Behind her, the noise of a struggle suddenly broke out. A hoarse voice: “Lemme go”; another that she knew well: “Not if I know it—ah, you would, would you?”
Still Loraine ran—blindly, as though panic-stricken—right round the corner of the terrace—and slap into the arms of a large, solidly built man.
“There, there,” said Superintendent Battle kindly.
Loraine was struggling to speak.
“Oh, quick!—oh, quick! They’re killing each other. Oh, do be quick!”
There was a sharp crack of a revolver shot—and then another.
Superintendent Battle started to run. Loraine followed. Back round the corner of the terrace and along to the library window.
The window was open.
Battle stooped and switched on an electric torch. Loraine was close beside him, peering over his shoulder. She gave a little sobbing gasp.
On the threshold of the window lay Jimmy Thesiger in what looked like a pool of blood. His right arm lay dangling in a curious position.
Loraine gave a sharp cry.
“He’s dead,” she wailed. “Oh, Jimmy—Jimmy—he’s dead!”
“Now, now,” said Superintendent Battle soothingly. “Don’t you take on so. The young gentleman isn’t dead, I’ll be bound. See if you can find the lights and turn them on.”
Loraine obeyed. She stumbled across the room, found the switch by the door and pressed it down. The room was flooded with light. Superintendent Battle uttered a sigh of relief.