Close by, a rack of vials stood.

He whirled to it, snatched out a tiny bottle and waiting not even to draw the cork--craunched the bottle, glass and all, in his fang-like, uneven teeth.
An instant change swept over him.

His staring eyes closed, his head fell forward, his whole body collapsed like an empty sack.

He fell, twitched once or twice, and was dead--dead ere the attackers could reach the door of steel where his bestial masters had betrayed him.
Thus perished Herzog, coward and tool, a victim of the very forces he himself had helped create.
And at the moment of his death, the masters he had cringed to and had served, sneering with scorn at him even in their mortal terror, were tremblingly descending the long metal ladder to the impregnable vaults of steel below..