"Ah, that pride of yours! You've been brilliant, you've been brave, but never unkind before. It's only a bauble, Coquenil, and——"
De Heidelmann-Bruck stopped suddenly and M. Paul caught a savage gleam in his eyes; then, swiftly, the baron put the ring to his mouth, and sucking in his breath, swallowed hard.
The detective sprang forward, but it was too late.
"A doctor—quick!" he called to the guard.
"No use!" murmured the rich man, sinking forward.
Coquenil tried to support him, but the body was too heavy for his bandaged hand, and the prisoner sank to the floor.
"I—I won the last trick, anyhow," the baron whispered as M. Paul bent over him.
Coquenil picked up the ring that had fallen from a nerveless hand. He put it to his nose and sniffed it.
"Prussic acid!" he muttered, and turned away from the last horrors.
Two minutes later, when Dr. Duprat rushed in, the Baron de Heidelmann-Bruck, unafraid and unrepentant, had gone to his last long sleep. His face was calm, and even in death his lips seemed set in a mocking smile of triumph.