Her eyes were wild, but she managed to repeat. “You've got them?” “Yes. You 'll never see McGlory again.” “And Pete--have you got Pete?” Beveridge glanced inquiringly at Smiley, who, after a moment of puzzling, nodded, and with his lips formed the name “Roche.” “Yes, we've got Roche. Pretty lot they were to leave you here.” But Estelle had fainted. “Here, Dick,” said Beveridge, “bring some water.” Van Deelen indicated the washstand, and Smiley fetched the pitcher. Beveridge sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her forehead with the cool water. He asked Van Deelen for some whiskey, and forced a little between her teeth. Finally her eyes opened. “There,” said Beveridge, “that's better. You 'll be all right in a minute. Now tell me why they left you.” “Look here, Bill,” said Dick, “I can't stand this.” Beveridge paid no attention, but went on stroking her forehead. “Tell me why they left you, Estelle. They weren't very square with you.” “It was Pete--” The whiskey had revived her a very little. “Yes, I know. You were mistaken in Pete. He never meant to stand by you.” “He said--” “Yes--go on.” “He said we--we could get away--and--” “Yes?” “--and they were asleep and--and then we saw the house, and--oh, I can't think--” “Bill,--for heaven's sake!” cried Dick. “Yes, it's all right, Estelle. You're all safe now. Try to think.” “I guess I fainted--Pete was gone--and I--I don't know--how I got to the house--” “That will do. Go to sleep, Estelle. We 'll take good care of you.” Beveridge rose, and looked significantly toward the closet door. “Now, Mister,” he said, addressing the farmer, “we 'll just take a look in that closet before we go, and--” A protesting voice, muffled by hanging garments, but shrill nevertheless, came from the closet, and Beveridge smiled. “Is it your wife?” he asked. Van Deelen nodded. And then, the smile lingering, Beveridge led the way out of the room. As they started down the stairs, Dick observed: “You were awful quiet down there with McGlory, Bill. I'd heard your second shot before I knew anything was happening.” “You never heard my second shot.” “I didn't? I'd like to know why I didn't.” “Because I only fired once.” “Then who did the rest of it? By Jove! Where's Wilson?” Beveridge turned sharply at the question. “That's a fact,” he muttered. They had reached the front steps by this time, and could see Harper ostentatiously standing guard with drawn revolver. “Say, Pink, have you seen Bert anywhere?” “No. Thought he was inside with you.” “Step around the house, quick. We 'll go this way.” They found Wilson lying on the ground, not far from the front of the house. He had plunged forward on his face, with his arms spread out before him. Apparently he had been running around from the rear to join Beveridge when the ball brought him down. In an instant the two men were kneeling by him. “How is it, Bill? Can you tell?”