Schicklgruber woke to the watery light of a Viennese morning.

“Adolf!” a voice called from below, “Breakfast!”

Dear Mrs Adler – his landlady, but more a mother to him since his own had passed on.

“Coming!” he cried, and sat up – only to find three men standing round him.

“What…” he began.

“It’s him,” spoke one, consulting a small box.

Another nodded and raised an object which Schicklgruber guessed was a weapon.

“Wait!” cried the third. “We must be sure.”

“Aren’t we? Let’s not hesitate. We kill the guy now and the future is forever in our debt.”

“That’s what you said about the chicken farmer.”

“That chicken farmer,” the first retorted, “was destined to be one of the greatest mass murderers in history. By killing him, we saved the lives of millions of innocent people.”

“Or, as it turned out – millions of innocent chickens. "

“Admittedly, something went awry there – but you see, according to Ehrlich’s theorem…”

“Screw Ehrlich”, snapped the one with the gun, “we’ll get it right – this time.”