you did. Of course, it's the weak point of this special
system, which is only for my own use. The worst is that the manner of exploding
is always the weak point with us. I am trying to invent a detonator that would
adjust itself to all conditions of action, and even to unexpected changes of
conditions. A variable and yet perfectly precise mechanism. A really intelligent
detonator.«
    »Twenty seconds,« muttered Ossipon again. »Ough! And then -«
    With a slight turn of the head the glitter of the spectacles seemed to gauge
the size of the beer saloon in the basement of the renowned Silenus Restaurant.
    »Nobody in this room could hope to escape,« was the verdict of that survey.
»Nor yet this couple going up the stairs now.«
    The piano at the foot of the staircase clanged through a mazurka with brazen
impetuosity, as though a vulgar and impudent ghost were showing off. The keys
sank and rose mysteriously. Then all became still. For a moment Ossipon imagined
the overlighted place changed into a dreadful black hole belching horrible fumes
choked with ghastly rubbish of smashed brickwork and mutilated corpses. He had
such a distinct perception of ruin and death that he shuddered again. The other
observed, with an air of calm sufficiency:
    »In the last instance it is character alone that makes for one's safety.
There are very few people in the world whose character is as well established as
mine.«
    »I wonder how you managed it,« growled Ossipon.
    »Force of personality,« said the other, without raising his voice; and
coming from the mouth of that obviously miserable organism the assertion caused
the robust Ossipon to bite his lower lip. »Force of personality,« he repeated,
with ostentatious calm.
    »I have the means to make myself deadly, but that by itself, you understand,
is absolutely nothing in the way of protection. What is effective is the belief
those people have in my will to use the means. That's their impression. It is
absolute. Therefore I am deadly.«
    »There are individuals of character amongst that lot, too,« muttered Ossipon
ominously.
    »Possibly. But it is a matter of degree obviously, since, for instance, I am
not impressed by them. Therefore they are inferior. They cannot be otherwise.
Their character is built upon conventional morality. It leans on the social
order. Mine stands free from everything artificial. They are bound in all sorts
of conventions. They depend on life, which, in this connection, is