"I don't care how difficult it is. There's work to be done!" Again he shouted the words.
"Very well. It is your choice. You may remain among the living for as long as your strength may last." The voice whispering in his mind went into silence.
Kurt continued screaming. Pain raced through his consciousness again. As he came awake he realized that he was screaming at the torturer to stop.
He also realized that the Asian had stopped. There was a sound in the gallery. Filling the air, it seemed to emerge from the very walls of the mountain itself.
The note of a violin!
High and sweet and compelling, the sound came from nowhere. Every atom in the solid stone walls seemed to pick it up and to rebroadcast it. The molecules of the air seemed to dance in resonance with it.
Simultaneously, about ten feet above the floor, the face appeared again.
The lieutenant's rifle blasted at it. He fired shot after shot at point blank range. Red-hot slugs howled from the walls of the big gallery in a cacophony of death.
The face smiled at the lieutenant. The lips moved. "Keep shooting, old fellow," the lips seemed to say.
The officer emptied his gun. In a desperate burst of fear, he threw it at the mocking face.