More than one has agreed willingly that some day his — or her — brain may repose in my collection.
“Here”—he went back to the shelf—”is the brain of an eminent lawyer. This”—he indicated the side of another brain—”is the cerebral mechanism of a man who was once a most prominent artist.
“I don’t believe I have the brain of a journalist in this exhibit. Perhaps —” he looked speculatively at Burke.
“Perhaps newspapermen have no brains?” questioned Burke, with a forced laugh.
“No,” replied Doctor Palermo seriously, “not that. All men have brains. I thought perhaps you might be willing to some day contribute your brain to my collection — provided, of course, that you should die young.”
Burke was silent. There was something ominous in the physician’s tone. The ex-reporter felt ill at ease.
He decided to bring the discussion back to the subject of his visit.
“Regarding Chatham—” he began cautiously.
“Ah, yes,” interrupted Doctor Palermo. “Horace Chatham. I was just mentioning his brain. I already have the brain of one murderer.
“But you are interested in the living, not the dead. Therefore you would like to discuss Chatham as he was the evening he called upon me. My experiments are finished. Come.”