aph
rapidly, attaching to it three head-pieces with receivers clamping over
the ears.

"We'll test it," he said to John. "Scoot upstairs and say something in a
natural tone in all parts of the room. Try to talk at about the pitch
you believe they will speak and drop your voice to a whisper
occasionally. Ben and I will listen."

While Brennan and Smith waited with the headgears John followed orders,
returning to the basement when he believed he had talked to himself long
enough to make the test accurate.

"Works perfectly," Brennan told him.

"Heard every word you said. We're all set and ready to go."

John glanced at his watch. It was five minutes after twelve. They made
themselves as comfortable as possible on the empty packing boxes. Smith
produced his notebooks and a handful of carefully sharpened pencils.

A picture of Consuello as she appeared when she stood beside the window
with its red geraniums, reciting the verse in which she found heart
comfort, flashed into John's mind. He closed his eyes to hold the vision
in his imagination. It faded away, and another picture took its place, a
mental miniature of Consuello as he had last seen her, standing in the
doorway, silhouetted in the soft rose light behind her. He saw her hand
flutter and the door close. Could it be that with the intuition of a
daughter of Eve she knew that he loved her? Could it be that she----

"Brennan," he said, "what is that verse of Kipling's that starts 'So
long as 'neath the hills' or something like that?"

In the tiny glow of Brennan's cigarette John noticed a hint of a smile
on the other's lips as he recited:

"So long as 'neath the Kalka hills
The Tonga-horn shall ring,
So long as down the Solon dip
The hard-held ponies swing,
So long as Tara Divi sees
The lights of Simla town,
So long as Pleasure calls us up,
And duty drives us down,
If you love me as I love you.
What pair so happy as we two?"

He paused.

"That's it," John said. "There's another part of it that says something
about 'all earth being servant'; how does it go?"

Brennan continued:

"By all that lights our daily life
Or works our lifelong woe,
From Boileaugunge to Simla Downs
And those grim glades below,
Where, heedless of the flying hoof
And clamor overhead,
Sleep, with the grey langur for guard,
Our very scornful Dead.
If you love me as I love you,