At last he rose.
"He's dead," he said quietly.

A shiver ran through the watching group.
Dale felt a stifling hand constrict about her heart.
There was a pause.

Anderson picked up the revolver beside Fleming's body and examined it swiftly, careful not to confuse his own fingerprints with any that might already be on the polished steel.

Then he looked at Dale.

"Who is he ?" he said bluntly.
Dale fought hysteria for some seconds before she could speak.
"Richard Fleming--somebody shot him!" she managed to whisper at last.
Anderson took a step toward her.
"What do you mean by somebody ?" he said.
The world to Dale turned into a crowd of threatening, accusing eyes--a multitude of shadowy voices, shouting, Guilty! Guilty! Prove that you're innocent--you can't! "I don't know," she said wildly.