As you strike the bottom of the staircase and pitch into the exterior doorway, you feel the cool evening breeze on your bloodied face.
You don't seem to be able to make yourself stand, but to your satisfaction at least the assassin is also showing no signs of moving after the impact.
You notice several passers-by see and recognize you. "Help," you call out, your voice thick and cracking in your throat. "This man is an assassin...this man..."
Lord, but Im sleepy. The last thing you remember hearing are the heavy boots of soldiers coming down the staircase after you. You feel yourself lifted up, then all is black.