Slowly the arm of the lieutenant dropped, lowering the pistol till its muzzle chattered on the top of the table: a noise that broke the spell upon his senses. He looked down in dull brutish wonder, then roused and with a gesture of horror let the weapon fall clattering.
His glance shifting to the body of his commander, he started violently, backing up against the plates to put all possible distance between himself and his handiwork. His lips moved, framing phrases at first incoherent, presently articulate in part:
"… done it at last!… Knew I must soon. …"
Abruptly he looked up at Lanyard.
"Bear witness," he cried: "I was provoked beyond human endurance. He insulted me in your presence … me! … that scum!"
Lanyard said nothing, but met his gaze with a blank, non-committal stare, under which the eyes of the lieutenant wavered and fell.
Then with a start he realised anew the significance of that still figure at his feet, and tried to shake some of the swagger back into his wretched, fear-racked being.
"A good job!" he muttered defiantly. "And you will stand by me, I know. … Only there is nothing in that, of course, no justification possible before a court martial. Even your testimony could not save me … I am done for, utterly. …"
He hung his head. Lanyard heard whispered words: "degraded," "dishonour," "firing squad". …
A chronometer in the central operating compartment tolled eight bells.
