And Hamlin's gun loosened in his hand, his knees doubled and he tumbled headlong, to fall face down at the feet of the dark-faced man who stood, sneering, some blue-white smoke curling upward in mocking laziness from the muzzle of his pistol.
Ruth had moved with the report of the pistol; she was at Hamlin's side when he fell, grasping one of his arms; and she went down with him, to one knee, dazed from the suddenness of the thing; palzied with horror, the room reeling around her.
How long she knelt at her father's side she did not know.

It seemed only a second or two to her when she raised her head and looked around with dumb, agonized grief at the faces that seemed to fill the place.

Then she heard Warden's voice; he spoke to the dark-faced man who had killed her father, and his voice was vibrant with a mocking, Satanic satisfaction.
"You've wanted her, Slade--take her!" The dark-faced man grinned at her, bestially.

She leaped to her feet at the expression of his eyes, and started to run toward the door.

But terror shackled her feet; it seemed that some power was dragging at her, holding her back from the door.