"Never!" she cried. "I will fling myself into the lake before that shall happen. Ah, monsieur"—her voice took on a pleading tone—"why will you not take all we have and let us go? We are two helpless people; we shall never betray your secrets. Why must you have me too?"
"Because I love you, Jacqueline," he cried, and now I heard an undertone of passion which I had not suspected in the man. "I am not a scoundrel, Jacqueline. Life is a hard game, and I have played it hard. And I have loved you for a long time, but I would not tell you until I had the right as well as the power—but now my love is my law, and I will conquer you!"
He caught her in his arms. She uttered a little, gasping cry, and struggled wildly and ineffectually in his grasp.
I was quite cold, for I knew that was to be the last of his villainies. I entered the room and walked up to the table, my pistol raised, aiming at his heart, and I felt my own heart beat steadily, and the will to kill rise dominant above every hesitation.
Leroux spun round. He saw me, and he smiled his sour smile. He did not flinch, although he must have seen that my hand was as steady as a rock. I could not withhold a certain admiration for the man, but this did not weaken me.
"What, you again, monsieur?" he asked mockingly. "You have come back? You are always coming back, aren't you?"
The truth of the diagnosis struck home to me. Yes, I was always coming back. But this time I had come back to stay.
"Can I do anything further for you, M. Hewlett?" he asked. "Was not your bed comfortable? Do you want something, or is it only habit that has brought you back here where nobody wants you?"
"I have come back to kill you, Leroux," I answered, and pulled the trigger six times.
And each time I heard nothing but the click of the hammer.