Only one shot rang out, and it seemed to me that I even heard the sound with which the bullet entered his body. I threw myself face down on the pavement and extended my hand with a pistol, aiming at the outermost column. From around the corner, from the alley, came frequent stomping - more than one person was running. Rising to my feet, I heard Fenwick groan, followed by a loud wheeze. After the shot, he sank down, leaning against the Citroen. There were only a few red spots on the front of his coat, but when I ran my hand over his back, it was all covered in blood - the exit hole of the bullet had been pretty much torn apart. Here and there the shutters opened slightly, a light flashed, and some brave local resident even leaned out - in France they rarely do this when they hear shooting on the street. I shouted with all my might: “Police!” Telephone! Doctors!