An explosion shook the room, coming from the doorway, upon which Mr.Caryll had turned his shoulder; there was a spurt of flame, and Sir Richard collapsed forward onto the table, and slithered thence to the ground.
Jerry, taking fright at the sight of the pistol Sir Richard had produced, had forestalled what he supposed to be the baronet's intentions by firing instantly upon him, with this disastrous result.
Confusion ensued.

Mr.Caryll, with no more thought for the tipstaves than he had for the smoke in his eyes or the stench of powder in his nostrils, sped to Sir Richard.

In a passion of grief and anxiety, he raised his adoptive father, aided by Bentley, what time Mr.Green was abusing Jerry, and Jerry was urging in exculpation how he had acted purely in Mr.Green's interest, fearing that Sir Richard might have been on the point of shooting him.
The spy went forward to Mr.Caryll.

"I am most profoundly sorry--" he began.
"Take your sorrow to hell," snarled Mr.Caryll, his face livid, his eyes blazing uncannily.

"I believe ye've murdered him." "Ecod! the fool shall smart for't if Sir Richard dies," grumbled Mr.
Green.
"What's that to me?
You may hang the muckworm, and what shall that profit any one?
Will it restore me Sir Richard's life?
Send one of your ruffians for a doctor, man.