Together the men entered the building and at the first ring were admitted to Apartment Number One by Lorelei herself. She led them straight into the library. Perhaps a quarter of an hour had elapsed since the shooting, but Jarvis Hammon still sat in the big chair. He was breathing quietly. Bob Wharton stood beside him. "John!" The iron-master smiled pallidly as his friend came and knelt beside him. "You got here quickly." "Are you badly hurt, Jarvis?" "The damned thing is in here somewhere." Hammon took his hand away from his breast, and Merkle saw that the fingers were bloody. "Can you get me out of here quietly?" John Merkle rose to his full height, his lips writhed back from his teeth. Harshly he inquired: "Where is that woman?" "She's back yonder, in her room," Bob told him. "She's ill." Merkle turned, but, reading his intent, Hammon checked him, crying in a strong voice: "None of that, John. I did it myself. It was an--accident." "I don't believe it." Hammon's eyes met those of his accuser; the two stared at each other steadily for a moment. "It's true." Merkle took a step and stooped for the revolver which had lain unnoticed until this moment. He held it in his hand. "This isn't your gun," he said, quietly. "No. It's hers. We had a quarrel. I--She intended to use it on herself. We fought for it--and in the struggle I set it off." The other occupants of the room had listened breathlessly; now Lorelei stirred and Merkle read more than mere bewilderment in her face. He opened his lips, but the wounded man did not wait for him to speak. "You MUST believe me!" he said, earnestly. "It's the truth, and I won't have Lilas involved--we've been a great deal to each other. To-night--I accused her wrongfully. It was all my fault--I'm to blame for everything." There was a pause. "I ruined her--you understand? I won't allow any scandal. Now get me out of here as quietly and as quickly as you can. I'm really not hurt much. Come, come! There's nobody home except Orson and some of the kitchen help, and Orson is all right--the women are gone, you know. He'll get a doctor. It's a--bad business, of course, but I've thought it all out, and you must do exactly as I say." The effort of this long speech told on the sufferer. Sweat beaded his face; nevertheless, his jaws remained firmly set; his glance was purposeful, his big hands were gripped tightly over the arms of his chair. There was something superb, something terrible about his unchanging grimness. Lorelei spoke timidly, for the first time. "But--the law, Mr. Merkle? The police--?" "To hell with the law!" Jim burst out, nervously. "D'you want to go to court? D'you want to be up for murder? Lilas would saddle it onto you to save herself." "Murder?" echoed Bob, with a start. "Jove!" Jarvis Hammon cried furiously: "Don't be fools. There's no murder about it. I told you I shot myself accidentally. I'm not going to die." "You CAN'T--you MUSTN'T," Merkle gravely agreed.