I saw the steel flash up again--saw the spite in the man's eyes: but this time I was a step nearer, and before the weapon fell, I passed my sword clean through the wretch's body.

He went down like a log, Croisette falling with him, held fast by his stiffening fingers.
I had never killed a man before, nor seen a man die; and if I had stayed to think about it, I should have fallen sick perhaps.

But it was no time for thought; no time for sickness.

The crowd were close upon us, a line of flushed threatening faces from wall to wall.

A single glance downwards told me that the man was dead, and I set my foot upon his neck.