you say, safely out of the way; we have four sportsmen here and one outside; that’s seven altogether. Then the doctor lad and his shover are still away presumably, so there’s only old Dawlish himself left. The house is ours.’