"No! Stop! Stop!" she cried. Everybody looked at her in surprise, Colonel Hampton no less than the others. Stephen Hampton called out her name sharply. "No! You shan't do this to me! You shan't! You're torturing me! you are all devils!" she screamed. "Devils! Devils!" "Myra!" her husband barked, stepping forward. With a twist, she eluded him, dashing around the desk and pulling open a drawer. For an instant, she fumbled inside it, and when she brought her hand up, she had Colonel Hampton's .45 automatic in it. She drew back the slide and released it, loading the chamber. Doctor Vehrner, the hypodermic in his hand, turned. Stephen Hampton sprang at her, dropping his drink. And Albert, the prognathous attendant, released Colonel Hampton and leaped at the woman with the pistol, with the unthinking promptness of a dog whose master is in danger. Stephen Hampton was the closest to her; she shot him first, point-blank in the chest. The heavy bullet knocked him backward against a small table; he and it fell over together. 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.
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