The old woman was unable to move, frozen, paralyzed, seeing Haworth spin round as he was hit, and after a weak attempt to hold to the table for support, sink to the floor. Almost at the same time her own trembling legs gave way and she sank down, lying half on the ground and half against the low-growing bushes beneath the window. But only for the briefest moment was she there, for she’d hardly more than gone down when she was struggling to her feet again. And as she did so she saw by the light still shining through under the roller shade, that the man who’d been running along the path must have stopped and dropped the ladder, for he was picking it up; and as she stumbled blindly through the bushes toward the rear of the house he started running toward the front, dragging the ladder after him along the walk. The doors of the kitchen and back hall were still locked, but she found that some one had opened the basement entrance and she got in there. Two policemen arriving shortly after—smashing a side window to get in, as there wasn’t time to fumble with the doors—found the old woman on the floor holding Haworth’s limp body in her arms, his head fallen back against her breast. The patrolmen who smashed their way into the house some twenty-six minutes after the firing of the shots, were sent from Station 13. The desk sergeant got the phone call from citizens in Jamaica Plain, describing the terrifying progress through that district of the two quarreling men with revolvers—blood streaming down the face of one of them. He sent a man from the station, and also the patrolman on the nearest beat as soon as his call came in. These two had no difficulty in picking up the trail of consternation left along the route that Haworth and Findlay had taken. But when they’d followed it a short distance beyond Jamaica Plain the two citizens whose curiosity had led them into trailing the quarreling men in order to see what happened, came sprinting down the road in a frantic effort to get away, for they’d been close to the mansion when the shooting took place and knew that if someone was shot suspicion might light on them. The patrolmen took these men for the ones they were after and grabbed them. But in a minute they saw there was something else to it; and after a bit of time wasted in sharp questioning they got at the truth and made a run for the Cripps mansion, bringing the two citizens along with them. Material witnesses at least, and a good chance they’d had a hand in it—whatever it was. After smashing one of the kitchen windows these two citizen chaps were shoved in first and stood back against the wall with orders not to move. Then the officers, working with their electric torches (for all the lights were now off) ran through the butler’s pantry, guided by the pungent smell of gunpowder, and an instant later found what they were looking for.