CHAPTER XIII—WHISKEY JIM
BEFORE the four men left the house Wilson revived and asked for his chief. Beveridge, his torn coat thrown aside, hurried back and bent over the bed. “What is it, Bert?”
“That's what I was going to ask you. I don't remember—exactly—”
“You were running around the house when somebody winged you. It doesn't amount to anything—you 'll be around in a day or so.”
“Oh, yes—that's it. It was some fellow behind, wasn't it? I remember I didn't see anybody ahead.”
“Yes—he was a little below the bridge, as I figure it.”