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Tracy, Louis, 1863-1928

"The Postmaster's Daughter"

For a full minute
the tableau remained thus. Then, with a rapidity born of many a close
'scape in wild lands, Hart drew a revolver from a hip pocket, and fired
at the window.
He alone was in a position to see through all parts of it. Grant was
still thumbing a small brown volume in the manner of one who knew that a
certain passage would be found therein but was ignorant of its exact
place in the text. Furneaux, intent on his every movement, had only a
side-long view of the window, which, it will be remembered, formed a tiny
rectangle in a thick wall.
The revolver was a heavy-caliber weapon, and the explosion blew out the
lamp. The flame of the candle flickered, owing either to the passage of
the bullet or the disturbance of the air. But it burnt steadily again
within the fifth part of a second, and they all saw a starred hole in the
center pane of glass of the second tier from the bottom.
"What fool's game are you playing?" shrilled Furneaux, nevertheless
active as a wildcat in his spring to the French window, there to snatch
at the blind and turn the knob which controlled a lever bolt.
"Laying another ghost--one with whiskers," said Hart coolly.


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