The cock had been turned square off.
“Harry did it,” he whispered. “Poor fellow! I remember how he couldn’t stand the idea of my being murdered. His coming in and leaving the door open, ventilated the place, and so I didn’t die of suffocation. Poor chap! he meant well. I wonder how he came to be shot?”
Shot he was, as the detective could see from the wound in the young man’s breast.
Patsy stood still for a full minute.
“Hang me!” he exclaimed, “if it doesn’t seem as wonderful as if I was dead!”
He felt for his revolver.
One had been taken away from him, but he had the other, and, with this in his hand, he went upstairs.
The house was very still.
In the kitchen he found overturned chairs and other signs of disorder.
“There was a ruction of some kind,” he concluded.