The gun gave a bark. A low,
whistling noise and a crash followed.
"Too short," muttered Garrick, elevating the angle of the gun a
trifle.
Quite evidently someone was moving in the house. There was a
shadow, as of someone passing between the light in the upper story
and the window on our side of the house.
Again the gun barked, and another bomb went hurtling through the
air. This time it hit the house squarely. Another followed in
rapid succession, and the crash of glass told that it had struck a
window. Garrick was sending them now as fast as he could. They had
taken effect, too, for the light was out, whether extinguished by
gases or by the hand of someone who realized that it afforded an
excellent mark to shoot at. Still, it made no difference, now, for
we had the range.
"The house must be full of the stifling gases," panted Garrick, as
he stopped to wipe the perspiration from his face, after his rapid
work, clad in the heavy coat. "No man could stand up against that.
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