Unconsciously, I had gripped Nanette hard. But, in the next instant, she wrenched herself free from my grasp, turned, and with a queer sort of smothered cry threw herself upon O’Shea! I twisted about. Not two feet behind me an arm protruded into the room! The hand grasped a strange-looking pistol--for at that time I had never seen a Maxim Silencer. I heard a muffled thud. Something came whizzing through the air in my direction. (I learned later, when clarity came, that it was a valuable Ming vase that had stood upon the piano.) “Hold him, Decies!” yelled Milton. It was Milton who had hurled this costly projectile at the dimly seen arm in the window. The vase went crashing out into the street. I heard a second thud. Milton fell forward across the instrument--and then slid down on to the carpet. The hand clutching the pistol had vanished. A sort of vague red mist was dancing before my eyes. Came a rush of footsteps. Nanette was slipping from O’Shea’s arms. His face as he looked down into hers was a mask of tragedy. I heard her utter a little moan and I saw a streak of blood upon one white shoulder. Then followed chaos. A very weak voice, which vaguely I recognized as that of Milton, said: “Don’t worry about me, Doc. Look after Nanette.” I saw O’Shea stoop and lift Nanette. I saw her pale face. When, cutting through the tumult like a ray from a beacon: “The window, Decies! Watch which way he goes!” Automatically, I obeyed O’Shea. I strained out, looking to right and to left of the ladder. It was boarded over, but I realized that a desperate man, given sufficient agility, could have climbed the rungs from underneath, as evidently the assassin had done. At first, the street seemed to be empty from end to end; then I saw the figure of a man emerge from shadow into a patch of light cast by a street lamp--one who walked swiftly in the direction of Berkeley Square. I withdrew my head and stared, only half believing, about the room. Milton, looking deathly, lay propped up against the piano. He met my glance, and: “Seen him?” he demanded. I turned, as the military surgeon who had been bending over Nanette looked up at her friend, who stood beside him. “Know anything about nursing?” he jerked. The girl was very pale, but: “Yes,” she answered bravely, meeting his eyes, “a little. Tell me what to do, and I will do it.” He nodded, smiling, whereat I was reassured, and then: “Have you a manservant in the house, Mr. Decies?” he asked. “Yes.” “Dig him out. I can manage. You fellows are in the way. Get after the swine who did this.” But O’Shea had already started for the door. His expression was one I had rather not have seen. There is a savage hidden in every Celt, if one digs deep through. The other members of the group by this time were safely housed in cells. I thought that if we were destined to overtake Adolf Zara, he was likely to enjoy the distinction of spending the night in a morgue. CHAPTER XXX. MEMORIES CAN SAVE