He
dropped the automatic within a few inches of the dead renegade's
outstretched hand, then turned to face the others.
"I regret," he addressed them, his voice and face blank of expression,
"to announce that our distinguished colleague, Dr. Adam Lowiewski, has
committed suicide by shooting, after a nervous collapse resulting from
overwork."
Sir Neville Lawton looked critically at the motionless figure on the
floor.
"I'm afraid we'll have trouble making that stick, Dunc," he said. "You
shot him at about five yards; there isn't a powder mark on him."
"Oh, sorry; I forgot." MacLeod's voice was mockingly contrite. "It was
Dr. Lowiewski's expressed wish that his remains be cremated as soon
after death as possible, and that funeral services be held over his
ashes. The big electric furnace in the metallurgical lab will do, I
think."
"But ... but there'll be all sorts of formalities--" the Englishman
protested.
"Now you forget. Our contract," MacLeod reminded him. "We stand upon our
contractual immunity: we certainly won't allow any stupid bureaucratic
interference with our deceased colleague's wishes.
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