A free fight had already begun. The three assailants, Ralph Blackadder
behind egging them on, had thrown themselves upon Basil, who stood
sturdily at bay with his back to the wall, daring them to come on, and
prepared to strike out at the first man who touched him.
"At him! Give it him! Throw him out!" cried Ralph passionately. But
even as he spoke his voice weakened, he halted abruptly; his hands
went up into the air, his body swayed to and fro, his strength left
him completely, and he fell to the ground in sudden and complete
collapse. When they picked him up, there was froth mixed with blood
upon his lips, he breathed once or twice heavily, stertorously, and
then with one long-drawn gasp died in the arms of his two men.
It was an apoplectic seizure, the doctors told us later, brought on by
excessive nervous irritation of the brain.
Here was a sudden and unexpected _denouement_, a terribly dramatic end
to our troubles if we could but clear up the horrible uncertainty
remaining.
What had become of my sister and little Ralph?
While the servants of the hotel attended to the stricken man, Basil
Annesley plied the detectives with eager questions.
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