The Duke drew in his head, but he remained staring gloomily into the darkness.
“You couldn’t help it,” Rex tried to hearten him; “you just thought it would be an easy get-away for him; ’sides, I’ll bet little Simon’s all right. Almighty difficult to hit a running man in the dark; he can take care of himself better than you think. I’d back Simon against any Bolshie that ever lived.”
“You mean it kindly, but you’re talking nonsense, Rex. Simon would be as helpless as a child against one of these men, and he’s gone to his death through my foolishness.”
A pistol cracked from the terrace below — De Richleau staggered back, dropping his gun with a clatter on the floor as Rex caught him.
“Steady,” said Rex in a whisper, “steady — tell me you’re all right?”
“Don’t worry,” he managed to gasp, “they got me in the shoulder.”
“Hell’s luck. I was just beginning to think that we might get out of here. Is it bleeding much?”
“No, don’t worry — watch the roof.” De Richleau leant against the wall. After a moment he spoke again. “Bone’s scraped, not broken, I think — bullet’s in the ceiling.”
“Can you use your gun?” Rex asked anxiously.
“Yes. Mustn’t use right arm; bleed too much. I can fire left-handed.”