that Cossey had only got the outside portion of the charge of No. 7 that is to say, he had been struck by about a hundred pellets of the three or four hundred which would go to the ordinary ounce and an eighth.  Had he received the whole charge he must, at that distance, have been instantly killed.  As it was, the point of the shoulder was riddled, and so to a somewhat smaller extent was the back of his neck and the region of the right ear.  One or two outside pellets had also struck the head higher up, and the skin and muscles along the back were torn by the passage of shot.

“By Jove!” said Mr. Quest, “I think he is done for.”

The Colonel nodded.  He had some experience of shot wounds, and the present was not of a nature to encourage hope of the patient’s survival.

“How did it happen?” asked Mr. Quest presently, as he mopped up the streaming blood with a sponge.

“It was an accident,” groaned the Colonel.  “Your wife was looking at my new gun.  I told her it was loaded, and that she must be careful, and I thought she had put it down.  The next thing that I heard was the report.  It is all my cursed fault for leaving the cartridges in.”

“Ah,” said Mr. Quest.  “She always thought she understood guns.  It is a shocking accident.”

Just then one of the doctors, followed by Belle Quest, ran up the lawn carrying a box of instruments, and in another minute was at work.  He was a quick and skilful surgeon, and having announced that the patient was not dead, at once began to tie one of the smaller arteries in the throat, which had been pierced, and through which Edward Cossey was rapidly bleeding to death.  By the time that this was done the other doctor, an older man, put in an appearance, and together they made a rapid examination of the injuries.

Belle stood by holding a basin of water.  She did not speak, and on her face was that same fixed look of horror which Harold had observed after the discharge of the gun.

When the examination was finished the two doctors whispered together for a few seconds.

“Will he live?” asked Mr. Quest.

“We cannot say,” answered the older doctor.  “We do not think it likely that he will.  It depends upon the extent of his injuries, and whether or no they have extended to the spine.  If he does live he will probably be paralysed to some extent, and must certainly lose the hearing of the right ear.”

When she heard this Belle sank down upon a chair overwhelmed.  Then the two doctors, assisted by Harold, set to work to carry Edward Cossey into another room which had been rapidly prepared, leaving Mr. Quest alone with his wife.

He came, stood in front of her, looked her in the face, and then laughed.

“Upon my word,” he said, “we men are bad enough, but you women beat us in wickedness.”

“What do you mean?” she said faintly.

“I mean that you are a murderess, Belle,” he said solemnly.  “And you are a bungler, too.  You could not hold the gun straight.”