I had a card. Some one gave
it to me. So we went in for a few minutes--to see what it was like.
The police raided the place." He dropped his sentences reluctantly, as
though they were being forced from him in pain.
"Well?"
"Everybody tried to escape. The lights went out. I found a back door
and got away. Then I came home."
"What about Clay?"
Bromfield told the truth. "I didn't see him after the lights went out,
except for a moment. He was running at the man with the gun."
"You saw the gun?"
He nodded, moistened his dry lips with the tip of his tongue.
"And the--the shooting? Did you see that?"
Twice the words he tried to say faded on his lips. At last he managed
a "No."
"Why not?"
"I--found a door and escaped."
"You must have heard shooting."
"I heard shots as I ran down the stairs. This morning I read
that--that a man was--" He swallowed down a lump and left the sentence
unfinished.
"Then you know that Clay is accused of killing this man, and that the
police are looking for you because you were with him."
"Yes." His answer was a dry whisper.
"Did you see this man Collins in the room?"
"No. I shouldn't know him if I saw him."
"But you heard shots. You're sure of that!" cried Beatrice.
"Y-yes."
The girl turned triumphantly to her father. "He saw the gun and he
heard shots. That proves self-defense at the worst. They were
shooting at Clay when he struck with the chair--if he did.
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