Authors: Delos W. Lovelace
Driscoll, watching, could have sworn he saw the bullets jerk Kong's coarse hair as they plunged into his heart. Kong staggered, and one lifted foot, brushing Ann, rolled her off the parapet back onto the roof space.
Kong turned slowly, as though he meant to pick her up. His lifted foot settled back. He stooped, staring down at Ann with a puzzled, hurt look. He began to cough.
From high in the night, the other planes swooped down. Kong's challenge broke upon a harsh, rending cough, but he straightened to his greatest height and his drumming tattoo was as loud as ever.
One after another the planes slid down, poised each for its successive murderous instant, and then curved away. The rattle of the successive machine guns grew louder over Kong's tattooing. He swayed, and in spite of his gripping feet, began to topple.
He fought to the end. With his last strength he leaped for the rearmost plane as it curved away. He missed, but his mighty spring carried him clear of the setbacks below, and out above the street. For a breath then, high above the civilization which had destroyed him, he hung in the same regal loneliness that had been his upon Skull Mountain Island. Then he plunged down in wreckage at the feet of his conquerors.
Driscoll swept Ann into his arms.
"Ann! Ann! You're all right."
Ann lay against his breast crying in soft thankfulness.
Denham and the sergeant leaned over the parapet.
"Well!" said the policeman. "That was a sight. I never thought the aviators'd get him."
"The aviators didn't get him," Denham replied slowly.
"What?"
"It was Beauty. As always, Beauty killed the Beast."
The sergeant's puzzled frown grew deeper.