Some one dived for Lindsay and drove him against the wall, pinning him
by the waist. A second figure joined the first and caught the
cattleman's wrist.

Then the lights flashed on again. Clay saw that the man who had flung
him against the partition was Gorilla Dave. A plain-clothes man with a
star had twisted his wrist and was clinging to it. Bromfield was
nowhere to be seen, but an open door to the left showed that he had
found at least a temporary escape.

A policeman came forward and stooped over the figure of the prostrate
man.

"Some one's croaked a guy," he said.

Gorilla Dave spoke up quickly. "This fellow did it. With a chair. I
seen him."

There was a moment before Lindsay answered quietly. "He shot twice.
The gun must be lying under him where he fell."

Already men had crowded forward to the scene of the tragedy, moved by
the morbid curiosity a crowd has in such sights. Two policemen pushed
them back and turned the still body over. No revolver was to be seen.

"Anybody know who this is?" one of the officers asked.

"Collins--'Slim' Jim," answered big Dave.