Uncle Abner
wood. It was amazing accuracy. No wonder the man's skill was a byword in the land.
My uncle made a single comment.
"You shoot like the slingers of Benjamin!" he said.
Then he came back to the table and stood looking down at the man. He held the mutilated ivory pawn in his closed left hand. The girl, like an appraised article, was in the doorway; Storm and Randolph looked on, like men before the blind moving of events.
"Flornoy," said Abner, "you have told us more truth than you intended us to believe. How did your brother Sheppard die?"
The man's face changed. His fingers tightened on the pistol. His eyes became determined and alert.
"Damme, man," he cried, "do you return to that! Sheppard fell and died, where you stand, beside the table in this room. I am no surgeon to say what disorder killed him. I sent for Storm to determine that."
My uncle turned to the old eccentric doctor.
"Storm," he said, "how did Sheppard Flornoy die?"
The old man shrugged his shoulders and put out his nervous hands.
"I do not know," he said, "the heart, maybe. There is no mark on him."
And here Randolph interrupted.
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