Charlie shook his head in disbelief. It wasn't the shot or the scream, it was the fact that Granny Miggins was wandering town in the middle of the night. Then again, Granny Miggins had some strange ways about her and whatever she was doing out there at this time of night could be anybody's guess. One thing, he did know for sure was that he wasn't going to ask her what it was.

The marshall was the target of her tirade and if she had come along a little while later it would have been him. He had done a few night shifts since he had started but as he was still relatively new, Guyer usually hung around for a bit longer. Charlie knew that it would take some time until the marshall was completely comfortable leaving him alone to deal with the strange happenings that occurred sometimes at night.

This incident, Granny Miggins was describing could be chalked up as one of those strange happenings. Up until now, there had been no real reason for him to enter the old funeral parlour as Crabbe and those who lived with him generally behaved themselves. His own dealings with Crabbe after the fight had taken place in public and with his cousin Ben making sure Crabbe didn't trick him into another fight.

Looking over at the marshall, Charlie waited to see how the man would respond. Part of him was hoping he could go along to see what was going on. If something bad was happening, it would be a good to know what to do if he ever came across a similar situation.

"Well Charlie, I guess we best have us a look-see. Sounds like maybe an accident, or maybe a shooting." Speed considered that perhaps it was as simple as a gun accidentally discharging and a reactionary scream. That was what he hoped.

"So Granny, best you lead the way then, and we'll see what all this is about. You didn't hear anything other than the shot and the scream, right? I mean to say there was not yelling, arguing before the shot?" Speed asked as he got up and put on his hat.

Brendan felt some relief flood through him as the stock of the pistol, warm from Bridget and Crabbe’s grip, landed in his palm. It was reassuring. The gun wasn’t where Bridget could hurt herself or someone else with it.

But poor Bridget, stammering to get that one word out, was hurting and confused. Brendan exhaled slowly.

“He don’t need a doctor, Bridget,” he said softly. “He’s…dead.”

In the silence, he could hear some noise from the street. Someone outside. He cocked his head and listened, heart suddenly thudding. This would not look good to anyone who happened to be in the street.

"Charlie, I fully intend to call them outside, whoever they are. Likely Crab and the Chinaman, Fa. You best cover the back door like Miss Miggins here suggested. Just in case." It wouldn't do any harm to credit the woman, it was what he would have done anyway. He exhaled, flipped the thong from the hammer of is Colt, hefted it, a habit when there was time, to ensure his draw would be smooth if he needed to make it.

He figured that Charlie had made it to the back door, "Crabbe! Charlie Fa! Step out with you hands where I can see 'em!" He certainly could have gone to the door, knocked and demanded nearly the same thing, but, there was no telling what had happened in there, was it an accidental discharge or something more serious?

He waited then added; "I don't want to come in there, and you don't want me barging through that door!" He had no trust in either of the men and didn't want to push though the door and find himself 'without a Chinaman's chance!'

Brendan tensed further as Speed’s voice came from outside. From the front. His eyes darted to the back of the funeral parlor, and he debated fleeing; even pressing the gun back into Bridget’s hand before he fled.

But that thought was a fleeting one, and he set the gun down on the table. It made a small thunk that sounded as loud as his heartbeat felt. He’d already faced up to Crabbe and things had turned out all right. Sort of. How much worse could it get?

He tiptoed to the door and called, “Charlie Fa ain’t here! It’s Brendan Connolly. I’m comin’ out.”

He opened the door slowly and stepped out with his hands raised. “Crabbe’s in there…but he’s dead.” Let them make of that what they would.

“Bridget’s here too. She didn’t do nothin’.” He glanced back at the funeral parlor and called softly, “Bridget. Come out here.”

There was nothing to do now but wait for the inevitable questions. He kept his hands raised, peering out into the dark.

"Step on out Connolly," Speed said, then shouted. "Charlie! Come through the house, bring Miss Monahan with you!"

He waited for the young man, turning over the fact he had said Crabbe was dead. That in and of itself was no great loss. Far from it, perhaps a blessing in disguise. Again, Connolly had found himself in a tight spot. As far as the young lady, well, no telling what part she played in this, turn of events. And, was he shot, if so, by who? Then speed tried to figure out what might have killed him if the shooting was not the case.

Now the disappearance of Fa was interesting. Interesting in that where had he gone, and why, Connolly had said he wasn't there, so where was he? Those two were a mystery, then tossing in Miss Monahan and now Connolly just sort of confused matters

Speed hefted his six gun, just in case. Anything was possible, especially if Connolly felt threatened or trapped.