Rupert glanced at me.

I caught his look, but what could I say to him?
Again my eyes were riveted on Rudolf's finger.

Now it was crooked round Rupert's, seeming like a man who strangles another.
I will not say more.

He smiled to the last; his proud head, which had never bent for shame, did not bend for fear.

There was a sudden tightening in the pressure of that crooked forefinger, a flash, a noise.
He was held up against the wall for an instant by Rudolf's hand; when that was removed he sank, a heap that looked all head and knees.
But hot on the sound of the discharge came a shout and an oath from Bernenstein.