Mr. Grimm went straight to his chief, who had stepped down from the
chair. Two other Secret Service men stood behind him, blocking the
doorway that opened into a narrow hall.
"This way," directed the chief tersely.
Mr. Grimm walked along beside him. They skirted the end of the ball-room
until they came to another door opening into the hall. Chief Campbell
pushed it open, and entered. One of his men stood just inside.
"What was it, Gray?" asked the chief.
"Senor Alvarez, of the Mexican legation, was shot," was the reply.
"Dead?"
"Only wounded. He's in that room," and he indicated a door a little way
down the hall. "Fairchild, two servants, and a physician are with him."
"Who shot him?"
"Don't know. We found him lying in the hall here."
Still followed by Mr. Grimm, the chief entered the room, and together
they bent over the wounded man. The bullet had entered the torso just
below the ribs on the left side.
"It's a clean wound," the physician was explaining. "The bullet passed
through. There's no immediate danger."
Senor Alvarez opened his eyes, and stared about him in bewilderment;
then alarm overspread his face, and he made spasmodic efforts to reach
the inside breast pocket of his coat.
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