2:40 a.m. —The Angle of Death’s Path
The pounding on the door became hysterical, and Cassidy, who for two cents would have become hysterical himself, went over and unlocked it. He found Dr. Worth, backed by scandalously excited servants and flanked by Nurse Murrow and O’Brian, pressing across the sill.
“Is it Endicott?” Dr. Worth demanded breathlessly.
“No, sir—it’s Hollander. We shot the knife from his hand before he could stick it into Endicott, and then we shot him down.”
“Close this door, Officer, and keep these people out. Come in with me, Miss Murrow.”
Dr. Worth came into the room with Nurse Murrow. Cassidy closed the door, and the shrill clatter of excited whisperings ebbed like a tide.
“Thank God, Officer, you saved Endicott. What a mess.” Dr. Worth glanced critically at Hollander, huddled on the floor by the bed in a blood-soaked heap. “You two men help Nurse Murrow. Stretch him out on that chest over there by the window. Do what you can for him, Miss Murrow, until I’ve taken care of Endicott.”
Cassidy and Hansen lifted Hollander and carried him to the improvised cot Miss Murrow arranged with blankets and a pillow on top of the mahogany chest by the window.
Nurse Murrow then became the acme, the pink of proficiency. She dressed and bound Hollander’s wounds, and applied the proper tourniquet above his shattered wrist. In her opinion, his condition was