"There—then!"
The pistol flashed up and at the same instant the report rang through the house.
Laroque dropped his bag, and his right hand went up to his left side. She gazed at him fearfully and he stared back for a few moments with a look of blank amazement.
Then his eyes suddenly glazed and he pitched forward on his face at her feet, rolled over and was still.
There was a rush of footsteps up the stairs and down the hall and frightened voices calling back and forth. Then the door was thrown open and Victor, followed by a dozen guests and servants, dashed into the room.
Jacqueline was still standing with the warm pistol in her hand, looking down at the face of the dead man. She did not even lift her head when they entered. Victor took the pistol out of her limp fingers and called in a shaking voice: "She's killed him! Run for the police, somebody. Quick!"
Jacqueline did not take her eyes off Laroque's still, white face.
"There's no hurry," she said, in dull, passionless tones. "I shan't try to get away!"