Fischer's neck was very long and the noose nestled snugly around it. When it was tightened around his windpipe Fischer turned around to Spies and laughingly whispered something in Spies' ear. But the latter either did not hear him or else was too much occupied with other thoughts to pay attention. Engel smiled down at the crowd, and then turning to Deputy Peters, who guarded him, he smiled gratefully toward him and whispered something to the officer that seemed to affect him. It looked at first as if Engel were about to salute his guard with a kiss, but he evidently satisfied himself with some word of peace. Parson's face never moved as the noose dropped over his head, but the same terrible, fixed look was on his face. And now people were expecting that the speeches for which the four doomed ones craved twenty minutes each this morning would be delivered, but to every one's surprise the officer who had adjusted the noose proceeded to fit on the white cap without delay. It was first placed on Spies' head, completely hiding his head and face. Just before the cap was pulled over Fischer's head Deputy Spears turned his eyes up to meet those of the tall young anarchist. Fischer smiled down on his guard just as pleasantly as Engel did on his, and he seemed to be whispering some words of forgiveness, but it may have been otherwise, as not even the faintest echo reached the men in the corridor below. Engel and Parsons soon donned their white caps after this, and now the four men stood upon the scaffold clad from top to toe in pure white. All was ready now for the signal to let the drop fall. In the little box at the back of the stage and fastened to the wall the invisible executioner stood with axe poised, ready to cut the cord that held them between earth and heaven. The men had not noticed this but they knew the end was near. For an instant there was a dead silence, and then a mournful solemn voice sounded from behind the first right-hand mask, and cut the air like a wail of sorrow and warning. Spies was speaking from behind his shroud. The words seemed to drop into the cold, silent air like pellets of fire. Here is what he said: "It is not meet that I should speak here, where my silence is more terrible than my utterances." Then a deeper, stronger voice came out with a muffled, mysterious cadence from behind the white pall that hid the face of Fischer. He only spoke eight words: "This is the happiest moment of my life." But the next voice that catches up the refrain is a different one. It is firm, but the melancholy wail was not in it. It was harsh, loud, exultant. Engel was cheering for anarchy. "Hurrah for anarchy! Hurrah!" were the last words and the last cheer of George Engel.