“No, Lakington; I’m not going to murder you.” A gleam of hope came into the other’s eyes. “But I’m going to fight you in order to decide which of us two ceases to adorn the earth; that is, if your diagnosis of the contents of the bath is correct. What little gleam of pity I might have possessed for you has been completely extinguished by your present exhibition of nauseating cowardice. Fight, you worm, fight; or I’ll throw you in!”
And Lakington fought. The sudden complete turning of the tables had for the moment destroyed his nerve; now, at Drummond’s words, he recovered himself. There was no mercy on the soldier’s face, and in his inmost heart Lakington knew that the end had come. For strong and wiry though he was, he was no match for the other.
Relentlessly he felt himself being forced towards the deadly liquid he had prepared for Drummond, and as the irony of the thing struck him, the sweat broke out on his forehead and he cursed aloud. At last he backed into the edge of the bath and his struggles redoubled. But still there was no mercy on the soldier’s face, and he felt himself being forced farther and farther over the liquid until he was only held from falling into it by Drummond’s grip on his throat.
Then, just before the grip relaxed and he went under, the soldier spoke once:
“Henry Lakington,” he said, “the retribution is just.”
Drummond sprang back, and the liquid closed over the wretched man’s head. But only for a second. With a dreadful cry, Lakington leapt out, and even Drummond felt a momentary qualm of pity. For the criminal’s clothes were already burnt through to the skin, and his face—or what was left of it—was a shining copper colour. Mad with agony, he dashed to the door, and flung it open. The four men outside, aghast at the spectacle, recoiled and let him through. And the kindly mercy which Lakington had never shown to any one in his life was given to him at the last.
Blindly he groped his way up the stairs, and as Drummond got to the door the end came. Someone must have put in gear the machinery which worked on the fifth step, or perhaps it was automatic. For suddenly a heavy steel weight revolving on an arm whizzed out from the wall and struck Lakington behind the neck. Without a sound he fell forward, and the weight, unchecked, clanged sullenly home. And thus did the invention of which he was proudest break the inventor’s own neck. Truly, the retribution was just....
“That only leaves Peterson,” remarked the American, coming into the hall at that moment, and lighting a cigar.
“That only leaves Peterson,” agreed Drummond. “And the girl,” he added as an afterthought.
CHAPTER XII