him.

Jones felt like a god, with a god's power. Vengeance disappeared from
his mind. He was acting impersonally as an instrument in the hands of
the Invisibles who dispense justice and balance accounts. He bent down
and put the barrel close into the other's face, smiling a little as he
saw the childish efforts of the arms to cover his head. Then he pulled
the trigger, and a bullet went straight into the right eye, blackening
the skin. Moving the pistol two inches the other way, he sent another
bullet crashing into the left eye. Then he stood upright over his victim
with a deep sigh of satisfaction.

The Manager wriggled convulsively for the space of a single second, and
then lay still in death.

There was not a moment to lose, for the door was already broken in and
violent hands were at his neck. Jones put the pistol to his temple and
once more pressed the trigger with his finger.

But this time there was no report. Only a little dead click answered the
pressure, for the secretary had forgotten that the pistol had only six
chambers, and that he had used them all. He threw the useless weapon
on to the floor, laughing a little out loud, and turned, without a
struggle, to give himself up.

"I _had_ to do it," he said quietly, while they tied him. "It was simply
my duty! And now I am ready to face the consequences, and Thorpe will be
proud of me. For justice has been done and the gods are satisfied."

He made not the slightest resistance, and when the two policemen marched