He
did not wait to look at the prone figure, but made straight for the
door. His business it was first to see whether his quarry were still
in sight.
All the other men were hustling each other in a hasty descent. "_Que
diable_!" one of them said. "What is it now? A spy?"
The man who had lowered Arithelli from the window of the house in the
Calle de Pescadores, made his way first to where Arithelli lay and
stood beside her. He could only see dimly the outline of a figure
which might have been either that of a man or woman. "Bring a light
here," Valdez called impatiently. "Which of them is it?" Though he
was a revolutionist he was still a human being, and he had always been
as sorry for her as he had dared allow himself to be, and he hoped it
was not the girl. Another man came up carrying a lantern, and flashed
the light on what rested motionless at their feet. Arithelli lay on
her face as she had fallen. Her hair streamed over her shoulders and
mingled with the dark folds of the cloak. The hand that still held the
pistol was flung wide.
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