If the man had scruples, Melun had none. His revolver spoke quickly, and Hilden, with a little cough, fell forward on his face.
Turning from his butcher's work, Melun whipped round to meet the terror-stricken eyes of Lady Kathleen.
“Will you take your daughter away, Lord Penshurst?” he said in a low voice. “It is not my fault that she has been compelled to look on this.”
The Prime Minister grasped Kathleen by the arm and drew her into the ball-room. Melun closed in on him and the other men followed.
As they entered the room they spread themselves out fanwise in an obviously prearranged plan.
Coolly and deliberately Melun discharged his revolver at the painted ceiling overhead, bringing down a little cloud of plaster.
The orchestra stopped in the middle of a bar, the dancers came to a halt, and all those guests who had been sitting round the ball-room leapt with cries to their feet.
“Silence!”
Melun's voice rung out clear and hard.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he cried, “I have no desire to create a disturbance. If you will listen to me all will be well.”