"Hands up!" he snapped. "Drop that gun!"
The answer was a singular sound--half a choking cough, half a
smothered bark--accompanied by a jet of fire from the strange weapon,
and coincident with the tinkling of a splintered electric bulb.
Instantly the hall was again drenched in darkness but little mitigated
by the light from the bedroom.
Heedless of consequences, in his excitement, P. Sybarite pulled
trigger. The hammer fell on an empty chamber, rose and fell half a
dozen times without educing any response other than the click of metal
against metal: demonstrating beyond question that the revolver was
unloaded.
From the hand of the marauder another tongue of flame licked out, to
the sound of the same dull, bronchial cough; and a bullet thumped
heavily into the wall beside P. Sybarite.
Enraged beyond measure, he drew back his worthless weapon and threw it
with all his might. And _Kismet_ winged the missile to the firing arm
of the assassin. With a cry of pain and anger, this last involuntarily
relaxed his grasp and, dropping his own pistol, stumbled and half
fell, half threw himself down to the next floor.
As this happened, a white arm was levelled over the shoulder of P.
Sybarite.
The woman took deliberate aim, fired--and missed.
XII
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE
Until that moment of the woman's shot, what with the failure of P.
Sybarite's weapon to fire and the strange, muted coughing of the
assassin's, an atmosphere of veritable decorum, nothing less, had
seemed to mark the triangular duel, lending it something of the
fantastic quality of a nightmare: an effect to which the discovery of
a marauder, where P.
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