"Murder? It is impossible. You are always under the control of the
Bureau in some way, whether you are aware of it or not."

* * * * *

I turned away, a little dazed. The whole thing was inevitable and clear
as he put it. I knew there was nothing to be done.

I left his apartment, and went down the corridor to the landing stage.
No one interfered with my movements, and my commands were not
questioned. I ordered a plane, and gave my name to the girl in charge.

"Your destination?" she asked.

I said, "I am only going for pleasure."

"Your return?"

"Expect me in an hour."

I had watched Selda pilot the planes for so many weeks that I was
familiar with the controls. I rose swiftly, circled the building, and
headed north toward the mountains. I hadn't the courage to see Selda
again. It was only a little while before I came to the place by the
river where we had spent the morning. I slowed down, and flew over it,
just above the waterfall.

There was a landing-spot by the river just beyond the top of the fall. I
came to rest there, and left the machine.

I stood looking at the river for a moment. I don't remember that any
thoughts or emotions came to my mind. I simply stood there, a little
dazed, and very quiet, with a vague picture of Selda before my eyes. It
was a dream-like moment.

Then I slipped over the river's bank, into the water, and the swift
current, catching me up and whirling me around dizzily, carried me
toward the edge of the waterfall.

And So to Work

I glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was five minutes to eight: time
to leave, if I was to get a decent breakfast before I went to the
office. I found an old hat in the closet and put it on. It would do
until I had time to buy another.

Last night--and this morning. Last night, after supper, I had dropped by
the Club for a drink. And met Melbourne. This morning I woke in the
water of the lake, and came home, and dressed. And went to work. Twelve
hours--and in that time I had lived two months. I had fallen in love,
and died. Now I must go to work.

As I left the apartment, and turned west away from the Drive, toward the
street cars, I was whistling over and over a brief snatch of music. Was
it Grieg? Or some composer never heard on earth?

There were people on the street now. They went by with frowning, intent
faces--on their way to work. And cars rolling by, pausing at the cross
streets with li