‘Oh, my God, she’s gone!’ Wrenching his hand from his friend’s slackened grasp, he darted for the door, Roding behind him. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. The smell of gunpowder was strong in the room. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. " "It is," answered Wood.
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