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came in. Pissed as a newt, as usual. Just roaring for a fight with someone. He brought one of his pals with him. A fellow called Schmidt. A real bum.'
    Heide's frown intensified. His eyes were dry again, very hard and bright, and his mouth took on the thin, bitter line that we knew so well of old, lips pulled together as if he were sucking a lemon.
    'One of these days, I'm going to get that bastard Schmidt,' he said.
    'Why?' demanded Little John,.at once interested. 'What's he done to you?'
    'He's a shit,' said Heide, as if that in itself were sufficient reason. 'He used to work down the mines with my old man, then they threw him put of there and he went to the local loony bin and called himself a male nurse. Nurse! From all accounts he used to bash the patients about something terrible. He must be having the time of his life right now. He's in charge of the crematorium, and believe me there are plenty of bodies waiting to be burnt. They're being killed off like flies down there. It's supposed to be a government secret, but everyone knows about it.'
    'Why?' demanded Little John, again. 'Why's it supposed to be a secret if the nuts die, when it's not secret if you or me die?'
    'It's different,' said Heide, irritably. 'In the bin, they inject them with things and call it euthanasia.'
    ' 'What for?'
    'How the hell do I know what for? Because they aren't any use to anyone, I suppose. It's the doctors that do it, it's all quite legal, it's just top secret.'
    There was a pause, while we considered the question of the nuts being put out of the way because they weren't any use to anyone. You could see the logic of it, but somehow it still left a bad taste in your mouth.
    'What about this Schmidt fellow?' asked Porta. 'This pal of your old man. You haven't told us what he was supposed to have done.'
    'What he did do,' corrected Heide. 'What he did and what he said ... When they came in, the pair of them, roaring and cursing and yelling at the old lady to get up and get their food for them ... I told them she was dead, but they wouldn't believe me. Schmidt just laughed and said she was putting it on. He said the mad old bags in the bin did that sort of thing. He knew how to deal with them. He said, why don't you try beating a bit of life into her? I reckon that'll make her drop her drawers and give us a little bit of something... Those were the words he used.''
    Heide looked round at us.
    'I swore then I was going to get him one of these days.'
    'How?' asked the Legionnaire, practically.
    There followed a lurid discussion on the best way of dealing with a person like Schmidt. Heide listened, but did not join in.
    'I'll get the bastard,' he told us. 'I'll get him, don't you worry.'
    He gave us one of his diabolical smiles.
    'They beat the old lady practically to a pulp before they admitted she, was dead. Then they broke my arm and kicked me round the floor and went back to their drinking. I went and got the police. I said I didn't remember anything, and they arrested the pair of them on a charge of murder. They kept them in jug for six weeks before I decided to talk. When they came out the old man was so furious he half killed me ... So after I left hospital, I just packed my bags and went off on my own. And it's been that way ever since.'
    There was another silence. Many of us in the disciplinary regiments had pretty hard stories to tell, but I think Heide's was one of the hardest I'd heard. You couldn't like the man, but at least, now, you could understand him. If there'd been room in our hearts for sentiment, we might even have pitied him.
    'This Schmidt,' said Porta, eventually. 'You've left it a bit late, haven't you? I mean, you were just a kid--'
    'Seventeen years ago,' said Heide. He cuffed the dog away from him and stood up. 'Don't you worry, I haven't forgotten. I know where he is, and I'm going to get that bastard one of these fine days.'
    We believed him. It was one of those subjects, like the Legionnaire and mon General,