“Lost him, huh?” said Doan. “Well, don’t just stand there with your teeth in your mouth. Get out and beat around in the weeds in that lot. Go on. Hike.”
Carstairs faded silently into the darkness.
Doan began to walk very cautiously down the alley, slipping silently along with his head half-turned so he could watch in both directions, searching each shadow. He had gone about twenty yards when something whispered spitefully past his ear and something else twitched the cuff of his coat-sleeve and a third something drew a line across the telephone pole he was touching with his left hand.
Doan was falling by that time, and as he dropped he heard the reports—three of them very close together, but sharp and nastily distinct. He flattened himself on the dirt, hiding his face in the crook of his
