He wanted to throw open the door and shout the
news to those outside.
By the light of another match the mine-owner crossed the room into
the sitting-room of the cashier. Presently he returned with a lamp
and let its light fall upon the figure lying slumped against the wall.
A revolver lay close to the inert fingers. The head hung forward
grotesquely upon the breast.
The dead man was Milton. His employer saw nothing ridiculous in the
twisted neck and sprawling limbs. The cashier had died to save the money
entrusted to his care.
Macdonald handed the lamp to the marshal and picked up the revolver.
Every chamber was loaded.
"They beat him to it. They were probably here when he reached home.
My guess is he heard them right away, got his gun, and came in. He's
still wearing his dress suit. That gives us the time, for he left the
club about midnight. Soon as they saw him they dropped him. Likely they
heard him and were ready. I wouldn't have had this happen for all the
money in the safe."
"How much was there in it?"
"I don't know exactly. The books will show. I'll send Wally down to look
them over."
"Shot right spang through the heart, looks like," commented Jones,
following with his eye the course of the wound.
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