nd blundering, scrambled beneath the desk,
making frantic efforts to hide, but the secretary took a step forward
and fired two shots in quick succession into his projecting legs,
hitting first one ankle and then the other, and smashing them horribly.

"Two more places where the chains burnt," he said, going a little
nearer.

The Manager, still shrieking, tried desperately to squeeze his bulk
behind the shelter of the opening beneath the desk, but he was far too
large, and his bald head protruded through on the other side. Jones
caught him by the scruff of his great neck and dragged him yelping out
on to the carpet. He was covered with blood, and flopped helplessly upon
his broken wrists.

"Be quick now!" cried the voice of Thorpe.

There was a tremendous commotion and banging at the door, and Jones
gripped his pistol tightly. Something seemed to crash through his brain,
clearing it for a second, so that he thought he saw beside him a great
veiled figure, with drawn sword and flaming eyes, and sternly approving
attitude.

"Remember the eyes! Remember the eyes!" hissed Thorpe in the air above
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 Thor