The two shots were almost instantaneous. At the second, the quack reeled back against the wall. The girl turned swiftly upon Hal, and as he seized her he felt the cold steel against his neck. The touch seemed to paralyze him. Strangely enough, the thought of death was summed up in a vast, regretful curiosity to know why all this was happening. Then the weapon fell.
"I can't kill you!" cried the girl, in a bursting sob, and fell, face down, upon the floor.
Hal, snatching up the revolver, ran to his father.
"I'm all right," declared the quack. "Only the shoulder. Just winged. Get me a drink from that decanter."
His son obeyed. With swift, careful hands he got the coat off the bulky-muscled arm, and saw, with a heart-lifting relief, that the bullet had hardly more than grazed the flesh. Meantime the girl had crawled, still sobbing, to a chair.
"Did I kill him?" she asked, covering her eyes against what she might see.
"No," said Hal.
"Listen," commanded Dr. Surtaine. "Some one's coming. Keep quiet." He walked steadily to the door and called out, "It's nothing. Just experimenting with a new pistol. Go back to your bed."
"Who was it?" asked Hal.
"The housekeeper. There's just one thing to do for the sake of all of us. This has got to be hushed up. I'm going out to telephone. Don't let her get away, Hal."