"How would you feel, Bentall, if you killed me and found out you were completely wrong?" He leaned forward and said softly: "How would you feel if I gave you absolute proof, here and now, that you're completely, terribly wrong?"
"You're wasting your time, Colonel Raine. Here it comes."
"But damn it, man, I've got the proof!" he shouted. "I've got it right here. My wallet-"
He lifted his left lapel with his left hand, reached for the inside pocket with his right, the small black automatic was clear of his coat and the finger tightening on the trigger when I shot him through the head at point-blank range. The automatic spun from his hand, he jerked back violently in his seat, then fell forward, head and shoulders striking heavily on the dusty desk.
I took out my handkerchief, pulling with it a piece of paper that fluttered to the floor. I let it lie. Handkerchief in hand I picked up the fallen gun, replaced it in his inside pocket, wiped the Luger, pushed it in the dead man's hand, pressed his thumb and fingers against the butt and trigger, then let gun and hand fall loosely to the table. I then smeared doorknobs, armrests, wherever I had touched, and picked up the fallen paper.
It was the note from Marie. I opened it, held it by a corner above Raine's ashtray, struck a match and watched it slowly burn away, the tiny flame creeping inexorably down the paper until it reached the words at the-foot, "You and me and the lights of London", until those, too, one by one, were burnt and blackened and gone. I crushed the ash in the tray and went.
I closed the door with a quiet hand and left him lying there, a small dusty man in a small dusty room.