Every one heard the distant crack of a rifle.
The bullet had dropped at Chase's feet before the sound of the report came floating to their ears.

No one spoke as he stooped and picked up the warm, deadly missile.

Turning it over in his fingers, an ugly thing to look at, he said coolly, although his cheek had gone white: "With Von Blitz's compliments, ladies and gentlemen.

He is calling on me, by proxy." "Good God, Chase," cried Browne, "they're trying to murder us.

Get back, every one! Inside the doors!" The women, white-faced and silent for the moment, turned to follow the speaker.
"I'm sorry to bring my troubles to your door," said Chase.