The Stratagem and Other Stories

molecules; and this was confirmed by a most filthy hu- miliation of that part of him that was rejected. I shall not attempt to describe the final process; suf- fice it that the demoniac consciousness drew away; he was but the excrement of the demon, and as that ex- crement he was flung filthily further into the abyss of blackness and of night whose name is death. I rose with ashen cheeks. I stammered: “He is dead.” The male nurse bent over the body. “Yes!” he echoed, “he is dead.” And it seemed as if the whole Uni- verse gathered itself into one ghastly laugh of hate and horror, “Dead!” V I resumed my seat. I felt that I must know that all was well, that death had ended all. Woe to humanity! The consciousness of Arthur was more alive than ever. It was the black fear of falling, a dumb ecstasy of changeless fear. There were no waves upon that sea of shame, no troubling of those accursed waters by any thought. There was no hope of any ground to that abyss, no thought that it might stop. So tireless was that fall that even acceleration was absent; it was constant and level as the fall of a star. There was not even a feel- ing of pace; infinitely fast as it must be, judging from the peculiar dread which it inspired, it was yet infinitely slow, having regard to the infinitude of the abyss. I took measures not to be disturbed by the duties that men—oh how foolishly!—pay to the dead: and I took refuge in a cigarette. It was now for the first time, strangely enough, that I began to consider the possibility of helping him. I analysed the position. It must be his thought, or I could not read it. I had no reason to conjecture that any other thoughts could reach me. He must be alive in the true sense of the word; it was he and not another that