At a certain quiet restaurant on the Grand' Place he found a girl waiting for him, a girl in soiled khaki, critically examining the menu. She looked up with a smile as the young man came in, hung his cap upon a peg and drew out the chair opposite. "I have ordered the tea, though it is awfully early," she said; "now tell me what you have been doing all the morning." She spoke with an air of proprietorship, a tone which marked the progress of this strange friendship, which had indeed gone very far since Tam's violent introduction to Vera Laramore on the Amiens road. "Weel," said Tam, and hesitated. "Please don't give me a dry report," she warned him. "I want the real story, with all its proper fixings." "Hoo shall A' start?" asked Tam. "You start with the beginning of the day. Now, properly, Tam." Her slim finger threatened him. "Is it literature ye'd be wanting?" asked Tam shyly. She nodded, and Tam shut his eyes and began after the style of an amateur elocutionist: "The dawn broke fair and bonny an' the fairest rays of the rising sun fell upon the sleeping 'Sausage-Killer'--" "Who is the 'Sausage-Killer'?" asked the girl, startled. "He'll be the villain of the piece, A'm thinkin'," said Tam, "but if ye interrupt--" "I am sorry," murmured the girl, apologetically. She sat with her elbows on the table, her chin resting on her clasped hands and her eyes fixed on Tam, eyes that danced with amusement, with admiration, and with just that hint of tenderness that you might expect in the proud mother showing off the accomplishments of her first-born. "--fell aboot the heid of the Sausage-Killer,'" Tam went on, "bathin' his shaven croon wi' saft radiance. There was a discreet tap at the door, and Wilhelm MacBethmann, his faithful retainer, staggered in, bearin' his cup of acorn coffee. "'Rise, _mein Herr_,' says he, 'get oot o' bed, ma bonnie laird.' "'What o'clock is it, Angus?' says the 'Sausage-Killer,' sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "'It's seven, your Majesty,' says MacBethmann, 'shall I lay out yeer synthetic sausage or shall I fry up yesterday's sauerkraut?' "But the 'Sausage-Killer' shakes his head. "'_Mon_ Angus,' he says, 'A've had a heedious dream. A' dreamt,' says he, 'that A' went for to kill a wee sausage and A' dived for him and missed him and before A' could recover, the sausage bit me. 'Tis a warning,' says he. "'Sir,' says MacBethmann, trembling in every limb and even in his neck, 'ye'd be wise no' to go out the day.' "But the prood 'Sausage-Killer' rises himself to his full length. "'Unhand ma pants, Angus,' says he, 'ma duty calls,' and away goes the puir wee feller to meet his doom at the hands of the Terror of the Skies." "That's you," said the girl. "Ye're a good guesser," said Tam, pouring out the tea the waiter had brought. "Do ye take sugar or are ye a victim of the cocktail habit?" "Did you kill him?" asked the girl.