erest him, then, all in an instant, his
gaze fell upon Madam Death under her prison of glass.

There she sat, her great bulging abdomen distended with eggs, her lambent
eyes shining with the terrible passion of anticipation. For one thing only
she had been created. That accomplished she died. And there she crouched
awaiting the fulfillment of her life's cycle with the blazing eyes of a
demon.

------------------

From the cafe below came the cautious murmur of voices. The young man
already knew what they were whispering about; or, if he did not know he no
longer cared.

The patches of bright colour in his sunken cheeks had died out in an ashen
pallor. As far as he was concerned the world was now ended. And he knew
it.

He went into the bedroom and sat down on the bed's edge. His little, pale
eyes wandered about the white room; the murmur of voices below was audible
all the while.

After a few moments' patient waiting, his gaze rested again on Madam
Death, squatting there with wings sloped, and the skull and bones staring
at him from her head and distended abdomen.

After all there was an odd resemblance between himself and Madam Death. He
had been born to fulfill one function, it appeared. So had she. And now,
in his case as in hers, death was immediately to follow. This was
sentiment, not science--the blind lobe of the German brain balancing
grotesquely the reasoning lobe.

------------------

The voices below had ceased. Presently he heard a cautious step on the
stair.

He had a little pill-box in his pocket. Methodically, without haste, he
drew it out, chose one white pellet, and, holding it between his bony
thumb and forefinger, listened.

Yes, somebody was coming up the stairs, very careful to make no sound.

Well--there were various ways for a Death's Head Hussar to die for his War
Lord. All were equally laudable. God--the God of Germany--the celestial
friend and comrade of his War Lord--would presently correct him if he was
transgressing military discipline or the etiquette of Kultur. As for the
levelled rifles of the execution squad, he preferred another way....
_This_ way!...

His eyes were already glazing when the burly form of Sticky Smith filled
the doorway.

He looked down at Madam Death under the tumbler beside him, then lifted
his head and gazed at Smith with blinded eyes.

"Swine!" he said complacently, swaying gently forward and