Seven Dials Again
Bundle stared at him. And very slowly the world, which for the last three quarters of an hour had been upside down, shifted till it stood once more the right way up. It was quite two minutes before Bundle spoke, but when she did it was no longer the panic-stricken girl but the real Bundle, cool, efficient and logical.
“How could he be shot?” she said.
“I don’t know how he could,” said the doctor dryly. “But he was. He’s got a rifle bullet in him all right. He bled internally, that’s why you didn’t notice anything.”
Bundle nodded.
“The question is,” the doctor continued, “who shot him? You saw nobody about?”
Bundle shook her head.
“It’s odd,” said the doctor. “If it was an accident, you’d expect the fellow who did it would come running to the rescue—unless just possibly he didn’t know what he’d done.”
“There was no one about,” said Bundle. “On the road, that is.”
“It seems to me,” said the doctor, “that the poor lad must have been running—the bullet got him just as he passed through the gate and he came reeling on to the road in consequence. You didn’t hear a shot?”
Bundle shook her head.