Mrs. Ringgo ran past me to her husband.
Sherry was lying on his back now. His eyes were closed.
He looked dead, and he had enough bullet holes in him to make death a good guess.
Hoping he wasn’t dead, I knelt beside him—going around him so I could kneel facing Ringgo—and lifted his head up a little from the floor.
Sherry stirred then, but I couldn’t tell whether he stirred because he was still alive or because he had just died.
“Sherry,” I said sharply. “Sherry.”
He didn’t move. His eyelids didn’t even twitch.
I raised the fingers of the hand that was holding up his head, making his head move just a trifle.
“Did Ringgo kill Kavalov?” I asked the dead or dying man.
Even if I hadn’t known Ringgo was looking at me I could have felt his eyes on me.
“Did he, Sherry?” I barked into the still face.
The dead or dying man didn’t move.
I cautiously moved my fingers again so that his dead or dying head nodded, twice.
Then I made his head jerk back, and let it gently down on the floor again.
“Well,” I said, standing up and facing Ringgo, “I’ve got you at last.”