The Dain Curse · Part I · Chapter 7 (2/2)

She backed over the sill, blew breath between her teeth with a hissing, spitting sound, and was gone down the hall.

Owen Fitzstephan was first through the door after her. The policeman got in my way, but I was second out. The woman had reached the head of the stairs, at the other end of the dim hall, with Fitzstephan, not far behind, rapidly overtaking her.

He caught her on the between-floors landing, just as I reached the top of the stairs. He pinned one of her arms to her body, but the other, with the gun, was free. He grabbed at it and missed. She twisted the muzzle in to his body as I⁠—with my head bent to miss the edge of the floor⁠—leaped down at them.

I landed on them just in time, crashing into them, smashing them into the corner of the wall, sending her bullet, meant for the sorrel-haired man, into a step.

We weren’t standing up. I caught with both hands at the flash of her gun, missed, and had her by the waist. Close to my chin Fitzstephan’s lean fingers closed on her gun-hand wrist.

She twisted her body against my right arm. My right arm was still lame from our spill out of the Chrysler. It wouldn’t hold. Her thick body went up, turning over on me.

Gunfire roared in my ear, burnt my cheek.

The woman’s body went limp.

When O’Gar and Reddy pulled us apart she lay still. The second bullet had gone through her throat.

I went up to the laboratory. Gabrielle Leggett, with the doctor and Collinson kneeling beside her, was lying on the floor.

I told the doctor: “Better take a look at Mrs. Leggett. She’s on the stairs. Dead, I think, but you’d better take a look.”

The doctor went out. Collinson, chafing the unconscious girl’s hands, looked at me as if I were something there ought to be a law against, and said:

“I hope you’re satisfied with the way your work got done.”

“It got done,” I said.