The local constable still lay in a huddled, grotesque heap on the floor, and he had not moved. Despite his own haste to pursue Haskins--his injury would not stop that--Tish leaned over Ham Griggs, puzzled that there was no evidence of a terrible, lethal wound. He had taken it for granted that Haskins must have had another weapon in addition to the one left beside the body of the murdered Helen Gilmore, and that he had shot down Griggs, as the latter had burst in upon him in the attempted capture. All he could find was a purpling swelling at the edge of Griggs' temple; and then he saw the improvised weapon, the strangest that had ever come to his notice--the sock weighted with the doorknob. "Huh!" said Sergeant Tish, with a grunt that was more than half a groan. He saw what had happened. "Haskins beaned 'im with that thing, handed him a knock-out, and then took his gun away from him." He bent still a little lower and perceived that the constable's breathing was reassuringly regular. "Don't look like he was goin' to croak." As Don Haskins collapsed and went crashing down the stairs, Wiggly Price and Doctor Bushnell stood gaping at each other, both struggling with indecision as to which direction they would turn as their first move to follow this breathless race of happenings. What had happened upstairs they did not know, only that to their ears had come the ominous sound of three pistol shots, and that neither Constable Griggs nor Sergeant Tish had come down. "What's happened to the two officers?" cried Doctor Bushnell. "Perhaps----" Before he could finish the sentence, Tish appeared at the head of the inclosed stairway, his right arm dangling limply, a trickle of blood seeping down beneath the edge of his coat sleeve, twisting into a fantastic crimson design about his wrist and the back of his hand. "What's happened up there?" shouted the physician. "Heavens, man, you're wounded! Griggs----" Tish had retrieved the automatic and held it in his left hand rather awkwardly, but determined to use it if he could. "The constable is knocked cold," he said, as he came down the steps. "You'd better look after him, doctor. Haskins has----" Wiggly Price had rushed to the head of the other stairs, from where he could see Don Haskins sprawled upon the first landing, gasping for breath and mopping the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. The revolver had slid several steps down and was safely out of the man's reach. "Here he is, sergeant!" shouted the newspaper man. "He nicked you, but you got him worse than that." Again Doctor Bushnell struggled with indecision. Three men wounded! Which of them should have first call upon his professional services? Don Haskins' choking wail, coming from down the front stairs, decided him.