Paula moved at the words, as though they had awakened a new energy in her. With a supreme effort she raised herself.
“Then I—I failed?” she cried, catching sight of Kennedy.
“No, Miss Lowe,” he answered gently. “You won. The plans of the terrible gun are destroyed. The Baron is safe. Mrs. Annenberg has herself smoked one of the fatal cigarettes intended for him.”
Kreiger looked at us, uncomprehending. Kennedy picked up the crushed, unlighted cigarette and laid it in the palm of his hand beside another, half smoked, which he had found beside Mrs. Annenberg.
“They are deadly,” he said simply to Kreiger. “A few drops of pure nicotine hidden by that pretty gilt tip would have accomplished all that the bitterest anarchist could desire.”
All at once Kreiger seemed to realize what he had escaped so narrowly. He turned toward Paula. The revulsion of her feelings at seeing him safe was too much for her shattered nerves.
With a faint little cry, she tottered.
Before any of us could reach her, he had caught her in his arms and imprinted a warm kiss on the insensible lips.
“Some water—quick!” he cried, still holding her close.