Then, as they neared a cross street, a man stepped out on the running board and flashed an automatic. Aiming deliberately, he fired. The next instant, with the din of a hundred sets of brakes screaming in their ears, Cordie, the horse and the man in gray were piled all in a heap in the middle of the street.
In the midst of all this there came a crash. What was that? Dared she hope it was the villains’ car? At sound of it the man in gray was up and away like mad.
“What’s this?” she heard an unfamiliar voice saying. A man from the nearest car behind them had come to the aid of the girl and the horse.
* * * * * * * *
In the meantime, Lucile was passing through experiences quite as strange.
Laurie Seymour had been knocked unconscious by a blow on the head. Patrick O’Hara had been shot from his horse. How serious were the injuries of these, her friends?
To determine this, then to see what might be done for their relief; this appeared to be her duty, even though Cordie was in grave danger still.
Men pressed forward to assist her. They carried the unconscious ones into the lobby of a hotel. There they were stretched out upon davenports and remedies applied by the house physician.
Lucile was engaged in stopping the flow of blood from Patrick O’Hara’s scalp wound. She chanced to look up and there, at the edge of the davenport, she caught sight of a familiar face.
“Miss Diurno! The Mystery Lady! Spirit of Christmas! Two Hundred in gold!” her mind registered automatically, but her fingers held rigidly to their task.