core, a thing about which it centered. I stood up, trying to look over the crowd’s heads, but I could see nothing.
Jumping down to the driveway, I pushed through the crowd.
Face down on the white gravel a man sprawled—a thin man in dark clothes—and just above his collar, where the head and neck join, was a hole. I knelt to peer into his face.
Then I pushed through the crowd again, back to where Axford was just getting out of the car, the engine of which was still running.
“Pangburn is dead—shot!”