The Master smiled, and closed the boxes, then the drawer.
"After these," he mused, "dead inaction?
Not for me!" His dark eyes were shining with eagerness as he walked to a door beside that through which the Arab had entered.

He swung it wide, disclosing an ample closet, likewise inundated with light.

There hung a war-worn aviator's uniform of leather, gauntlets, a sheepskin jacket, a helmet, resistal goggles, a cartridge-belt still half full of ammunition, a heavy service automatic.
For a moment the man looked in at these.

A great yearning came upon his face.

Caressingly he touched the uniform, the helmet.