"
"And I never had a chance," he repeated, meditatively fingering
the wires. "They broke me to-night. Danfield"--DeLong turned,
looking dazedly about in the crowd for his former friend, then
his hand shot into his pocket, and a little ivory-handled pistol
flashed out--"Danfield, your blood is on your own head. You have
ruined me."
Kennedy must have been expecting something of the sort, for he
seized the arm of the young man, weakened by dissipation, and
turned the pistol upward as if it had been in the grasp of a mere
child.
A blinding flash followed in the farthest corner of the room and
a huge puff of smoke. Before I could collect my wits another
followed in the opposite corner. The room was filled with a dense
smoke.
Two men were scuffing at my feet. One was Kennedy. As I dropped
down quickly to help him I saw that the other was Danfield, his
face purple with the violence of the struggle.
"Don't be alarmed, gentlemen," I heard O'Connor shout, "the
explosions were only the flashlights of the official police
photographers. We now have the evidence complete. Gentlemen, you
will now go down quietly to the patrol-wagons below, two by two.
If you have anything to say, say it to the magistrate of the
night court."
"Hold his arms, Walter," panted Kennedy.
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