"Basil!" Blatchford's voice exclaimed his recognition in amazement. "Basil; that is you! What are you doing down here?" Blatchford started forward.
"Wait!" Santoine ordered sharply. "Don't come any further; stand there!"
Blatchford protested but obeyed. "What is it? What are you doing down here, Basil? What is the matter here? What has happened?"
"What brought you here?" Santoine demanded instead of reply. "You were running outside; why? What was out there? What did you see?"
"See? I didn't see anything—except the window here open when I came up. But I heard shots, Basil. I thought they were toward the road. I went out there; but I found nothing. I was coming back when I saw the window open. I'm sure I heard shots."
"They were here," Santoine said. "But you can see; and you just heard the shots. You didn't see anything!" the blind man accused. "You didn't see any one going away from here!"
"Basil, what has happened here?"
Santoine felt again the stickiness at his feet. "Three or four persons fought in this room, Wallace. Some—or one was hurt. There's blood on the floor. There are two here I can hear breathing; I suppose they're hurt. Probably the rest are gone. The room's all dark, isn't it? That is you moving about now, Wallace?"
"Yes."
"What are you doing?"
"Looking for the light."
"Don't."
"Why, Basil?"
