In the steet beneath all was still. The armored car had retired speedily over the bridge, with the machine gunner's head hanging lifeless oer the turret.
The woman's corpse lay still in the gutter.
The sniper lay for a long time nursing his wounded arm and planning escape. Morning must not find him wounded on the roof. The enemy on the opposite roof covered his escape. He must kill that enemy and he could not use his rifle, for his arm is too limp to hold it steadily. He had only a revolver to do it. Then he thought of a plan.
Taking off his cap, he placed it over the muzzle of his rifle. Then he pushed the rifle slowly upwards over the parapet, until the cap was visible from the opposite side of the street. Almost immediately there was a report, and a bullet pierced the center of the cap. The sniper slanted the rifle forward. The cap slipped down into the street. Then, catching the rifle in the middle, the sniper dropped his left hand over the roof and let it hang, lifelessly. After a few moments he let the rifle drop to the street. Then he sank to the roof dragging his hand with him.
Crawling quickly to the left, he peered up at the corner of the roof. His ruse had succeded. The other sniper seeing the cap and rifle fall, thought that he had killed his man. He was now standing before a row of chimney pots, looking across, with his head clearly silhouetted against the western sky.
The republcan sniper smiled and lifted his revolver about the edge of the parapet. The distance was about fifty yards-- a hard shot in the dim light, and his right arm was paining him....
