Sergeant Tish's bullet-punctured shoulder, now that the numbness of the thudding impact was passing, throbbed with an excruciating agony, but he clamped his teeth together, having no intention of making a demand upon Doctor Bushnell's professional services until a statement was had from the possibly dying prisoner. He could offer no assistance, but he followed back up the stairs, as Bushnell and the newspaper reporter supported Haskins to the second floor and along the hall to the guest room which had been Sarbella's. Joan Sheridan tarried indecisively another moment or so and then she returned to her own room, her mind in no way cleared of the bewilderment. She longed for explanations, but knew this was no time to ask questions. In the guest room Haskins was placed upon the bed where, as his first act in an effort to save the mans' life, Doctor Bushnell quickly prepared an internal astringent, a drug calculated to check the inward bleeding. Then he examined the wound with the aid of a probe; Haskins' slowing pulse warned the physician that life was ebbing, and that there was no hope. "The nearest hospital is fifteen miles away, and the trip would be fatal," he said. "And I have never specialized in surgery. I have tried to check the internal blood flow, but there is nothing else I can do. All that I can suggest is to call Doctor Hollis, who is a surgeon. If the man is still alive when Hollis gets here----" "It--it ain't no use," gasped Don Haskins. "I'm gonna croak, and I know I'm gonna croak." "Yes, Haskins, it looks that way," nodded Doctor Bushnell; "if you've got any statement to make you'd better make it now. Anyhow I'll telephone Doctor Hollis and then look after Ham Griggs. Unconscious, didn't you say, Sergeant Tish? Lord, the house has suddenly become a hospital! What about your own injury?" Tish shook his head. "I can wait--until Haskins has talked," he said. "You'd better look after the constable first, anyhow. It may be worse than it seemed to me." Don Haskins was breathing heavily, his eyes closed, his hands clenched. As the doctor left the room, Tish leaned forward, but became dizzily faint and had to seek the support of a chair. "You might as well talk, Haskins," he said. "What made you shoot Gilmore's wife?" The prisoner's lips twisted. "You're gonna give me the rap for that?" he muttered weakly. "Tryin' to hang two croaks onto me--and I never did either one of 'em." His eyes opened slowly. "Dago Mike--did he tell the cops that I did for the watchman--that loft job in the Bronx?" Tish nodded. "Yes, that's what he told the inspector," he answered.