"Gentleman's welcome for my part," intimated George. For which the doctor thanked him.
"But," he said, "I don't think that my friend cares much for post-mortems."
"Oh!" reflected George. "There's lots like that in these days. I puts it down to them street preachers. If you'll wait there 'arf a minnit, Doctor, I'll just switch on the lights."
With these words the pleasant fellow entered into an adjacent building, which presently became illuminated. I could see the shadow of his form upon the ground-glass windows (which were spacious) as he busied himself with some congenial task upon the other side.
"You'll be all right out here, I suppose?" inquired the doctor kindly, while we waited for the reappearance of George. "I shan't be long, you know. George is very quick. He knows exactly what I want."
"Who is the poor chap?" I inquired.
"I suppose you'd call him the mortuary attendant," said the doctor. "He's really very skilful."
"I was alluding," I explained, "to the other poor chap: to him who is to be the subject of this accomplished gentleman's skill."
"Oh," said the doctor. "Now let me see.... What did the widow tell me? Ah, I remember now. He was a retired policeman. And there's George beckoning to me. I shan't be long."
The doctor took his stand within the open doorway through which George had entered. And I took my stand in the rain, and watched the doctor's back and the shadow of George falling upon the ground-glass window-pane as he busied himself with congenial tasks.