The first bullet had struck her at the base of the throat and gone on to smash the spinal column. Blood gushed from the wound and stained the concrete sidewalk beneath Shayne as he crouched on hands and knees over her body. An excited group gathered about them swiftly as Shayne slowly pushed himself up and found he could stand erect despite the flesh wound in his thigh. He put his hand up on his left shoulder and it was warm and came away smeared with blood. Uniformed men came running up from two directions and pressed the curious crowd back from Shayne and the dead girl. He snapped at them, “It was a man in a light gray sedan. Plymouth, I think. Get it on your radio fast. The girl is dead.” One of the officers went to telephone, and a druggist who had emerged from his shop beside the cocktail lounge looked at Shayne’s wounds and volunteered first aid. Shayne limped into the drug-store behind him and he got bandages and sulpha powder and bound both wounds so they stopped bleeding.
