"A revolver, I think," returned Garrick. "That's a favourite trick
of the gunmen. With a stout cord tied to a gun you can catapult it
far enough to destroy the evidence that will hold you under the
Sullivan law, at least. I mean to get that gun as soon as we are
through with this fellow here."
Someone had turned in a call for an ambulance which came jangling
up soon after, and we stood in a group close to the young surgeon
as he worked to bring around the captured gangster.
"Where's the Chief?" he mumbled, dazed.
Garrick motioned to us to be quiet.
The man rambled on with a few inconsequential remarks, then opened
his eyes, caught sight of the white coated surgeon working over
him, of us standing behind, and of the crowd about him.
Memory of what had happened flitted back to him. With an effort he
was himself again, close-mouthed, after the manner of the
gangsters.
The surgeon had done all in his power and the man was sufficiently
recovered to be taken to the hospital, now, under arrest.
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