st back of the left ear, and from this
Mr. Shrimplin's horrified gaze was able to trace another discoloration
that crossed in a thin red line the dead man's white collar; for the man
was dead past all peradventure.
[Illustration: On the floor at his feet was a strange huddled shape.]
Mr. Shrimplin saw and grasped the meaning of it all in an instant. Then
with a feeble cry he turned and fled down the long room, pursued by a
million phantom terrors. His heart seemed to die within him as he
scurried down that long room; then, mercifully, the keen fresh air
filled his lungs. He fairly leaped through the open door, and again the
storm roared about him with a kind of boisterous fellowship. It smote
him in the face and twisted his shaking legs from under him. Then he
fell, speechless, terrified, into the arms of a passer-by.
CHAPTER FIVE
COLONEL GEORGE HARBISON
Terror-stricken as he was, Mr. Shrimplin recognized the man into whose
arms he had fallen. There was no mistaking the nose, thin and aquiline,
the bristling mustache and white imperial, the soft gray slouch hat, or
the military cloak that half concealed the stalwart form of its wearer.
Colonel George Harbison, much astonished and in utter ignorance of the
cause of Mr. Shrimplin's alarm, took that gentleman by the collar and
deftly jerked him into an erect posture.
"My dear sir!" the colonel began in a tone of mild expostulation,
evidently thinking he had a drunken man to deal with. "My dear sir, do
be more careful--" then he recognized the lamplighter. "Well, upon my
word, Shrimp, what's gone wrong with you?" he demanded, with military
asperity.
"My God, Colonel, if he ain't lying there dead--" a shudder passed
through the little man; he was well-nigh dumb in his terror. "And I
stumbled right on to him there on the floor!" he cried with a gasp.
He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still
retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with
admirable expertness.
"I t