Voices?the voices of Turnbull and Mrs. Hardy sounded in the hallway outside. The two newcomers were running toward the library. Henry turned to the wall, the door. As he did so, Hugh, with a last rally of strength, leaped up and fluttered himself upon him. The impact caused Henry's finger to press upon the trigger. There was a report and the bullet tore through a panel of the closed door. The door swung open?and Cyrus Turnbull's body was propelled into the room, sprawling heavily upon the floor at Henry's foot. The bullet had struck him as he opened the door.
Close upon the heels of Mrs. Hardy followed a policeman whom she and Turnbull had called on their hasty prying into the house. Seeing the dead man with Henry crouching above him, pistol in hand, the officer rushed in and seized the supposed murderer.
"Wait," ordered Hugh, sanity returning to him as suddenly as it had deserted him. "I shot Mr. Turnbull. I shot him. Do you hear? And my brother snatched the pistol from me? I took the blame on himself."
"Hugh?" Henry, aghast. "I?"
"Still?" snapped Hugh Scott; then, turning again to the policeman. 