was as to the absurdity of standing there passive. The second lucid impression to enter his mind was a self-warning about seeking shelter. Quarters were too close for firing such as that, with bullets ricochetting and whistling about him and the smell of powder-smoke stinging in his nostrils. It was a fusillade from a running and ever-shifting adversary, from now one point and now another, taking on the menace of a general attack. It seemed more like the assault of a small army.
Yet Kestner was still untouched by any thought of personal fear. What he felt was more relief at sudden sound and movement. It still puzzled him a little that this sound could be so tumultuous and the movement so frenzied. He even wondered, for a moment, if he were not being confronted by more than one enemy, if Lambert's confederates had not indeed joined him in that running attack.
Then a greater wonder possessed him, for he found himself wheeling half about and groping in the air with his hands, like a skater struggling to recover his balance. He felt a sting of pain somewhere below the waist. He could not tell where, beyond the fact that the sting had merged into a feeling not unlike a burn and was on the left side. Then with a sense of shock, he realised what it meant.
Kestner knew that he was shot.
What surprised him was the discovery that a wound could be received and yet cause so little pain. He remembered, however, that loss of blood often enough implied loss of consciousness. And he could not afford to take chances. Yes, he was bleeding, some-
