If it dared to dispute his way he would shoot.
He was pressing forward in this reckless, desperate fashion, when he dropped as if he had collided with a stone wall, and his heart almost ceased its beating.

He had caught the faint report of a firearm.

It came from a point on his right and sounded as if caused by a revolver, rather than a larger weapon.

The thought that came to him was that it was the pistol of Mary Marlowe! "She is at bay; she may have fired it at herself, and yet I do not think she would do that until some of the bullets had reached the wretches who have captured her.

I am following the wrong path, for this one leads me away from her." Without an instant's hesitation he turned and began his return on a loping trot.