"I didn't do it!" he panted between his teeth.
"Search me! See if I have a revolver! I never carry a gun. Dick always
carries one. Let me go! Let me go! Why don't you go and get Dick?"
"Shut up, you!"
They dragged him to the door of No. 5. He caught sight of his brother
standing between two men near the body of Colonel Grand, beside which
a coatless man was kneeling. Another man was going through the pockets
of the tall, glassy-eyed prisoner.
From an inner pocket the searcher drew forth a revolver. With nervous
fingers he broke the weapon. A cry fell from his lips.
"Here's the gun. One shell empty. Barrel still hot. You low-lived
scoundrel!"
Dick's eyes never left the bloody face of the murdered man. He was
breathing heavily, as if in pain or extreme terror.
"Is he dead?" he whispered through his bloodless, motionless lips.
Just then he looked up and saw Ernie at the doorway, bloody-faced,
cringing, wide-eyed with dread. Two burly policemen were dangling his
ill-favored body almost clear of the floor.
"Dead as a door-nail," said the kneeling man. "Here's his gun with all
the chambers full.
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