While he was falling, the woman
turned, dipped the muzzle of her pistol slightly and fired again; Doctor
Vehrner's leg gave way under him and he went down, the hypodermic flying
from his hand and landing at Colonel Hampton's feet. At the same time,
the attendant, Albert, was almost upon her. Quickly, she reversed the
heavy Colt, pressed the muzzle against her heart, and fired a third
shot.
T. Barnwell Powell had let the briefcase slip to the floor; he was
staring, slack-jawed, at the tableau of violence which had been enacted
before him. The attendant, having reached Myra, was looking down at her
stupidly. Then he stooped, and straightened.
"She's dead!" he said, unbelievingly.
Colonel Hampton rose, putting his heel on the hypodermic and crushing
it.
"Of course she's dead!" he barked. "You have any first-aid training?
Then look after these other people. Doctor Vehrner first; the other
man's unconscious; he'll wait."
"No; look after the other man first," Doctor Vehrner said.
Albert gaped back and forth between them.
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