f of bread, close at hand on the
edge of the table, and on the knife which lay by it. Mechanically,
without any other idea than that of feeding the sparrows and diverting
himself by watching their antics, he picked up the knife, quietly cut
off a half-slice of the loaf, and, crumbling it in his fingers, threw
the crumbs on the floor. For a minute or two he watched his visitors
fighting over this generous dole; then he turned to the shelf again, to
take down a book, the title of which had attracted him. Neale was an
enthusiastic member of the Territorial Force, and had already gained his
sergeant's stripes in the local battalion; he was accordingly deeply
interested in all military matters--this book certainly related to those
matters, though in a way with which he was happily as yet unfamiliar.
For its title was "On the Use of High Explosive in Modern Warfare," and
though Neale was no great reader, he was well enough versed in current
affairs to know the name of the author, a foreign scientist of
world-wide reputation.

He opened the book as he stood there, and was soon absorbed in the
preface; so absorbed indeed, that it was some little time before he
became aware that the cheerful twittering behind him had ceased. It had
made a welcome diversion, that innocent chirping of the little brown
birds, and when it ceased, he missed it. He turned suddenly--and dropped
the book.

Seven or eight of the sparrows were already lying on the floor
motionless. Some lay on their sides, some on their backs; all looked as
if they were already dead. Two were still on their feet; at any other
time Neale would have laughed to see the way in which they staggered
about, for all the world as if they were drunk. And as he watched one
collapsed; the other, after an ineffective effort to spread its wings,
rolled to one side and dropped helplessly. And Neale made another
turn--to stare at the loaf of bread and to wonder what devilry lay in
it. Poison? Of course it was poison! And--what of this man in that
jealously guarded room, behind that steel door? Had he also eaten of the
loaf?

He turned to the sparrows again at last, stood staring at them as if
they fascinated him, and eventually went over to the foot of the furnace
and picked one up. Then he found, with something of a shock, that the
small thing was not dead. The little body was warm with life; he felt
the steady, regular beating of the tiny heart. He laid the bird down
gently, and pi