would be called murder, and yet your sin might be forgiven you. But
I, who am innocent, I was to be slain with ceremony. There would
be long speeches and patient judges listening to my vain plea of
innocence, noting down my despair and disregarding it. Yes, that is
what I call assassination. But killing may be no murder; there is
one shot left in this little gun, and I know where it should go."

Wilson turned quickly on the table, and even as he turned he twisted
in agony, for Michael shot him through the body where he sat, so
that he tumbled off the table like lumber.

The police rushed to lift him; Sir Walter stood speechless; and
then, with a strange and weary gesture, Horne Fisher spoke.

"You are indeed a type of the Irish tragedy," he said. "You were
entirely in the right, and you have put yourself in the wrong."

The prince's face was like marble for a space then there dawned in
his eyes a light not unlike that of despair. He laughed suddenly and
flung the smoking pistol on the ground.

"I am indeed in the wrong," he said. "I have committed a crime that
may justly bring a curse on me and my children."

Horne Fisher did not seem entirely satisfied with this very sudden
repentance; he kept his eyes on the man and only said, in a low
voice, "What crime do you mean?"

"I have helped English justice," replied Prince Michael. "I have
avenged your king's officers; I have done the work of his hangman.