The assistants stopped short.
The burden which they were dragging had collapsed in their arms.
“What is it? What’s happened?” asked everybody.
“He’s wounded....”
Blood spurted from Vaucheray’s forehead and covered his face.
He spluttered:
“That’s done it . . . one in a thousand! Thank you, governor, thank you.”
“Finish him off! Carry him there!” said a voice, amid the general confusion.
“But he’s dead!”
“Get on with it . . . finish him off!”